"Number seven. A single woman can take her pleasure with a man without
running the risk of losing his companionship. Since there is no expectation of marriage on
either side, neither party is disappointed when the interlude is concluded, and the man and
woman may remain on friendly terms.”
Amelia certainly hoped so. She liked being able to talk to Craven. He gave her a much
different perspective than Clare, her mother, and all her other female friends. He didn’t
condescend to her like many men did; on the contrary, he made her feel important. Amelia
prayed there would be no awkwardness between them. Even if he had seen her without a
stitch of clothing.
She wasn’t precisely embarrassed about what they had done; but then, she supposed
she might feel differently if they had been caught. Just remembering his large, warm
hands on her bare skin made Amelia shiver delightfully; thinking of the wicked things he
said as he explored her body make her cheeks hot. But his expertise in this area was a
chilling reminder that women, as a whole, were nothing but playthings to him, amusing
objects to be tossed aside when they became tiresome.
A throat cleared, and Amelia looked up, expecting to see a servant. Instead, Craven
stood hesitantly in the far doorway.
“May I?” he respectfully asked, gesturing toward the library.
“Of course,” said Amelia, feeling her face flush as she quickly snapped her journal
shut. He looked devastatingly handsome today. His buff-colored breeches were topped
with a jacket of dark blue, and Amelia couldn’t help but admire the panther-like quality of
his narrow hips as he sauntered toward her.
“Winnie said I might find you here,” he began. “Oh,” he said, suddenly producing a
thick-stemmed, red flower, “this is for you.”
“Thank you,” said Amelia, oddly touched, even though she had the same exact
Amaryllis in her bedchamber. She scooted over on the window seat cushion and made
room for Craven to sit. He eased himself cautiously onto the bench, apparently unsure
what to do with all the pillows that surrounded him.
“How are you feeling today?” he asked.
Heavenly, alive, like nothing in my life will ever be the same again. “Fine,” she said,
striving for an airy tone, “why wouldn’t I be?”
“I’ve been thinking about this most of the night,” he said softly, “and there are a few
things I need to tell you.”
Well, he certainly didn’t waste any time getting to the point. Amelia schooled her
features and prepared for the barrage of excuses and apologies that would equate to her
send-off. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected this, but she thought she might bask in the
glow just a bit longer.
“I am leaving for Town tomorrow,” he said. That she hadn’t expected. Something
about her literally drove men away.
He raked a hand through his mahogany hair and explained. “I need to take care of this
matter with my half-brother, and work things out with my mother.” He cleared his throat
and admitted, “I was very angry with her, and I said some… unkind things.”
Amelia nodded and absently twirled the stem in her fingers. “She will understand. I
hope that you can resolve things with Adam.” She smiled wistfully. “I always wished for
a sibling. Is it possible that Adam just wanted to meet you? That he just wants to be your
brother?”
Craven laughed. “That is the difference between us. You assume the best about
people, and I assume the worst.” He took her hand and kissed her lightly on the knuckles.
“I guess in Adam’s case, only time will tell.”
“However,” Craven said more seriously, “my familial troubles are not the most
important issue we have to discuss.”
Now it was coming. She might as well save him the trouble. “Craven,” she said,
“you don’t have to worry about my feelings.”
“What?” From his incredulous expression, she could see that she had caught him off
guard. Good.
“I don’t expect anything from you. In fact,” she said earnestly, “I don’t even want
anything from you.”
His sinfully beautiful mouth hung open in astonishment.
“Except,” she added, “your friendship.” She silently congratulated herself; she had
sounded very convincing and not at all emotional, which she assumed was the typical
response to being cast off mere hours after one’s first sexual experience. At least she had
preserved her dignity; she had not let him voice the words.
“I don’t want your friendship,” Craven said firmly.
“But…”
“No. Listen, I came here to tell you that I intend to court you. Properly.”
“And you think the best way to do that is to remove yourself to London?”
