Книга - The Matchmaker’s Match

The Matchmaker's Match
Jessica Nelson


The Marriage UltimatumHe has three months to find a wife–or lose his estate. Spencer, Lord Ashwhite, doubts he'll find a suitable bride among the ton, until the unconventional Lady Amelia Baxley agrees to provide a list of candidates. It should be an ideal arrangement, were Spencer not growing attached to the one woman Amelia refuses to consider as a prospect: herself.Independence means everything to Amelia, who has been burned in love before. The charming marquis is quickly putting her entire life in turmoil, and controlling her stubborn heart has never been such a challenge. But does the ever-practical Amelia dare to go from bride-finder to wife?







The Marriage Ultimatum

He has three months to find a wife—or lose his estate. Spencer, Lord Ashwhite, doubts he’ll find a suitable bride among the ton, until the unconventional Lady Amelia Baxley agrees to provide a list of candidates. It should be an ideal arrangement, were Spencer not growing attached to the one woman Amelia refuses to consider as a prospect: herself.

Independence means everything to Amelia, who has been burned in love before. The charming marquis is quickly putting her entire life in turmoil, and controlling her stubborn heart has never been such a challenge. But does the ever-practical Amelia dare to go from bride-finder to wife?


“Do you know who I am, Lord Ashwhite?”

He grinned at her, showcasing a spectacular set of ivory teeth. “I see a lady in need of a dance. They say exercise can relieve many ailments, including a corset that has been overly starched.”

She tucked back a gasp at his outrageous comment and focused on the most pertinent point. “My lord, I do not dance, and since you are not aware of my status in the ton, let me inform you that I am most firmly on the shelf.”

“This means you may not dance?”

“A lady always knows her place,” she repeated, feeling an unnerving heat creep through her. Who was this man, and what right did he have to question her? “If you’ll excuse me, I must check on my cousin.”

“Not so fast.”


JESSICA NELSON believes romance happens every day and thinks the greatest, most intense romance comes from a God who woos people to himself with passionate tenderness. When Jessica is not chasing her three beautiful, wild little boys around the living room, she can be found staring into space as she plots her next story, daydreams about raspberry mochas or plans chocolate for dinner.


The Matchmaker’s Match

Jessica Nelson






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


We love Him, because He first loved us.

—1 John 4:19







Acknowledgments (#ulink_40d66b5c-ae64-5f7c-bc92-5fc1a32bda2f)

Thank you, Grandma Charlene Schwirtz, for supporting me in both word and action. Though you’ve experienced terrible heartache in your life, you choose to laugh and to love. You’re a blessing!

During one of my darkest times, Someone Special told me to surrender to God...best advice ever (for both myself and Amelia).

A giant thank-you goes out to Robert Lee Edwards Jr., because he showed me the beauty of companionship.

Many thanks to my editor Emily Rodmell, whose openness has given me a new book in print! Plus, she makes my stories better. Dear readers, please trust me on this.

And, of course, my heart is filled with gratitude to God. His gentleness never ends.


Contents

Cover (#uee8db89f-4f9c-54c6-adf8-883a792047db)

Back Cover Text (#u72dd70b2-2f38-5c14-b910-e308407a80da)

Introduction (#uabe5d663-c8f6-5943-a651-18106c0b0f22)

About the Author (#u3c36578b-3efe-59c6-a476-8158472925e8)

Title Page (#u3a86036b-1cad-5876-89e7-2e9062e882d9)

Bible Verse (#uf62fcc90-ff3b-5ea2-ab74-3f4ff6293c3c)

Acknowledgments (#u8af31ade-0b63-56cd-b4c7-fd5e100c5081)

Chapter One (#uf3fd7811-9805-597d-a3a5-447406800694)

Chapter Two (#ue1a7314a-afa7-56c0-a030-47820aaa536d)

Chapter Three (#u42070870-443a-5cf9-829f-f5957beb65c2)

Chapter Four (#u5ac8b1f2-3467-5397-ae67-da54bccf73cd)

Chapter Five (#u9091b906-fcab-5a7f-8044-38df6b49ef20)

Chapter Six (#u521b141f-4b88-547d-bbb1-44bc7e319a9f)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_901901ee-fe10-533a-8f98-a47d4f67b38e)

London, England 1815

Lady Amelia Baxley admired the male species. The way they looked, their scent, the way they walked as though they owned the world—which everyone but man himself knows is a fabrication of the highest order. Yes, they were intriguing creatures to hunt.

Take this one. The new Lord Dudley looked positively dazed in Lady Havern’s ballroom. His thick brown locks framed a sweet, innocent face. If only Amelia could redirect his odd interest in her, he’d be perfect for Cousin Lydia.

Straightening her gown, which kept twisting due to her maid’s unfortunate antics with the needle, Amelia lifted her shoulders and tugged Lydia’s arm. She strode toward the gentleman in question with Lydia in tow. An easy quarry this time. She smiled to herself as she adjusted her spectacles against the ridge of what she’d been told was quite an extraordinary nose.

“My lord,” she said above the noise of the Beau Monde. “Have you been introduced to Miss Lydia Stanley?”

“Madam.” He bowed, and Cousin Lydia responded with a lovely curtsy.

Things were going quite to plan. Smiling, Amelia pointed to Lydia’s dance card. “I believe Miss Lydia has a spot open for the next dance. A quadrille, I presume?”

“You are indeed correct.” Lydia giggled and proceeded to fan herself in a vigorous fashion. Amelia cleared her throat, and Lydia stopped. Thankfully.

A blush rose to Lord Dudley’s face. Naturally he realized the prime position he was in as the new master of a prosperous earldom. Many hopeful misses would set their caps for him this Season. But Amelia was determined he give her impoverished cousin a chance. Yes, Lydia could be opinionated, but her looks were outstanding and her manner charming, if at times not quite impeccable. She deserved a good husband, one who would take care of her and her family.

Amelia gave the young earl a pointed look. His face reddened even more before he stuttered out an invitation. The music started, and the two made for the floor.

Satisfied with the outcome thus far, Amelia headed toward the balcony for a respite. Though she loved matchmaking and needed the funds to supplement her income, spending hours in a throng of overly dressed, heavily perfumed haut ton made her temples pound and her skin itch. How much better to curl up in a soft chair with a great book. Particularly Sense and Sensibility.

The author, referenced as “A Lady,” inspired Amelia. Who could not help but feel moved by the sisters’ plight in the story? Furthermore, she appreciated how the author emphasized the silliness of giving in to impulse. Nefarious emotions were for those without good sense.

She stepped onto the balcony and inhaled the warm, sweetly scented air. A lovely night for the Season, to be sure. Stars glittered above her and creative lanterns of varying colors had been hung within the trees, lighting a walking path for those seeking to escape the press of the ballroom.

She rested her head on her arms and let her eyes drift shut. A giggle flavored the night, followed by the low tones of a masculine voice. She listened to the variance of sound, her ear tuned to the lovely cadence of the gentleman’s voice. It was soothing and deep.

She smiled to herself, then startled at the shriek that pierced the calm night. The distinct sound of a slap followed. Cringing, Amelia straightened and debated whether to run back to the ballroom or to investigate.

A rather choked version of weeping reached her. Rather than the lady striking a gentleman for behaving like a bounder, he must have slapped her! Well, that most certainly made up her mind. Amelia squared her shoulders and marched toward the sound. She rounded a jutting corner of the house and happened upon a tall, well-fashioned man who stood in front of a woman wearing an alarming number of jewels.

Indeed, they were almost blinding.

Amelia stifled her disapproval of such vanity and tapped the gentleman on the shoulder with her fan. There was simply no excuse for hitting a woman. Not even if she’d spent the last of the family funds on extravagance.

“Excuse me,” she said crisply before he’d even turned around. “My breath of fresh air has been disturbed by your callous behavior. I suggest you move to the ballroom before I irreversibly damage your reputation.”

She would never do such a thing, but this rogue must not know that.

In a lithe movement, the gentleman faced her. She took in the mark on his cheek and the blush on the other woman’s. Obviously Amelia had been mistaken at first—the woman had slapped him. Had she interrupted a spat? Her eyes narrowed. The woman was...familiar somehow.

“May I introduce myself? Spencer, Lord Ashwhite.” He reached for her hand. Unwilling to embarrass herself any further, or give in to bad etiquette, she allowed him to take her fingers and perform his bow.

“Lady Amelia Baxley.” She pulled her hand back and offered a perfunctory curtsy. “And I do apologize for interrupting. I had thought something foul was afoot.”

The woman’s jewels clinked as she pointed a finger at Lord Ashwhite. “He is a cad.”

“Did he harm you?” Amelia peered at the woman.

“He only has forever broken my heart,” the lady declared in a decibel-shattering voice.

Her heart?

“Miss Winston is upset because I did not write to her while I was in the Americas.” His wry tone held no humor.

This was quite obviously an emotional quarrel. In which case, Amelia had more productive ways to spend her time. She took in Lord Ashwhite’s appearance, the way his notable green eyes appeared to flash in the moonlight. He had strong features. A firm jaw and handsome face. Thick hair of the deepest brown. At first look, he’d make a good prospect for one of her customers. Of course, she’d need to examine his character first.

Some tidbit of information niggled at her consciousness. Something she should remember about his name...

“There is nothing afoot, my lady, but an evening of dance and merriment. Please accept my apologies for disrupting your evening. Miss Winston was just leaving.”

A sound that might have been outrage strangled from the woman, but after leveling a severe glare at Lord Ashwhite, she brushed past in a flurry of silk and gemstones. Amelia suppressed a shudder and wondered again why the woman struck such a discord within.

“My lady.” Lord Ashwhite commanded Amelia’s attention. “May I steal a dance from you later this evening? To atone for my atrocious behavior?”

Was she supposed to laugh at that? Perhaps it was a trick of the glittering stars overhead, but there seemed to be a definite flash of mischief about this gentleman. She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if he could see past her spectacles. She’d been told she had an assertive gaze and she tried often to put it to good use.

“Do you know who I am, Lord Ashwhite?”

He grinned at her, showcasing a spectacular set of ivory teeth. “I see a lady in need of a dance. They say exercise can relieve many ailments, including a corset that has been overly starched.”

She tucked back a gasp at his outrageous comment and focused on the most pertinent point. “My lord, I do not dance, and since you are not aware of my status in the ton, let me inform you that I am most firmly on the shelf.”

“This means you may not dance?”

“A lady always knows her place,” she said, feeling an unnerving heat creep through her. Who was this man, and what right did he have to question her? “If you’ll excuse me, I must check on my cousin.”

Indeed, the strains of music undulating from the ballroom had slowed. A new dance might begin at any moment, and she needed to find Lydia before then to ascertain the merit of Lord Dudley’s courtship. She must also not let matters progress too far until she heard from her Bow Street runner on Dudley’s background. Though he appeared innocent, she’d learned the hard way how deeply deceiving appearances could be.

“Not so fast.” Lord Ashwhite moved toward her. His tall stature made her feel at a disadvantage. She drew herself up and met his arresting look with a firm one of her own.

“Sir, do you dare detain me?”

“I dare.” He grinned. “You see, your name is familiar for some unknown reason, yet it is only now that I meet you. My curiosity has been roused. A dance might put it to rest.”

“You speak in circles,” she said lightly, feeling an unusual breathlessness creep into her voice.

