Undoing One's Enemy

by Camille Oster

  It dug at his insides thinking Lord Hariston would be there, with his interest in Amelia. Her silly little dream of finding love with the artistic set provided him with some assurance that she would not likely fall into Lord Hariston’s arms. He would hate for him to get his grubby hands all over her creamy skin—it would not be borne. For some reason that was worse than her actually falling in love with some useless twit.

  He did recognize his own hypocrisy as he was completely adamant at one point that he intended to hand her over to Lord Hariston like a nicely wrapped present. He’d liked the idea of it, but he wasn’t entirely sure if he could have gone through with it in practicality. He only seemed to want to include people within their little competition on his terms, and then only as a spectre, not a real interaction, which was maybe why it had angered him so incredibly much when he saw her in the park with that prat artist.

  The idea that tonight might be the night when she finds comfort of another man’s bed, dug into his gut. Part of him knew with certainty that her wish for love and a husband would immune her to such temptations. If she had been a standard fallen girl, she would be looking for the wealthiest patron available, most likely she would have just accepted his proposal. She would still be here, in bed upstairs waiting for his return. The thought made him tense and harden, which in turn made him roll his eyes. He’d accepted his weakness for her; it had been proven again and again. Even now, as much as he despised her, the thought of her provoked a strong physical reaction.

  Chapter 17

  Richard was sitting in his study when Granson announced that Mr. Jamieson had come to call. The solicitor was unlikely to come in person if it had been a simple missive or letter. He urged Granson to let him in.

  “Lord Eldridge,” the harried looking older man said deferentially. “Thank you for seeing me. I’ve come to resolve the issue of Miss Hessworth’s inheritance.”

  “She is no longer residing here,” Richard stated.

  “Oh,” Mr. Jamieson said with disappointment. “Do you know where she is?”

  “I can locate her.”

  “Good. I have brought the funds that form the bulk of her inheritance.” He pulled out a wad of bank notes. “A sum of two hundred and seventy pounds.”

  “I will convey it to her,” Richard said. Mr. Jamieson was relieved to hear it and he handed the notes over and took his leave. Richard stared at the notes on his desk. It wasn’t a princely sum, but it would be very attractive to a starving artist. With a lot like that, she could attract a proposal on that sum. He considered not giving it to her, but sheer duty would not allow him to seriously consider it. She always had him on duty, forced his hand to do things he didn’t want to, like seeking her out so he could deliver this little sum to her—the sum that was the ticket to the poverty filled future she craved. He should have refused entry to Mr. Jamieson, told him to go away. Now he was stuck with the task of delivering it to her.

  He wasn’t sure where she was. He knew she was keeping the company of Celeste Bueford, but he didn’t know where she lived or even if they lived together. Lord Hariston would know as he kept track of such things. He roared for Granson to come take a note to Lord Hariston enquiring where he could find them.

  It would no doubt give Lord Hariston some amusement to have to help him track his former mistress, or so it would be viewed from his point of view. Gentlemen did not ask each other how or why such relationships ended, but it had become clear to all that she was no longer installed in his house.

  He was dressing for the evening. Apparently the best way to find Celeste Bueford and Amelia was to attend Lord Archforth’s event that evening. Richard was aware that he ran evenings to amuse himself and his long-time mistress. Lord Archforth lived with his mistress, while his wife resided in the countryside. It was not an uncommon arrangement as some marriages fail beyond repair; although he wasn’t entirely sure that the cause and effect was not the same thing with some of these arrangements.

  He rode there as he wasn’t planning on staying long. He also wasn’t planning on enjoying himself to the point where he wouldn’t be able to ride home. He could hear music as he strode up the steps to the house and he was let in immediately and guided to the salon.

  The brightness in the room accosted his eyes for a moment after the darkness outside. There were people dancing in part of the salon. Dancing he had not expected, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves inordinately, like it was something they didn’t get to do a great deal. He spotted Amelia immediately, waltzing with a very attractive man with well-kept dark hair. She was clearly enjoying herself. He felt a stab of jealousy.

  After a quick nod to the host, he decided to cut in. He watched as her smile faded and a brief frown formed on her face.

  “I need to speak to you,” he stated. She seemed to be looking for a way to escape, which angered him. He held his hand out for her to take. “Mr. Jamieson dropped by today for you. Unfortunately, I had no direction to forward him to.”

  “Oh,” she said and tentatively took his hand after a moment of hesitation. Her hand was warm and slight, and the touch made the hairs of his arm stand on end. It was ridiculous the effect she had on him. Maybe hate responded like that. He’d never hated anyone at such close quarters before.

  She wasn’t looking at him as she kept her eyes lowered to the ground. A bit late for such modesty, he thought. He’d seen every part of her and when it came down to it, modesty was not the driving force in her.

  His hands snaked around her back and pulled her a little too close for decency. This was not the company for strict decency so while it might be noted, it would not be a scandal—particularly as many of the men here believed that they were very well acquainted.

