"Grenville, you could awe no one just now."

"This is truly intriguing. I look at you and I see glimpses of that trusting, sweet girl-but then I find myself facing a sharp-tongued harridan."

She flushed. "Insult me if it makes you feel better! But I do not want to discuss the past."

"Why not? It is there, looming between us, as if an elephant in this chamber."

"What happened is over, and I have forgotten all about it."

"Liar." She started in dismay as he added softly, "You are the one who came here uninvited, into my rooms, seeking to rescue me.... A man who did not know you as well would draw but one conclusion."

She knew her face flamed. He said, "Do you wish to pick up where we left off?"

She cried out, close to marching over to him and striking him. "You know me better than that! How can you be so rude when you know I have come here to help?"

"Yes, I do know you well.... You are meddling out of kindness. The other day it was rather endearing. Today, however, I cannot decide if I mind or not."

"Someone has to meddle, Grenville-you are hardly a bachelor, free to indulge yourself. You have a family to think of. You have duties toward them."

"Ah, yes, duty-a subject of which you are inordinately fond. Who better to lecture me? Do you still take care of your mother exclusively? Julianne was far too preoccupied with her books and lectures, if I recall, to be of any help."

"She is my mother. Of course I take care of her. And Julianne is married now to the Earl of Bedford."

He started. "Little Julianne married Dominic Paget?"

"Yes, she did. And they have a child."

He smiled and shook his head. "Well, your mother is a n.o.ble cause, to be sure-but time pa.s.ses swiftly, Amelia, and you remain unwed."

She crossed her arms defensively. "I am very content." She did not know how they had gotten onto such a personal topic. "Your children need you. And that is why I am here. That is the only reason I am here."

His smile was filled with skepticism. "I think you are here for several reasons." He sipped from his gla.s.s. "I think that you are a woman of compa.s.sion, and you currently harbor a great deal of compa.s.sion for me."

He wasn't as foxed as she had thought. "You are grieving. You have lost your wife. Of course I feel sympathy for you. You have not seen your children since the funeral. It is time to sober up, Grenville."

His lashes lowered and she could feel him thinking. "Send up for supper. I will stop drinking if you join me." And he smiled at her. "I am enjoying your company, Amelia."

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 s.n.a.t.c.hed the gla.s.s 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 ent.i.tle 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 pa.s.sed. Then she found a throw and covered him with it.

CHAPTER FOUR.

AMELIA HESITATED, POISED to go up the front steps of St. Just Hall.

It was the next afternoon, and the sun was trying to break through the overcast skies. Small buds had appeared on the tall black trees surrounding the house. Even the lawns seemed to be turning a bit green. Spring was on its way, but she was not cheered.

She had not been able to sleep at all last night. That terrible encounter with Grenville had replayed over and over in her mind. His image had haunted her, at times mocking, at times anguished, and so terribly seductive.

He was grieving and angry, and an attraction still raged between them. She did not know what to do.

She had gone to visit the children after leaving him sleeping in his rooms. The boys had been thrilled to see her, but she had instantly noticed how out-of-sorts they were. John had broken a china horse model and showed no remorse. William had scribbled blackly in one of his schoolbooks. The boys had been smiling and happy to see her, but she knew they were suffering over the loss of their mother and that their misbehavior was a cry for help.

She had gone to visit the little girl, too. Mrs. Murdock had been out, which had been a relief of sorts, and a housemaid had allowed her to hold and feed the infant. Afterward, she had thought about checking upon Grenville. Instead, she had decided that the wisest course of action was to flee his house.

But she had worried about him and his children ever since.

"I will give the mare water, miss," the groom said, interrupting her thoughts.

Amelia half turned. A stableman had taken hold of the mare in the traces of the curricle she had used to drive over. She thanked him, summoned up her courage-no easy task-and started up the steps to the house.

Was she afraid of him? She was far more nervous now than she had been yesterday. Or was it her own reaction to him that frightened her?

In any case, she prayed he was doing better that day. She hoped, fervently, that she had imagined the attraction that had arisen between them yesterday. And if she had not, she must fight her own feelings.

A wiser woman would have stayed away, she thought, knocking nervously on the front door. But he had been so devastated yesterday. Ignoring his pain was simply impossible.

A liveried doorman allowed her inside, and a moment later, Lloyd had entered the front hall. Amelia smiled brightly and falsely at him as she removed her coat. "Good afternoon. I was hoping to call upon his lordship." Their gazes met and held. She continued to sound cheerful. "Is he up and about today?"

