Henry Pembroke was not afraid. He was never afraid, anymore, he made a point to be so.

Yet as he stood waiting for Charles' in the London house library, Henry felt the unfamiliar feeling of fear creeping over him. He'd been fighting it all day in fact, perhaps even from the moment he'd received Charles' urgent request for his return to the Amesbury household.

He spent half his time insisting to himself that his fear was not because of Amelia, and the other half knowing that it was. Of course he feared for her, he would tell himself, what with Warwick on the loose and Amelia so often in Sarah's company, anything could happen. And how was he to prevent something from happening out in the woods of Northern England?

Then again, he couldn't be with her always, could not be with her at all, he knew that. So at some point, Henry reasoned against himself, something was going to happen to Amelia that he could not prevent. He disliked that conclusion most heartily and it was the least considered answer to his friend's request. He had left her, he had, but Charles' needed him, Sarah as well he supposed. Amelia's well being, presence, and safety had little to do with the speed with which he saddled his horse and left for London that morning. The door to the library opened before he had much more time to argue with himself.

"Henry!" Charles called his name before crossing the distance between them to embrace him, "I am glad you have come," he said and Henry detected true relief in his friend's voice.

"Sounds as if you needed some reinforcements," Henry stated jovially, as was his habit nowadays, "Wouldn't miss a war party for the world," he added with a grin for good measure and forced himself not to look behind Charles into the corridor to look for Amelia.

"Too right," Charles said with a shake of his head in dismay as he moved to sit in one of the leather chairs before the fire.

"Your letter said he approached her in the streets, have you any idea what he intended?" Henry asked.

"I have enough idea," Charles growled and clenched his hands together in front of himself, "He seemed to think that Sarah was not my wife and that he could still succeed in claiming her inheritance through marriage."

"Ah," Henry drew out the syllable, "So he wants your wife? Sounds like a terrible bargain, Sarah is so very entertaining," he added with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Sarah was more than entertaining, she was downright infuriating, always had been, little chit. She'd called him a coward and a liar the last time they'd met, had she been a man Henry would've called her out. As it was, she was married to his dearest friend, and was the dearest friend to the woman he loved. And once given some time to sort his thoughts, Henry knew she'd only done for Amelia what he himself would've done in defense of Charles, it seemed hardly fair to fault her for that. Though his conscience stung with the recollection of his words, so did his pride at her out-and-out set down.

"She is much more, you know this," Charles answered in a softened tone that Henry had not heard in a very good many years, and it set him off track yet again. Would anyone in this house ever make sense now that the world had upheavaled?

"Of course I know that, Charles," Henry joked in return, "Why do you think I mounted my trusty steed and rode to break my neck upon receiving your letter?"

"Such a high regard for Lady Amesbury is quite noble of you, Henry," Charles smirked at him, "But the lady herself would have me bar you from the house."

"Am I to take it you have chosen my side in things then, since I stand in your library?" Henry retorted, though he doubted very much that Sarah had told Charles just how cruel he had been that day in the conservatory.

"No indeed," Charles chuckled, actually chuckled, "I would not cross her for ten minutes in your company," he grinned. Henry was still taken aback by this change in Charles to be too offended by Sarah's strong dislike of him.

"She seems to be keeping your in very high spirits, then?" Henry asked, "Marriage looks well on you," he added with genuine gladness for his friend. Of course Charles should have happiness.

"Indeed, marriage has done me good," Charles agreed and then narrowed in on Henry in a discomforting fashion, "You could attempt such a venture yourself based on how happy you see me."

"I do not for the world think I could deserve such a thing, Charles," Henry laughed as he spoke, but no truer words had ever crossed his lips. He did not deserve her, would never deserve her, had nothing to offer her.

"Perhaps you will change your mind after the Theater tonight," said Charles, rising from his chair and heading for the door, "You should hurry and dress, the ladies should be ready soon enough," he urged with a glance at the clock on the mantle.

