Scarlett Meadows, Month 1899
With a shawl over her shoulders and a bottle of scotch tucked underneath her arm, Amelia made her way to the stables with both care and haste. It had been so long since Amelia had given herself some time alone, time away from numbers, from the business, from anything her head decided to focus on regardless of whether it cost her both sleep and appetite.
She knew exactly what she needed, some quiet time with the bottle. A place of warmth and safety amongst some company that wouldn't give her derivatives or opinions. Horses were the most wonderful confidants for that. Trustful, honest, and compassionate. Everything she needed in a listener right now.
Any other sane person was sure to have journals or some such form of working through their whirling thoughts. Not Amelia, though. She wanted the company but without that look of worry or pity, or god forbid, another suggestion. She needed a good night's sleep, increasingly aware of the dark circles underneath her eyes, how her skin was thinning around her mouth and how her hair was lacklustre.
However, sleep was a privilege that would not be gifted to her. Not until she purged her mind of all these racing thoughts.
When she arrived at the stable door, there was no sign of life outside. Even when she opened it quietly enough not to disturb any horses inside, those who were still awake lifted their muzzles in greeting. Their hot breath filled the air as it steamed from their nostrils, visible even in the dim.
The scent of leather and hay filled the air around her as she opened the door with a tentative push. She prayed that Talako wasn't still working or worse - drunk and snoring away in the haystacks. The soft snort from the horses and their slight rustles gave her the positive confirmation that she was indeed the only other person there. It gave her a calming notion, with a sort of emotional nourishment as she closed the stable door behind her softly, smiling at the creatures.
Looking at them, Amelia thought of them in the way she always imagined a mother to look upon their children. Or how they should at the very least. She walked surreptitiously across the wooden floor, popping the cork of the bottle with her teeth, whilst she chuckled to herself.
Was this to be her evening? Drinking and thinking about her parents and the ways that they should have been kind to her, thinking about all the things she would do differently as a parent?
No, she thought resolutely. She was here for some peace and quiet.
With only one lantern lit up near the stalls, its light cast shadows against the wooden walls, making them stand out almost like blackened bones. As comforting as she found the stables, like some sort of recluse, she knew it would not be enough to settle her mind.
So instead of climbing into bed, taking off her shoes before slipping under the covers, Amelia chose something more familiar than either pillow or blankets. Taking a large swing from the glass neck, Amelia was almost amused by her thoughts. This was the reason for her constant busyness, the reason she never gave herself a moment to think damn straight, as all her mind knew was to revert to her childlike ways. To hide herself and tuck herself away in the only thoughts she ever knew.
And yet, that was the complete and utter irony of it all. How she longed to run away from her own mind and find some refuge in a place that did not exist. Yet the further she tried to run within herself, she found herself locked in the exact same time and place. A place she had escaped so many years ago and yet never truly seemed to be free from.
Going to the first horse on her left, she was not going to start divulging her thoughts just yet.
'Ssshhhh…' she cooed, reaching for the horse's muzzle, rubbing it softly and closing up against the pen. Claudio, the latest stallion - a dark brown thoroughbred - tucked his head around her shoulder, nestling in and making quite a fuss of her.
Amelia had always had a way with horses, or most animals for that matter, if she was honest. It was the only time she felt unbridled; not having to hide behind either guise or etiquette. All they gave her was unwavering loyalty, trust, and care.
Looking up at the thoroughbred, the sadness hit her rather unexpectedly. The gentleness she could see in his dark eyes was something she could never repay to the animal.
She swallowed the guilt down - quite literally with another large gulp of the brown liquor. Thankfully, the majority of the horses were resting or sleeping, and she didn't feel the need to disturb them. Making the way to the back of the stable with her clammy hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle, she took a few more swigs before she reached the stack of hay she had been fantasising about all day.
It smelled like dust and old grasses which clung to every strand of straw. It reminded Amelia of summers past when she would spend hours playing games by herself, running across the estate grounds barefoot like some street urchin. Her dress, her hair, all a mess and covered in all manner of blood sucking critters.
It never mattered to her, of course, how she would dance around the tree trunks, how she would see just quite how long she could spin for before finding herself sick and dizzy. She would play with twigs and poke at the fallen logs with them or perhaps even use them to tie her hair away from her face as she skipped over the molehills and followed the butterflies until they climbed so high into the sky she could no longer see them.
