"Thank you so much for being so kind," Mrs. Murdock cried. "Could you possibly call on us?"

Amelia slowly faced her. The nurse was in a state. Tears filled her eyes. She missed her mistress, Amelia thought, and she was afraid of Grenville. And how would Grenville manage? Even if his marriage had been strained, surely he was grieving now. She had seen the anguish in his eyes. "I am at Greystone Manor, a half hour's ride away if astride. If I can be of further help, send a groom with a message."

Mrs. Murdock thanked her profusely.

It was time to leave. Picking up her coat, Amelia went to the boys' rooms to say goodbye, and to promise to visit soon. At least they seemed to have forgotten their grief for the moment, she thought, watching them play with the tiny soldiers. But she was very disturbed as she went down the corridor. She almost wished that she had never had such a conversation with Mrs. Murdock.

As she started downstairs, her tension spiraled impossibly. She did not know where Grenville was. Hopefully he was with his guests and she would slip out of his house unnoticed. They day had been far too trying. She was not up to exchanging greetings now.

She hurried past the second landing, which she believed housed his apartments. Her tension had increased. It was foolish, but she almost seemed to feel his presence, nearby.

As she started down the last flight of stairs, she realized that someone was coming up them. It was a man, his head down, and she recognized him before he looked up and saw her.

She faltered. Her heart slammed.

Grenville halted three or four steps below her, glancing up.

Instantly his gaze locked with hers.

Dread began. How could this be happening? And she knew that her dismay was written all over her face; she wondered if he could hear her thundering heartbeat. But his expression was impossible to read. If he was surprised to see her, she could not tell. And if he was consumed with grief, it was not obvious. His face was a mask of dispa.s.sion.

And they were alone on the stairs. She felt trapped.

But then, strangely, his eyes began to gleam.

Her panic intensified. "Good afternoon, my lord. I am so sorry for your loss." She tried to smile politely and failed. "What a terrible tragedy! Lady Grenville was a kind and gracious woman. She was far too young to pa.s.s this way, leaving behind such beautiful children!" Was she speaking in a nervous rush? It seemed that way. "I hope to help, in any way that I can!" she added desperately.

His dark gaze never shifted from her face. "h.e.l.lo, Amelia."

She froze. She had not expected such an informal-and intimate-form of address. It was highly inappropriate for him to call her Amelia. But he had called her by her given name all summer long....

"I hadn't expected to see you here." His tone remained flat and calm.

She could not breathe properly. "I would never fail to attend Lady Grenville's funeral."

"Of course not." His gaze slipped to her mouth. Amelia realized what he was doing and she was shocked. Then he looked directly at her hands.

She had yet to don her gloves. Instinctively, she hugged her coat to her chest, hiding her hands. Had he been remarking her lack of rings? Surely he hadn't been searching for a wedding band. But why else would he look at her hands? "I had better go. Lucas must be waiting." And without considering the fact that he was a rather large man, and it would not be easy to pa.s.s by him, she impulsively started down the stairs. She had to escape him.

But Grenville grasped the railing, blocking her way. Amelia crashed into the barrier provided by his strong arm.

Incapable of breathing normally, Amelia looked from his velvet-clad arm, locked against her waist, to his hand, which firmly gripped the banister. He was barring her way. Then she slowly looked up into his eyes.

"What were you doing upstairs in my house?" he asked without emotion. But his gaze was unwavering upon her face.

She wanted him to remove his arm-for now, she was actually trapped. She stared into his dark eyes. "I put your daughter to sleep. She is very beautiful," she said tersely, wishing she dared to look away.

His mouth finally seemed to soften. His gaze lowered. Thick, black lashes fanned against his high cheekbones. Amelia could feel him thinking, carefully, deliberately. But he did not move and he did not release the railing. He finally said, "You still babble when you are nervous."

Her heart kept thundering. What kind of comment was that? She finally managed, "You are blocking my way."

