Shall We Dance? (26 page)

“Oh…” she said as something seemed to flower inside her, as an even greater heat washed over her, as she was vaguely aware that Perry was moving over her, his hand leaving her and a new pressure taking its place.

His breath was hot against her ear, the weight of his body welcome against her burning skin. She felt his hands on her thighs as he urged her to lift her legs, wrap them around him, as she had wrapped her arms around him, as she raked her nails over his tight, rippling muscles…as he filled her.

“Not like this, Amelia. I swear it, never before like this. Now, Amelia,” he said, his voice rasping against her ear. “Together, Amelia. Together…”

She held on as he thrust deeply inside her, moving faster and faster as she desperately tried to match his rhythm…as suddenly she could, she did…and when he cried out it was only a moment after she had done so….

 

P
ERRY WATCHED
the gray light of dawn slipping into the chamber and silently cursed the end of night.

Amelia had already retreated across the wide mattress in her sleep, curling in on herself as if in anticipation of the reaction she would have if she woke to find him still there.

She'd clung to him last night after they'd made love, but she hadn't wanted to talk to him, which he had considered fortunate, because he hadn't the slightest idea what either of them could say.

He shouldn't have done it; shouldn't have come
to her, shouldn't have kissed her, shouldn't have…shouldn't have…

He reached over and touched her hair, stroked an errant lock away from her face.

Amelia Fredericks, orphan.

Amelia Fredericks, future Queen of England.

Amelia Fredericks…his now and forever, or his never again. His curse was low and directed entirely at his stupidity, his arrogance, his unforgivable behavior.

He had never before realized the degree to which fear could destroy his honor as a gentleman.

How love could devastate.

With a last look at Amelia, he carefully turned back the covers and slipped from the bed, intent on dressing himself and being gone from the chamber before she awakened and he saw the shock in her eyes…that shared knowledge that what they'd done, no matter how achingly important at the time, had been accomplished only through the loss of her innocence.

And he couldn't even go to the queen, ask for Amelia's hand and make everything all right, not until he knew Amelia's true heritage. Because, rather than be happy for Amelia, the queen might be horrified to learn that the heir had been compromised.

Perry clenched his hands into fists. Weren't things complicated enough, without him barging in here, frantic with love, to make everything even worse?

He was dressed in mere minutes, his shirt and waistcoat only partially buttoned, his neck cloth loosely hung around his neck, and was about to pick up his evening
coat—the one with the sleeve partially ripped at the shoulder thanks to the tight tailoring of the cloth and his haste in shedding it—when he noticed the book on the bedside table.

Memoirs of Her Late Royal Highness Charlotte Augusta.

He picked up the book, opening it to the illustration of the princess, seeing what Amelia had seen. There was little physical resemblance between them.

He paged further. The memoir had been published here in Paternoster Row, in 1818, a hastily assembled collection including facsimiles of Charlotte's handwriting and specimens of her compositions, poetry and music.

Walking toward the windows and the growing light filtering through a gap in the draperies, Perry paged further, looked at a sample of music signed with the princess's own hand.

There were scraps of ribbon tucked between several of the pages, most certainly put there by Amelia.

Pulled in by his own curiosity, he sat down on a delicate slipper chair and began to page and read, page and read.

Concerning the marriage between the Prince of Wales and Princess Caroline of Brunswick:

A communication from His Royal Highness to the wife he'd banished:

And more:

Perry read with horrified fascination the lengthy letter Caroline had written to her husband, a copy of which she'd had delivered to the newspapers so that all of England could read of her distress, begging permission to see her own daughter, a permission, he read further, that was denied.

His attention was caught by a description of the manner in which Caroline at last left England:

No wonder his uncle knew about the case; it would appear the entire world knew. No wonder the entire world was now curious about the secrets that case might hold.

But Perry's heart, that part of him he'd never before paid any particular attention to, was most touched as he read lines purported to have been spoken to Princess Charlotte by the Prince of Saxe-Coburg on the day of their marriage:

“Beautiful, isn't it? And then he lost her and his child,” Amelia said from behind him, and Perry turned in some shock, to see her standing there, dressed once more in her night rail, her soft auburn hair a tangle around her face and shoulders. He looked at her, but she refused to meet his gaze.

Perhaps it was better that he was still here, that she understand that he hadn't just taken, that he
wanted
to be here. With her.

She held out her hands and he put the book in them.

She turned the pages, lifted the last bit of ribbon and read:

Perry shook his head. “Her daughter, her grandson. I can't imagine her grief.”

“I can,” Amelia said, her voice hard, “because I was there. Do you know she asked to be present when the princess was brought to childbed, that she'd asked to be allowed back to England the moment she learned that the princess was pregnant? That the princess begged to have her mother with her? But her request was not granted. Her Majesty is convinced things would have gone very differently if she had been allowed to be with her own child. I hate him, Perry. I know I shouldn't say that, but I really, really loathe our new king.”

Perry got to his feet, took the book from her hands, then drew her into his arms. “I'm so sorry, Amelia. I don't know how I have never realized the depth of the king's meanness. Can't we persuade the queen to leave England before the trial? There's nothing for her here.”

Amelia rubbed her cheek against his shirt. “Only her hatred for her royal husband. That's here, Perry. She wants one victory over him, just one, that he has to see the crown placed on her head at the coronation, that he
has to acknowledge her as his queen consort. Is that so terrible?”