“Surely you jest, my lady, for I have been quite clear in what I want from you.” Again that roguish smile crossed his face. His eyes crinkled at the corners.

Warmth suffused Amelia, for she had not danced in years. Not since The Great Disappointment... No, she did not wish to think of that. Swallowing against myriad feelings she had no name for, she offered the gentleman before her a slight smile, preparing to reject him. She had little patience for men who went around breaking hearts. Indeed, she had little patience for men at all.

And then she spotted the enamored Lord Dudley heading toward her. She did not think she could endure another conversation with him. He simply did not take a hint.

Oh, dear. She met Lord Ashwhite’s impertinent look.

“I will allow one dance with the understanding that it is probable I will step on your toes.”

Was it possible for his smile to widen? For that was what his lips appeared to do, easing upward in a most disconcerting, charming way. He swept her a bow and then offered his arm. “We shall dance, then, and see if a few rounds about the floor might clear my head. Perhaps I shall realize you’re not quite as fascinating as I fear.”

Despite herself, Amelia chuckled. His arm felt warm and sturdy, and the merriment in his voice was catching. “Fear not. You can rest assured that by the end of our dance, you will find me both dreadfully boring and an awkward partner.”

“Do not disappoint me, my lady,” he warned, his tone teasing.

She patted his arm. “You, sir, will soon realize that Lady Amelia Baxley never disappoints.”

* * *

The marquis of Ashwhite could not take his eyes from his dance partner. She had disappointed him terribly. Not once had her toes flattened his. In fact, as they performed the steps to the quadrille, he admired her flawless dancing. She had misled him.

What was it about this lady that provoked his attention? Not her dress, certainly, for while she wore the height of fashion, and the colors seemed acceptable enough, the dress did not stand out in any way. And the lady herself was not extraordinary.

She stood an average height with an average girth. Her hair, tucked into a respectable hairstyle for which he knew not the name, was a tame brown. She hid her eyes behind overly large spectacles.

Perhaps it had been that strident, no-nonsense tone as she’d rushed around the corner and hit him with her fan. Or maybe it was her skin, which looked like luminous velvet beneath the gentle glow of moonlight. He shook his head. Ridiculous musings.

Still, Lady Amelia had captured his respect for running to the aid of another, though misdirected. Such heroism was uncommon.

He watched her now, the graceful movements of her arms, the slender line of her neck as they completed the steps required. Yes, she had distracted him from the difficult problems that faced him. Because of a bizarre clause in his father’s will, after he finished this dance, he must scan the ballroom for prospective wives. This Season had produced a mass of simpering misses whose young faces looked fresh from the schoolroom.

The music slowed and as he crossed the floor with Lady Amelia on his arm, he noticed the way a smile teased the corners of her surprisingly full lips. Her gaze flickered over to him and—was that laughter he saw in her eyes?

A most intriguing lady.

The song ended and he escorted her to the edge of the floor.

“Lord Ashwhite, I must thank you for the dance.” She fanned herself, but still a blush stained her skin, turning it rose-petal soft. A beguiling creature, to be sure. “It has been much too long since I had such a delightful partner.”

He inclined his head, unwilling to take his eyes off her. “Truly, it was my pleasure.”

She gave him a broad smile, and then her expression stuttered as she looked past him. “Oh, dear. If you’ll excuse me, I must rescue my cousin.” Her features slid back into that commanding expression she’d pointed his way earlier. “Miss Stanley has no head where suitors are concerned. I have told her repeatedly not to speak with known rakes.” She drew the last word out with a heavy distaste.

Spencer winced. So here was the downfall. Lady Amelia might make a delightful dance partner, but in the end she would prove to be as stubborn and stiff-necked as any dowager of the ton. And just as judgmental. With a rueful shake of his head, he turned away while she glided off to rescue her cousin.

He knew the young man with whom Miss Stanley spoke, and though his reputation might not be spotless, he certainly was no rake. A self-deprecating smile tugged at Spencer’s mouth. What would the straitlaced Lady Amelia think if she found out with whom she’d danced?

It had been surprising that she hadn’t recognized him by name or Miss Winston by looks. The actress was well-known amongst those who enjoyed the theater.

“Ashwhite!” Lord Liveston, Earl of Waverly, clapped him on the back, ending his ruminations. “You’ve arrived from the Americas, I see? How was the trip, old chap?”

“Enlightening.”

“And?” Waverly’s mustache twitched with mirth. “No special young ladies over there? I thought you might return with an American miss. Or at least some adventurous stories.” His best friend snickered and chucked him on the shoulder again.

Spencer threw him a stern look. “I’m done with philandering.”

“With what? Oh, yes, yes, I received your letter. A bunch of rubbish. Tent meetings? Yelling preachers and people repenting publicly of their sins? Why, I can’t imagine such a thing happening in England. Those Americans are an untamed lot.” Waverly squinted at the procession of dancers moving across the floor. “Eversham and I are about to leave for more exciting places. Care to join us?”

“I think I’ll stay here,” Spencer murmured. His stare centered on Lady Amelia only a few feet away, whose fan kept time with her mouth.

“You really have changed...but for how long?” Waverly followed his gaze. “She’s a fine-looking lady. If I was in the mood for a wife, I’d take that one.”

“Yes, she’s intriguing.”

“Who needs intriguing when you have beauty like that?” Waverly grinned. “Those blond curls are artfully designed to trap a man, along with his fortune.”

Spencer’s chin snapped up. His friend obviously had focused on Lady Amelia’s cousin.

“The plain one is Eversham’s twin sister, you know.”

“Indeed?” Spencer tried to keep the shock from his voice. “Our friend Eversham? She’s the one...”

“Yes, she’s that one. Difficult and independent. Refuses to do anything he says. A bluestocking of the spinster sort, if you ask me.”

She sounded like Spencer’s mother, and he had no patience for women like that. His mother was gallivanting on the Continent at this very moment, and who knew when she’d decide to return to her home.

“The lady appears benign.” His eyes narrowed on the subject of their conversation. Perhaps not so benign after all. There was a purposeful air to her as she scanned the ballroom. Like a hound nosing for a fox. He’d seen that look on his mother far too often for comfort.

“Ha, that’s not what Eversham says. Though he doesn’t talk much of her, apparently there was a small ruckus last week, and when we met at White’s for coffee, he acted distraught.” Waverly pulled out his pocket watch. “Time for a bit of sport. You’re sure you won’t come?”

Spencer shook his head. “I’ll meet you at White’s tomorrow. I need your and Eversham’s help with something.”

“That sounds alarming.”

“Quite.” He felt a glower tugging at his brow. “I met with the family lawyer today. I’ll give you details tomorrow, but in the meantime, keep an ear open for eligible ladies in need of a husband.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve decided to get leg shackled?” Poor Waverly sounded distressed.

“Indeed,” Spencer answered grimly. “And I’ve less than three months to do it.”


Chapter Two (#ulink_ba4d486b-bfcd-5554-833c-40bf746f3bdc)

“Do you suppose I shall ever have a waltz?” Cousin Lydia swirled around the morning room, her dress fluttering precariously close to the sideboard.

“It is an impractical dance and frowned upon for a young miss fresh in her first Season.” Amelia plucked a piece of bacon for her plate and tried to dismiss the sudden memory of Lord Ashwhite’s hand upon her sleeve last night. She’d realized why his name prodded her conscious. He was an old friend of her brother’s but had just now come into his title, hence the change of names. She knew him as Mr. Broyhill.

She eyed Lydia. “Why are you daydreaming about such a thing when we’ve other goals to pursue?”

“Oh, I don’t know...” Lydia shrugged. “I suppose I feel like an ox on the market. Picked at and looked over. It is all decidedly unromantic.”

“Which is why we will find you the perfect gentleman for your nature. He will bring you flowers in the morning and write verses devoted to your fair beauty every day.” Amelia smothered her smile as she sat at the small table to read The Morning Gazette. She took out the gossip column and set it to the side. Sunlight bathed the simple furniture in a lovely hue perfect for a painting. Perhaps today she would have time to take out her easel and paints.

“You aren’t going to read this?” Lydia flipped up the gossip column. “Why, Lord Ca—”

“Stop at once.” Amelia held up her hand. “I do not partake in gossip.”

“Why, Amelia, are you serious? Never?”

“Never,” she pronounced, careful to add stiffness to her tone. If there was one thing that rankled her more than anything, it was the idle chatter of busybodies. She’d much rather gather the hard facts, not emotional speculations.

“But how do you find husbands? How will you know their worth?”

“Certainly their worth won’t be determined by what others say about them. Would you please sit down? You’re making me quite dizzy.”

Lydia flounced into the chair beside her, a pout upon her pretty features. “I am not sure I want to be married, Amelia.”

“Then, why do you partake of my services?” She took a bite of her bacon. Perfectly crisp and delicious. She must find a way to give a bonus to Martha for being such a wonderful cook. Perhaps if she could sell a painting soon...

“It seemed a promising idea. After my dreadful mistake, I thought perhaps I’d need help on the marriage mart. Father and Mother agreed.”

“Your mistake was minor and quickly forgotten. Just do not take any more moonlit walks without a chaperone and mind your tongue.”

“He deserved a dressing-down for taking liberties with my person.” Lydia’s eyes flashed with pique.

“A good swat with your fan works wonders. A true lady does not lose her temper in public and call a suitor ungentlemanly names.”

Lydia uttered an amazingly loud sigh.

Ignoring the melodramatic response, Amelia continued, “In the meantime, we shall work with what we have. My particular specialty is providing young ladies with a love match.” Amelia met Lydia’s gaze. Her eyes were a delightful cornflower blue most men would adore gawping at. “You will not have a problem attracting admirers, but to find a man who sees past your outer beauty...that is our challenge.”

“There may not be much beyond my face.” A glum note entered Lydia’s tone.

“Come, now.” Amelia touched her hand. “You are intelligent and lively. A good man appreciates those qualities.”

“And why are you not married? You possess those qualities in abundance.”

Amelia tried not to groan. She finished her bacon and patted her mouth with a delicate napkin. “This is a conversation about you and not about my marital status. I am perfectly happy with the shelf I have set myself upon.”

“Is that so?” A mischievous spark glinted in Lydia’s eyes. She leaned across the table. “Then, why did I see you dancing last night? And with an eligible marquis, no less?” A smirk hovered across her face.

“That was nothing,” Amelia said firmly, though her nerves felt afire. “I saw an overzealous suitor practically running toward me and needed an escape route. Lord Ashwhite is an old friend of my brother’s. Dancing was a deviance from the norm, I assure you.”

“I have never seen you dance before. You were lovely. So very graceful. The gentleman looked quite enraptured with you.”

“Oh, stuff and nonsense.” Amelia stood quickly, unsure why she felt so skittish. “We have much to accomplish today. A new gown for next week’s ball and then the theatre tonight. I am hoping you shall see Lord Dudley there. What did you think of him, cousin?”

Lydia stood as well and rounded the table.

“He is nice enough, but I think we should keep our options open,” she said as they walked to the small library on the other side of Amelia’s modest townhome.

She was fortunate the stipend her brother gave her covered the cost of maintaining her own house. The home was located at the edge of Mayfair, a distinguished and safe neighborhood, and whilst small, suited her purposes most admirably. She enjoyed the privacy and location, not to mention the salon boasting huge windows that let in a good deal of light, perfect for her paintings.