"The Theater?" Henry asked in confusion, he'd planned to avoid Amelia for at least another day if at all possible.

"Of course I do not plan to keep my wife locked in her rooms until I've found Warwick?" Charles scoffed good naturedly, something he had not done for many years either, "No, she's been so deprived all these years of life and company and Town - I mean to see that she has all she could wish for, Warwick or no. Which is why your company would be most coveted, my friend."

"You mean for me to take a bullet for her then?" Henry joked, for joking was all he could do now.

"Please, leave the heroics for me," Charles smirked, "Sarah is so very grateful."

"Good God man!" Harry declared with a laugh, "She has utterly altered you, I cannot imagine you need play hero at this point."

"Cravat, dress coat, Theater, Henry," Charles called as he left his friend and headed out into the Hall.

In little under an hour, Henry found himself waiting with Charles in the Front Hall, resisting the urge to run or rage, or both. None other than Letitcia Staunton and her two brothers had come to accompany them to the theater that evening, as if Amelia need hold court every moment she stirred from the house. Hugh in particular, had always been disliked by Henry, for he was far too forward and besotted and dandy-fied to truly be a man. Then again, had not he told Charles just a week ago that women wanted nothing else? That Hugh Staunton would forever rate higher with the ladies wouldn't have bothered him for a moment, if Hugh had not narrowed in his interest on Amelia. And why in the hell had not she appeared yet? But at that moment he heard Charles greet his wife. Turning back to the staircase, feeling impatient and angry, Henry had full intention of calling off for the night, but then his eyes locked with hers.

She looked surprised, had not Charles told her he'd called him back? She stood paused just two steps from the last stair, but seemingly unable to finish them. Amelia Amesbury wasn't one of those women who would faint or have the vapors or even burst into tears at such a moment, no. So why did he feel like such a terrible rat from the way she was looking at him?

"Miss Amesbury," he greeted her with a wicked grin and a quick bow, "How well you look this evening," he finished with a wink, knowing full well how much she hated his merriment. She all but rolled her eyes at him in response.

"Mr. Pembroke," she replied.

Giving him the minimal amount of acknowledgement required to be polite before moving to bask in the adoration of the Staunton siblings for several minutes. He shouldn't be angry, that was unfair, but he was just the same. Why on earth had she chosen that particular dress to go out to the Theater in? Did she mean to have every man in London groveling to the front door tomorrow morning? The family had been in Town for less than a week, surely she already had a good many admirers he reminded himself. And why shouldn't she?

Henry refrained from giving an answer to that particular thought as the sound of a flirtatious giggled emerged from behind Amelia's fan. Once glance at Charles was enough to see that he would be no help in handling his own sister, the man looked so besotted with his wife. Henry supposed he should count his blessings, as Lady Sarah was so distracted by her husband's attention, she had yet to land her fury on his own person.

"You're looking particularly miffed this evening," Henry turned to find Caroline at his elbow and John coming through the front door close behind her. Judas, had they invited all of the ton to ride with them to the Theater?

"Merely anxious for the Theater," Henry answered with an attempt at his usual rakish grin, but it did not carry off so well as it usually did. Instead he was forced to kind of grimace into Caroline's all-knowing eyes and pray she did not pursue the topic further.

"Then we shall lead the party," she suggested gently, with a pointed nod in the direction of Amelia and her hoard as she laid a hand on his arm. Henry truly did grin then, for Caroline had always had the knack of knowing how to have her way quietly.

"It would be an honor, madam," he answered with gusto before the two of them set out for the carriages, the sound of the rest of the party following close enough behind them.

They reached the Theater in enough time for the new Lady Amesbury to be doted on and spied upon by the eyes of society to their fill. Henry hung back in the crush, his eyes roaming the faces surrounding them for Warwick's, for he certainly had not come to London to make himself sick to death over Amelia. No matter that he hung back just close enough to catch her elbow when she stumbled and was pushed back in the press. She would've been tripped again had he not stepped to shield her from the nearest rushing group. He could smell her perfume, even in such a miserably loaded place, and torture of all torture, she held onto him to steady herself. Wasn't it worse off enough without Amelia being so very Amelia? But the feeling of her firm little hand gripping onto his arm set his mind to wondering of things that would never be.

