Hugh said to Jackson, watching as he stared into the smoldering embers of the banked fire. Jackson looked like a man back from war. One who’d seen and experienced too much. He looked like Amelia when she was lost in herself. Jackson’s hand was still on her chest, and hers stroked it, from the fingertips to the edge of his cuff, ducking underneath the fabric occasionally. Hugh watched her movements and felt them on his own flesh as though she stroked Hugh’s wrist and not Jackson’s. Hugh lifted his hands, one resting against her temple, the other arm wrapped around her middle. He knew it was time to bring Amelia back to the world. They hadn’t the time to discuss this tonight. She needed to be taken home before her family discovered her missing. She’d a difficult enough time in the ton without being labeled for inappropriate behavior. “Jacks…” Hugh waited a moment, then, “Jackson, we must see her home somehow.”
