The wine had left a dull warmth in Amelia's chest, but it was nothing compared to the slow burning fire still smoldering in her skin.
Richard had touched her once and it was enough to unravel her composure for the entire evening.
Now she sat alone in the moonlit garden of the Blackwell estate, her dress tight around her ribs, her heels discarded under the marble bench. The scent of roses was heavy in the air, intoxicating, like a warning disguised as perfume.
A low hum of voices drifted from the manor behind her. Laughter. Crystal glasses clinking. The after-dinner pleasantries of the wealthy.
She didn't belong to their world, not really.
But that didn't stop Richard from looking at her like he wanted to devour her.
He stood a few feet away now, his profile bathed in silver light as he spoke with his father in low tones. His suit jacket was gone. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up, veins running down his forearms. He looked… dangerous. Regal. Like a man who could snap your spine or kiss your soul, and it would feel the same either way.
"God, he's hot," Lucia's voice murmured beside her.
Amelia jumped slightly. She hadn't noticed the maid return.
Lucia grinned. "Relax. You're not the only woman in the house who's fantasized about Mr. Blackwell peeling her out of a dress."
"I'm not fantasizing," Amelia muttered, but the heat on her face betrayed her.
"You sure? Because your pupils dilate every time he walks by."
Amelia gave her a dry look.
Lucia leaned in. "Seriously, though. You survived the dinner. That's more than some women can say."
"What does that mean?" Amelia asked, her tone sharp.
Lucia blinked. "Nothing. Just… the Blackwells can be overwhelming, that's all."
Before Amelia could press further, a shadow moved toward them.
Richard.
"May I borrow my fiancée?" he asked smoothly, his gaze never leaving Amelia's face.
Lucia smirked. "She's all yours."
He didn't wait for a response. He simply turned, trusting she'd follow.
And she did.
Her bare feet brushed cool stone as she trailed behind him into the deeper parts of the estate garden. The glow from the house faded behind them, replaced by flickering lanterns mounted on wrought iron posts. The path twisted beneath rose-covered arches, leading to a secluded alcove where a marble fountain whispered softly.
Richard stopped beneath the archway, the moon catching the edge of his jawline.
"Why did you bring me here?" Amelia asked.
He turned to her slowly. "Because if I stayed in that room a second longer, I would've kissed you in front of my entire family."
Her breath caught.
He stepped closer.
"I haven't been able to think clearly since I saw you in that robe," he said. "And it's starting to drive me mad."
"You barely know me," she whispered.
"Exactly," he murmured, brushing a stray curl from her face. "Which makes it even worse."
Then he kissed her.
Hard. Deep. Like he meant to ruin her for anyone else.
Amelia gasped against his mouth, her hands bracing against his chest, not to push him away, but to hold herself up. His lips moved with purpose, coaxing hers open, his tongue slipping inside like he was claiming her mouth as his.
Her knees buckled slightly when he pressed her back against the stone pillar. One hand cradled the back of her neck, the other slid down her waist, anchoring her.
His kiss trailed down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone until he reached the curve of her shoulder.
"You smell like roses and sin," he breathed.
Her body arched instinctively.
And then his hand slid under the slit of her dress.
Amelia's breath hitched.
"Tell me to stop," he said, voice husky, lips grazing her skin.
She didn't.
His fingers brushed the inside of her thigh slow, teasing. She shivered as they moved higher, trailing fire between her legs. His mouth returned to hers, swallowing her gasp as his fingers slipped beneath her lace underwear and found her heat.
"God, you're already wet," he growled. "Is this for me?"
"Richard…" she moaned softly, but her voice broke when he pressed two fingers inside.
He moved slowly at first, exploring her, curling just right.
Her head fell back against the stone as pleasure bloomed in her stomach.
He watched her come undone with dark, hungry eyes.
And then, as if he hadn't already stolen every breath from her lungs, his mouth dipped to the neckline of her gown. He pulled the strap down with his teeth, exposing one breast and without hesitation, his mouth closed around her nipple.
Amelia cried out softly, her hand gripping his shoulder.
His tongue moved in slow, swirling circles. His fingers never stopped moving inside her.
She was unraveling. Burning. Melting.
And then…
"Richard!" a voice echoed in the distance.
They both froze.
Lucia.
His head snapped up, his eyes wild for a second.
"Shit," he muttered.
Amelia blinked, chest heaving.
He gently removed his hand and fixed her dress, smoothing the fabric as if nothing had happened.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't plan this."
"I don't think you could've planned this if you tried," she whispered, breathless.
He gave a soft chuckle. "That's what terrifies me."
Another voice called again closer now.
Richard stepped back, his expression returning to its usual unreadable calm. "You should go. Before they start asking questions."
"And what about you?"
He met her eyes. "I'll be fine. I'm always fine."
She didn't believe him for a second.
But she turned and left, her legs still trembling, her body buzzing with the echo of his touch.
Back in her room, Amelia stood in front of the mirror in silence.
Her lipstick was smeared. Her dress was wrinkled. Her eyes… they looked different. Softer. Wilder.
She didn't recognize the woman staring back.
But she wasn't afraid of her, either.
Richard Blackwell had touched something inside her. Something raw. Powerful.
And dangerous.
She didn't know what the Blackwell secret was.
But she knew now, without a doubt, that if she wasn't careful…
She could fall for him.
And when that happened when love met darkness, someone always bled.