Persuasion

She was in disbelief. “First you flirt, then you fly into several rages, and now you are bribing me in order to have me dine with you?”

“Why not?”

Trembling, she finally marched to him. His brows lifted. She snatched the glass from his hand, spilling whiskey on them both. He seemed amused, which only angered her even further. Flushing, she cried tersely, “I will not be bribed. If you want to behave like a common drunk, then so be it. I know you are grieving for Elizabeth, but your grief does not entitle you to this bout of self-destruction, not when your children are in this house.”

“I am not grieving for Elizabeth,” he said flatly.

She knew she had misheard. “I beg your pardon?”

His face had become dark with anger again. “I hardly knew her. She was a stranger. I am sorry she is deceased, as my sons adored her. And she certainly did not deserve to die at the age of twenty-seven. But let us cease all pretense. I am not grieving for her.”

Was it true, then, what the nurse had said? That the marriage had been troubled?

He was staring. “You seem so surprised.”

She did not know what to say to him now. Finally, “Perhaps you are not being entirely honest with yourself. She was gracious, elegant, beautiful—”

He laughed harshly then, interrupting her. “I am being entirely honest, Amelia.”

She hesitated because he was so obviously anguished. She did not know what to believe or think. “This is a terrible time,” she finally said. “How can I help?”

He slowly smiled, and his dark eyes smoldered. Suddenly he brushed some hair from her face, and his fingertips fluttered over her jaw and cheek. Desire fisted and Amelia froze.

Very seductively, he said, “I need you, Amelia. I have always needed you.”

For one more moment, she could not move. The urge to go into his arms was overwhelming. Simon needed her. She believed that.

“And somehow,” he said, slowly reaching for her, “I think that you need me, too.” His hand closed over her wrist.

In another moment, if she did not defy him, he would pull her into his embrace! He was poised to do so—and he was watching her so carefully. Amelia braced against him but did not move away. There was no denying the wild attraction that she still felt for him.

But it didn’t matter. She must never allow him any liberties again! Still, the panic she had felt earlier was far less intense now.

“Isn’t that why you are here? To comfort me?” He leaned closer, still holding her arm.

Amelia felt as if she were in a whirlwind of mixed emotions—confusion, fear, panic, but also a fierce, complicated desire.

“Please let me go,” she whispered, and tears arose. She wasn’t sure what they signified.

He started, and released her.

She managed, “I am here to help if I can, but not in the way that you suggest.”

He shook his head. “I did not think so.” Then he walked past her to the sofa and collapsed upon it.

Amelia realized she was trembling, taut with tension and desire. She closed her eyes, seeking some small degree of composure.

And then she took a breath and opened her eyes. Simon hadn’t moved.

He lay on his back, one arm over his head, and she realized that he had fallen into a deep, drunken stupor.

Amelia stared, shaken to the core of her being. A long moment passed. Then she found a throw and covered him with it.

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