I waited until I saw the monumental form of my half-brother disappearing in the thick English fog before approaching the house. I had no desire for him to see me and have second thoughts about his decision. Excitement mounted in me as I climbed the steps of the Georgian mansion, fingering the silver key in my pocket. I opened the door and slid into the house. Into her house.
I leaded against the door and savored the moment.
Amelia was mine for a whole week.
None of this would have happened if she hadn't gotten pregnant. I had been devastated when I found out. Children were complicated things. Then my imbecilic brother decided he absolutely need to attend that weeklong conference in London. If she had married me, I would never have left her side for anything, let alone something as unimportant as 16th density temples. At least Radcliffe understood that she was much too delicate (not that the darling, stubborn girl would admit it) to travel in her condition. It went without saying that a regular doctor or companion would not be able to sufficiently restrain and entertain her. Radcliff may loath and despise me, but he trusted be to protect her more than anyone else. I had the woman who had (quite unintentionally) stolen my heart in my power for seven entire days.
I looked down the dark hallway. The servants would not be up for several hours. A warm, flickering light caught my eye. On a long side table a candle burnt. Curiosity aroused, I moved toward it. A folded sheet of white paper lay next to it. I picked up, not bothering to remove my damp gloves, and unfolded it. Inside were two sentences.
She was up late last night and will be tired.
Take care of her.
-R.E.
I stared at my half-brothers thick, heavy handed, scrawl, trying to avoid thinking about what activities they had been pursuing last night. It was insane for me to be jealous, but then love was insanity by definition. I had been handed what I desired more than anything in the world, by the person who most loathed to give it to me. She was mine now, for a short while at least, and that was all that mattered. Replacing the letter on the table, I discarded my top hat, gloves and overcoat and made my way through the entry hall. I opened the last door on the right and proceeded up the staircase. I knew the dark house well, better than any stranger should. I arrived at Amelia's door and quietly pushed it open.
The moonlight spilled into the room, illuminating a large Georgian bed. My breath caught in my throat as I drew closer on silent feet. The only noise in the room was her soft, even breathing. Finally I stood next to the bed, gazing down upon my beloved. Amelia lay on her side, one of her slim lily-white hands cupped around the visible protrusion. Most of her hair was wound into a long braid that lay like a dark shining rope across the pillow. A few strands rested haphazardly against her face, which was relaxed to a point that I had never seen. Her lashes lay against her cheeks like raven feathers. The room was too dark to make out the exact tone of her lips, the delicate flush of her cheeks, but I knew both shades well enough. The ruffles of her nightgown concealed the tantalizing line of her throat, obstructing my view. Slowly, deliberately, I reached out and, with more care that I used when handling the most fragile and valuable antiques, brushed a strand of hair away from her face. She murmured sleepily and turned into the pillow. I felt a smile split my face, unable to repress my utter delight.
I knew I should not, but before I was aware of what I was doing, before I could stop myself, I crossed around the bed and lay down next to her, fully clothed. She seemed to sense my presence, or feel the bed shift, because she moved close to me, and instinctually rested her head against my shoulder. My smile grew and I retrieved one of her hands, interlaced my fingers with her own. This was going to be a magnificent week.