Of course, it was never long before one of the servants found her, their distant cries as they dragged her by the wrist back to the house, only for her mother to force her into a bath so scolding hot she would bite the inside of her lip in an attempt to not cry as the maids scrubbed her raw with pity in their eyes.
It was a house filled with pearls, bearskins, and fear. A veneer of standing that only meant anything to those on the outside and not a damn thing to the child that lived amongst the walls.
Needless to say, the wildness was soon knocked out of her, but the longing remained. A controlled poise would envelop all the things her heart yearned for, an exterior of steel as she grit her teeth, said the words, curtsied to old men, and used all of her knives and forks in the right order at supper.
It was all in preparation for becoming someone else. Someone that she hoped might make the world better somehow. Somebody that would stop the madness, fix the wrongs of society.
Just for tonight. She thought to herself. A moment away from everything and most importantly from the facade she had spent years cultivating and mastering. Just for tonight, I will be free.
As she lay there staring up at the stars that peeked between the cracks of the boards above, Amelia realised that nothing had really changed. There was still no escaping the suffocating feeling of being trapped beneath the surface. Even with all that she had done and accomplished, the woman she was allowed to be would still never be enough, and she feared it never would be. There was always more to do, more to accomplish, and certainly more to prove.
Settling back into the haystack with all the pokes and scratches she expected to feel in her evening shift, Amelia settled into the warmth, looking on at the sea of black eyes and the soft snores of her horses. Another few gulps later, eyes warm and the unrelenting comfort that she finally felt, her mind wandered.
Distant memories of a life so far behind her, she almost felt as though she had dreamt it. Another time, another life. If she allowed herself, she could recall it all in perfect detail, yet even the scotch wouldn't let her mind drift quite that far. It was although she watched ghosts dance around, to play out like a show in the theatre. She could almost feel it in flashes of darkness. The roar of her name, the thwack of a fist in her back…
Not now, Amelia forced herself to think, the drink catching up with her a lot quicker than she intended. This was supposed to be her night - a time for relaxation - not a time for her mind to trail off into the darkness she spent years pushing back from.
She looked up between the cracks of the stable roof, to where the moon sat low, hanging over the world like some sort of all-seeing eye. The brightness was almost mocking as it watched down like a silvery god, all knowing and powerful. She sipped at the dark liquid again, the mere vapours stinging her eye as she braced her stomach for the oncoming assault that liquor would often cause on an empty stomach.
Licking her lips, she may as well have tilted her head back and poured the whole damn bottle down her throat. The haunting sound of footsteps, the familiar slam of the door…
She jolted up. Blinking into the darkness, willing away the ghosts of her memory. She was sure there was something there behind the veil. Enough to make her stomach lurch and her veins turn to both fire and ice at the same time.
Amelia couldn't hear much beyond the beating of her own heart, creating a thunderous sound throughout her body. Amelia couldn't tell whether it was her memories, the drink, the darkness, or a combination of all of it.
Her skin prickled, making her feel as though every hair on her body became a needle. She felt as though the air itself was ready to strike with all the sharpness of a dagger.
Claudio stirred at the far end of the stable and she knew whatever she heard was real.
Blinking without a second thought, she took the bottleneck in her hand. Not in a manner that one would consume the contents - in a way that was ready to use - if she needed it.
It was hard to discern exactly what she saw, liquor or not. The shadows seemed to jump and lurch before her as she tried to concentrate on one thing, on anything.
Scrunching her eyes, she opened them again, seeing nothing and everything at the same time as the world remained silent and dead around her.
Perhaps it was just her imagination after all, or the nighttime breeze causing a door or shutter to knock against something. Straining her eyes, the shadow formed.
Amelia sat up straight, her grip tightening even more. There was someone there.
In an attempt to even her breath, the only thing should think of was the men. Those men. The men who had come for her horses.
Without daring to move, she knew what this meant for her. The outlaws, the gangs, the very worst of society, and here she was, alone, drunk, and in her smocks.
She was convinced they could hear the pacing of her heart in her throat, the smell of blood from prey to a predator. The shadow took a shape. The shape of a man.
All she could do was freeze, like some kind of possum, quiet and dead to the night and anything that crept around her. As the footsteps on the wooden floor sounded louder, she almost vomited without a single wretch.
Trying to shuffle to the side, she knew Talako usually kept a firearm behind the hay for both security and practicality. However, her arms were too short to reach behind her and she didn't dare do anything too rash to give away her presence.
Her nose was filled with earthy sweat and leather. But there was more, something underneath all of it; something sweet and familiar, something comforting and distant all at once.