Her allowance also provided for a cook, a butler and a housemaid. She needed her side career of matchmaking only for paints, canvases and good deeds. And once in a while, a new gown. She’d started her business two years prior and had no plans to end it.

She and Lydia spent the rest of the morning practicing an assortment of fine arts every lady must know. As the oldest child of a country baron, Lydia lacked some of the refinement a lady of the ton demonstrated, but Amelia was confident she’d learn quickly. She’d begun her lessons last week. Her mistake was the reason she’d been pulled out of finishing school. Her parents had decided a personal tutor would work better. Thanks to a successful matchmaking assignment, Amelia’s services had been recommended to them.

Unbeknownst to Lydia, Amelia was not charging her parents. She was family after all. This put her in a bit of a bind, but she hoped a sold painting might put her in a more comfortable spot until a new client came along.

After discussing subject matter a lady should and should not indulge in while conversing, Cousin Lydia left with her parents to go back to the townhome they rented during the Season.

Amelia exhaled with relief when the lessons ended. She detested how ladies must be bound by proprieties men did not observe, but it was the society in which she lived, and if Lydia wished to flourish in this society, she’d have to know the rules before she could break them.

Pursing her lips, Amelia went to her writing desk situated near a window. Speaking of rules, she had a few complaints to send to the House of Lords. Not that anyone there would take her seriously, but she meant to irritate them. Then she’d plant a few nuggets in their wives’ ears.

Perhaps next week at Almack’s. She’d finally gotten the invitation for Lydia, and she did not intend to miss such a prodigious opportunity. If Lydia did not wish to know Lord Dudley better, then Almack’s might present a whole new round of young men for her perusal.

Love blossomed when least expected. It could not be forced, though. How she wished it could. Her thoughts wandered to the past, to the man whom she tried so very hard not to remember. Their last dance...

Dipping her quill, she forced herself to concentrate on her letters. What was past was past. There was nothing to fill that broken space within.

As she finished her final letter—more a rant, really—her butler, Dukes, poked his head into her study.

“My lady,” he said softly, his voice as old as his age. “Lord Dudley left his card.”

“You may dispose of it, Dukes. I shan’t be seeing him.” The man could not take a hint, it seemed. She did not wish to be cruel, but considering her plans for Lydia, she certainly could not encourage the avid tendencies of Lord Dudley.

She rummaged on her desk until she found the letter she’d written requesting a Bow Street runner. Some investigations were better handled by professionals. She held it out to Dukes. “See that this is delivered immediately, please.”

He took it. “Very well, my lady.” He cleared his throat. “Also, Lord Eversham is here to see you.”

“Oh, bother.” She dropped the quill into its holder and spun around. “You don’t suppose you could direct him to come back later?”

“No, my lady. He is insisting he see you at once.”

“What is the delay?” Her brother’s voice grew louder and then he was at the door, sliding past Dukes with a scowl upon his handsome face. She’d never understood how he could have inherited all the looks, but to be fair, she considered herself to possess the bulk of the brains.

“Good morning, brother. How do you fare this fine and bright day?” She plastered on a sweet smile, smothering the laugh that threatened to escape as his scowl deepened.

“A moment, Dukes.” He waved off the butler, who flashed Amelia an apologetic look before closing the door.

Amelia folded her letter to the House of Lords before taking her stick of sealing wax and heating it above the flame of her candle. She pressed the stick against the paper and sealed the letter closed. She placed it on the teetering stack of her correspondence and returned the sealing wax to its place on her desk. “Do calm yourself, Eversham, or you shall pace a hole in my already faded rug,” she said mildly.

“You...you...” He could not finish but rather continued his erratic pacing, his breathing ragged.

Why, he was really at the end of his tether! She frowned. Though her brother often proved to be a bossy irritant, she loved him dearly and had no wish to cause him undue pain.

She cleared her throat and rose from her seat but did not approach him. “Dear Ev, please take a breath and explain what I have done to upset you so.”

He stopped abruptly and faced her. Though they shared the same nose, the same eyes and the same hair, on him those features became suave and handsome. He’d always been popular with the ladies. At this moment, though, his eyes were dark with anger, his lips pressed tight.

She grimaced. It took much to put her brother into a rage. What had she done this time?

He crossed his arms as he glared at her. “It has come to my attention that you are running a business.”

She felt her face go slack.

“Aha!” He pointed at her. “I knew it must be true. Amelia, how can you do such a thing? You will never find a husband like this. Dillydallying in politics, serving food at Newgate with that...that woman.”

“Her name is Mrs. Elizabeth Fry, and she is quite respectable. She is thinking of starting a school for the female prisoners.”

“I care not one whit about her name. You are creating a reputation for yourself, and it’s not a good one.”

“And why would an earl with the fortune you have be concerned with reputation?” she countered.

“You know why.” He stalked toward her and then dropped into her desk chair. “I am being nagged night and day—”

“Perhaps you should have married for love rather than money,” Amelia said pertly, though inside her stomach twisted. “I do not wish to cause you stress, Eversham. But I must paint. I must keep myself busy. And I am quite positive I shall never marry.”

His head dropped into his hands, and her heart grew heavier.

“I am sorry to be such a burden to you,” she said quietly.

“It’s not that,” he muttered.

“My business is proceeding nicely.” She walked to her desk and picked up her last invoice. “Do you remember Lady Goddard? She and her husband are on a trip to the Continent right now, but I earned a good bit from training her and helping her find him. They are immensely compatible.”

Eversham sighed and lifted his head. “I do not understand you, Amelia. You spout nonsense about love, but you are the most pragmatic individual I have ever met.”

Relieved to see him calmer, Amelia settled on the edge of her desk. “Perhaps our definitions of love are different. It is not some silly feeling or a fainting spell but rather an action toward an individual. It is the most practical of all emotions and the most helpful.”

Her brother’s lips almost tilted but then chose to settle in a firm line. “Nevertheless, I have come here to demand that you cease your business at once. You are a peer, the daughter of an earl. You’re comfortable here. Why do you need extra finances?”

“I cannot quit my painting, Eversham. Canvases, brushes... They cost money.”

He let out a large, overdramatic sigh. “Very well. I will enlarge your stipend.”

“Your wife will not allow that.”

Eversham winced. He could say nothing to that. He’d married a woman who tightly controlled the purse strings. Amelia wasn’t sure how, as her brother had never been a pushover, but for some reason he regularly gave in to the whims of his wife, a woman whom Amelia studiously tried to avoid at all times.

Eversham rose from his seat, so Amelia followed suit. A familiar bulldoggish expression crossed his face, which did not bode well for her.

“I am insisting you quit this nonsense,” he said. “Find another way to buy your supplies, but your business ends today.”

“Do not think that because you were born three minutes before me you have the right to order me about. I shall not end my profitable venture.” She lifted her chin, daring him to defy her.

His eyes narrowed. “I’ll not have you upsetting my wife. If I hear anything more of this...” He trailed off ominously.

A slither of fear snaked through Amelia. Was he contemplating what she thought? She rubbed her arms, which suddenly felt cold. “What, Eversham? Do say it.”

“Harriet and I have discussed the problem in depth.” His tone turned serious. “If you continue this preposterous business, we are prepared to leave off renting this town house, and you will come to live with us.” His brow lowered. “Forever.”

* * *

Leg shackled, indeed.

The last thing on earth Lord Spencer Ashwhite wanted was a wife.

He winced as Eversham’s spouse hit a particularly high note with her words. They were in Eversham’s curricle on the way to Drury Lane, and Lady Eversham had not stopped jabbering the entire way. Her conversation consisted of frippery. Lots of comments about fashion and the Prince Regent.

Spencer tried to tune her out as Eversham seemed absorbed in her opinions and hadn’t bothered to involve Spencer in conversation. Thankfully they were almost to the theater. Though Spencer hoped to avoid Miss Winston, who was likely to be here tonight. If not starring in the show, then watching it with her friends.

Their relationship had been short-lived, but she did not like that he’d left for the Americas. He grimaced as he remembered the crack of her palm against his cheek. Over nothing but his refusal to continue their relationship when he returned to England.

She’d felt slighted, not seeming to understand that his priorities—nay, his very heart—had been changed.

At least this afternoon’s jaunt had provided a solution as well as comfort. The clergyman had listened well to Spencer. In fact, Spencer had been surprised by the cleric’s attentiveness. He’d even pulled out a Bible and shared scripture with Spencer. His advice had been sound, and Spencer had decided to go with his recommendations about pursuing marriage.

Though at this very moment, with his ears ringing and his patience sorely taxed, he was tempted to lose his estate rather than find a spouse.

The curricle pulled to the curb. Spencer exited and then watched as Eversham helped his wife out. He appeared deeply devoted to Lady Eversham, though Spencer knew for a fact that her money had initially snared Eversham’s interest.

He followed them into the theater, contemplating his friend’s change of actions. He must ask him about it, especially since he’d be imitating Eversham’s choices. Once ensconced in Eversham’s box, he turned to his friend.

“Before our show begins, I have an inquiry.”

“One moment.” Eversham turned to help Lady Eversham with her dress, which had snagged on a chair. She flashed him a grateful smile, and Spencer watched in surprise as the back of Eversham’s neck burned red.

Quite interesting.

Finally his friend faced him. “What can I help you with?”

“It’s of a personal note.” He glanced at Lady Eversham, noting with relief that she was conversing with a woman in a nearby box. “Your marriage appears to be flourishing, and yet it did not do so at first.”

Eversham squinted at Spencer. “Is this about your goals for marriage? Because I told you at breakfast that I don’t want any part of the sham.”

His friend had been vehement, actually.

“It won’t be a sham. I’m just trying to figure out the best way to go about things in order to fulfill the terms of the will,” Spencer said smoothly. “The chaplain said—”

“You spoke to a clergyman?”

“I’m a new man,” he said, voice stiff, feeling embarrassed when he shouldn’t be. “God is a part of my life now, and I am being careful to act in a way of which He’d approve.”

Eversham rolled his eyes. “Surely it’s not that difficult. Find a woman who suits you and marry her. No one is going to reject a rich marquis.”

“That’s a cold way to look at life.”

“Ash, what has gotten into you? See here, if you’re that concerned about right and wrong, hold your tongue until my sister arrives. Her notions are firm and unalterable. She won’t hesitate to tell you what she thinks, and most often, she’s right.”

“Your sister is coming? Tonight?” Unaccountably his gut tightened as he remembered how distastefully she’d said the word rakes.

“She’ll be here shortly. I’m forcing her to be social but, even more, to keep company with my wife.” Eversham’s smile was strangely tight. “Amelia’s actions of late have been unseemly, and it is past time she accepted her lot in life.”

Spencer drummed his fingers against his legs. He didn’t much care for bluestockings, either. His mother’s unconventional ways had ruined his parents’ marriage. “You sound perturbed.”

“My sister is creating a mess that I do not care to clean up.” His gaze cut to his chatting wife. “And I surely do not mean to put up with her shenanigans.”

“She’s a bluestocking, correct?”

“A political one, but that is the least of my worries.” Eversham leaned forward, cupping his mouth. “It has come to my attention that she is running a business.”

“Really?” That would not settle well with the dowager set. “Do tell.”