"Enjoying this?" he asked in a poisonous tone, something so very different than what he usually tried to portray. He had not needed to be so awful, but the way she made him so flustered always brought out more harshness than he meant.

"I do not know what you mean," she answered a little too serenely, but her dark eyes found his then, her feet had stopped moving, and for a moment it was just the two of them in the world. Henry's eyes roamed over her face and landed on her mouth, loathe to admit it, he ached for her. Unconsciously, he pulled her closer to himself.

"You cannot do that, Henry," she spoke harshly, but there was sadness around her mouth at her own words.

"Do what?" he asked gently, basking in this brief moment with her, swearing by all saints that this would be the last time he spoke to her without the indifference of a brother.

"Stop looking at me like that," she insisted, her tone harsh, but the sadness deepening in those clear bright eyes. He felt her bang a fist against his chest with a little force and instinctively loosed his hold.

"My apologies," he whispered, though he did not cease in staring at her, and she did not object again.

"Miss Amesbury, there you are!"

Both Henry and Amelia looked up to see Hugh and Leticia pushing backwards through the crowd to reach them.

"Lovely chap," Henry muttered, breaking contact with her, and gripping his hands in fists behind his back.

"Hasn't lied to me yet," she shot over her shoulder, then accepted Hugh's outstretched hand and allowed the pair to lead her further into the crowd.

A liar and a coward, just as Sarah had told him. Henry stood for several long moments after she'd disappeared into the crowd and the lobby began emptying as music could be heard from inside the theater. Perhaps she had finally understood his true character, he supposed. He should never have come back.

Henry did not arrive at the Amesbury box until well after the performance had began, and then stood in the back nearest the doorway through much of the first act. He scanned the crowd with boredom, a lethal bitterness growing in his stomach. Every once and again his eyes would land on a dark head of glossy curls that was wedged beside a golden one. She had not sat by Hugh or Leticia after all, but now shared whispers with Sarah every so often.

Perhaps she was better off knowing him in this way, seeing the true nightmare of a man he was just beneath the surface. For though she'd loved him in her girlhood, there was no way she could love what he'd become, what the war had made him into, no. And in truth, he did not wish her to, he was reminded as he watched her with a longing and a sadness. He wanted for Amelia to be happy, to have children, to be loved by some ridiculous dandy with enough money and good naturedness to keep her all her life. But the damn fool had better worship the ground she walked on, he amended with a clenching in his jaw.

His guilt ran deep over his treatment of Amelia. She deserved to be loved, adored and kept by someone unbroken, someone foolishly in love with her. Henry secretly wondered if she would think of him in years to come, or if, after this damned final reunion, she would forget about him. She would want to forget him, he imagined. Only one look at her face could tell him that. Charles might've come home with the scar, but Henry was the one who'd changed with concrete permanence. He had done wrong by her, he knew that. What little honor he had left, he should be salvaging to leave her be, to let her alone, to relinquish his connection to her. Instead he'd been wavering back and forth, never fully able to separate himself. But this time, he promised himself in the back of that box, after this favor for Charles, he would go and he would not come back. He was a selfish bastard, but he did love her, could muster enough love to leave her alone to a life she deserved. At least so he was telling himself when he watched her quietly leave her seat and turn from the performance headed in the direction of the door - his direction.

"What's the matter?" he whispered, his arm jutting out to pause her, though he knew better of it. But when she looked up at him, he could see that she was crying - his Amy, actually crying. Every thought in his head faded, as she shook her head at him and brushed passed into the corridor without a word. With one last glance at the still captivated audience behind him, Henry followed her out into the hall, and hurried to catch up with her.

"Amy," he called, but she did not pause until he reached her and turned to block her path.

