Page 23 of The Rake's Revenge
“You like war and history?” Dorian asked, forming an idea. The boy nodded. “You like learning about great generals and bloody battles?” The boy nodded even more vigorously and swallowed his food. “Generals like Julius Caesar, Wellington, and Boney?” The boy was taken aback by the mention of Bonaparte. He wrinkled his nose in a childishly innocent loyalty to king and country—ah, to believe the world was that black and white, as simple as good and evil. Dorian leaned in conspiratorially and said, “I don’t like the Frog either, but no one can deny he was a great general and a military mastermind.” The boy’s mouth twitched grudgingly. “Do you know why all these men were so successful?”
“I don’t believe it’s because they all knew Latin.”
Dorian laughed, caught off-guard by how quick the boy was. A glance from the corner of his eye at Amelia’s amused smile told him she wasn’t unaware of this. “No, it was because each of them studied the foundations necessary to succeed.” The boy looked skeptical—a far too adult expression on his face.“Napoleon studied Caesar, who studied Alexander the Great, who learned from the greatest philosophical minds in history. They all did know Latin—” he ignored the roll of the boy’s eyes, “but they succeeded because they recognized learning from their forefathers’ successes and losses could change the course of history.” He shifted positions slightly and changed tactics. “You want to take up your seat in the House of Lords someday, don’t you, lad?” The boy nodded. “I can tell you firsthand that it is a different battlefield, but a war, nonetheless. There may not be guns and swords—for the most part—but those battles are won with words and intelligence. Allegiances are formed, headed by the great generals in their camps—like the Duke of Morton and the Earl of Hopesend. Those men are some of the best speakers I’ve ever heard, and they are going to change the course of England as surely as Bonaparte did. And do you know how?” Archie shook his head, utterly enraptured. “Because they took the time to learn the craft from the greats of history. Law and politics were founded in Latin. Rather than rely upon some bookish man’s interpretation and translation of the ancient greats, these men learned from them directly. It allowed them to rise above their opponents and amass a wealth of knowledge. So, you see?” he asked, picking up his teacup once more. “It may be a different type of battlefield, but language is the key to both the past and the future.”
The room was silent.
Without a word of explanation, Amelia placed a hearty piece of shortbread on his plate, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
It was then that Dorian truly discovered the way to get to Amelia: through her son.
Once tea wascleared away, it was decided that they would play some games, during which, Dorian made a concerted effort toengage little Lord Coylton. It wasn’t all that difficult because the boy proved to be a quick learner, intelligent, and of rare wit for a lad of his age. Despite Amelia’s glance of censure, Dorian requested a deck of cards and proceeded to teach the boy a simple game. He patiently explained which cards were more desirable than others and which combinations were more likely to win. Eventually, it was clear that, though she had not initially cared for her young son to learn card games, watching him enjoy himself and learn something new brought her a great deal of joy. Dorian savored every minute he could feel her eyes on him, watching every move, lingering on him when she thought he would not notice. But he noticed all of it.
While they played, the weather outside worsened, darkening the sky until it was rent by a violent crack of thunder and lightning. The boy jumped, his eyes flying to his mother for reassurance.
Archie was at a tender age: old enough to realize he came from a family of privileged consequence—that he was already a lord and destined to be an influential man—and, yet, still so young that the startling natural phenomena of storms were mysterious and frightening enough that he required assurance. To his credit, he did his best to remain unfazed—likely because he did not wish to appear weak in the presence of a man. While Dorian admired the boy’s determined bravado, he wished he could tell him that he needn’t pretend for his sake.
Hoping to help him save some face, Dorian quickly drew him into a conversation and sensed Amelia’s eyes watching him very carefully all over again. “What other games do you enjoy?” he coaxed.
“I—I have my toy soldiers,” was Archie’s timid reply. He gained momentum and enthusiasm as he continued, though, and he was soon describing a siege his army had once undertaken against the stable cats.
Sometime later, the nurse arrived to take Archie away. “Must I leave?” he asked his mother and then turned back to Dorian. “I like speaking with you.” The admission unleashed an unexpected ray of warmth inside Dorian’s chest.
“I promise we can do this again soon,” Amelia said, attempting to placate her son.
“Come,” Clara quickly chimed in and stood. “All this rain is making me drowsy. I need a bit of a lie down, and I do so enjoy having a gentleman escort.” Without another protest, Archie took her hand and they quit the room, leaving Amelia and Dorian alone. Immediately, Amelia began to busy herself by picking up the cushions, and Dorian moved to help her. The silence was heavy and expectant.
Amelia finally broke it, saying softly, “Thank you for being so kind to Archie. I realize it likely isn’t something to which you are accustomed, but I am grateful.”
Unable to resist, Dorian covered her hand with his when she moved to pick up one of the cushions. “Are we going to talk around what happened between us last night?”
She watched as his thumb traced her knuckles in a lazy pattern. “There is nothing to discuss.”
“No?”
She finally looked up when she heard amusement in his tone. “It was a kiss. A stupid impulse. A mistake,” she said adamantly.
He raised and turned her hand, exposing the tender underside of her wrist. He pressed his lips to the frantic pulse there, and her breath hitched erotically in her throat. “Then it was a mistake I would not mind repeating,” he said, his voice a low rumble. Her wrist stiffened, and she removed herself from his grasp. He released her without a fight, even though he burned to taste other, more sensitive parts of her delicate flesh. She retreated a couple of steps.
“Surely, you cannot be serious.” It was more a statement than a question.
“And why must that be?” he asked, taking only a small step toward her—letting her know she was pursued, but not to intimidate her.
“Why, because we…we…”
“Hate one another?” he asked lightly, taking another half step. “There is something burning between us, but the last few days have proven it is not hatred.” He caught her hand once more, and she did not tug it free from his grasp. “I was far from pleased when you broke off our engagement, Amelia—” she tried not to shiver at the sound of her given name rolling off his tongue, “—but that does not mean I’ve ever stopped wanting you. Never doubt that I’ve always desired you.” The truth he felt in the words unnerved Dorian, but he continued speaking. “And I know you feel it, too.” He leaned in, lowering his tone even further, taking pleasure in the catch in her breathing, the high color in her cheeks. She was far from unmoved by him, and he found it more than a little exciting.
She whispered his given name, and his careful control snapped.
He hauled Amelia to him, devouring her lips, tasting her, seducing her, holding her close enough to him that he knew she’d feel the aching truth of his want. Her fingers tangled painfully in the hair at the nape of his neck. Rather than yank him away, she held him closer, surprising him by using her own tongue and teeth to tease him. He gave a shuddering groan of desire, wanting more. Needing it.
Her head tilted back, and her eyes closed in rapture when his thumb skipped across her nipple through her bodice. He kissed and nibbled her throat, tasting her collarbone, savoring every little noise she made, the way she clung to him.
His lips found hers once more.
“Let me come to you tonight,” he murmured roughly against her lips. “Let me come to you.”
It seemed to take her several moments to process his meaning because she didn’t immediately stiffen in his arms. When she did, he pulled back but did not release her from his arms.