Eversham nodded sagely, keeping his voice low. “I will concede she’s an innovative sort. She has found a way to earn money by finding husbands for young misses in their first Season. Apparently she’s been wildly successful in supplementing her meager income.”

“A hardly shocking venture, Eversham,” Spencer said drily. He’d been expecting something a little more ludicrous. Perhaps hoping for it, fact. Hoping she was less than what she appeared—less than proper, even. Then he could dispense with the doubts about his own character and how she might judge him for past deeds...

Eversham gave a priggish sniff. “Shocking, perhaps not. But most decidedly unacceptable. She is the daughter of an earl, the sister of an earl. I’ll not have it, Ash.” His friend straightened, a frown upon his lips.

“I’ve never known her actions to bother you before. In fact, you’ve hardly mentioned her, and when I met her last night, I didn’t realize she was your sister.” Spencer narrowed his gaze on his friend. “We danced, and I found her to be a most interesting woman.”

“Interesting?” Eversham scoffed. “If you find women who are covered in paint half the time and write weekly letters of complaint to the House of Lords attractive, then you are daft. Her opinions never cease, and they are centered on matters no woman needs to have knowledge of.” His expression changed. “Did you say you danced with her?”

“Quite enjoyably,” Spencer drawled, grinning at how Eversham’s face darkened.

“My sister doesn’t dance.”

“She did with me.”

“She must not have realized who you were.” His friend’s countenance grew serious. “For all my talk, I love Amelia deeply. Do not treat her as a pet lady. I plan to marry her off.”

Spencer’s chest tightened at his friend’s implication. “Do you mean to say I am not good enough for your sister?”

“Let’s just say your past has not enamored me of your husbandly qualities. Either way, Amelia would never have you, but we can make a wager if you’d like?” Eversham let out an annoying chuckle that made Spencer’s knuckles itch.

“Those days are behind me.” He scowled. “And it is not I who is treating her as a dispensable item, now, is it?”

“Trust me, she is not your type.” Eversham inclined his head, his gaze shifting past Spencer. “But be the judge of that yourself, for here she comes, and knowing my twin and that particular expression upon her face, she is not in the best of moods.”

Indeed, Spencer turned to see Lady Amelia walking toward their box, the striking blonde from Lady Havern’s party trailing behind her. Lady Amelia’s appeared to be quite a reluctant walk, and though he could not read her eyes behind her enormous spectacles, he knew the exact moment she recognized him.

Her walk stuttered. A delightful curve graced her mouth. He admired her lips for a moment before looking away. He’d always had an affinity for a smile. There was nothing worse than a woman with a pinched mouth. Thin lips that knew only how to frown.

But Lady Amelia did not seem to suffer such a malady. She entered their box regally, her mouth tipped into a sincere smile. The scent of rosewater filled the air. When he stood for the ladies, all his senses engaged until, for that moment, he saw nothing but the lovely woman beside him.


Chapter Three (#ulink_b2359dc3-5907-5f10-8a93-122cd6ba4e1e)

Amelia’s pulse pounded in her ears. Her mouth felt dry and her palms sweaty. Every nerve tingled and all her senses seemed heightened, for beside her stood the very man she’d danced with the other night. A man she thought never to meet again despite his friendship with her brother.

Lord Ashwhite.

She felt his regard intensely, for he had not stopped staring since she’d entered the box. Perhaps her spectacles sat askew? But no, she’d have noticed that. Her hat, mayhap, crooked upon her head? Self-consciously she touched its brim and noted that it remained straight.

“Ah, sister, you’ve made it.” Eversham’s voice sounded overly bright. “Allow me to introduce you to Lord Ashwhite.”

“We’ve met.” She frowned at the sound of her voice. Breathy and quite unlike her normal self.

“I have not had the pleasure,” piped up Lydia. She hadn’t yet sat and dropped a perfect curtsy.

“This is Miss Lydia Stanley, a cousin who hails from Sussex for her first Season,” Amelia said.

“A pleasure to meet you.” Lord Ashwhite offered his own bow.

Amelia watched the marquis carefully to see if he showed any interest, but his attention to Lydia was perfunctory at best. An odd relief filtered through her.

Then Lord Ashwhite turned to her and bowed. As he rose, the smile that graced his face caught Amelia’s breath. A strange fluttering danced through her stomach. Feeling uncertain, she returned his manners with an inclination of her head.

“Why don’t you sit by me,” she said to Cousin Lydia, forcing her gaze to leave Lord Ashwhite’s and hoping desperately the strange feelings spreading through her would disappear. She must have eaten something bad earlier. Or perhaps the stress of having to be in Lady Eversham’s company was giving her the jitters?

Amelia spotted a familiar face in another box. She nudged Lydia. “Lord Dudley is present tonight. Shall we bump into him later?”

Lydia wrinkled her nose. “If we must.”

“Really, cousin. Do not do that with your nose.”

“Did I hear Lord Dudley’s name?” Lord Ashwhite interrupted them, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver down Amelia’s spine. “He is a cousin of mine.”

She could not forget how his voice had sounded the night she met him, how it held a musical cadence that thrilled her each time she heard it.

“Why, yes, he is our acquaintance,” said Lydia.

And a possible marriage prospect, Amelia wanted to put in, but she restrained herself. She hadn’t met with her runner yet. Besides, there was no need for Eversham to know she refused to give up this business. Not until she’d sold a painting. Then perhaps she’d consider his ridiculous demand.

“We shall go speak with him during intermission,” said Amelia, feeling the graze of Lord Ashwhite’s stare upon her cheek. “It is quite hot in here tonight, is it not?” She pulled out her fan and used it diligently, but the heat in her cheeks did not recede.

“I am feeling a touch cold,” said Lydia.

“Lady Amelia,” Lord Ashwhite said, “your brother tells me you are interested in politics.”

“Is that how he termed it?” She smiled.

“Not quite,” Lord Ashwhite amended. Those adorable crinkles appeared at his eyes as he grinned. Yes, he would make quite the husband for some fortunate lady.

“I thought not.” Amelia flashed him a knowing look. “But yes, I do make my opinions known. Especially on the state of Newgate. There are prisoners who are quite literally starving to death. Others have been locked up for years over a piece of stolen bread. Children living in filth with their criminal mothers, who are treated horribly. The men have families waiting for them. They’ve very often learned their lesson, and yet they’re given few options to redeem themselves.” She knew indignation was making her voice rise and tried to lower her pitch. “Their children resort to begging while the mothers are forced into more horrific careers.”

“You sound knowledgeable about these matters.” Lord Ashwhite’s eyes held hers with regard, very serious, as though he’d absorbed everything she said and cared.

His eyes were quite a marvelous green, as bright as emeralds. How she’d love to find an oil in such a shade. She blinked. Focus on the subject at hand.Inhale. She was not a young miss prone to a fit of the vapors.

“Yes,” she breathed. “I have written numerous letters to the House of Lords on the subject.”

“Lady Amelia, do tone it down.” Harriet’s voice cut through anything she planned to say next. “I apologize for my sister-in-law’s enthusiasms. Come, tell us if you’ve seen this play before, my lord?”

He directed his attention to Lady Eversham, and Amelia all but melted into her chair. Her limbs felt as soft as wax. It was her sister-in-law’s doing, no doubt. Just being in her presence caused Amelia’s heart rate to rise. She dragged in a deep breath and willed some strength into her body.

Lydia was watching her, a curious quirk to her brows.

“What?” asked Amelia.

“Do not sound so cross. I am simply flummoxed.”

It was Amelia’s turn to raise a brow.

“I believe it was only this morning that you specifically told me to disregard politics as a conversational tool.”

“He asked me first,” Amelia pointed out. “Furthermore, I am not on the marriage mart. I have no need to curtail my tongue in those matters.”

“I see.”

“Good.” Amelia frowned. She did not like the satisfied look upon Lydia’s face. It was almost as if she was suggesting...something. Amelia did not quite know what her cousin implied, but she felt that it was threatening somehow.

While Lydia thumbed through the evening’s schedule, Amelia snuck a glance at Lord Ashwhite. His profile was exceedingly handsome. As she looked, she felt those butterflies again, and that was when the knowledge came upon her.

She was attracted to Lord Ashwhite.

An honest-to-goodness affinity for the marquis.

She pressed a palm against her stomach and looked away. Surely it could not be so. Why, she had not felt a passing interest for any man in years. Not since Lord Markham, who’d teased her and danced with her, his dimpled smile charming her into believing he held more regard for her than he really did.

She’d told him all about her dreams. Her aspirations to change society, to make life better for others, and he’d listened. He’d listened so well she thought he actually loved her.

The remembrance of his attentiveness brought a sour feeling to her stomach.

No, attraction was deceptive. True love did not involve the senses but rather actions. She nodded. She would not respond to this absurd feeling burgeoning within. Her goals for life did not include a husband.

Home involved paintings and letters and books. Not a husband. Why, did she want to end up like Eversham? A man who’d always been strong-minded and progressive? Now look at him. A poor sot chained to his wife’s side, doing her bidding, forcing his sister, his very own twin, into drastic measures just to preserve her way of life?

She thought not. And that was why she wouldn’t gawk at Lord Ashwhite, let alone engage in conversation with him. At this time her emotions could not be trusted, and she certainly did not want them to interfere with her plans.

The lights lowered, and the play began. Something about one of the actresses niggled at her memory, but she couldn’t place her. Eventually the story line pulled her in, and the night passed with laughter, temporarily relieving her from the worry that had gnawed at her since her brother’s visit.

Despite her interest in the play, she never forgot who sat beside her. His laugh was low and contagious, and she discovered that they invariably laughed at the same lines.

Finally the play ended. As they rose from their seats, she felt a tap upon her shoulder. She turned and found Lord Ashwhite studying her closely.

“My lady,” he said, voice serious, “I would have a word with you.”

“Privately?” Her gaze shifted to where Eversham was busy helping his wife.

“Yes.”

She blinked. Oh, dear, this was not going as planned. She could feel those exuberant butterflies waltzing within. Heart pounding, and despite her better judgment, she nodded.

His hand pressed gently against her back as he guided her toward the box’s exit. She shot Lydia a glance, but her cousin had become entangled in a conversation with Lady Eversham.

Slipping out, she gave Lord Ashwhite a bland look. Best to keep her voice modulated, as well. She did not want to give away her nerves in his presence. They were jangling wildly and affecting her ability to think clearly.

“How may I help you, my lord?”

He moved closer and glanced furtively about the theater before meeting her gaze square on. “I am in need of your services.”

Baffled, she couldn’t help squinting at him through her spectacles.

He chuckled. “You heard me correctly. At the present moment, I find myself in a quandary that I think only you will be able to help me out of. My lady—” his grin faded “—how much would it cost for you to find me a wife?”

* * *

Spencer repressed a smirk at the stunned expression crossing Lady Amelia’s face. Indeed, her lovely mouth rounded as if she’d forgotten those manners she seemed to pride herself on. Then she drew herself up, and her eyes flashed beneath the lowered lights of the theater.

“Sir, you are mistaken.” Her nose lifted, though she couldn’t possibly look down at him from her spectacles because he towered over her. He had the feeling she wished he would shrink. “I am not for hire.”

He allowed his lips to tilt in a mocking smile. From experience, he knew women tended to be partial to his smiles. Lady Amelia would be no exception. “Come, now, my lady, that is an untruth.”