"Please just let me be," she said in a watery voice, a desperation on her face he had not seen before.

"How can I do that, when you're clearly distressed?" he asked gently, taking a slow and careful step towards her ow.

"I would think the best aid for my distress would be to distance myself from it's source," she answered, and then her chest heaved in a deeper sob. Henry felt like a dog.

"Amy -"

But then they both looked up at the sound of voices nearing their place in the corridor. Before the intruders rounded the corner, Henry grabbed hold of Amelia's hand and pulled her into a nearby alcove that was not lit. The two stood across from one another, waiting for the dames to pass, knowing that their interaction would only bring gossip, Amelia's tears social derision. In another moment their voices were fading around the next corner, but Henry did not move to leave their hideaway.

"I apologize for my criticism earlier, Amelia," he said with genuine regret, still holding onto her hand in the dim light, "I only... I wish to see you happy, as you more than anyone on earth deserves, and I fear Hugh's only interest is in your inheritance."

"Don't you think I know that?" she asked, and Henry could see now that his words had only further upset her. What an idiot, how was one to stop an unshakable woman from crying? She was unlike the other little beasts who could be beguiled and persuaded to take comfort, but Amelia Amesbury was not so easily swayed.

"Then why tolerate him?" Henry growled out, dropping his hold of her hand, frustration over her upset making him sound harsher than he meant to.

"That is the only kind of offer I can hope for now, don't you see that?" she asked, and another sob came through her.

"I do not," he bit out firmly, "You surely do not aim for such a low standard now?" he scoffed at her lack of backbone, of stubbornness he'd so often found.

"What else should I aim for then, Henry?" she asked him in a hard tone, "You imagine I have not wanted for love instead? It is you yourself who withholds such a thing from me, you of all people know that a fortune hunter is the best I can hope for now."

"Amelia," he began slowly, but he did not know how he would finish his endless excuse to her, but how he hated to hear the things she was saying now.

"Do not say it again, please," she said firmly, one hand brushing through the air as if to ward off his words before he had even spoken them, "I cannot bear to hear you say any of it anymore," she added firmly and the fortitude so essential to her nature rang in those words. Silence hung between them, Henry reached for her, to wipe a tear from the edge of her chin, his fingers brushed against her wet eyelashes.

"Amelia," he murmured, tortured himself by what he'd become, what he would never have, what he had done to her in turn. But in the next instant, his thoughts turned another direction as Amelia raised up on her toes to press her lips to his.

It was if he lost all senses but the feel of Amelia's lips on his own, it was as if there was nothing and no one on Earth but her. Henry wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her body in tight with his as he felt Amelia's arms thread around his neck and her fingers up into his hair. Henry kissed her as a starving man, tasting the sweetness that she was, unwilling to break the connection. She was everything, and always would be. He felt her break away from his lips, heard her gasp, and for a moment thought he would have to release her.

Instead she pulled herself even tighter than he'd known possible to himself, as if she could not be close enough, would never be close enough. Henry's lips trailed to the corner of her mouth, the line of her jaw and then to her neck. He heard her gasp again, felt her cling to him as his lips explored the delicate hollows of her collarbone. She was soft, so soft, and how long he'd wanted this moment, to press his lips against her skin, to hold her, to behold her. Amelia let out a small moan and Henry's last defenses against her abandoned him as he took her lips with his once more. She met his passion with her own, they were matched for desperation, for the loneliness that had settled between them for so long.

"Henry," he felt her whisper against his lips, as if pulling him from a deep dream. He slowly realized he'd pressed her into the corner of the alcove, but was loathe to leave her now, now that he was ruined in every way of his jovialness, of his merriment. He would be nothing without her.

"Henry," she spoke against his lips again, before kissing him once more, deeply. Henry let her end it though, but did not loosen his hold on her, did not want to think of it, instead buried his face in the softness of her neck once again.

"Yes, Love?" he answered hoarsely, for he was a man lost.