Dean Weston, forced to marry Amélie Shawe, feels nothing but contempt and resentment for his unwanted bride—who used a devious trick to lure him in. But as his desire for his young wife grows, so does his distrust, and soon Dean feels the sting of jealousy pierce his soul. When Amélie cries secret midnight tears, they finally find a way into his heart and only one question remains unanswered:
Is a Windham capable of true love?
Historical Romance, 136 Pages in print
Midnight Tears, Book two of the Midnight – Series
What you are suggesting is too risky!” Amélie objected, burying her tear-soaked face in her pillow. “I am doomed! Nothing and no one can save me!” came her sobs, muffled by the soft down feathers.
Golden strands of hair had come loose when she had thrown herself on her bed in hopeless desperation. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her nose was raw from wiping it too much.
“Which is why you have to do the saving yourself! If you would only stop feeling sorry for yourself we could get to work,” Fiona griped and put her fists on her hips. She pushed her bosom out for emphasis and tapped her foot impatiently. “Amélie, we need to hurry. When Vincent returns he’s going to insist on returning home. I had to literally beg him for permission to drop in on you.”
A sad expression came over Fiona’s pretty face. Her jet-black locks bobbed up and down as she shook her head.
Right away, Amélie forget about her own worries and embraced her dearest friend.
“You poor thing! It’s a disgrace that we women are not asked our opinion when choosing a husband. You would never have agreed to marrying Kingsley, that old grouch! How can you even stand it? I think I would die!”
“Oh, you know, Vincent has been keeping a new mistress up in London, and ever since then he stopped bothering me all that much in the marital bed,” Fiona tried to reassure her friend.
“A mistress? Dear lord, Fiona! That’s terrible! How can you condone such behavior?” Amélie’s violet-blue eyes were wide open in shock and sympathy, and she was blushing in embarrassment.
“Once you’re wed to Lord Ansley, you will understand why I’m glad that he’s blowing off steam elsewhere. Men are revolting while they’re satisfying their physical needs! Vincent wheezes and gasps as if he’s about to have a stroke. And the worst part, my dear: I wish that he would have a stroke, so I could push his sweaty body off of me!”
One look into Fiona’s eyes showed Amélie that her girlfriend meant every word of it.
Amélie pulled away and sank back down on the bed. If that was how her friend felt, then how would she, Amélie, feel when the time came for her? Fiona had always been the more courageous, the stronger-minded one. How many times had she protected her, and Fiona once even had a scuffle with an older boy because he had sullied Amélie’s dress. Amélie herself tended to break out in tears and struggle with whatever the fates bestowed upon her, rather than bravely choose a path that might turn out to be hard or difficult. How she would even measure up to a man in the marital bed, she didn’t dare to imagine.
“You’re right! Just trying to picture Lord Ansley . . . ”
Amélie’s body trembled, and she pressed a pillow against her stomach. “He’s forty-eight! Can you imagine? We have an age difference of thirty years, and we have absolutely nothing in common. He even hates to dance! But he’s filthy rich . . . Which seems to be the only thing Father is interested in!” Amélie burst out in tears again. “If only Adrian would come back to me!”
Fiona stepped closer to the window and looked outside. She was relieved that her husband’s carriage was nowhere to be seen just yet, and she sat back down next to Amélie on the bed.
“I don’t think that Adrian will ever return. And if he does, it will be too late. He probably doesn’t remember you. You need to listen to me and take my advice. Trust me, I’ve been thinking about this carefully. It’s your only way out of a marriage to Clifford Ansley. And I’ve got just the right candidate for you,” she excitedly started to explain.