His Jilted Bride (Historical Regency Romance)

by Rose Gordon

  “Will you forgive me?” he whispered after some time had passed.

  The slight movement of her fingers between his was the only indication he had that she'd even heard him at first. “You're not the only one who's been beastly,” she said softly a moment later.

  He brushed the pad of his thumb across the back of her hand. “Shall we start over?”

  “No.” She turned back to look at him, a small smile on her lips. “Your brother hasn't yet discovered how to travel through time, thus making starting over impossible.”

  He grinned at her logic and traced the edge of her jaw with the index finger on his free hand. “All right, since starting over is an utter impossibility, how about if we both try to atone for our recent beastly behavior and have a nice visit to Bath today?”

  Her lips twisted as if she had to think really hard about her answer. “I'll agree, but only on one condition.”

  “Which is?'

  She pulled her hand from his and sat up in one swift motion. “You must get rid of that.”

  Elijah's eyes followed Amelia's outstretched finger to a little wooden box with a thin sheet of glass over the top, and he began to chuckle. “I think I can manage to get rid of the box.”

  “And the creature inside,” Amelia said, pulling a comical face.

  “No, he stays.”

  “Oh please, Elijah; last night while I was getting ready for bed I saw what's in there and nearly swooned.”

  He snapped his fingers. “Ah, but you didn't.”

  Amelia shook her head ruefully. “No, I managed to keep my wits about me, but only because that thing was behind the glass.”

  “That thing has a name,” Elijah said in the most serious tone he could muster. “His name is Mr. Henry Hirsute.”

  “Well, Mr. Henry Hirsute needs to find a new residence.”

  Elijah shook his head sadly. “I have nowhere else to take him and he'll die if I just let him go. Tarantulas weren't made to endure the weather this far north.” Elijah glanced over at Mr. Henry Hirsute. He'd found him on the England-bound ship the last time he'd come home from South America. In the summer months, Elijah had to place his box by the window to help keep it warm and in the winter months, he'd wrap blankets around it and move it close to the hearth. He was actually surprised the critter had lived this long.

  “If he can't survive the cold, then why did you bring him here?”

  “I thought he'd make a good pet.”

  “Then get a hound.”

  “I've had one before,” he said with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “They eat too much.”

  “I see,” she said slowly. “And just what does Mr. Henry Hirsute eat?”

  “Cockroaches.”

  Her silver eyes grew to the size of Mother's favorite tea saucers, just the way he'd hoped they would, and her hand went to her throat. “Cockroaches?” she breathed, her lips curled up in disgust.

  “Would you like for me to show you?”

  She shook her head with so much vigor her loose coiffure started tumbling down. “No, but that is just all the more reason to get rid of your friend.”

  “Because he eats insects?”

  “Yes, and because the particular insects he likes to dine on often have friends of their own that like to come into places they are not invited.”

  He chuckled at her reasoning. “He can eat other things, and often does.” He reached over onto the table and picked up the glass jar he usually kept insects in to feed Mr. Henry Hirsute. “While he prefers cockroaches, I have no more desire to touch them than you have to see them, but he'll happily eat grasshoppers, too.” He frowned at the jar in his hand. It was empty. “Apparently, I need to go catch some more for him.”

  “Outside?” Amelia croaked, drawing her knees close to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs.

  “Unless you know of somewhere else.”

  “Actually, I do,” she said with a small giggle. “Alex's study has enough insects for Mr. Henry Hirsute to eat like Prinny for a week.”

  “Indeed,” he agreed. “Say, how would you know that?”

  She swallowed audibly. “I...uh...went in there yesterday.”

  What reason in the world would she have to go in there? “And?”

  She shuddered. “There were jars of insects lining the windowsill.”

  “Did you enjoy looking at them?” he asked just for no other reason than to see her shudder again, an action which unbeknownst to her made her pert breasts jiggle in the loveliest way.

  “About as much as I enjoyed seeing Mr. Henry Hirsute last night.”

  “That much?” He set the jar back down. “He's really not so bad. He's soft and fuzzy. Would you like to touch him?”

  “Would you like to learn to embroider?”

  “Oh, all right.” He flashed her a hopeful smile. “Perhaps in time you'll grow to love Mr. Henry Hirsute the same as I do.”

  “The chances of Henry—both of them—having a love match are greater than your chances of convincing me to touch that.”

  Elijah let out a low whistle. “My chances are worse than I thought.” He took to his feet and looked around the room. “But, in the unlikely event that Henry does have a love match, I cannot say fare-thee-well to Mr. Henry Hirsute. You might change your mind and decide you want to pet him.”

  “The two events are not related, Elijah.”

  “I know.” He picked up the box and walked it into the common room where he set it on an end table, then scooted it in front of the large window on the east side of the room. He walked back into the bedchamber and said, “Just because your touching Mr. Henry Hirsute isn't dependent on Henry making a love match, doesn't mean I can't try to convince you to touch him again.”