“It is if that hoped-for revenge kills her, if it destroys those around her,” Perry said, leading Amelia over to the bed. He shouldn't say anything; this wasn't the time. But then, when would the time be right? “I saw that you marked the page telling of the queen's adoption of William Austin.”

Amelia smiled at him, a sad smile that tore at his heart. “Yes, William. The two of us, silly dreamers. I told you about that. But he's gone now, always taking himself off somewhere, while I…while I…”

“While you stay. Because you love her, because she has no one else to love her.”

A single tear slid down Amelia's cheek, and she tried to smile. “Never forget my silly dream, Perry. My silly, childish dream. To me, the queen has always taken the place of my mother.”

“Yes,” Perry said, retrieving his evening coat and tossing it onto the bed. He had to say the words. “Amelia, what if it's true?”

“What if what is true? Oh! Don't be silly. It was William everyone thought was…I mean, there was that Delicate Investigation or whatever it was called, trying to prove that William is proof of the queen's adultery. No one has ever thought to question
my
birth…I mean, that would be…”

“Damning evidence, yes,” Perry said, then said the rest, “unless it could be proved that you were not the product of the queen's adultery.”

“That I was not—I don't understand.”

Perry raked his fingers through his hair. “I don't, either. But…but if it could be proved, if information could be found…”

Amelia's gaze immediately went to the bedside table, to the locked cabinet that made up its base. Perry, at least a part of him, wished he were not quite so observant. “No,” she said, returning her gaze to him. “No, that's impossible. Ludicrous. It was a child's dream, Perry, but even a child's fanciful dream didn't include a royal father.”

But Perry continued to push. “The queen lived in seclusion in Blackheath for years after she was banished. He could have visited her there. He had only the one heir, and we know he's fathered at least two royal bastard sons. Perhaps his father wanted another royal heir, in the chance something happened to Princess Charlotte. A male heir. The late king held the purse strings, remember. He could have demanded his son do his royal duty.”

“Sons. Kings always want sons.”

“Yes, but would Caroline carry another heir, just to have it taken from her as Princess Charlotte had been? Or would she hide it, keep the child her own secret, especially once the king, her father-in-law, her only protector, had gone mad yet again?”

She pressed her hands to her ears. “Stop it! Stop it! I don't want to listen to this! I can't listen to this!”

He placed his hands over hers, drew them down to her lap. “And I don't want to say it, sweetings. But don't we need to know? If it can be proved, then Caroline is undisputed queen, and you are the Princess of Wales.
The entire succession changes. The Tories will lose their power, the Whigs will take it.
Everything
would change.”

Her expression went frighteningly blank for a moment, then hardened. “And when did you begin to wonder about all of this, Perry? Please, tell me. Before or after you sneaked in here and seduced me? Before you made a fool of me, allowed me to make a fool of myself? Did your uncle send you here to ruin me, just in case I might be the heir? Has that been the point all along?”

“Amelia, no! Last night wasn't supposed to happen.”

She slid past him, off the bed, and dragged on her dressing gown. “Oh, I should say not! It was one thing to romance the plain little orphan girl to learn the queen's secrets. But to take her to bed, simply on the off chance she might be the queen's brat—bastard or otherwise? How very lowering for you, My Lord, and how base, how conniving, to think that bedding me would somehow give you power. Whigs, Tories. The queen's right. Bastards, all of you! Get out, Perry. Just get out.”

Perry picked up his evening coat, then slammed it to the floor. “Stop it! Curse me, Amelia, because I deserve it. But don't belittle yourself. I've wanted to make love with you almost since the moment I first saw you, and if that damns me to hell, then I'll go. Gladly. I admitted that my uncle sent me here, but you have to know that after that first stupid lie, I've never lied to you again. I would never lie to you again.”

Amelia dropped her chin to her chest, then looked up at him through wet, spiky eyelashes. “Go, Perry. Please.”

“I can't, Amelia. The idea of you being the heir was not mine, and if one person has thought it, more can be thinking it. Friends of the queen, and her enemies. Hell and damnation, Amelia, that miserable tin case is even mentioned in that damn book over there! It's like some perverse treasure hunt, and it won't stop until the treasure—all the queen's secrets—are found. We have to know, one way or the other.
You
have to know.”

“And you think that the answers are all in the queen's private papers? But your uncle is with the Tories. He wouldn't want it proved that I'm…that I could be…”

Perry sighed, shrugged. “I don't know what my uncle wants, pet. I do know he sent me here. He said he wanted me to find evidence
against
the queen, but I'm learning to never believe my uncle completely. I'm convinced now that he didn't direct me to you simply because he thought you convenient. He has his own questions about your birth, I'm sure of it. And there are others, one who has already found his way into the queen's household.”

“Who?”

“Nestor. I found him in the box room with a hammer last night, ready to break open the queen's traveling trunk. He's convinced evidence exists that would prove you the heir. He's Henry Brougham's man, Amelia. He says he's not, but he does admit he's worked under the man for the past five years.”

Amelia drew her dressing gown around her more tightly. “I saw him, too, the other day. It's why I brought the case to the queen, hoping she'd allow me to give it to you, for safekeeping.” She lifted her hands, laced her fingers together tightly. “I don't know whom to trust.”