“I beg your pardon?” She had the audacity to look shocked. The fan she’d been gripping tightly waved about her face, which was turning an attractive shade of pink.

There was something about her movements as she fanned herself, something both hurried and graceful. His gaze rested upon her fingers. Discoloration marked the tips of her nail beds. Oil paint residue? It must be costly to paint...

“I believe you heard me quite clearly and are being deliberately obtuse,” he said.

She gasped, and her fan picked up its pace.

“In fact, if I were a wagering man, which I’m not, I’d say you are most definitely for hire, but the fact you wish to conceal this is intriguing.” The purse of her lips was distracting him. Her eyes were indignant behind the spectacles, but even more, there seemed to be a spark of curiosity there.

“My lord.” Her gaze darted past him to the opening of her brother’s box. “I am not in the habit of finding wives.” She pinned him with a severe look that made him want to laugh. “I beg you to forget this conversation and leave me be.”

Noise filled the space as Eversham, Harriet and Miss Stanley joined them.

“The play was ever so lovely. Do you not agree, my lord?” Miss Stanley batted her eyelashes at him, amusement playing about the corners of her mouth.

“It was,” he said, though he found his stare returning to Lady Amelia. Said lady appeared to be communicating with her brother via glares. Tension filled the air as the group fell silent.

“Well, I believe we shall be going. We have an early-morning stroll planned for tomorrow.” Miss Stanley linked her arm through Lady Amelia’s and flashed an even row of teeth. “I do hope we’ll see you again, Lord Ashwhite. Perhaps at Almack’s next week? We shall be there often, and I shall reserve a place on my card—” Her voice cut off suddenly, and then Lady Amelia bestowed a syrupy smile upon the group.

“Good evening, everyone.”

Was he mistaken or did Lady Amelia just forcibly nudge Miss Stanley to turn and leave? Unable to stop his grin, he watched the two depart.

“I do not understand why you invited her,” said Lady Eversham beneath her breath.

“You must get used to her presence.” Eversham’s voice held a stern note.

Lady Eversham’s eyes cut to Spencer then back to Eversham as if warning him to keep their personal matters out of public hearing. A mischievous streak prompted Spencer to speak.

“I quite enjoyed their company. Will Lady Amelia be living with you? Seeing her more often would boost my mood immensely.”

Eversham growled and stalked toward the theater’s exit. Lady Eversham kept quiet, confirming Spencer’s suspicions.

So the lady might have to move in with her brother and his difficult wife. What a dilemma. His mind raced as he followed them to their waiting curricle.

A dilemma for her, but for him, quite possibly the opportunity he needed to keep his estate.


Chapter Four (#ulink_76cf01f9-fbbd-50a8-81b8-783847a03625)

“There has to be a way out of this.” Spencer flexed his fingers and watched the lawyer carefully. After realizing the dearth of suitable ladies on the marriage mart and being subjected to Lady Amelia’s forceful refusal to help in his search for a wife, Spencer decided to call on the lawyer again. Perchance he’d misunderstood him on the first visit. Early-morning light slanted against the elderly man’s wig and outlined the offensive papers upon his desk.

“No, my lord. The will is airtight. You must find a wife within three months’ time or your entailed property will pass to your cousin, Lord Dudley.”

“He already has an earldom.” An earldom that was mismanaged, to say the least. “I will not lose Ashwhite to him. My father... I don’t know what he was thinking.” He ground his teeth. As always, his father had gone too far in meddling with his life. Even after death, the old man insisted on controlling things. “I will fight this.”

“Perhaps you should marry and be done with it.” The lawyer adjusted his spectacles, reminding Spencer of Lady Amelia’s refusal last night to help him.

He wondered what she might think of this clause in his father’s will. He focused on the lawyer. “When was this updated? Might it be said my father’s mental faculties were impaired when he wrote it?”

“When did you last see your father, if I may ask such a thing?” The lawyer’s quizzical gaze burned Spencer.

It had been too long. Guilt swept through Spencer and shook his resolve. He inclined his head, accepting the lawyer’s question with regret. “Four years.”

“I see.” The lawyer cleared his throat. “Well, your father was in the pink of health when he had his accident. The horse had to be put down, and it was the infection that took your father. I was there that last day, and his faculties were fully functional. The will was made a year ago, though, and has not been altered since.”

A year ago... Right about when Spencer had begun doubting his place in life. He’d had a particularly rough patch with gaming debts and irrational, clinging women. A brewing scandal had convinced him to take a little trip to the Americas...probably the best decision he’d ever made.

He frowned, tapping his fingers against his trousers.

“It looks as though I’m well and completely snookered,” he said. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. If I do not marry, what shall happen?”

“You will have the entailed property from your mother, and you shall keep your title as Earl of Hartsacre. There is no money with that property except for what it makes. Your standing would be diminished.”

Standing. Spencer grunted and pushed to his feet. He did not care a fig for social status, but he did love his home, and the thought of losing Ashwhite... He gripped the edges of his coat. It could not happen. He schooled his features and held out a hand. The lawyer stood and they shook.

“You may send a copy of the banns when you’ve found a bride, but keep in mind you must be married in three months’ time, not engaged.”

“I understand.” Spencer gave the lawyer a curt nod and let himself out.

If he was to save his property, then he must marry. And to marry, he must find a suitable bride. For all his travels and his transformation that had taken place in the Americas, he felt himself at a crossroads.

What would the God he’d chosen to follow in the Americas think of this choice to marry? Was marrying to keep his lands and fortune safe rather than for love acceptable? Falling in love was unlikely, but surely there must be something in the Bible about parameters for marrying. Talk to God. Confess to Him your needs.

The American preacher’s voice, filled with conviction, filtered through his memory. Perhaps prayer was the answer. Outside the office and right on the street, he closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Let it sink deep in his chest before exhaling.

Lord, the preacher said You know my desires and needs. Right now, more than anything, I’m in need of wisdom. And some help. Please show me the way, if You would?

Spencer opened his eyes. He waited and didn’t feel any kind of answer, but he did have a strange contentment that he must assume came from praying. Perhaps it was an answer in and of itself.

Smiling, Spencer relaxed. His friends might never believe him about this, but surely there was a God, and surely He heard prayers.

He walked to where he’d parked the phaeton. The morning mist felt cool upon his face, perfect weather for a quick ride around Hyde Park. He made sure his tiger, Jacob, was safely situated at the back of the phaeton before he snapped the reins. The bays launched into a steady prance, and his shoulders eased back. Confinement in his town house proved to be more stifling now. After a year in the Americas, that land of stubborn colonials, he’d come to appreciate the scent of fresh air and the wildness of being free.

For so many years, he’d wasted his mornings with sleep. Spent his evenings gaming and carousing with women of ill repute. Missed the golden drench of sunrise, the newness God brought each day. Even now it was hard to remember why he hadn’t thought of God, how he’d strolled through life living only in the moment, thankful for nothing, expecting everything.

He inhaled a deep breath of morning air, tasting its richness imbued with the flavor of summer flowers. Around him the streets remained quiet. It was the height of the Season, after all, and the ton and their servants would still be sleeping off their late nights.

One of his horses snuffled softly. This exercise would keep them strong and healthy. He turned them to circle the park and reminisced upon last night.

He’d gotten nowhere in talking to Eversham. His friend was being surprisingly tight-lipped about his sister and her situation. Maybe Waverly knew something, though he doubted it. While he’d been in the Americas discovering a new way of life, his friend Waverly had continued to stay busy following his normal, debauched path.

A path Spencer had stepped away from forever.

Thoughtful, he turned the bays in the direction of Mayfair. The one piece of information he’d received from Eversham last night was Lady Amelia’s address, though it had been reluctantly given and accompanied by a suspicious frown.

Spencer couldn’t stop his smirk.

Poor Eversham. On one side a needy spouse and on the other a far too independent sister. Spencer had always wanted siblings, but now he thought perhaps it was better he had none. They were far too emotionally costly. By the time he found Lady Amelia’s townhome, sunlight had melted away the mist and coaxed a fine layer of perspiration to his brow. He brought the phaeton to the curb. His tiger leaped down, and he handed the reins to him.

“Jacob, is it?” he asked as he climbed down.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Mrs. Cubb’s son? You’ve grown.”

“Thank you, my lord.” The young man flushed and bowed.

“Have you driven a phaeton before?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And can you handle these horses?”

Jacob’s eyes brightened. “That I can.”

“Be a good lad, then, and take my phaeton home for me. I shall walk back or catch a hackney.”

A mile-wide grin bunched the boy’s cheeks. Smiling, Spencer turned toward the house and listened as the phaeton pulled away. The joys of childhood left too quickly, as young Jacob would discover.

He rapped at the door, and an aging yet capable butler received him. After presenting his card, he followed the butler to a small library.

“Her ladyship may not be receiving callers today,” the butler told Spencer. “I shall return with an answer.”

“Thank you.” Spencer took a seat and looked around. Evidently Lady Amelia appreciated literature. Her library was...excessive. Books not only lined the walls but also topped every table in the room. Some of the shelves held double rows of books.

Intriguing.

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever met a woman before who read so very much. Then again, most of his intimates had not been keen on intellectual discussions. He frowned, remembering his former ways.

Many had called him a rake. Maybe that was why his father had added the marriage clause to his will. Spencer hoped his reputation wouldn’t impede any progress in the marriage quest.

The door to the library opened once again. The butler gave him a steady look. “Lady Amelia is indisposed and wishes for you to return at a later time.”

Spencer bit back a sudden grin. So that was how she intended to play things? Well, Lady Amelia was sadly mistaken if she thought she could ignore him. He had too much to lose to fall over and play dead to her whims.

He arched a brow, leaned back and propped one ankle across the other. “I shall wait.”

The butler tilted his head. “Her ladyship does not wish to be disturbed.”

Knowing it was the height of rudeness and not caring one whit, Spencer gave him a slow, lazy smile. “I’ve come to discuss important business. If she will not see me this morning, then I shall wait until this afternoon. And if not this afternoon, then I shall arrive again the next morning. I shall come every day until Lady Amelia recovers from her indisposition and is ready to receive my call.”

To his surprise, the old butler chuckled. “I will give her the message, my lord.”

“Very good.” And he settled back, certain he would not have to wait long.

* * *

“My lady.”

The whispered words filtered through the haze of sleep anchoring Amelia to her bed. Her blankets bunched up around her, creating a comfortable haven of warmth. She scrunched her eyes closed, praying she had only dreamed the sound of Dukes’s voice. Now, where had she been... Oh, yes, dancing. She burrowed into her pillow, remembering that delicious low rumble of her partner’s voice...

“My lady, I apologize, but Lord Ashwhite is in the library.”

She groaned. “Again?”

’Twas the third day the persistent man had shown up at her doorstep. Yesterday he’d stayed until evening. Abominable creature. She groaned again and pressed her face against the pillow.

“My lady, shall I tell him you’re indisposed?”

“Please,” she whispered. Two could play at this game. Perhaps if she didn’t know what he wanted, she might be compelled by curiosity to see him, but the problem remained that she did know, and she could not help him.

Aiding Cousin Lydia was risky enough, especially since she wasn’t receiving a payment for her services. As much as she needed the money, she certainly could not allow Eversham’s best friend to hire her. When her brother found out, then her fate would be sealed. Her independence decimated by Harriet’s voracious need for control.

