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"Of what?" Her voice was faint.
"This." His hand slid to the back of her neck and his mouth covered hers.
Amelia had been kissed before. Not all that long ago, as a matter of fact, by a man she had been in love
with. The pain of his betrayal had cut so deep, she had sworn never to allow any man close to her again.
But Cam Rohan hadn't asked her consent or given her any chance to protest. She stiffened and brought
her hands to his chest, exerting pressure against the hard surface. He seemed not to notice her objection,
his mouth subtle and insistent. One of his
arms slid around her, lifting slightly as he pulled her against the solid contours of his body.
With each breath she drew in a deeper scent of him, the sweetness of beeswax soap, the hint of salt of
his skin. The supple power of his body was all around her, and she couldn't stop herself from relaxing
into it, letting him support her. More kisses, one beginning before another had quite finished, moist and
intimate caresses, secret strokes of pleasure and promise.
With a soft murmur foreign words that fell pleasantly on her ears Rohan took his mouth from hers.
His lips wandered along the flushed curve of her neck, lingering on the most vulnerable spots. Her body
felt swollen inside her clothes, the corset cinching around the desperate pitch of her lungs.
She quivered as he reached a place of exquisite sensation and touched it with the tip of his tongue. As if
the taste of her were some exotic spice. A pulse awakened in her breasts and stomach and between her
thighs. She was filled with a dreadful urge to press against him, she wanted to fight free of the layers and
layers of smothering fabric that made up her skirts. He was so careful, so gentle
The crash of a bottle on the pavement jolted her from the haze.
"No," she gasped, now struggling.
Rohan released her, his hands steadying her as she fought for equilibrium. Amelia turned blindly and
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staggered toward the open door of the carriage. Everywhere he had touched, her nerves stung with the
desire for more. She kept her head low, grateful for the concealment of her bonnet.
Desperate for escape, Amelia ascended to the carriage
step. Before she could climb in, however, she felt Rohan's hands at her waist. He held her from behind,
trapping her long enough to whisper near her ear, "Latcho drom."
The Romany farewell. Amelia recognized it from the handful of words Merripen had taught the
Hathaways. An intimate shock went through her as the heat of his breath collected in her ear. She didn't,
couldn't, reply, only climbed into the carriage and awkwardly pulled the mass of her skirts away from the
open doorway.
The door was closed firmly, and the vehicle started forward as the horse obeyed Merripen's guidance.
The two Hathaways occupied their respective corners of the seat, one of them drunk, the other dazed.
After a moment Amelia reached to untie her bonnet with trembling hands, and discovered the ribbons
were hanging loose.
One ribbon, actually. The other...
Removing her bonnet, Amelia regarded it with a perplexed frown. One of the red silk ribbons was gone
except for the tiny remnant at the inside edge.
It had been neatly cut.
He had taken it.
Chapter Four
One week later, all five Hathaway siblings and their belongings had removed fromLondon to their new
home in Hampshire. Despite the challenges that awaited them, Amelia was strongly hopeful their new
situation would benefit them all.
The house inPrimrose Place held too many memories. Things had never been the same since both
Hathaway parents had died, her father of a heart ailment, her mother of grief a few months afterward. It
seemed the walls had absorbed the family's sorrow until it had become part of the paint and paper and
wood. Amelia couldn't look at the hearth of the main room without remembering her mother sitting there
with her sewing basket, or visit the garden without thinking of her father pruning his prized Apothecary's
Roses.
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Amelia had recently sold the house without compunction, not for lack of sentimentality but rather an
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