'Miss Edwards?' A voice called, low and deep.
She couldn't even speak. It was although she was trapped in those god awful dreams, between life and death where the spirit world attempted to claim her.
'Ma'am?' He called again.
She tried to make out the silhouette all dressed in black, a holster, and a wide-brimmed hat. She was steadfast.
'Miss Edwards?' He said again, appearing to step closer.
It was only then, as he came closer and took off his leather hat, that she saw the outline of his face. There were very few times Amelia could truly say that she had lost her mind with relief, but this was one of them.
'My god,' she gasped, exhaling the long held breath, and she almost felt herself bursting into tears. What on earth was he playing at? 'I thought… Jesus Christ, Mr Morgan!' She hissed.
He said nothing but walked closer to her.
'You alright, ma'am?' He said in a hushed voice as he looked her up and down.
Suddenly aware of her lack of decorum with her night shift, liquor and hiding in hay, this must have been all rather concerning indeed.
'Honestly! What the fuck are you doing? Sneaking into my stables?!' Now as the adrenaline of fear wore off, it merged into somethiìng else. It was something blinding - something she was happy to waste a twenty-year-old bottle of scotch on - as she thought about wrapping it around his head.
The two stood facing each other in silence for a while, the wind blowing softly through the broken boards. He held up his hands in defence, stopping in his tracks.
'I just…' With a sigh and pushed back his hair, barely looking at her in the dark confines.
'What's happened?' She snapped, although not meaning to.
'It's urm…' He began, standing there, his hand lingering with his hat at his side. 'It's been a long night...' His eyes dipped to the floor and suddenly Amelia felt rather ashamed of herself. Clearly, the man was in some disarray.
'Work.' He said finally, meeting her gaze.
Breathing deeply through her nostrils, Amelia unclenched her jaw, folding her head back onto the hay behind her. With a small chuckle, out of her stupidness rather than anything to do with Mr Morgan, she stretched out her arm with the bottle in hand.
'Sounds like you need this as much as I do.' Looking back towards him, he eyed her curiously.
Covertly, she pulled the shawl back over her shoulders.
'You ain't wrong there,' he said, taking her offer. 'May I?' He nodded to the space of hay next to her as she nodded and smiled.
'Unfortunately, Mr Morgan,' she began, fishing for her cigarettes in her nightgown, 'you haven't caught me at my best.'
She was hoping for some rhetoric, something polite perhaps. However, if by now she was still expecting anything from Mr Morgan, she was deeply mistaken. He took a few swigs and handed the bottle back to her.
Passing him a cigarette, he took one cordially, pulling out his matches and lighting it on the bottom of his boot and offering her the flame.
For several moments, the smoke hung between them, in place like a tombstone, there wasn't a single soul around, apart from themselves.
Amelia sighed as she flicked the match away, letting it fall to the ground. As the embers died, she noticed that his expression softened, the corners of his mouth turned upwards slightly, even in the darkness.
He sat close enough to her that she could smell the scent of musk and cedar, a smell she was growing increasingly familiar with. Yet there was something that corrupted it, something acrid and burnt like a campfire.
Amelia frowned and looked up to meet his stare. For a moment, she swore that he stared right through her. Her breathing faltered under the heat of his eyes as she wondered if she had imagined it all.
'You out here by yourself?' He questioned, looking at her from the corner of his eyes and he slumped his elbows to his knees.
'Yes,' she whispered meekly, hardly wanting a lecture and feeling acutely bashful and how she must look. She was tired, angry, upset, and after the last moments, at quite a tipping point.
'Well, if you ain't in the mood for talkin',' he held out his hand, gesturing with his gloved fingers for the bottle, 'that suits me just fine.'
Handing him the liquor, which was disappearing at some rate, they both seemed as equally tense as one another.
She didn't think it was proper to ask about his night, and he was hardly a prying man, either. They could drink in silence for all Amelia cared. However, she didn't want to do it in awkwardness. The alcohol had given her enough confidence to at least offer some kind of olive branch.
'My business… It's… I've done everything. Everything.' shaking her head, Amelia took another drag of her cigarette. 'And yet still, they try to take it all from me. Leave me with nothing. Leave my staff with nothing. Throw us to the dirt to exploit more and more…' She trailed off, feeling her words catch in her throat.
In his usual characteristic manner, Mr Morgan said no words, letting the silence sit thickly between them.
Aside from the odd huffing of the horse nearby and their own heavy breathing, the world appeared so silent. So dead.