  “Still, you should not have come,” she said after they’d started dancing. She faced him full on now, and he could see the challenge in her eyes.

  “And why is that?” he said with surprise and amusement.

  “There is no reason for you to be here,” she said a little on the flustered side. “I am sure you have more eloquent events to attend.”

  “And because I get invitations to more respectable parties, I cannot attend here? I don’t think you quite understand how society works.”

  “I understand full well,” she bit, “but this is the kind of events I attend—you should be attending more prestigious events.”

  “There are some imminently prestigious people here.”

  “You should have sent a note.”

  “I don’t know where you live.”

  “You knew I would be here,” she said. “You should have sent a note.”

  “Let’s get something clear, Miss Hessworth. You don’t get to decide what I do or how I do things.”

  “These are my friends and we do not travel in the same circles,” she said trying to convey meaning.

  “Are you saying that you are ‘claiming’ this circle of acquaintances?” he said incredulously.

  “Yes,” she confirmed with her head held high.

  “I’m a gentleman,” he warned, “I can associate with whomever I want.”

  “Don’t be childish.”

  “Childish?” he said disbelievingly. “Who is acting childish here, I came here to inform you that there is some money for you to collect and you accost me, accusing me of encroaching on your circle of friends. Who exactly is the childish one? And don’t get confused, these people are not your friends, their only interest is to have you spread your legs for them.”

  She slapped him hard. He should have seen that coming but he hadn’t. They had also garnered the attention of everyone in the room.

  “Be at my study tomorrow morning or I will burn the money,” he hissed sharply and strode out of the room before he hit her back. He desperately wanted to kick something, but he kept putting one foot in front of the other lest he really did. Nothing and no one tried his patience like that little scrap of a girl. She was the most infuriating thing in the entire country and he’d seen a few continents
in his travels.

  Amelia felt like she was about to pass out; the corset was so tight and she could barely breath. She was so incredibly angry she didn’t know what to do with herself.

  “Are you alright, my dear?” Celeste said pulling her into a corner.

  Amelia wasn’t quite ready to speak, but she nodded. Actually she wasn’t, she wanted to run after him and slap him again—he truly deserved it. He came here, encroaching on her friends and then practically called her a whore.

  “He’s an odious man,” she said forcefully, barely able to keep the angry tremble from her voice.

  “Well, you showed him,” Celeste said calmly. “He’s gone now. Should I tell the footman to refuse him entry?”

  “No it’s alright, he won’t return.”

  “What did he want?” Celeste said with concern.

  “I have to go to his house tomorrow to collect my inheritance,” Amelia said, aware that this was likely hard to follow for Celeste or any other sane person.

  “And then he called you a whore?” Celeste said and Amelia nodded. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No it’s fine, I will deal with it.”

  “He seems a most peculiar man.”

  “He is all around horrid.”

  “I am so sorry you’ve had to deal with that.”

  “Once I have my inheritance, I won’t ever have to deal with him again,” Amelia said definitely. She meant it; their relationship was this twisted thing. It had never been a good relationship, but it was worse now and she saw no way of ever repairing it. She had certainly not intended for the conversation to have devolved like it had; she had just been so accosted and flustered at seeing him there. She hadn’t been expecting it and she felt a little confronted. She’d expected to see him at Celeste’s part—not that she wanted to—but when he hadn’t turned up, she’d believed that it’d be the last she’d seen of him. She had started to relax, but then he’d just been there, cut into her dance and practically forced her to dance with him. She’d over reacted.

  She decided to return home after that; he’d ruined the evening and she was no longer in a mood to socialize. She didn’t strictly minded as there was no one of particular interest at the party. As it turned out Lord Archforth didn’t invite the more bohemian set to his events, which meant that Henry and his immediate circle of friends weren’t there. Instead she had been stuck with the group that were more interested in mistresses than they were in art or anything else meaningful, except for the man who had a deep interest in botanicals. He seemed to have taken a wrong turn somewhere and ended up at the wrong party. Amelia would have liked to explore that acquaintance a bit further, but Lord Eldridge had ruined her ability to engage with people on a suitably affable level.

  Amelia got up the next morning. She hadn’t slept well as the events of the previous evening kept on churning over in her head—not to mention the dreams where he chased her. She’d been an art thief and he’d been tasked with the job of catching her. It was such a vivid dream and she’d woken with a start at the point where he just about had her.

  “Good morning,” Celeste said appearing in her dressing gown earlier than she normally rose. “I wanted to catch you before you departed for the day. Are you sure you want to see this man alone? I can come with you. He seems a bit … forceful.”

  “I will be fine. He is an awful man, but my safety will not be in jeopardy—unless you count my ears because he has a vicious tongue.”

  “If you are sure. I didn’t realize you were at the mercy of such a man; I would have insisted that both you and your aunt join me here.”

