"Only what is necessary," he retorted, slowly turning to face her. The silver eyes held a hint of regret, but the alabaster features were set in lines that prevented any argument. "Shall we return to William?"
Amelia wanted to protest. This man fascinated her like no other. He touched her heart and stirred her passions. He invaded her soul like a conqueror of old. And yet, she knew nothing of him.
He asked for her trust, yet did not offer his own.
With a frustrated sigh she placed her fingers on his arm and allowed him to lead her from the room. She knew enough of men to realize she could not force his confidences. Until he was prepared to lower his guard and share his secrets she could do no more than stew in silence.
Walking through the shadowed hall, Amelia stewed.
Chapter Eight
The sound from the garden was faint, but distinct enough to wrench Amelia from her light sleep. With a groan she pulled the covers over her head and willed herself to return to the decidedly pleasant dream that included Sebastian St. Ives. For once there was not a nagging, strange Gypsy in sight and she intended to enjoy the fantasy.
It was, of course, a hopeless task.
She had no more than closed her eyes when the muffled squeak once again floated through the air. Aggravated beyond bearing, Amelia tossed aside the covers and stumbled from the bed.
Just one night, she grumbled beneath her breath. Just one night she desired to sleep through until morning.
Pulling on her robe, she left the darkened bedchamber and made her way downstairs. More out of habit than concern, she dodged the squeaking steps and the perilous tables as she made her way to the kitchen. Once there, she readily pulled open the door and stepped into the thick night air.
Almost absently, she sensed that it was closer to dawn than dusk, although the inky darkness still clung tenaciously. Dark enough to make her pause as she listened carefully for the noise that had awakened her.
Could it be Sebastian? Although she did not have the familiar feeling of awareness that usually warned of his presence, he had made it obvious he intended to keep a close watch upon the house. A startling, comforting knowledge for a maiden who had been determined to forge a life of independence.
A faint smile touched her lips. She hoped it was he. She would not protest another romantic interlude in the garden, with or without the moon. The magic that had flowed through her blood like honey had nothing to do with gods of the moon. It had been a bewitchment created by Sebastian alone.
Unfortunately, it was more than likely William's cat prowling through the lane. Her smile faded.
Well, on this occasion she vowed not to leave the safety of the garden. The wretched stray would not lead her a merry chase on this night.
Reaching the edge of the garden, Amelia was careful to keep herself hidden behind a large elm tree as she peered into the lane.
At first the gloom seemed impossibly deep. With no moonlight, the darkness was near complete. But then, strangely, her eyes seemed to adjust to the shadows, almost as if the blackness were being filtered to gray. Astonishing.
Within a few moments, however, her astonishment shifted to an icy apprehensiveness. Just across the narrow lane she could vaguely make out the shape of a large man bent over an object on the ground.
Her hands frantically pressed against her lips, stilling the instinctive scream. Against her will, she was brutally thrust back to that horrid night when she had witnessed the shadow as it hovered over the body of that poor woman.
Was this the man who had committed the ghastly murder? Had he struck once again?
The mere thought was enough to freeze her very blood.
She had to flee, a cowardly voice whispered in the back of her mind. She had to make it back to the house before she was missed. But even as the thoughts were running through her mind, a low moan echoed through the silent air.
Dear heavens, whoever was upon the ground was still alive! And clearly in pain.
How could she possibly leave? Someone was in danger. Perhaps even now dying. If she left she would have their death upon her conscience.
Paralyzed between stark fear and the need to try to save the wounded soul, Amelia was unprepared when the crouching shape fluidly straightened, and then began to walk straight toward the tree where she was hidden.
He could not see her; she vaguely attempted to stem the raw burst of terror. She was safely concealed by the shadows. But against all logic, the looming figure paced toward her relentlessly until she felt a cold prickle crawl over her skin.
"Good evening, Miss Hadwell," a familiar, mocking voice cut through the thick silence. "You might a well come out and make your curtsy. I have been waiting for you."
Her heart wrenched to a halt as she stepped out warily, her knees so weak she knew it was useless to attempt to flee.
"Mr. Ramone," she breathed in dread.