His Jilted Bride (Historical Regency Romance)
Page 10
Nonsense. He'd done nothing to apologize for.
“Amelia, I don't know what your game is here—” His eyes narrowed on her. “Oh, I see what you're doing.” He took a step toward her. Then another. “You're good,” he murmured, closing the gap between them. “You thought if you picked a fight between us that I'd forget about my promise this morning, didn't you?”
Color rose in her cheeks. “I did no such thing and if you think that I'll have intimacies with you here, in your brother's library, you are truly cracked.”
He shrugged and flashed her a smile. “I hadn't planned on it, but now that you've suggested it...” He reached behind her, purposely grazing the outside of her ribs with his arm as he did so, and wordlessly slid the lock.
She stiffened instantly. “Will it be by force, then?”
That was it. The final stone had just been laid. His internal scale was to its tipping point. He'd had enough of her and her sharp tongue. Rage like he'd never experienced before pumped through his veins at such a rapid rate he could hardly think of what to say in response. Refusing to break eye contact with her, he reached his arm behind her and turned the lock with a click so loud even a deaf man could have heard it. “Out.”
Chapter Fourteen
Amelia couldn't get down the hall and away from Elijah fast enough. She'd gone into the library with the intention of telling him that, per Caroline's request, everyone who would be attending dinner was meeting in the drawing room. Instead, she'd let her tongue get away from her and what had started out as hoping to put Elijah in his place had changed into wanting to provoke him just enough to unsettle him and then had quickly become her unintentionally provoking his temper.
Not that he was violent or cruel when in a temper, just the opposite, rather. He'd get quiet and his breathing would grow heavy, never once uttering a hint of what he was thinking about, unlike when he was mildly irritated and would grumble beneath his breath.
She'd only seen him truly angry once before. It had been about ten years ago, Henry had made some remark about Elijah's inability to hit a target with his pistol and instantly Elijah's eyes had grown as dark as the ocean, his lips had thinned into a tight line that left two white, perpendicular lines on either side of his mouth, and the vein in his forehead had protruded. Just a moment ago, his face had transformed the same way.
The words she'd last spoken played over in her mind and she nearly tripped over her own feet as she scurried down the carpeted hall as fast as her slippers could carry her. She hadn't meant to lob such an accusation at him, it had just come out. He'd walked over toward her with such purpose and intent, never an unsure or unsteady step, but each exact and with purpose. His face unyielding and unreadable. But she didn't need to read it, she knew why he was coming to her, he was ready to collect on his earlier promise. And why? Because that's all she was to him, an outlet for his primal urges. He'd practically said as much to Henry earlier this morning.
Indignation swelled in her breast. She wanted nothing more than to win this wager and flaunt her winning in his face; and of course politely remind him that as the winner she was forever free of his unwanted advances.
“Amelia.”
Amelia's heart jumped in her chest. What did he want? She ignored him and kept making her way down the hall. He wouldn't want to make a scene any more than she did and if she could just get down the hall and to the staircase, she'd be safe.
“Amelia,” he said again, suddenly at her side.
She pulled to an abrupt stop, whether out of aggravation with the man or just to see if he'd stumble a little when he matched her stance, she'd never tell. “What do you want, Henry?”
He gestured to the door behind him. “I'd like to speak with you for a moment.”
“Why, so you can mock me?” She slapped a hand over her mouth with a quiet pop as soon as the words were out.
He shook his head. “No. Why would you think I'd mock you.”
“Never mind. We shouldn't be going off alone anyway.” And that was the truth. No matter how scandalous everyone else in this house might be, even they couldn't turn a blind eye to catching a newly married young lady alone in a distant room with her husband's brother.
Henry's chuckle brought her from her wayward thoughts. “They're all eating dinner by now, so as long as Elijah's absent, nobody will suspect anything. Anyway, this won't take long. Come.”
She dug her heels into the carpet. What if he were just as amorous as Elijah seemed to be? Her blood turned to ice in a second. Physically they were the same: tall, broad shoulders, hands as large as chickens, but Elijah had always been the more gentle of the two, the first to her side when she'd been injured, the first to calmly talk her down when she'd climbed too high up a tree and got scared, the first to remember that while she might think she was of equal ability and strength to the two of them, she was really a lady. It wasn't that Henry had purposely tried to hurt her, but he'd required a reminder of his own strength from Elijah from time to time. She swallowed and folded her arms across her chest. “No.”
Her hands grew clammy under Henry's unwavering stare. “You said you'd talk to me,” he reminded her in a voice that brooked no argument.
She nodded numbly. Amelia remembered him whispering for her to come see him in the yellow drawing room when she was finished speaking with Elijah. She'd offered him a smile and murmured an agreement, but after Elijah had grown so angry with her and tossed her from the room, she had no desire to speak to anyone.
“There's no reason to fear me.” His quiet words startled her.
“I don't fear you. I just don't know what to expect from you or anyone else anymore.”
“I see.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Life is full of uncertainty—especially when married into this family.” He shot her a grin. “Perhaps if you will come talk to me for a few minutes, some of your uncertainty will be made certain.”