  “It was not…,” she started as she realized that Celeste had gotten a very bad impression of Lord Eldridge, and although he was awful, it wasn’t like she’d been in dire need of rescue under his roof. “We just don’t get on superbly, but he was very kind to my aunt. Well kind might not be a suitable concept for him in any context, but he was understanding of my aunts situation, and I am grateful.”

  “If you say so.” Celeste wasn’t entirely convinced and Amelia could tell.

  “Anton asked me to travel to Paris with him,” Amelia said as a way to change the subject. Celeste’s eyebrows rose at this news.

  “He is showing considerable interest in you. Are you of mind to join him?”

  “I am a bit apprehensive of his intentions.”

  “Anton is a lovely man, I believe his interest in you would be of a more permanent nature,” Celeste said carefully.

  “I’m not sure I could care for him as he perhaps wants.”

  “That would not stop everyone from accepting such an offer.”

  “It would stop me.”

  “Then you should decline. Anton tends to fixate and if you give him a reason to hope, then that is what he will do. He would be a good match if you are adamant on getting married. He will never be wealthy, but he will make a comfortable wage.”

  “I’m not sure I could ever love him.”

  “Then you should continue searching,” Celeste said and Amelia thought of Henry and his intense eyes that seemed to see through her. She got the feeling that Anton only saw the surface and she would only be, in his eyes, what he wanted to see. Lord Eldridge saw through her, but he didn’t like what he saw—he didn’t like anything about her. And visa versa.

  “I better go,” Amelia said as the subject of her least likely supporter entered her mind. She would have to do this, get her inheritance and leave. She was pretty sure he would ask for a pound of flesh in the process, but she didn’t care. Whatever way he wanted to humiliate her, she wasn’t going to rise to it. This was the end.

  Richard sat in his study. He felt restless, he had been all morning. He also couldn’t go anywhere because he had told Amelia to report to his study that morning or he would burn the stack of notes on his desk. He wasn’t sure he was legally entitled to burn them based on an ultimatum, but he didn’t care—he would. He might have to replace them in due course if she charged him with an offence, but that didn’t concern him.

  He knew full well that he wasn’t entirely rational when it came to her; she brought out the absolute worst in him. She made him petty, cruel, and cynical. Well, he had always been cynical, but he felt sure that she made him worse.

  He still felt the slap on his cheek; she was uniquely good with her slapping arm. It was a cruel little weapon because there was nothing he could do as he could categorically not hit her back. He was itching to, maybe not a slap, but he was itching to do something to retaliate for all the annoyance and embarrassment she had caused him since the moment he laid eyes on her.

  He remembered her face when she’d seen him; she’d been mortified, like she was embarrassed to be seen with him. That was completely outrageous—she was a fallen woman, an invitee to a party of debauched men looking for their next floosy, and she had the gall to be annoyed at his presence.

  “Miss Amelia Hessworth,” his manservant announced.

  “Miss Hessworth,” he said in greeting, it came out like a hiss between his teeth. She looked lovely, her cheeks were rosy and a curl of hair had escaped her bonnet. “Did you walk here?”

  “Yes,” she said curtly.

  “I could have sent the carriage if you had no means of getting around.” He had not intended on seeing to her needs yet again, but somehow he always ended up doing so.

  “I can manage to hire a hack if I need to—I chose to walk. It’s a lovely day.”

  “It is not safe for young women to walk alone around the streets,” he said more for the purpose of contravening her than anything else.

  “I have not found any great obstacles or perils. Have you my bank notes?”

  “I do,” he said indicating to the little pile. “I have again been roped into managing your affairs.”

  She walked over and reached out for the little pile at the corner of the desk. He watched as her hand reached for the notes and folded them neatly into her draw-purse. Something about watching her movements affected him a
nd he hated it. Her hand was so dainty and her skin so smooth and unblemished. He had clear memories of her running them over his shoulders, exploring his skin—finding his scars.

  “I am sorry,” she said and he didn’t quite know what she was referring to. He was pretty sure she wasn’t apologising for finding the scars on his person, but maybe she should be. He would on the whole be better off if she hadn’t, because a certain bitterness seemed to have set in since. “I think this should conclude any further dealings between us.”

  Conclude, he repeated in his mind. She was shaking him off like a garment that had outlasted its usefulness and was walking away. Like hell, he decided. She might have won the last round but he refused to concede defeat. His presence vexed her horribly and it was the only weapon he had left.

  “I don’t know. You are well aware that I am looking for a mistress. They are found in your social circle, so undoubtedly we will bump into each other.” He pronounced each word carefully for effect.

  She watched him without any expression on her face, and then a hint of annoyance flittered across her features.

  “There seems to be some inconsistency in you; it is a wife you are looking for, or so you declared quite openly not long ago.” It had been true, he had been, but something had turned sour. He hadn’t found the women being pushed on him to his liking; in fact he was getting less and less tolerant of them. He wasn’t entirely sure how it happened, even the ones that had all the qualities he wanted had bored him from the first moment. He should be accepting that the boredom was to be an integral part of his life, but he just couldn’t settle his mind on it.