"He has just come downstairs," Lloyd said. "But he was very adamant, Miss Greystone, he is not receiving callers today."

Her relief was instantaneous and huge. Grenville had come out of his rooms! She was so thankful. Surely she did not need to seek him out, if that was the case. She could simply return home-that would be so much safer than actually calling upon him! "Then I should go. But first, how are the children?"

Lloyd's eyes flickered with concern. "Lord William seems very distraught today, Miss Greystone. This morning he locked himself in his rooms, and it took Signor Barelli several hours to convince him to come out."

Her relief vanished. She would expect such behavior of John, not his older brother. "And where was his lordship at the time?"

"He had yet to come down, Miss Greystone. I do not believe he has been told of the incident."

Her tension spiraled. "But he has seen the children since coming down?"

Lloyd shook his head. "I do not believe he has seen the children since the funeral, Miss Greystone."

Amelia stared at him, appalled. Then, "How is he?"

Lloyd lowered his voice. "I do not believe he is feeling very well today."

And she knew she could not leave yet. "Where is he?"

Lloyd was alarmed. "He is dining, Miss Greystone, but he was very specific-"

"I will manage his lordship," she said, hurrying into the corridor. Determination filled her. He was probably suffering from the effects of his binge. Well, no matter how poorly he felt, it was time for him to step up and be a father to his children.

If she remembered correctly, the dining chamber was a vast room paneled in dark wood with a timbered ceiling, several oil paintings on the walls and a long oak table with two dozen stately burgundy-velvet chairs. Two ebony doors guarded the chamber. Both were closed. A liveried servant stood outside the doors, as still and unblinking as a statue. Amelia did not hesitate and she did not knock. She pushed open both doors and stepped over the threshold.

Grenville sat at the head of the long table at the other end of the room, facing the doors. The table was set beautifully with linen and crystal for one. Tall white candles formed a centerpiece. He was eating, seeming preoccupied, when she barged inside.

He looked up; she halted. Staring from across the great room, he laid his utensils down.

Amelia hesitated, then turned and closed the doors. The ensuing conversation should probably remain private. She hoped that cornering him now was not a huge mistake.

Turning, she was aware of some dread-was she baiting the lion yet again in his den? It certainly felt that way. She started grimly forward, straining to make out his expression.

Grenville continued to stare as she approached. Only a short distance separated them when he finally laid a gold cloth napkin on the table and stood up. "You could not stay away, I see." He did not smile.

She paused when two chairs separated them, grasping the back of one. He did not look well. He had shaved, but there were shadows under his bloodshot eyes. He was pale, in spite of his olive complexion. He was impeccably dressed in a navy blue coat, his shirt frothing lace at the throat and cuffs, his breeches fawn, his stockings white. But his hair had been pulled carelessly back into a queue. He looked as if he had spent a very long night carousing, which, for all intents and purposes, he had. "I remain concerned about the children."

"But your concern does not extend to me?"

She decided to ignore the taunt. "Are you feeling better today?"

"I feel exactly the way I look-like h.e.l.l."

She bit back a smile. "One must pay the piper," she said tartly.

"Hmm, I think you are pleased to see me suffering so."

"You could hardly think that you would escape the consequences of such a binge unscathed?" She lifted her brows. "But I am not pleased if you are feeling ill."

"I do not believe," he said slowly, his gaze unwavering upon her face, "that I was thinking at all."

A silence fell. No, he had not been thinking, he had been feeling-he had been angry and grief-stricken. He had also been very, very suggestive. Amelia glanced away, finally breaking the stare they shared.

He gestured at the chair she was grasping. Amelia saw the gesture from the corner of her eye and shook her head, glancing at him again. "I am not staying long."

"Ah, yes, your mother awaits."

She tensed. Had there been mockery in his tone? But clearly, he remembered their encounter.

Abruptly, he said, "Why are you here...Amelia?"

Her heart lurched. He did not sound pleased. "I told you, I wish to make certain the children are well. And, yes, some concern extends to you."

"I am touched."

She stared closely at him, but if he was mocking her now, she could not tell. His expression was hard.

"I was just thinking about you," he said, staring down at the edge of the table. Then he looked up, his gaze dark. "I was thinking about the encounter we shared last night."

There was so much tension, of course there was. Amelia waited, uncertain of where he meant to go.

His gaze held hers. "My recollection is patchy. But I believe I owe you an apology."