  “Try is the most important word in that sentence.”

  He lifted his left shoulder in a lopsided shrug. “That's all right. One may never know for sure if he doesn't try.” Elijah walked over to her and picked up her gown. “Now, let me see if I can try to get you into this gown so we can go to Bath and have an enjoyable day together.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Elijah was a surprisingly good lady's maid.

  Never once did he knot her tapes or struggle to get them tied. His fingers were deft and quick as he fastened the row of buttons that ran up the back of her dress.

  “All done,” he whispered in her ear.

  The skin on her neck turned to gooseflesh at the roughness in his voice and the nearness of his warm body to hers. He smelled spicy, of sandalwood and his lips were so close to her she could feel his breath against her skin.

  Reluctantly, she took a step forward. She wanted nothing more than to melt into his arms and longed to let him hold her tight. But that wasn't his way. He didn't see her as anything but a friend, and that wasn't the way friends acted toward each other—only lovers. Hastily, she picked up her bonnet and tied it on, then scooped up her reticule and craned her neck to look out the window. “Is that carriage for us?”

  “No. I thought we'd walk to Bath. I just asked Damon to pull it over here so we could say goodbye to the horses before we began our journey.”

  Amelia pursed her lips, but it did no good, her laughter still escaped. “Forgive my stupid question. I think this gown is so tight it is cutting off the flow of blood to my brain.”

  Elijah's eyes did a slow sweep of her, sending a new round of chills over her body as his gaze lingered at her chest and hips. “Do you want to take it off?” he asked hoarsely, his face growing bright red. He cleared his throat. Then again. “What I meant is if the dress is too tight, I can help you into another if you'd like.”

  Ah, there was the impartial Elijah she'd married. “No. I'm sure I'll get accustomed to it.” She smiled. “Besides, as we walk around, it might become a bit looser.”

  “Until you eat the ca—” He closed his mouth with a sharp snap.

  She laughed. “Yes, we might have to forgo the cake after all.”

  “That's not what I—”

&
nbsp; Amelia pressed her fingers to his lips to halt his words. “I know you didn't mean it that way.”

  He pulled her hand away, but didn't let it go. “Are you sure, because it sounded—”

  She covered his mouth with her other hand now. “Stop. We both promised not to think poorly of the other today.” She lifted a single eyebrow. “Or have you decided to renege already.”

  Beneath her fingers, his lips turned up into a lopsided grin. “Never,” he said against her fingers. He pulled her hand from his lips and was now holding them both. “But just so you can't say I didn't warn you, if you press your fingers to my lips again, you'd better be prepared for the consequences.”

  “Which are?”

  He showed no sign of noticing how her voice had hitched on those two words, merely bent his head and pressed a kiss just below the edge of her glove on each wrist, then released her hands. “Do it again and you'll find out.”

  Her breath caught and she curled her fingers into her palms, the skin on her wrists still burning from where he'd kissed her as if he'd touched her with a branding iron instead of his lips. Suddenly overly warm, she snapped up her fan. “If we're to walk all the way to Bath, we'd better start now or we won't make it there and back in time for Caroline's costume ball on Friday.”

  “You really think it would take us a day and a half to walk ten miles to Bath and another day and a half to walk the ten miles back home?”

  “Of course. Have you ever tried to walk in a pair of ladies' slippers?”

  “Would you believe me if I said I had?”

  She wagged her finger at him playfully. “Trying on your mother's shoes when you were four doesn't count.”

  He brought both of his hands up to rest on his cheeks in a show of what she presumed to be feigned embarrassment. “How did you know about that?”

  “Henry.”

  He dropped his hands back to his sides. “I should have known,” he muttered. “As much as I hate to disappoint you and your dreams of walking to Bath, the carriage is waiting and the horses are starting to sound impatient.”

  “You're the one who keeps delaying our departure by chatting.”

  He reached forward and shoved a lock of her fallen hair into the edge of her bonnet. “There's no crime in a man chatting with his wife, is there?”

  “Only if he enjoys it.”

  “Then we must cease at once,” he said between clenched teeth, his eyebrows shooting halfway up his forehead. He made a show of looking over each shoulder and out the window, then leaned close to her and said in a stage whisper, “Good. I don't think anyone saw us.”

  Amelia swatted playfully at his shoulder. “If you ever find yourself in need of employment, I'd suggest you look for a post as a lady's maid because you'd be a horrible spy.”

  “Me? A horrible spy?” He darted his gaze over her left shoulder and then her right as if he were slyly examining their surroundings.

  “The worst ever,” she said, trying to suppress her laughter.

  He slapped his palm against his chest with a resounding thud and gasped. “Surely not. Have you met every spy?”

  “No.”

  “Then how would you know I'm the worst ever?” he questioned, throwing his hands into the air; his eyes alight with laughter.

  His facial expression and hand gestures were just too much! “You're absurd.”

  “Absurd? You're the one who suggested I become a lady's maid.”