Amelia felt the urge to be near to him, to feel the warmth of his body beside hers, some form of comfort in his no doubt warm embrace. Yet she remained still, letting out a heavy sigh as she clung to her shawl, gripping it at her chest like a child with their favourite blanket as they climbed into their bed.
'I don't know what to do.' Amelia said simply, sad and realising just how small she felt. How small she always felt in the world of those who wanted to dictate the fate of others.
She was so utterly powerless, everything she had strived for, a life she so desperately wanted to give everyone and anyone who deserved it. She had fought, played the game of chess, stood against the South, paid her dues, and yet none of it mattered.
Slumping almost into herself, she passed the bottle back to Mr Morgan. The ends of their cigarettes lit up a small space around them. Perhaps this wasn't the wisest place to partake in fire and alcohol.
'Well, I don't know much about business,' he said, his deep voice rumbling through her, 'but I know you don't let greedy folks take what ain't theirs.'
He scratched at his knee with his thumb, as if removing a small piece of dirt.
'You almost sound as though you are speaking from experience, Mr Morgan,' she said, unable to find the courage to look up at his face. Instead, she focused on her hands clasped together tightly.
He let out a small chuckle, nodding thoughtfully.
'Yeah, somethin' like that, I guess,' he said, taking a swig of the liquor. He reached forward to stub out his cigarette on the ground.
'I feel like such a fool,' Amelia said, her voice brittle as she felt the tears steam in her eyes as her throat gave a stiff ache with the promise of all the emotions that could spill free from her at any given moment. 'I really thought I could be something different... someone who made a difference.'
'Ain't no shame in trying, ma'am,' he said to her softly, passing the bottle back to her.
Sitting up straight, he turned to her slightly, resting his elbow on his thigh as he ran his hand through his hair.
'What do you wanna do?' he said, his eyes staring at her intently as the question forced her heart to hammer in her chest.
She opened her mouth as if to say something, but her tongue became dry in an instant, unsure how to respond. It was as though all the breath had been squeezed from her. She was sure Mr Morgan could hear her heart thumping underneath her ribcage and her mind spun at the question. Like a featherless bird trying desperately to stay aloft, she felt lightheaded as her hands tingled with a sort of expectation.
Amelia was not unaware of the way he would look at her, the soft smiles and looks that lasted longer than they would have done in polite company. Whether all of that was for her, or whether he was like that with most women, was another matter entirely.
She could convince herself that perhaps it was her imagination, that perhaps, like most other things, she gave it more thought than was truly warranted. Yet there was something that whispered at the back of her mind that told her otherwise, that told her that maybe, just maybe, it was something else.
Her cheeks flushed, knowing the thoughts she was having as she realised how long she must have been quiet for.
'I'm not sure I know what you mean,' she managed to choke from herself, her eyes dropping to the floor, anything to avoid that darn oceanic gaze.
'There's always choices, ma'am, and you've got this far,' he said, turning back towards the darkness in front of them. 'I'm sure you'll figure it out.'
'I just… I don't know,' and that was true. Should she sell the assets or at least give those contracted to her some sort of life? God; contracted. The sentiment was beyond ironic. She kept them as legal slaves. Yes, there were dividends, yes there were doctors and dentists and even schooling, but she was still their Mistress.
Amelia closed her eyes and took a big gulp of the liquor, savouring every swallow before handing the bottle back to Mr Morgan.
She tried to focus, to see past her own selfish desires of saving the people working under her, to the reality of what she would leave behind, and none of it seemed like a decent prospect.
'I've entrenched myself so deep now, I do not even know where…' filled with melancholy, she returned to her smoking, taking the bottle back from Arthurs's hand without courtesy or politeness. 'All I ever wanted was to be fair.'
Mr Morgan grunted, taking the bottle back for himself with little candour and taking a large gulp of liquor himself.
They drank in silence, Amelia watching the flames dance across the end of her cigarette and wondering exactly what she did want. Yet as the alcohol settled, there was only one thing in that moment she truly wanted.
She gripped the edge of the haystack with her hands, leaning forward as her mind swayed from the scotch as she tried to focus on the end of her boots in an attempt to rid herself of her unshakeable desire.
'How is your arm?' She said, still gripping to the edge as she turned her face across her shoulder, her cheek nestling in the lace of her shawl.
Mr Morgan tilted his head, rotating the wounded arm ever so slightly.
'Had worse,' he said, offering a small smile. 'But it ain't bled again, thanks to you.'