Despite herself, a small burble of laughter passed Amelia's lips at his ridiculous statement. “I really shouldn't.”
“Oh? And when has Lady Amelia ever been accused of resisting the temptation to do something she shouldn't?”
A dull ache formed in her chest. Ever since she'd made a horrible mistake with a masked stranger, that's when. Since then, she hadn't done a single thing a respectable young lady wouldn't do, except ride away from her own wedding with Elijah, but that had been unavoidable.
“Come,” he said again, opening the large door just to the right of where she stood. “This will take but a few minutes.”
She cast a quick glance over her shoulder then went into what appeared to be Alex's study. Glass jars with plants or insects lined the windowsill. She shuddered. On his desk, over the top of his open account ledgers lay several contraptions, some metal with dials, others had a strip of numbers in the middle. She almost chuckled. Nothing about Elijah's dark-haired, bespectacled older brother had ever changed.
Henry left the door open a scant three inches then walked over toward her and pulled out the chair behind the large desk. “This one is far more comfortable than the others,” he murmured when she hesitated to sit.
Swallowing her unease at the possibility of being caught alone with him, she lowered herself into the chair, clenching her hands together as he made his way around the desk to sit across from her. She had a sudden urge to flee the room. To run back to Elijah and make sure he knew she hadn't done anything she shouldn't have with his brother. Bile rose in her throat. That would be the worst of it if they were caught. It didn't matter the scandal that might ensue, those were only words. But if Elijah had reason to believe she'd been untrue to him in favor of his brother, and she really was pregnant... It was unthinkable.
She jumped to her feet with such vigor the chair she'd been sitting in toppled backward to the floor. “I need to go.”
“No, you need to listen.” Henry gestured for her to sit back down. “If we're caught, I'll speak to Elijah, if you'd like. He'll know nothing happened between us.”
“Amelia,” Henry started with what sounded like a sigh borne of frustration. “As you know, I'm a gentleman, not a lady.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
He shook his head ruefully. “You've certainly got the tongue of a Banks,” he muttered under his breath. “What I meant by that is, while ladies are more eloquent with their words and more sensitive of others' feelings, gentlemen are not.”
She bit her lip and nodded. He was about to say something completely blunt and tactless. Splendid. At least he'd given her warning, she supposed. “All right.”
Henry reached his ungloved hand up to the side of his face and idly scratched his temple for a moment. “Gentlemen, such as Elijah, don't—” He twisted his lips and turned his head to the side as if he were in deep concentration, now tapping his fingers against his cheek. Suddenly he stopped, and his eyes lit with what she presumed to be a brilliant idea. “Think of it like this. Your skin is different from Elijah's. Yours is soft and delicate. His is like mine, coarse and callused.” He lifted his hands to show her. “Say, you two were to walk through a rose garden together without gloves. You'd notice if your hand brushed against some thorns and would likely draw attention to the scratches it put on your skin. Gentlemen could brush up against those same thorns—”
“And not feel them,” Amelia cut in flatly.
Henry shook her head. “No. They still feel them. They might not cut their hands as much because their skin is coarse, but they'd still feel the sharp thorns when they get scratched by them. The difference is, they won't draw attention to them. They'd rather pretend it wasn't happening and let everyone around them think nothing is hurting them.”
Mindlessly, Amelia wrapped a fallen tendril of her dark hair around her fingers. “Why?”
“Because they don't want anyone to know.”
She licked her lips. “No, I meant why are you telling me this?”
“Because you need to know.”
Amelia rolled her eyes up to look at the ceiling for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “I must be as articulate as a gentleman today. What I want to know is what this has to do with Elijah.”
“Everything.”
“Everything?” she echoed.
He nodded his confirmation and drummed his fingers along the edge of his brother's desk as if he were contemplating just what he should tell her.
She sat quiet, waiting. She'd sit here as long as necessary for him to decide what to tell her—and then she'd wait a while after that in hopes he'd tell her more.
His long, blunt-tipped fingers made one final tap. “It's exactly as I said before. Elijah might seem impassive or unaffected when talking to you, but he's not. He just wants you to think he is.”
“Why?” she blurted, heedless to whatever trite remark he might counter with.
“That's just how gentlemen are,” he said with a shrug.
If the hangman's noose wasn't the punishment for attempted murder of a titled gentlemen's brother, Amelia might strangle the insolence right out of Henry herself. “Are you trying to be obtuse?”
He blinked at her the way his older brother Alex was prone to do when confused or caught unawares. “No,” he said slowly.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “I just don't understand.”
“And you're calling me obtuse,” he mumbled. He ran his hand through his hair. “What I'm trying to tell you is he's just pretending not to be affected, but he is.”
“And you know this because you're a gentleman,” her words were more of a statement than a question.
“And his twin,” he confirmed. “There's very little one can hide from his twin.”
His words made sense. Heaven only knew how many times she'd heard one of them finish the other's sentence or have a conversation without uttering one word. “What is it that he doesn't want me to know?”
“That, my dear sister, is for you to discover.”