“Of course not, it’s just that I need to…”
This was insane. Craven did not woo women anymore than flowers wooed
honeybees. Clearly, he was feeling guilty about their encounter last evening and was trying
to appease his conscience by telling himself that he cared for Amelia. As more than a
friend. Or, perhaps he thought to avoid the usual female hysterics associated with his
abrupt departure by giving her some futile hope to cling to. Either way, Amelia was not
gullible enough to believe it.
“…I need to straighten out this mess with Adam, and find out what he really wants.
Then, my little nymph,” – he cupped her cheek in his hand – “I will devote my full
attention to you.”
Part of her – the extremely foolish and naïve part – wanted to believe him, but the
intelligent and rational part of her recalled the scrap of paper lying between the pages of her
journal. “Craven, I appreciate what you are trying to do – truly, I do – but the flower, the
sweet words… they aren’t necessary.” She placed her palm over the back of his hand. I
will remain your friend no matter what.”
He clenched his jaw, and Amelia couldn’t imagine what she had done to anger him. On
the contrary, she was making this inordinately easy for him.
“You will not be my friend,” he ground out. “You are different from the other women
that I…” He struggled to find the words he wanted, which was so very unlike him. “You,”
he said sincerely, are very special to me. In time, you will see that we belong together.”
Craven was becoming uncharacteristically agitated, and Amelia had no wish to prolong
the conversation. “Fine,” she said in a soothing tone, “if that is the case, then I presume
we shall see each other again.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Someday.”
“May I call on you once you return to London?” he asked with absurd formality.
She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”
Craven cradled the back of her head with his hand and whispered seductively in her
ear. “Oh, and Amelia,” he breathed, “what I did to you in the greenhouse last night – the
way I touched you and made you moan with pleasure – that’s not something that friends
do.” His breath lingered on her neck, moist and warm. “Neither,” he said more forcefully,
“is this."
He then proceeded to demonstrate precisely how friends do not kiss.
running the risk of losing his companionship. Since there is no expectation of marriage on
either side, neither party is disappointed when the interlude is concluded, and the man and
woman may remain on friendly terms.”
Amelia certainly hoped so. She liked being able to talk to Craven. He gave her a much
different perspective than Clare, her mother, and all her other female friends. He didn’t
condescend to her like many men did; on the contrary, he made her feel important. Amelia
prayed there would be no awkwardness between them. Even if he had seen her without a
stitch of clothing.
She wasn’t precisely embarrassed about what they had done; but then, she supposed
she might feel differently if they had been caught. Just remembering his large, warm
hands on her bare skin made Amelia shiver delightfully; thinking of the wicked things he
said as he explored her body make her cheeks hot. But his expertise in this area was a
chilling reminder that women, as a whole, were nothing but playthings to him, amusing
objects to be tossed aside when they became tiresome.
A throat cleared, and Amelia looked up, expecting to see a servant. Instead, Craven
stood hesitantly in the far doorway.
“May I?” he respectfully asked, gesturing toward the library.
“Of course,” said Amelia, feeling her face flush as she quickly snapped her journal
shut. He looked devastatingly handsome today. His buff-colored breeches were topped
with a jacket of dark blue, and Amelia couldn’t help but admire the panther-like quality of
his narrow hips as he sauntered toward her.
“Winnie said I might find you here,” he began. “Oh,” he said, suddenly producing a
thick-stemmed, red flower, “this is for you.”
“Thank you,” said Amelia, oddly touched, even though she had the same exact
Amaryllis in her bedchamber. She scooted over on the window seat cushion and made
room for Craven to sit. He eased himself cautiously onto the bench, apparently unsure
what to do with all the pillows that surrounded him.
“How are you feeling today?” he asked.
Heavenly, alive, like nothing in my life will ever be the same again. “Fine,” she said,
striving for an airy tone, “why wouldn’t I be?”