Amelia swallowed hard, forcing a nervous laugh as she shook her head, pushing down her feelings, willing them to go away. She couldn't allow herself to get lost in the moment.
He handed the scotch back to her, and she took it earnestly, anything to help ease her tension, although as she looked at the bottle, with just over half left, she feared anymore may cause her to do or say something imprudent.
'Do you ever feel like running away, Mr Morgan?' She slurred ever so slightly, bemused by her surprising amount of composure in her speech. 'To just take your horse and ride?'
He was silent for a moment. Stubbing her smoke out on the glass bottle, she threw the end and took another sip.
'All the damn time.' He said.
There was a sadness in his voice. It was so subtle, but it was there nevertheless. She had never heard him be anything other than a straight-talking man, but something in his words made her soften to him all the more.
'Where do you think you would go?' she said gently, as she felt her composure dropping all the more.
He turned to her with a cynical expression, his eyes narrow as though he was trying to catch her in some sort of lie, but then tempered, finding refuge in the bottle once more.
'I dunno. Somewhere new, I guess. Somewhere wild.'
They sat there for some time, wrapped up in each other's thoughts, passing the bottle and cigarettes silently between them. There was no awkwardness, however, just silence. Perhaps Arthur Morgan was the drinking companion she was looking for, after all.
'And you, ma'am?' he said after some time.
She sighed, pondering the question. She always wanted to return home, but that was hardly ever an option anymore, nor had it been for many years.
'Somewhere free, I suppose,' she said, swirling the liquor in the bottle, watching the ripples crash against the inside of the glass. The soft night air blew through the stables, and other than a few sounds from the horses, the night was perfectly still. Almost peaceful.
Arthurs nodded slowly, seeming to understand completely as he stared up at the ceiling above him.
'Why did you come here, Mr Morgan?' Amelia's voice was low, almost a whisper, but in the midnight air, it sounded so incredibly loud to her ears.
'Needed to lie low for an hour or two. The estate was close by. Figured I'd sneak in, sneak out.' He brushed his hand down his jeans as he leant back to look at her.
She could not say that she was particularly pleased with his answer. Was he in some sort of trouble? If she was being more honest with herself, she was hoping for something different. For what, however, she wouldn't dare say.
He was a difficult man to read at the best of times, and she was sure any other man in his position would already be having their way with her on the haystack. Perhaps she was pining, after all, hoping for something that was simply not there.
Yet as she looked on at him, she could tell there was something on his mind, something that troubled him that he wore like a mask across his face, etching itself into his features.
She wished she knew enough to ask him what it was, to probe deeper and learn the reason for whatever turmoil raged within him. It was as though she was watching a storm brew on the horizon, a distant rumble of thunder emanating from him.
'Do I need to be concerned?' She asked, realising it had been some moments since she spoke.
'No, ma'am.'
'Very well then. As long as it's nothing nefarious.' Amelia said with a small smirk, as he continued to stare out into the shadows, his eyebrows low and tense. 'Besides,' she said, 'please call me Amelia.'
He turned to look at her slowly, the most curious expression on his face as though he was a doctor studying some new disease, almost a sense of fascination replacing the desolation she had seen only moments ago.
'Very well,' he said, offering the bottle back to her, which she took without hesitation. 'Amelia.'
She beamed towards him, the sound of her name falling from his lips like a promise of better things, things that only a man like him could provide her.
As she tilted her head back, she expected the scotch to come gushing towards her and little did. As she pulled it away from her mouth, she saw how little was left in it.
Letting out a small giggle, she passed the bottle back to Mr Morgan, who too chuckled at the bottle, shaking his head slightly and finished it in one.
A small hiccup interrupted her thoughts and Mr Morgan, rather un-gentlemanly, chuckled.
'It's not funny,' Amelia protested, her hand covering her mouth as another hic left her mouth, although she too struggled to contain her laughter.
Mr Morgan's mouth had twisted into a smirk as he began to laugh, truly laugh, at the sound. She hadn't released it before, but she had never heard him laugh before and it was earthy and rich, and a sound she never wanted to forget.
She would have felt embarrassed, yet the scotch aided her amusement as she tried her best to stifle the involuntary sounds.
'Well,' Arthur began, and the laughter died away, 'if your plan was to get drunk'n wake half the estate up, I'd wager you've succeeded.'
Amelia grinned to herself, for he wasn't wrong.
'It's been a very bizarre evening, I must admit.'