The sound of something plopping against her coverlets raised her head.

“My lady,” Dukes said. “I’ve brought your morning mail in case you do not plan to leave your room again.”

“Thank you.” She pulled the covers over her head, scowling into the darkness. How uncouth of Lord Ashwhite, how utterly irritating, that he persisted in this nonsense. She refused to be bound to her bedroom simply because he could not take no for an answer.

On the other hand, she had no wish to face him. It was bad enough that she dreamed of his voice, but to look into that startling, laughing green gaze of his and refuse to help might be her undoing.

If he wasn’t her brother’s good friend, she’d call the constable...oh, no.

She was to meet with her Bow Street runner today regarding Lord Dudley!

She whipped into a sitting position, startling the stack of mail into slipping off the bed. It crashed to the floor. Her hair knotted about her head in a wild mass that divided her line of vision. She swiped it away and jumped out of bed, almost colliding with the boudoir as she rang for Sally.

While waiting, she scooped up the mail. Nothing important except a letter from her brother. She sighed, went to her vanity and plucked up her letter opener. She slit the envelope and read his scrawling script, each of his words tightening her chest until she felt as though she wore a corset three sizes too small.

She closed her eyes. Deep breaths. It would not do to have a fit of the vapors. Her fingers clenched the letter opener. The cool metal dug into her skin. She would not be hysterical. She would not.

Her brother’s threats to end her life as she knew it, forcing her into that cage he called a home, were not idle after all. His demand that she pack within the week was ludicrous.

He cared not that she wasn’t earning money helping Lydia. He only worried for their family’s reputation...a reputation that was perfectly unharmed by her actions. He and Harriet were behaving in such an unreasonable way.

“My lady, are you all right?” Sally stood in the doorway, brow puckered.

“Perfectly fine,” she answered crisply. She would not allow Eversham to bully her. Surely she could make him see reason. “I need my hair done quickly, though, not a moment to lose, for I must find my brother and talk some sense into him. And could you ask Dukes to keep Lord Ashwhite in the library? It appears I’ll need to speak with him after all.”

Not only that, but her Bow Street runner was scheduled to arrive at ten o’clock. It wasn’t like her to be so disorganized. She frowned as she looked for a dress to wear. Perhaps a modest muslin of a robust shade. Something to lift her mood and give her confidence for the battle to come.

Thirty minutes later, armed with her spectacles and a magnificent fan she’d bought with Cousin Lydia in Bath, Amelia descended the stairs and marched into the library.

As expected, Lord Ashwhite lounged in a chair. Unexpectedly, he held one of her novels in his hands. Open.

Her eyes narrowed. “You wished to see me?”

“Two days ago.” In a smoothly relaxed move, he laid the book, facedown, on the side table. He regarded her with laughing eyes. “Do you read much of that rubbish?”

Cheeks burning, Amelia set her jaw. “My reading materials are none of your concern.”

“Should I hire you—and after reading that, it’s a questionable venture—I would need to know that your ability to pick a spouse is not based on some impractical frippery that only exists within a woman’s imagination.” He tented his fingers. “Or perhaps these stories inspire you?”

His languid tone, the way his lips curved as if he were trying to hold his laugh in, set her teeth on edge. His aristocratic snobbery filled her with a sizzling need to throw a book at his head, which she didn’t understand. Why, she barely knew this man. She’d shared one dance with him, had one conversation, and yet she was beginning to comprehend why the jewel-laden woman at the ball the other night had slapped him.

Wetting her lips, she moved farther into the room. “As you are a good friend to my brother, I will pretend you have not insulted me within my own home. I will overlook the fact that you’ve been rude and hostile, and I will answer your questions. But first, have you need of refreshment? Surely the time you’ve spent encamping in my home has famished you?” She ended with a soft little smile even though she was seething on the inside. And those butterflies were waltzing in her stomach again, aggravating her even more. Her fingers clenched within the folds of her dress.

He studied her, the posture of his hands suggesting a more serious mood. Good. She could handle a man with a real goal, but a tease? No, she was ill equipped for that. Her mind flashed back to Lord Markham, and she grimaced.

“I am in no need of refreshment, my lady.” Lord Ashwhite stood and pointed to the other chair. “Would you care to have a seat so that we might discuss business?”

“We have nothing to discuss. You have asked and I have declined.”

“These books look costly.” Lord Ashwhite ran a supine finger down the length of her bookcase. “Does the money you receive from your brother cover your purchases?”

“That is hardly your concern.” But she found herself captivated by the movements of his hand. He touched her books lovingly, as a man who understood the value of such things.

“There is no Lord Byron here,” he murmured.

“No, I find his poems tedious and fanciful. Despite what you may think, Lord Ashwhite, I am a practical woman.” She injected sternness into her voice and forced herself to stop staring at Eversham’s friend. “And therein lies your problem. You want a wife, but I do not find wives. I find husbands for women who would like to marry well and marry happily. Furthermore, there has been a...change of plans for me. I am not presently taking on new clients.”

He swiveled that direct gaze of his toward her. She picked up her chin and gave him what she hoped was a glare that bespoke finality.

“But there is some sort of stress in your life, am I correct?” He advanced toward her in a slow manner, a glide almost. She resisted the urge to back away. “I have been given the impression that you may be forced to change residences soon. Which would be rather sad, seeing as you’ve made a home for yourself here. And would you be able to paint at your brother’s estate?”

She blinked. “What do you know of my painting?”

“I know your fingernails are stained. The books you read are not practical but romantic. You are not what you present to the world, my lady.”

Her breath came quick and uneven. “What are you suggesting?”

A languorous smile touched his face. His fingers spread in a supplicating manner. “I propose we work together in finding me a wife. The amount I pay you will be adequate in covering whatever is forcing you from your home. We shall both walk away happy from this partnership.”

Before she could form an answer—and in truth, she did not know what to say—Dukes appeared in the doorway.

“My lady, your runner is here,” he said.


Chapter Five (#ulink_d0b9c509-8022-5587-bf7f-fd59f46a221b)

Her runner? As in Bow Street? Spencer forced his face to blankness despite the questions ricocheting through his mind. Lady Amelia might have much more happening in her life than strained familial relationships.

She nodded to Dukes, back straight and that no-nonsense tilt to her chin lending her an air of authority. “Very well. Would you show him to the parlor while I finish with Lord Ashwhite?”

“Certainly.” Dukes bowed and disappeared from the doorway.

“Before we were interrupted, you made a proposition.” Lady Amelia turned to him. Whatever vulnerabilities he’d sensed only moments ago were gone, replaced by the sheen of pragmatism. “I must decline...again. As I said, I am not taking on new clients. It very well could be that this business of mine is ended. While I admire your persistence, you must stop now, for I do not foresee a change of mind or plans.” With that, she gave a quick jerk with her head as if to underscore the firmness of her words.

“I am not one to give up lightly,” he warned her.

“And neither am I.”

Perplexed, feeling at a crossroads, he studied her. He had the strongest intuition that this lady could help him, and yet she refused. Lord, what now?

He had a responsibility to the people of Ashwhite. Furthermore, he did not trust Dudley to look over the property the way he could. His fingers tapped against his legs as he worked through the situation. Lady Amelia looked flustered, though knowing her, she’d deny such a feeling.

Her hands gave her away. She sported the most interesting look of sternness upon her face, but her fingers knotted within the folds of her dress, a rather pretty shade of pink that put roses in her cheeks. Or mayhap it was his words doing that.

He met her eyes and saw the determination there. There was only one way he could think of to sway her. He moved closer so that she might see the sincerity upon his face.

“My lady, might you consider my plight more seriously? It would probably be well to explain my need of a wife.”

Her lids flickered and there was the barest hesitation of breath, so he proceeded. “It is not only for my well-being but also for the people who depend upon my property for their livelihoods. Ashwhite is a prosperous estate near Kent. Through different ventures and progressive farming methods, I’ve increased its profits and created a home for many.”

Lady Amelia looked away, but her fingers had stilled their fidgeting.

“It is my fear that should the estate leave my hands, the one to whom it is going may not manage it as well. I love my childhood home, and I love the people there.” His voice unexpectedly caught, for at that moment images from boyhood rose to his mind. Cook, with her flushed cheeks and wide smile. His old nanny, who now lived a happy life in a small cottage on the grounds. His childhood friends who’d grown to become the barons and rectors living nearby.

“Truthfully, my lord, you make a compelling argument.” Lady Amelia raised her gaze to his, worrying her bottom lip. He saw the compassion radiating in her direct look and felt the first stirrings of hope. “I still must decline, however, for should I take on your case, it could ruin me.”

“I don’t understand,” he said slowly.

“The wherefores are too complicated to speak of now, but I would like you to know I respect your desire to protect your people. If I could help, if I thought it were profitable for both of us, I would. Please believe me, my lord.” She placed her hand upon his arm.

He looked down, felt the heat of her imprint against his sleeve. Her hand was small and delicate, with tapering fingers that hinted at her artistic temperament.

“Perhaps someday I shall see your paintings,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. A heady sensation was taking over him, one he well recognized but did not care to resist. “Perhaps when I find a wife, I shall commission you for a portrait?”

A fine blush spread across her face, and he decided that she felt the same strange pull he did. Not only that, but he’d rendered her speechless. His stare dropped to her lips, which parted ever so slightly.

She stepped back quickly and would have lost her balance had her hand not still rested upon his arm. Her grip tightened. “My guest is waiting for me. I must go, but thank you...” She trailed off, sounding uncertain and perhaps afraid.

He had much more experience than she in the ways of attraction. Whether she knew that about him or not, he wasn’t sure, but he bore the responsibility to put her at ease. He gave her a short bow and gently removed her touch from his arm. The absence of her hold left a curiously cool place upon his sleeve.

Swallowing past the tightness of his throat, he smiled. “Thank you, my lady, for your time. I hope you might change your mind.”

Her head shake was curt. “I fear not.” She backed to the door. “Perhaps I shall see you next week at Almack’s. Fare thee well, my lord.”

He nodded as she left the room in a graceful sway of skirts. What an enigma, and yet...he had no idea why Eversham found her exasperating. Then again, he’d just discovered that his feelings toward her were not quite brotherly.

He’d had these feelings before with other women. The emotions were short-lived and passed quickly. No doubt they would for Lady Amelia, as well. He let out a heavy sigh. It appeared this avenue led to a dead end. He might have to go about finding a wife the old-fashioned way.

Soirees, balls and, worst of all, the throat-clutching, loathsome house party.

Stifling a groan, he stalked out of the library. As he entered the small hallway, he noticed the parlor door remained open. Lady Amelia’s skirt was visible just past the entrance. A man’s voice carried into the hall.

Had he said “Dudley”?

Spencer glanced around. Not seeing the aging butler or any other servant, he ventured closer to the door.

“Are you quite sure, Mr. Ladd?”

“Yes, my lady. My information has been verified several times.”

Lady Amelia responded, her voice low and refined. Spencer couldn’t catch her words. A puckish intention overrode good sense, and he strode into the parlor.

They turned toward him, shocked. Lady Amelia with her sharp eyes and pretty mouth both rounding, and the runner who was surprisingly young and fit looking with a wild mane of hair that rode about a curiously blank face.