Chapter Fifteen
Elijah watched as the last orange flame in the three-candle candelabra on the table in front of him was put out by its own pool of wax, leaving the room in utter darkness. Several hours ago a storm had rolled in, taking with it every ounce of moonlight that might have been able to stream in through the window.
In the darkness, he continued to sit alone. Thoughts of his earlier conversations with Amelia played over in his mind. Since they'd been married, they hadn't had but one or two conversations that didn't turn sour, which was a stark contrast to the one or two that had gone sour in all the years they'd known each other before marrying.
How could repeating a handful of words before the archbishop change everything they'd had? He shook his head. He was no closer to solving this mystery than he had been after demanding she leave following her outrageous suggestion that he was not only capable, but intent on raping her. His stomach knotted and a surge of bile burned his throat. How could she even think him the sort who'd do that? Or was it because she thought he already had? The bile that had burned his throat now filled his mouth.
He grabbed one of the empty glass jars on the edge of Alex's desk and spewed the burning liquid into it, then used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. He had to set things to right. But how? There wasn't any options available to him now that wouldn't bring about more questions—questions he couldn't answer.
He'd tried to avoid all of this just days ago. If he'd been successful, none of the feuds between them would have ever taken place.
Clenching his fists and closing his eyes, he dredged up the memory of when he'd gone to see Amelia's father...
London
Last Week
“Mr. Banks, so good to see you,” Jacob Brice, Lord Strand said, coming into the drawing room.
Elijah noted Lord Strand's smile wasn't as wide as usual, and the corners of his eyes hadn't crinkled the way they normally did when he grinned; his hands were clenched into twin fists at his sides and the ruby cravat pin he always wore was slightly askew. That could only mean one thing: he'd heard. Just what he'd heard, Elijah had yet to determine. But that was a challenge he'd gladly accept.
“It's good to see you, too, my lord,” Elijah said, flashing him a grin. “I was hoping to speak to you about something important, if this is a good time for you, of course.”
“Well...” Lord Strand threw a glance over his shoulder to the hall, then turned back to Elijah. “Just keep it quick,” he muttered, falling into a leather chair by the fire.
“It's about Lady Amelia,” Elijah started uneasily. “I heard she's to marry Lord Friar.”
“For once the gossip mongrels got it right.”
“Or did they?”
“Did they what?” the older man barked.
“Get the story right?”
Lord Strand's grey eyes narrowed on Elijah. “What's your game, boy?”
“I'd like to marry Amelia,” he said, lacking any sort of finesse or moderation.
“No.”
Elijah stared at him in shock. “No?”
“No,” the man affirmed. “She's promised to Lord Friar at the end of the week. It would bring about an awful scandal if she were to cry off now.”
Squeezing his toes together so not to grind his teeth, Elijah ventured, “Does she and Lord Friar have great affections for one another, then?” He wouldn't dare put voice to the real reason he suspected Lord Strand had accepted the man's suit, but frankly Lord Strand lacked the funds to eat more than gruel.
Lord Strand scoffed. “I'd wager a feline is fonder of a hound than she is of Lord Friar.” He shoved to his feet and grabbed the fire poker. Poking at the log in the fire, he continued, “But it matters naught. They're set to marry in Brighton this weekend.”
“There is still enough time to cry off,” Elijah said softly.
A large spray of
sparks flew through the hearth. “She'll not be crying off.”
“Even if she had a better offer?” Elijah hedged.
“Even then.” Lord Strand wordlessly placed the poker back in the stand and adjusted the screen, then crossing his arms, turned around to face Elijah. “Amelia wants this match, and you'll do nothing to stop it.”
Elijah searched the man's stoney face. “Why?”
“That's none of your concern, young man,” Lord Strand snapped. “I knew your father. A more honorable sort I have yet to meet.” He shook his head sadly. “I'm assuming it's because of him, and the sense of honor and duty to protect those closest to you that he instilled into you that brings you here, but it'll do you no good. Amelia has already made her choice.”
“And she chose him?”
Lord Strand hesitated a second. “Yes.”
“No, she didn't,” Elijah said flatly.
“Yes. She did.”
“You might claim she did, but I know Amelia. She would have never agreed to such an ill-suited match.”
Lord Strand's face grew red. “Now, see here, young man. My daughter might have dreamed up some sort of foolish notion of love as far as you're concerned, but that gives you no right to come in here and take away her chances of a good match.”
“A good match? Surely you don't mean to reference Lord Friar when you use those words.”
“He is an earl,” Lord Strand said smugly.
“I see,” Elijah said slowly. “My lack of title never seemed to bother Amelia before.”
“Perhaps not,” her father agreed. “But you've also never sought me out to ask for my daughter's hand in marriage before, either.”
“The time was never right.”
Lord Strand snorted. “You seemed happy enough to accept Amelia's affections for you for years now without giving her more than a few minutes of idle chit-chat in the corner and an occasional waltz, but never did you call on her or ask to court her, and now that she's about to marry another, you suddenly have an interest in her.” He curled his upper lip up in disgust. “Disregard what I said earlier about your father instilling his gentleman's honor in you. It's nothing more than sheer, unadulterated jealousy that has brought you here today, isn't it?”