Regency Surrender: Passion And Rebellion. Louise Allen

slept last night, and spent most of the day before weeping, she must look a fright. Had she even brushed her hair? She raised a shaky hand to her head and confirmed her suspicion that she had not, when they met with a riot of tangled curls.

      She let her hand drop to her lap where she clenched it into an impotent fist. She should have told Fenella to make him wait while she tidied herself up. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how low he’d managed to bring her.

      For the second time in her life.

      But it was too late to do so much as reach for a comb. There was a scuffling sound from just outside the door, then it swung open and Nathan slid in sideways, his movements hampered by a huge, square package done up in brown paper.

      A package that was the exact size of the portrait.

      She shot to her feet. ‘Is that what I think it is?’

      He propped up the package against the wall to the right of the door before looking her way. He seemed tense, but defiant, turning his hat round and round in his hands.

      ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me,’ he began.

      ‘Never mind all that.’ She made a dismissive gesture with her hand as she strode across to what might be her portrait.

      ‘I was hoping you would want to keep it,’ he said. ‘So I took the chance that it might be my ticket in to see you.’

      She shot him just one suspiciously wary glance before tearing at the wrapping with her fingers to find out exactly what it was he’d brought with him. Who knew what kind of trick he might be trying to play on her? She cursed under her breath when she broke a fingernail. Where were the scissors when she needed them?

      ‘Here,’ he said, handing her a pocketknife.

      She took it from him with an indefinable noise, halfway between the words thank you and a snarl, and severed the string.

      It was the picture. Of her. Half-naked and looking at the artist as though she wanted to devour him.

      With a shiver, she twitched the slashed wrappings back in place, then dragged the whole thing across the room and tucked it safely behind a sofa.

      ‘You may be able to hide that away,’ he observed, ‘but you can’t hide from what has passed between us this past month.’

      ‘Can you blame me for wanting to?’

      ‘Not if this was just some tawdry affair, no. But it is so much more. I’ve asked you to marry me, Amy—’

      ‘And I have said no.’

      ‘You said it when you were angry with me for discovering what an idiot I’d been before.’ The corners of his mouth tilted into a rueful, yet hopeful smile. ‘I was hoping your temper might have cooled somewhat since then.’

      ‘Oh, I’m perfectly cool today,’ she assured him haughtily. ‘You might say, to the point of chilliness. Why, towards you, I feel...positively frigid.’

      ‘Do you, though?’

      He tossed the hat aside, strode across the room, hauled her into his arms and kissed her.

      And even though she was still furious with him, especially since he had the nerve to try smiling at her, her body melted into him the moment he took her in his arms. Her own arms went round his neck. Her foolish lips parted for his and kissed him back. Only her pride stood apart, shaking its head in reproof.

      ‘You want me, Amy,’ he breathed, breaking their kiss. ‘Even though I’m no good, you want me. Don’t pretend you don’t. Don’t be a liar. That kind of behaviour is beneath you.’

      ‘Who are you to tell me how to behave?’ Injured pride had her pulling out of his arms. She managed to take two steps away from him, spied her chair and took another two steps, so that she’d put it between her and him.

      ‘The man who loves you,’ he said.

      ‘Oh, don’t start that again. You never loved me. You couldn’t have.’

      ‘Are you saying that because of the way I behaved, or because you believe there is something in you that makes you unworthy of love?’

      ‘What?’ She flinched. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

      His eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, I think you do. I think you know exactly what I mean. I recognise that aspect of you, Amy, because I have it, deeply ingrained in me, too. Like me, I think you’ve always had to try to prove yourself to parents who expect more from you than you are capable of being. Who want you to be someone you will never be. And I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to learn that, since we parted, you’ve carried on living the kind of life where people around you always measure you by a different set of standards from those that matter to you.’

      She gasped and pressed one hand to her chest. It was as if he’d looked right into her soul and divined every last one of her secrets.

      So she had no choice but to fight back. She reached for the cruellest weapon she had at her disposal.

      ‘You said it yourself, Nathan,’ she sneered. ‘You are no good. I can’t depend on a single word you say. You made me fall in love with you, then decided I wasn’t good enough. And now you talk about marriage, when all the world has seen what a dreadful husband you can be...’

      ‘I’ve already told you it wasn’t because you weren’t good enough! I confessed my darkest shame to you. You know why I spurned you, Amy, so don’t give me that excuse...’ He stalked up to the chair, stopping only when his knees touched the upholstered cushions. She gripped the back, but he was so close it scarcely formed a barrier between them at all now.

      ‘And as for being a dreadful husband—I’ll tell you about my first marriage, shall I? How I fell into it because I’d ceased caring what happened to me? There was great gaping hole in my future, a void where my dreams of being your husband had once been. My father was telling me that I had exhibited poor judgement and that it was better to let him organise my life. And I believed him. I thought I’d made a terrible error of judgement by falling for you. I had only two things left: a chance to redeem myself with my father, of making him proud of me by going along with his plans, and a burning desire to wound you the way you wounded me. Marrying Lucasta achieved both those ends. She was the perfect weapon. To prove to you that I didn’t care. To show you that I would rather marry a girl with a pedigree, and a fortune, than one with a pretty face.’

      Amethyst flinched. She’d known it. She’d known he’d done his utmost to wound her. That he wasn’t the kind to turn the other cheek.

      Any more than she was. Hadn’t she just said the very worst thing she could think of, with intent to wound him?

      ‘Father had chosen Lucasta for me because she was intelligent and ambitious, and of course well connected. He’d picked the same kind of wife for each of my brothers. Women who would be a help to them rising through the ranks, in whatever career they’d chosen. He matched Freddy to the daughter of an archbishop, the moment he chose to take holy orders. And Berty got the granddaughter of both an earl and a general when he joined the army. The only difference was that others had decided I ought to go into politics, rather than me showing any inclination for it. But nobody thought it would matter. Unlike any other profession, a man doesn’t need any aptitude to have a successful career in politics. He only needs the right connections.

      ‘The terrible irony of it all was that initially I fell in with my father’s scheme, because I thought he was showing faith in me. But it was the very opposite. He was putting his faith in Lucasta. He thought she would make me a success, no matter how inept I was. She was the one with all the ambition. She wanted me to reach the top by fair means or foul, whereas I...’

      Something he said came back to her. ‘You wanted to make a difference.’

      He snorted in derision. ‘She just wanted me to vote the way I was told. She was furious when she discovered I wasn’t the shambling, indolent wastrel my father had persuaded