“I’ve been thinking about this most of the night,” he said softly, “and there are a few
things I need to tell you.”
Well, he certainly didn’t waste any time getting to the point. Amelia schooled her
features and prepared for the barrage of excuses and apologies that would equate to her
send-off. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected this, but she thought she might bask in the
glow just a bit longer.
“I am leaving for Town tomorrow,” he said. That she hadn’t expected. Something
about her literally drove men away.
He raked a hand through his mahogany hair and explained. “I need to take care of this
matter with my half-brother, and work things out with my mother.” He cleared his throat
and admitted, “I was very angry with her, and I said some… unkind things.”
Amelia nodded and absently twirled the stem in her fingers. “She will understand. I
hope that you can resolve things with Adam.” She smiled wistfully. “I always wished for
a sibling. Is it possible that Adam just wanted to meet you? That he just wants to be your
brother?”
Craven laughed. “That is the difference between us. You assume the best about
people, and I assume the worst.” He took her hand and kissed her lightly on the knuckles.
“I guess in Adam’s case, only time will tell.”
“However,” Craven said more seriously, “my familial troubles are not the most
important issue we have to discuss.”
Now it was coming. She might as well save him the trouble. “Craven,” she said,
“you don’t have to worry about my feelings.”
“What?” From his incredulous expression, she could see that she had caught him off
guard. Good.
“I don’t expect anything from you. In fact,” she said earnestly, “I don’t even want
anything from you.”
His sinfully beautiful mouth hung open in astonishment.
“Except,” she added, “your friendship.” She silently congratulated herself; she had
sounded very convincing and not at all emotional, which she assumed was the typical
response to being cast off mere hours after one’s first sexual experience. At least she had
preserved her dignity; she had not let him voice the words.
“I don’t want your friendship,” Craven said firmly.
“But…”
“No. Listen, I came here to tell you that I intend to court you. Properly.”
“And you think the best way to do that is to remove yourself to London?”
“Of course not, it’s just that I need to…”
This was insane. Craven did not woo women anymore than flowers wooed
honeybees. Clearly, he was feeling guilty about their encounter last evening and was trying
to appease his conscience by telling himself that he cared for Amelia. As more than a
friend. Or, perhaps he thought to avoid the usual female hysterics associated with his
abrupt departure by giving her some futile hope to cling to. Either way, Amelia was not
gullible enough to believe it.
“…I need to straighten out this mess with Adam, and find out what he really wants.
Then, my little nymph,” – he cupped her cheek in his hand – “I will devote my full
attention to you.”
Part of her – the extremely foolish and naïve part – wanted to believe him, but the
intelligent and rational part of her recalled the scrap of paper lying between the pages of her
journal. “Craven, I appreciate what you are trying to do – truly, I do – but the flower, the
sweet words… they aren’t necessary.” She placed her palm over the back of his hand. I
will remain your friend no matter what.”
He clenched his jaw, and Amelia couldn’t imagine what she had done to anger him. On
the contrary, she was making this inordinately easy for him.
“You will not be my friend,” he ground out. “You are different from the other women
that I…” He struggled to find the words he wanted, which was so very unlike him. “You,”
he said sincerely, are very special to me. In time, you will see that we belong together.”
Craven was becoming uncharacteristically agitated, and Amelia had no wish to prolong
the conversation. “Fine,” she said in a soothing tone, “if that is the case, then I presume
we shall see each other again.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Someday.”
“May I call on you once you return to London?” he asked with absurd formality.
She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”
Craven cradled the back of her head with his hand and whispered seductively in her
ear. “Oh, and Amelia,” he breathed, “what I did to you in the greenhouse last night – the
way I touched you and made you moan with pleasure – that’s not something that friends
do.” His breath lingered on her neck, moist and warm. “Neither,” he said more forcefully,
“is this."
He then proceeded to demonstrate precisely how friends do not kiss.
Excerpt Midnight Promises