He looked up, still using his arm as a barrier to prevent her from going downstairs. "I beg your pardon." Finally, almost reluctantly, he released the banister. But he did not move aside. His body took up most of the s.p.a.ce of the stairwell.

Amelia didn't move. She wanted to go, she truly did, but she felt so paralyzed. "I hope I am not intruding. Mrs. Murdock seemed to need my help."

"I am making you nervous."

She trembled. What could she say when he was right? "It has been a very trying day-for everyone!"

"Yes, it has been a very trying day for us all." His regard flickered, but it still remained unwavering upon her. "I see that you remain as kind and compa.s.sionate as ever."

That was another odd statement to make, she thought nervously. It was as if he remembered her very well. "Mrs. Murdock was so very attached to Lady Grenville. She is distraught. And the boys were distraught. They are playing in their rooms now."

"Then I am grateful." His gaze narrowed. "Mrs. Murdock?"

"The nurse," she cried, realizing he hadn't had a clue as to whom she was discussing.

"Ah, yes, Elizabeth's hire..."

His tone seemed wry and she could not get a sense as to what he was thinking or feeling now. He had even looked away. His words seemed to hang upon the air. Did he want to talk about his wife? He probably needed to talk about her. She wanted to flee, but how could she? He had been so very upset in the church.

He suddenly said, "She is afraid of me."

Amelia inhaled, realizing that he was referring to the nurse. "Yes, I think she is."

He glanced directly at her and their gazes met.

"That will change," Amelia managed, "I am sure of it."

"Yes, you would be certain."

Was he amused by her optimism? "Now that you will be in residence, she will become accustomed to you," Amelia said quickly. When his eyes widened, she flushed. "I met Lady Grenville. And I meant it when I said I am so sorry. She was so gracious and so beautiful!"

His stare had sharpened. His mouth seemed hard. "Yes, I suppose she was very beautiful."

And Amelia realized he had spoken reluctantly, as if he had no wish to praise or discuss his deceased wife. Had Mrs. Murdock been right? Surely he was grieving for Elizabeth! "She invited me for tea. It was a lovely afternoon."

"I am sure it was."

And Amelia realized that she knew him well enough to know that he did not mean his words. Feeling helpless and very confused, she stared back. They had had an unhappy marriage, she somehow thought.

"I am truly sorry," she whispered, at a loss. "If there is anything I can do to help you now, in such a difficult time, you must ask." She felt her heart lurch. His stare had become unnerving.

"You haven't changed at all."

She could not comprehend him. His wife was dead. It was Elizabeth they must discuss.

"You rescued the babe, and perhaps even the nurse. Now you wish to comfort me in my time of grief." His eyes flickered oddly. "In spite of the past."

Her heart slammed. They must never discuss the past! How could he even raise it? "We are neighbors," she cried, fl.u.s.tered. And surely he had noticed that she was ten years older now. "I must go! Garrett, my driver, is surely waiting. I must prepare supper!" Knowing she sounded as frantic as she felt, she started forward but he grasped the banister and blocked her way again.

"I am not trying to frighten you, Amelia."

The pressure of his arm against her ribs was unnerving. "What are you doing? You cannot call me Amelia!"

"I am curious.... It has been a long time, yet here you are. You could have decided not to attend my wife's service."

She did not know what to do-she wanted to flee! He was obviously determined to remind her of the past-and it was so dishonorable to do so. She was acutely aware of him. "Of course I would attend Lady Grenville's service. I really must go, Grenville."

He released the banister, watching her carefully.

Feeling almost like a mouse in a lion's den, she hesitated. Then she blurted, "And you should visit the boys-they wish to see you-and your daughter."

His closed expression never changed. "Will you meddle in my personal affairs?"

Had she been meddling? "Of course not."

His stare was oddly watchful. "I do not think I mind very much if you do."

His tone was wry, but was it also suggestive? She froze, debating telling him that she was merely being a good neighbor.

He added, so softly she had to strain to hear, "You aren't wearing a ring."

She had been right. He had looked at her hands earlier for a sign of whether she was married or not. But why would he do such a thing?

