Roses and Flames

Chapter 27

Ambrosia’s patience was at the very end of its tether.

“Do not blame me for the separation between the two of you. You made it very clear that you did not wish to marry me. You spoke highly of him and you insisted that I accept him. I did as you asked. Put aside your petty jealousy and then make peace with the results. Now that I have made my decision the rivalry between the two of you is over.”

“That is what you think, isn’t it?” he was looking at her with a crooked, rather cold smile as though he was a frustrated school master with a particularly dense student. ”Enough of him, then. We will talk no more about it then. Tell me more about your feelings for me.”

He had been practically trembling with his, a few hours earlier. But the news had changed him, and now he was guarded and very much in control.

“My feelings?” She was not even sure what she was supposed to call them. How was she to tell him?

His hands turned gentle, settling between the exposed skin of the gown and the gloves.” You said you loved me tonight, before the announcement.”

“Before the announcement,” she repeated. That was more important than the words that came before. “What I said then no longer matters,” she said, pulling free of his hands again.

“It does to me. Tell me again.” His voice was low, coaxing and unlike any tone he had used before. She felt it under her skin, burning into her very heart. It was the voice she had longed to hear, from the first moment he had returned. The boy who had left finally come back to claim her. She had to fight to remember why she must not listen to him.

“I’m engaged to the Duke of Mayberry now.”

“And you love him?” Patrick tipped his head to the side and gave her the kind of expectant look she was used to, when she wished to wheedle some truth out of her.

It made her feel like a little girl again. Now, of all times, after she had chosen to do the adult thing and put the nonsense aside, it was infuriating to be treated as a child. “What I feel for the Duke is none of your business!”

“But what you feel for me is.” His fingers tightened on her arm again and she felt herself melt.

“Let me go.” The words did not sound very convincing, even to her.

“I tried,” he said, in a tired voice. “And I was wrong to do so. And I find it is not possible.”

“And yet you agreed to do it, not once, but many times over the last week.” How many chances had she been give expected to give him to declare his feeling? And he had denied them every single time.

“I lied. But you must have known that, for you kept badgering me to change my mind.” He was smiling now, as those secure in his ability to break her down. He was pulling her closer.

She pulled away, trying to resist him. Did he not understand the sacrifice that she had made? And all because he would not admit his feelings when he had the chance. Then she reminded herself that accepting the duke was not a sacrifice, it was a triumph. If you think you can have me, now, after a few romantic speeches, you are sorely mistaken, Patrick Hastings.

Am I? His smile had changed, full of annoying confidence that both frightened and excited her. Let us see, shall we? And with one last tug she was in his arms.

This kiss was different than the others had been and, as she surrendered to it, she wondered if he had an infinite variety of tricks to use on her. Perhaps he did. Everything about this case shouted, I know you. I know what you want. How was that possible, when she was not even sure of person? He opened her mouth with his tongue and explored with an innate confidence, claiming each inch of it for himself. When he was finished, he was she was breathless, as though her heart had forgotten to beat while she was in his arms.

“Very well,” he said, with another confident smile. “I will not concern myself with your feelings for any other man. I think we have proved them to be insignificant.” His finger was tracing along the cord of her neck.

She batted it away. “It is too late for this.”

 But he paused only for a moment before returning to his teasing. “The moon is full, and we are alone, he reminded her. And in love. I cannot think of a better time.”

 The correct response would be I do not love you. Leave me alone. But it would have been a lie so great that she could not get her lips to form the words.

Instead, she repeated, “you are a day too late.”

“As long as we breathe, there is time.” He said pulling her into his arms again. His hands were on her waist, posessively smoothing over her ribs, and he was kissing her again. His lips traveling from her mouth to her shoulder. There was no anger in him, as there had been when he had complained of his inability to master himself. It was no selfish attempt to use her. This was a calculated attempt to arouse her.

“Come with me, Ambrose,” he whispered.” To the garden. I want to show you something.” This was the Patrick that she remembered, always daring her to be reckless. But the girl he had left was gone.

She had vanished her tonight and vowed to be different. There will be no more visits to the garden, no more dabbling in medicine, no more nonsense and foolishness. Ambrosia thorn might have allowed these kisses and encourage this man to pull her down into the grass and do what he would do with her. But the future Duchess of Mayberry must not. She yanked her arm out of Patrick grape, pulled back and let fly with a slap that was worthy of any she had dealt him with as a child, the sword that had sent him to father over the unfairness of agenda that would taunt him unmercifully, while knowing he could not strike back. He pulled away from her, hand on his cheek, shocked and angry. I said no. She hardly recognized her own voice. It sounded low, powerful and humorless. It was the voice of a woman, not a girl. It was a voice to be obeyed. She stared at him down, unflinching and watched the anger changed wariness.

“Ambrose?” He said, with a wry smile.

“I think it is best that you refer me as Lady Ambrosia,” she said. “As you have been doing since your return. You will take no more liberties with me, in private or in public. In turn, I will be polite and respectful for Samuel’s sake. But if you cannot abide by these terms, our previous connection will not matter, nor will our kinship with the Duke. You will not be welcome to my home and in public I shall cut you dead.”

 Aunt Jordan would have been proud of the speech. It was just as it should have been, when one had given offense to this degree.

But the look on Patrick’s face was heartbreaking. At least she had the satisfaction of knowing that she had been right in bringing forth their truth. The careworn look that had troubled her was gone from his face, but now he was staring at her as though he could not quite believe what he was hearing. He rubbed his jaw, feeling the tenderness where she had slapped him.

“Why, Lady Ambrosia, I do believe that you are serious.”

“Of course I’m serious you cloth headed dolt.” It was a weak epithet that harkened back to the time when they were children. The words that suited him now, rake, seducer, villain where the one she could not managed to see, even if they were true.

“Unless you can manage to treat me with respect there can be no more contact between us.”

“Because you are bethrothed to the Duke or Marburry.” And now he looked as if he wanted to laugh.

“Yes,” she said, in frustration. Had she been wrong about him all along? Was her oldest friend and first love really so cruel as to mock her for behaving exactly as she should have from the first?

“Very well, then.” He was a grim, but he continued to smile as the caught in some enormous joke. ”I will treat you as I ought, with respect. But not because of your precious Samuel. I will do it so that you may see how empty simple courtesy is, compared to our true feelings for each other.”

 He reached out a single finger and touched her cheek. And she swore she could feel every touch he had given her in the garden and teased his guests on her lips.

“In a week, you will be begging me to take you away from him. I will have mercy on you and do it. I have fought battles to resist you render your engagement to the Duke insignificant. And I have lost every one of them. We belong together Ambrose, for better or for worse.”