Spencer made a neat bow and then straightened. “Please pardon my rudeness. I could not help but overhear your dialogue concerning Lord Dudley.”

Lady Amelia, to her credit, remained composed. She curtsied and then beckoned him in. “Lord Ashwhite, this is Mr. Ladd. He is in my service on a special project.”

They exchanged civilities, and then he looked to Lady Amelia and waited.

She arched a brow at him. Sunlight streaming in through large windows glinted off the edge of her spectacles. Very well. He’d make the conversational overture. It did not matter to him in the least if Mr. Ladd found him rude.

“I have an interest in Lord Dudley and will pay to hear what you have discovered about him, Ladd,” he said.

The runner leaned on his heels and rocked a bit, his face a quiet study of consideration. At last he held out a palm. “A farthing will do.”

“Done.” Spencer retrieved his money purse from his pocket and gave the man what he had asked for. He slipped a glance at Lady Amelia. Her face looked a tad pinched. He had the feeling she wanted to reprimand him, but not in front of the runner. An absurd sense of satisfaction settled over him.

Mr. Ladd gave the piece a nip and then slid it into his pocket. His eyes, a remote brown, took in Spencer. He allowed the perusal and did his own. Shabby coat but expensive shoes. Clean nails and unkempt hair that looked, nevertheless, washed. This man might be a trusted source for Lady Amelia.

“Mr. Ladd, if it is all the same to you, I will fill Lord Ashwhite in. I’m sure you have other matters to attend to this morning.”

“An excellent notion, my lady.” The runner retrieved the coin but Spencer shook his head.

“Keep it,” he said.

After a brief hesitation, Ladd nodded. He gave Spencer what felt like a warning look and then smiled at Lady Amelia. “Are you sure you’ll be safe in his company?”

Spencer bristled. Did this man disapprove of him?

Lady Amelia let out a delicate chuckle. “But of course, Mr. Ladd. He is a family friend. I do thank you for your most excellent work once again. You’re an asset to the agency.”

To Spencer’s surprise, and possibly chagrin, he watched as Mr. Ladd’s impassive features took on a flush. The man bowed to Lady Amelia, murmured, “At your service” and left the room.

Once again, Spencer was alone with Lady Amelia. Exactly what he wanted. A grin overtook his features. “My lady, you have information to share?”

* * *

“Tell me again why I am riding with you?” Lord Ashwhite sat in the corner of the open hackney Amelia had hailed. He looked quite perturbed, most likely because she hadn’t shared with him yet about Lord Dudley’s financial straits.

Instead, she’d hustled out of the house, the need to see her brother more important than indulging a marquis’s curiosity.

She did not own her own phaeton or curricle, which did not usually pose a problem because she was in walking distance of most everywhere she wished to go. When she traveled to Bath, she borrowed her brother’s landau.

Arcs of sunlight from the window splayed against her dress but left the marquis across from her in shadows. She scowled at the man, whose arresting gaze irritated her to no end. Or did it stimulate? She shrugged off the unwelcome thought. Stuff and nonsense, that was all. Her life did not resemble a fluffy novel with its exciting tales and dashing heroes. No, real life required choices and practicality.

“Well?” Lord Ashwhite prompted her.

“I—uh—” Amelia’s mind scuttled for an answer whilst hardly remembering the question. Oh, yes. His annoying presence in the hackney.

Summoning a bit of steel to her spine, she gave him an arch look. “You’ve disrupted my business for three days. If you must know, it is paramount that I see my brother this morn. I don’t have time to dillydally with you and your games.”

“I told you, this is not a game,” he said languidly.

“My mistake.” Her tone softened, for how could she not empathize with wanting to save a childhood home? “I have been blessed in that my brother inherited my father’s estate when my father died. He loves the people there as much as I do.”

His bright eyes centered upon her face. “Then, you can imagine how I feel?”

“Indeed.” She nodded slowly, gripping the seat as the hackney jolted over some unevenness in the road. “My trouble lies in wondering why you do not go about the traditional way of obtaining a wife. There are plenty of young women who would be delighted to marry you. A title, wealth and a good disposition cause many mammas to salivate.”

His nose wrinkled, which caught Amelia by surprise. She felt an unwilling urge to smile.

“As I have only three months in which to marry, there isn’t time to get to know the lady. I am not looking for a young miss. Ideally, my wife will be refined and mature. She must have a good sense of humor and live in a godly way.”

Amelia cocked her head. “Do you mean to say her church attendance is important to you?”

“No.” He leaned forward, propping his arms on his knees and clasping his hands together. “She must have a personal interest in God. A relationship with Jesus, if you will, that influences her daily living.”

How absolutely intriguing. Amelia eyed him carefully. A marquis who felt Christian values were important. That Christianity should be a part of living rather than a Sunday ritual. Her own parents had been pious. She remembered the large ornate Bible on a table in the library... Where had that disappeared to?

“Have I embarrassed you, Lady Amelia?” Lord Ashwhite’s winning smile bunched his cheeks. “Your brother finds my religious fervor baffling, and my friend Waverly finds it annoying.”

“Not at all. I find it most impressive.” And attractive, though she certainly couldn’t say so.

“Meeting such a lady is bound to be difficult, as most seem to bend their beliefs to reflect their company.”

“Perhaps try a church?” Overhead the sunlight shifted with the hackney’s movements, and she adjusted her hat. Lord Ashwhite’s face moved out of shadow. “There are many societies that aid the less fortunate, and within those I’ve found a number of young women living out their lives in godly service.”

“Might I attend such a meeting with you?” The question, while casually delivered, came with such a mischievous smirk that she felt tempted to rap his arm with her fan. Rather, she gave him a sidelong glance that felt a tad flirtatious.

“Perhaps one day, my lord.”

The hackney rumbled to a stop. Lord Ashwhite exited, and then held out his hand to her. The barest hesitation rippled through her. His mannerly approach could not stifle the fluttering that had resumed in her belly or the reluctance she felt in making contact with him.

Nonsense.

She summoned resolve and put her hand in his. Through her gloves she felt the gentle strength of his grip, his thumb resting lightly on her hand, his fingers curled around her palm, insurance against a fall. She could not meet his eyes for the emotion coursing through her. It would do no good to let this marquis see feeling plastered across her face.

He spoke intelligently, listened to her ideas, danced like a dream and cared for his people. What of it? Many men did the same. There was no logic to the emotions stilting her thoughts. As soon as her slippers touched the cobblestones, he released her hand. She paid the hackney driver, and then they commenced to her brother’s front door.

“I will pay back your fare,” Lord Ashwhite said as they mounted the steps to the door.

“Certainly not.”

“Indeed, or shall I call for my landau and offer you a ride home?”

He was too charming, with that sun-induced twinkle in his eyes and that handsome curve about his lips. She adjusted her hat and gave him a prim look. “You’ll do no such thing, my lord.”

Twisting forward, she rapped smartly on her brother’s door and steeled herself for a conflict.

“You didn’t tell me about Lord Dudley,” he said abruptly.

“Oh, dear... Well, now is not a good time. I do not wish to bandy about information where the servants might hear.”

“I’m quite sure they know more than you do.” He paused. “That runner, Mr. Ladd, seems protective of you.”

“Surely your imagination.” She rapped on the door again, harder this time, more desperately.

“Have you been doing business with him for a long time?”

“You ask too many questions.” She raised her hand to knock again, but the door swung open, much to her relief. Confounded man. Why had he taken such an interest? It would not bode well for her should he decide to impart what he knew to her brother.

Eversham’s butler showed her into the library, her favorite room, as he well knew. He left the door open while he went to rouse her brother.

“I see old Ev’s sleeping habits haven’t changed.”

“They attended Lady Blight’s rout last evening.” Amelia perused the shelves for something new to borrow. Unfortunately her sister-in-law was more of a talker than a reader. More was the pity.

“And you?” Lord Ashwhite questioned.

“My, but speculation does seem to be your favorite game.”

“Whilst you excel at charades.”

Despite herself, she smiled. “Really, my lord, must we engage in verbal battle?” She turned and unexpectedly found him behind her. Breath caught, heart pumping, she paused.

“Yes, my lady, we really must, for I intend to win at this game.”

“I do not lose easily,” she said, refusing to back up. In fact, she’d give him a taste of his own antics. An exciting quiver of anticipation arched through her as she stepped forward. Only inches away.

His cravat was tied exceptionally well. The breadth of his shoulders surpassed her own, and she pointed her face upward, fixing him with a determined look that she hoped did not belie the curious thrum stretching her nerves wire taut. To her surprise, an indefinable look crossed his face.

What was that in his eyes? For a moment, it seemed as though he swayed toward her. But then his features smoothed, and politeness blanketed his expression.

He backed up and made a terse little bow. “Forgive me for intruding upon your space.”

Suddenly uncertain, she nodded a pardon.

“Am I interrupting?” Her brother stood in the doorway, looking displeased. His forehead creased as it was wont to do when he became upset. Deep circles ringed his eyes.

“Not at all.” Smoothly Amelia skirted Lord Ashwhite and went to her brother. She clasped his hands and drew him into the room. “And I do apologize for waking you, but this cannot wait. Is Lady Eversham asleep still?”

“Yes, and not to be disturbed.”

They sat on the couch while Lord Ashwhite continued his elegant stance against the wall shelves. Amelia acutely felt the heat of his gaze upon her but chose to ignore it. She hoped Ev would dismiss his friend, but when her brother called for morning tea, that hope withered.

She took a deep, fortifying breath. Very well. Lord Ashwhite would find out her circumstances soon enough should things not go the way she wished.

“Did Ash come with you, Amelia?” Ev steepled his fingers. She noted the clumsy knot of his cravat and felt a pang of guilt for showing up so early.

“Yes.”

His brows rose, waiting, but she wouldn’t say more. He’d already interfered in her life enough. And she’d let him know that, regardless of Lord Ashwhite’s presence.

“We had business to discuss.” The low rumble of his voice interrupted the tension between her and Eversham.

Amelia gave Lord Ashwhite a warning look before turning to her brother. “I received your note, brother, and am most disturbed. Could we discuss your plans in private?” Perhaps not the politest way of ridding the room of Lord Ashwhite, but she had to at least try. He was distracting in too many ways.

“Ash can hear whatever you have to say. It’s good for him to learn what happens when forced to choose between relatives and a wife.”

Amelia frowned. “But this is family business.”

“Yes, and business is what got you here in the first place. I meant what I said in my letter, Amelia.” He gave her an annoyingly stern glower. She hated that look.

“You’re being insufferable,” she said quietly. Anger was stirring in her belly, hot and viscous. “My life is not yours to dictate.”

A flicker of empathy crossed Ev’s face before being tamped down by an even worse emotion: resolve. “I know you don’t like it, but I have responsibilities now. Four years ago I wouldn’t have cared, but I’ve the properties to look out for as well as my wife. Your ridiculous rants against the prison system, not to mention this...business of finding husbands... It has to stop.”

“But one week—”

“Is more than enough to pack up your house,” he finished for her. “I’m going back to bed unless, Ash, you have something to add?”

“I’ve heard quite enough,” said Lord Ashwhite.

Amelia hardly dared look at him—at anything, really, lest the men see the burning anger that swept through her at the unfairness of it all. A week to move in with her brother and his wife. No choice at all. Even if she stopped all her activities, he would not give her a stipend large enough to rent her own home. What was she going to do?