He made a harsh, mirthless sound. As he reached into the interior pocket of his brown-velvet jacket, removing a silver flask, his gaze moved slowly over her features, one by one. Amelia was rigid. His look was somehow suggestive. "You are being kind and I am being rude. Barring your way. Asking impertinent questions. Failing to offer you a proper drink." He took a draught from the flask. "The lady and the beast." He smiled slowly. "Would you care to have a drink, Amelia? Would you care to have a drink...with me?"

The panic returned, full-blown. What was he doing? She was certain he was not inebriated. "I cannot have a drink with you," she gasped.

His mouth curled. He tipped the flask again, taking a longer draught this time. "Somehow, I did not think you would join me."

She inhaled. "I do not imbibe in the afternoon."

And suddenly he smiled with some humor. "So you do imbibe?"

Her heart slammed and raced. He had one dimple on his right cheek, and she had forgotten how devastatingly good-looking and seductive he was when he smiled. "I take a brandy before bed," she said, sharply and defensively.

His smile vanished.

She was afraid of what he might be thinking. "It helps me to sleep," she added quickly.

Those thick lashes had lowered again. He put the silver flask back into his pocket. "You remain sensible and direct. Intelligent and bold. You haven't changed." He spoke reflectively, staring down at the steps he stood upon. "I, on the other hand, have become an entirely different person."

Couldn't he see that ten years had changed her-making her a wiser, stronger and older woman?

He finally looked up, his gaze bland. "Thank you for coming today. I am sure Elizabeth appreciates it-G.o.d rest her blessed soul." He nodded curtly. Then, before she could move, he brushed past her up the stairs and was gone.

Amelia collapsed against the wall. She began to shake. What had just happened?

She realized she was straining to hear his footsteps above her, fading away.

Amelia seized the banister for support and rushed downstairs, fleeing Simon Grenville.

CHAPTER THREE.

AMELIA STARED UP at her night-darkened ceiling.

She lay on her back, unmoving. Her temples throbbed. She had a terrible migraine, and her entire body was stiff with tension.

What was she going to do?

She had replayed her encounter with Grenville over and over in her mind, his dark, handsome image engraved there. He hadn't forgotten her. And he had made it very clear that he hadn't forgotten their affair, either.

Despair claimed her.

She closed her eyes tightly. She had left two windows slightly ajar, as she loved the tangy ocean air, and both shutters were gently rapping on the walls. The tide was high at night, and there was always a stiff breeze. But the melodic sound was not soothing.

She had been so unnerved during their encounter. It made no sense, none at all. Worse, she was still unnerved.

Did she dare consider the possibility that she still found him darkly attractive, and dangerously seductive?

How could she have ever imagined, even for a moment, that he would have become fat and gray and unrecognizable?

She almost laughed, but without mirth. Amelia opened her eyes, her fists clenched. She did not know what to do! But she did know that he had to be grieving. Lady Grenville had been an extraordinary woman, and he could not be indifferent to her death. Hadn't she seen his anguish upon first meeting him, when he had just arrived at St. Just Hall? And there had been no mistaking it when he had rushed from the chapel, before the funeral service was even over.

And what about his poor, motherless children?

When she had left, the baby had been soundly asleep and the boys had been playing. She knew that there would be stark moments of grief still. But they were children. The little girl hadn't ever known her mother, and the boys would eventually adjust, as children were wont to do.

But the next few days and weeks would be difficult for them-for everyone.

Of course she wanted to help, if she could. But did she want to help Grenville?

Grenville's smoldering gaze was in her mind. Was he even now alone in his apartments, grieving openly for Elizabeth?

She had the inappropriate urge to reach out to him, and somehow offer him condolences, or even comfort.

Oh, what was wrong with her! He had betrayed her! She must not allow herself any attraction at all. He did not deserve her concern or her compa.s.sion!

But she was compa.s.sionate by nature. And she did not believe in grudges.

She had buried the past long ago. She had moved on.