Their laughter died off, but their impish smiles still toyed at the corner of their lips, as Amelia relaxed her breath, her eyes closing every so slightly with the promise of sleep.
'They do say laughter is the best medicine,' she said, tucking her shawl tightly around her as the spasms in her ribcage seemed to have truly abated.
'So I've heard,' he said with a nod, 'well, now I've drunk you out scotch, Amelia,' he took his hat and stood in front of her with his hand outstretched, 'best see you off safely.'
She knew he was right, but was annoyed that her unexpected visitor was to leave so soon. Not that she was entirely sure what she was expecting. For him to stay up all night with her so they could pine for each other in silence? She scoffed inwardly. But also, it hardly sounded like the worst thing in the world.
'Very well, Mr Morgan.' She stood slowly, feeling the liquid roll around in both her stomach and head.
It really would not be fitting for any of her staff to find her passed out drunk and half-dressed in the morning.
Grabbing at her shawl and taking his calloused hand gently, she tried to not feel too giddy as she looked at the floor beneath her.
'Carefu-' Was all he managed to say before Amelia felt herself falling through the air as her foot stumbled on her skirt.
She let out a small cry, preemptive with the fear of her face connecting with the stable floor. Yet it never came. She felt the warmth at the small of her back, and within a second, there was no longer any space left between her and Mr Morgan.
Her hand had somehow managed to knot itself in his black shirt. She didn't dare look up at him.
'I…' was all she managed to stutter breathlessly into the chest before her, as neither of them moved. It was daft, but it was only then as Amelia stared blankly into his chest that she realised how much taller than her he was, and how broad he was.
She expected him to step away, make a joke perhaps at her intoxication, but instead, they both stood there in intense silence.
The seconds stretched into minutes until she found her courage and dared to raise her gaze and look upon his bright eyes. He was staring directly back at her, searching deep into her own. In those brief moments, everything about him seemed to change. Swallowing hard, regardless of the darkness, she could see the faintest of scars nestled under his thick stubble and the light scattering of freckles on his skin.
She could smell the smoke on him, like an acrid cologne, the smell of cedar, sweat and smoke all mingled into one.
Her blood thumped in her ears and between her thighs, and his rough hand trembled ever so slightly on the low curve of her back, filling her body with a heat that burned even stronger than the liquor.
Her lips parted, and she stood there, stunned, trying to think of something to say. Utterly speechless, all she knew was that she wanted him desperately. She wanted him to kiss her deeply, take her to her chambers, and not leave until the morning.
Amelia could see it on his face, the uncertainty, the need.
Clearing his throat, she felt the hand drop from her back and he stepped back from her and leant down to retrieve his hat from the floor.
Stunned, Amelia's eyes follow him. Was he truly going to leave her like this? Then, the shame hit her. Perhaps it was the case that he didn't want her to tumble, an instinct, and that he held no desire for her.
'It's late, ma'am,' he said in a low gravelly voice, not even meeting her gaze as though what had just happened had never even transpired. 'Make sure you get back safe.'
With that, he skulked back into the darkness and left Amelia in the stables.
She stood there for some time, blinking with shallow breath, staring into the darkness. In her head, she thought that he would return to her. To change his mind and silently grab her and show her all the pleasures she had never felt before.
However, he never came back. And after some time, Amelia resigned her false thoughts and made her way back to the house.
It was as quiet as when she left it, and thankfully, all of her staff were asleep. Making her way up the stairs, she supposed that if she did run into anyone, Amelia would make some excuse about being peckish and went to search the pantry. Not that she needed to make up a story for being awake out of hours.
Fortunately, she made it to her bedroom without any interruption and she slumped in front of her dresser.
Amelia felt utterly foolish as she slowly began to pull the pins out of her hair. If he just told her plainly that he did not think of her in such ways, she could be done with acting like a silly young maid. She could put the notion to rest and go find someone else to quiver over if she pleased.
Yet if he didn't, if he truly felt nothing for her, why did he hold her there? Why did his hand tremble whilst she was pressed into him in the dark, and why, for the briefest of moments, did she see his eyes look at her lips?
Unable to get the thoughts off her head, Amelia untangled her hair with her fingers as it tumbled to her waist. Tormenting herself wasn't going to give her any answers. Even if she had drunk all of that liquor, she wouldn't be able to read the man's mind.
Crawling into bed, she could still smell him, feel his heat, and touch. None of it mattered, and she just prayed silently that she hadn't made things too uncomfortable for the next time they were to meet.