Chapter Six (#ulink_60d3782b-6e74-5354-b012-8869f81981c7)

Two nights later, as Amelia and an excited Lydia swept into Almack’s, the question of Amelia’s future dampened her enjoyment of the evening. They mingled, and Amelia introduced Lydia to several notable ladies, who in turn introduced Lydia to eligible family members. It wasn’t long before her dance card was filled.

Amelia had deliberately left her card near the punch bowl. She didn’t intend to dance with anyone. Look at what one quadrille with a marquis had done—sent her into a romantic fit of emotions that could do no good for her, especially with the threat of losing her home a pall that continued to darken her mood.

No, indeed. Her dancing days were over, just like her courting days. Spinsterhood beckoned with all its freedoms...though not so many now her brother had become involved. She frowned.

“Are you feeling all right?” Lydia touched her shoulder. “Perhaps we should get a bit of air?”

Amelia gave her cousin a rueful smile. “I am simply pondering the recent turn of events.”

“I am so sorry.”

She had filled Lydia in on her brother’s machinations. Sometimes two heads worked better than one, but in this case, neither woman had been able to think of a suitable plan to change the situation.

Now Lydia’s face brightened. She looked beautiful, her blond hair coiffed perfectly, her complexion healthy and smooth. “There is always teaching at a girls’ school. You would do exceptionally well.”

Amelia blanched. “But there are so many rules to follow. Etiquette and languages...not to mention the noise. When would I read or paint?”

“Life cannot always be pleasure,” Lydia said gently. “You must work for some things.”

“Of course I know that, but if I can find work I enjoy, so much the better.” That was true, right? She hoped she wasn’t being lazy or unthankful, but to live miserably seemed such a waste if she could live happily. “Perhaps I am being a spoiled earl’s daughter. In truth, I think I’d find a noisy school of adolescent girls preferable to living with my brother. He is overbearing at times.”

“It won’t be all bad.” Lydia squeezed her arm. “You’ll have your own wing to live in, plenty of space to breathe. You’ll be able to go riding and visiting. We shall plan a vacation to Bath and wade in an ocean somewhere.”

Amelia tried to smile but wasn’t quite able. “You make valid points, though I cannot but help feel suffocated. The past few years’ taste of freedom has ruined me, I fear.” When her first Season had ended with no engagement, she’d been disappointed. The second Season, she’d fared the same. But the third Season... That was when she’d met Lord Markham. The year she’d decided she would never marry anyone.

And now, at the ripe age of five-and-twenty, after she’d lived four years independently, the thought of submitting to her sister-in-law’s reign gave her the shudders. But a lady had no choice. She should count herself blessed that she did not live on the streets as so many in London did, or that her family had not squandered their fortunes and left her in ruin.

“’Tis not so bad, being a woman,” said Lydia. “Even as a country baron’s daughter, I have been spoiled and cosseted. My family is loving and kind, and I would do anything for them.”

This time Amelia managed a chuckle. “Even throw yourself into the marriage mart.”

Lydia cringed, her smile wry. “Even that, though I wish I did not have to do so. But that is why I have you.” Her palm swept the air. “You shall introduce me to a man whom I will love forever. We will be happy, and this won’t seem like such a great sacrifice.”

“I truly hope so.” For if she ever found that she’d brought two together who could not find happiness, then she’d gladly quit this business.

The music started, and an eager-looking young lord claimed Lydia for her dance. Amelia watched them for a moment, feeling a stirring of sorrow in her chest, for when had she ever experienced such an enthusiastic response from a man?

She could think of only two, and she did not wish to think of either. Biting her lip, she meandered to a quiet alcove to sit on a brocaded chair. The corner partially obscured her from view, and she could lend her attention to the dilemma she faced.

When she’d left her brother’s the other day, Lord Ashwhite had tried to hire a hackney for her, but she had decided to walk home. She’d hoped sunshine might soothe the storm inside, but even though she’d walked briskly, she hadn’t been able to shake the tension upon her shoulders.

Sighing now, she watched Lydia swirl around the ballroom floor. The girl didn’t want to marry, yet she would lay her life down for her family. Amelia frowned, thinking of her own selfishness. She wanted to paint and make her own decisions.

Poor Ev had married a shrew to bolster their family’s flagging finances and to fix up their estates. He’d performed his sacrifice. But what of her? Yes, she was involved with several societies that helped those less fortunate, but she must be missing something. What, she wasn’t sure.

She must have a personal interest in God.

Lord Ashwhite’s words about his future wife rounded through her. He’d looked so very earnest as he said that. Remembering his expression caused her discomfort, and she could not pinpoint why.

“Ah, at last I’ve found you.” The rumble of a deep voice interrupted her self-analysis. The subject of her thoughts settled beside her, his cologne fragrant and light. She sniffed appreciatively, telling her heart to stop its ridiculous pattering over nothing more than a pleasant aroma.

Lord Ashwhite tipped a lazy smile toward her. While dressed handsomely, he did not cross the line into the dandy style that she found so abhorrent. His clothes fit him perfectly, and someone had tied his cravat neatly.

She gave him an arch look. “What are you doing here?”

“Where are those manners you teach your clients?” he countered. His relaxed posture suggested good humor.

“Did you find a wife, then?” she couldn’t resist asking. “You’re looking awfully happy with yourself.” Which made her feel rather disgruntled. To cover her emotions, she searched for Cousin Lydia. Satisfied her charge was safe and behaving above reproach, she returned her attention to the marquis and his smug expression.

“No wife, but I do believe I shall be able to help you with your dilemma.” His eyes, full of amusement, met hers.

“I am not in a dilemma,” she said, feeling stubborn. “And if I was, I wouldn’t need your help.”

His hand went to his chest. “You wound me, my lady.”

“I heartily doubt that,” she muttered beneath her breath. Oh, how she wished her heart would stop its dreadful knocking against her sternum! One dance, one conversation, and now she could not escape this peculiar excitement she felt whenever she saw him. Like a silly miss out for her first Season, head turned by her very first suitor.

“On to a serious note.” Lord Ashwhite straightened in his chair and propped his elbows on his knees. “I have a proposition for you.”

“You are fairly bursting with propositions.”

“This is one that will suit your needs very well.” A slow smile spread across his face. “I have thought about buying your house—”

“My house?” She covered her lips, alarmed by the screech she’d uttered.

“Very attractive, my lady.”

She scowled at him. “Go on.”

“But after consideration, I thought it might be better to engage your sympathies once more. You see, you never told me the details of what your runner discovered about Lord Dudley. And I never told you why I wanted to know.”

Curiosity piqued, she studied him. “This is true. And I do apologize, but I had much on my mind.”

Surprisingly, his look was gentle. “I know that, which is why I determined to give you a few days’ rest before—”

“Hunting me down?” she offered.

“Fair enough.” He inclined his head, though she didn’t see a trace of repentance in his face. “Here is my conundrum. Lord Dudley is a distant cousin, but he is the direct heir to Ashwhite should I fail to fulfill the obligations of my father’s will.”

“To marry within three months.”

“Yes. Less than that now.”

She fanned herself, spotted Lydia dancing with a different young man, who wore the same look of eagerness as the last and chewed her lip. The right thing to do would be to help Lord Ashwhite. Especially in light of what she’d learned of Lord Dudley. “This information does change how I view your problem, but I must have a night to think on it. Could you meet me tomorrow, say around four in the afternoon, in my parlor? I will be prepared to give you an answer as well as share Mr. Ladd’s findings on Lord Dudley.”

Her gaze drifted past Lord Ashwhite and locked on Lord Dudley, who had spotted her hiding spot and now marched toward her with determination.

How had Lord Dudley gained entrance to Almack’s? Granted, he was an earl whose proclivities remained unknown to most of the ton. She was beginning to tire of seeing him at every event she went to, especially now that he was out of the running for Cousin Lydia.

Lord Ashwhite followed her look. “Trouble, Lady Amelia?”

“Not at all.” She stood quickly and gave Lord Ashwhite what she hoped was a confident smile. “Handling suitors is my specialty.” Head high, she swept out of the alcove to meet the earl who couldn’t seem to understand her very firm no. And as she left, she felt Lord Ashwhite’s stare upon her.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow she’d have to decide whether to work with Lord Ashwhite or not. She might have to accept his offer in order to avoid the dregs of a caged life.

* * *

Spencer watched as Lady Amelia glided away. The way she moved spoke of gracefulness and poise. One might never guess from the way she walked that she indulged in intellectual and political pursuits. From the outside, she appeared to be a fashionable lady of the ton. He saw the exchanges she made, how the dowagers greeted her with warmth and comfort. They trusted her status and knowledge. There were no suspicious or haughty glances directed toward her. Not like the ones his mother used to endure. How would that change if they discovered her less than ladylike activities?

The memory of her direct gaze and delightfully straightforward talk brought a smile to his lips but heaviness to his heart. It might be that engaging her services could cast a gloom about her reputation. After all, those same ladies who offered her their approval tended to frown at him.

It was far too close to how they’d looked at his mother. But she’d flouted society’s conventions in numerous ways, bringing shame to his father and pain to Spencer. Their disapproval of her was of a far different nature than their disapproval of him. After all, he did manage to coax a grudging twinkle in their eyes when he put his mind to it.

He stood, keeping his gaze on the maddening Lady Amelia. He was beginning to understand Eversham’s frustration with his sister. He stepped into the ballroom and headed toward the entrance. He’d done what he’d hoped for, proffered an exchange of information, at the least.

As he rounded the room, he noticed the gentleman standing near Lady Amelia. Something about the way he stood... It was familiar, and it was too close. Spencer frowned and immediately reversed direction. As he neared, he realized that the man next to Lady Amelia was none other than Lord Dudley. His distant cousin bothered Lady Amelia, though Spencer noticed she took great pains not to show her unease.

Perhaps it was the stiffness of her shoulders that gave her away. Or the tight press of her lips. Either way, his gut told him to move quickly. Jaw tight, he pushed past a group of giggling misses. He dodged a dowager who was giving him the evil eye, no doubt wondering how he’d snagged an invitation to Almack’s.

A marquis title came in handy every so often.

Finally he reached Lady Amelia in time to hear her curtly say, “No, Lord Dudley, I am overheated at the moment. Really, a dance would be too much.”

“But my lady, I saw you dance last week, and you are adept at it.” His facetious cousin bestowed a sickeningly sweet smile on Lady Amelia. “I long to share such an experience with you.”

Her fan came out, nearly smacking Spencer’s face. “Really, my lord, you flatter me. But I must insist you find another partner.” She hadn’t noticed Spencer yet; she was too busy fanning her face, which looked remarkably red beneath the elaborate glass lights.

“Shall we retreat to a cooler spot in which to rest?” The hopeful look on Lord Dudley’s face, and Lady Amelia’s barely controlled grimace, spurred Spencer to action.

“May I borrow Lady Amelia for a moment?”

Dudley had not recognized him. Spencer gave a terse nod. He ignored Dudley’s surprise and reached for Lady Amelia’s arm, lightly turning her toward him. “There is a family matter I wished to discuss with her.”

Though Lord Dudley’s cheeks drooped, he gave a grudging nod. “Farewell, my bonny lady. Perhaps later this evening we might share a waltz?”





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