  “And can you deny that you wouldn't enjoy the job?”

  “I think that would depend on whose lady's maid I was.”

  She pulled on her overcoat. “No need to tax yourself with worry about finding a desirable lady to work for,” she said, plucking up her scarf since it was still a little cool outside this time of year. “I'll be sure to write you a very high letter of recommendation.”

  He leaned close to her ear as she wrapped her scarf around her neck. “Could you be sure to address said letter to yourself?” Then, before she could recover her wits enough to form a response, he was gone.

  ***

  Elijah threaded his fingers though his hair, then gave it a quick tug. What was he doing? He'd told her this morning he was content to just be her friend and then he'd gone on to make several inappropriate remarks and even kiss her.

  He took in a deep breath; then another. He needed this. Fresh air, that is. Amelia had only been staying in the cabin with him for a few days and already it smelled of her. And frankly, the smell was enough to intoxicate a man and impair his judgement. He kicked a rock with the toe of his boot and watched it roll a good ten feet away, stopping only when Amelia arrested it with her slipper-clad foot.

  Shamelessly, he let his eyes move slowly from her feet up. He swallowed uncomfortably. What he could see of her gown between her unbuttoned overcoat, it clung to her almost like a second skin, hugging her in all the right places. He reluctantly dragged his eyes away before he could surrender to his impulse and touch her, destroying any shred of trust he'd managed to build today.

  He sobered instantly. He couldn't give her the truth like Alex had suggested—not yet anyway, but he could show her that he was worthy of her trust and good opinion. She'd know soon enough that she wasn't increasing, if she didn't already. His face heated. Most gentlemen knew next to nothing about female matters. Elijah's father, however, ensured his sons knew more than most. Alex probably didn't mind the knowledge, and likely felt the need to inform him of any discoveries he'd read about on the topic that might have come after Father had studied it. When the time came for Elijah and Henry to be informed, neither could get out of the room fast enough. Just now though, he was grateful for the knowledge because at least he didn't have to ask carefully worded questions to ensure she knew at least that particular truth.

  “Are you going to take me to Bath for a slice of cake or stare at me all day?”

  “I'm still waiting for you to get into the carriage,” Elijah said without hesitation. He offered her his arm and helped her into the carriage.

  “I haven't been here in what feels like ages,” Amelia marveled a short time later as the carriage rolled down Milsom Street.

  “That's not true. I saw you dance at one of the local assemblies a few years ago.”

  “You did?” Her brows drew together in confusion. “I don't remember you there.”

  “I was there but a few minutes,” he said dismissively. That was true enough, and all she needed to know. He had been there only a few minutes. That was all it took for him to realize the fellow he'd been seeking wasn't at that particular assembly. He'd found him a week later in Cambridge. He shook his head to clear his thoughts of the menaces of society. It did no good to dwell on them. Once the two involved in the prostitution ring were brought to justice, he'd be done with his work and could relax into a quiet country life, perhaps as a lady's maid. Most preferably Amelia's lady's maid.

  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the red velvet squabs of Alex's carriage. No gentleman wanted to be a lady's maid—that required he help her redress, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He leaned his head to the right a couple of inches, then abruptly brought it to the left, hitting it against the hard inside shell of the carriage. Stars burst in front of his eyes, and just as quickly they disappeared. Dash it all. Hitting his head against the wall didn't knock any sense into his head anymore than it knocked out the image of helping Amelia undress. The truth was, he had no business thinking about her in such a way. As history had already shown, in three short days at that, she did not appreciate his advances, and he'd do well to remember that.

  “Are you all right?”

  Elijah straightened. “Hmm?”

  “Your head.”

  Mindlessly, Elijah raised his fingers to his head where he now found a knot quickly forming. “Oh, it's nothing. We must have hit a bump.”

  She didn't look convinced, but he didn't care. He'd rather take his chances of running barefoot next to a bush infested with adders than admit he'd bee
n thinking of undressing her. “Are you sure,” she said, reaching up toward his head.

  He moved his head back to evade her touch and put his hand out to stay hers. “I'm fine. I promise.”

  She pursed her lips and turned her head to look at him from the corner of her eye. “You'd better be. I'd hate to have to return early with you pleading a headache.”

  “Not to worry, I wouldn't dream of cutting our time short today.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Amelia misstepped. Something about the seriousness in his tone had caught her unawares. It had been deep and silky, purposeful.

  She forced a shaky laugh. She was being ridiculous. His tone had been no different than it always was. She was just more acutely aware of him today for some reason. His scent and presence both seemed more commanding. His body radiating with a heat she couldn't ignore.

  “Where to first, my dear?” he asked, startling her from her senseless thoughts.

  “Er... I don't know.” She looked around at the two rows of buildings that lined the street. To the left was a bookshop and a confectionary. Neither interested her. To her right was a museum and a modiste. Neither of those held any appeal, either. Further down was a bathhouse. She flushed. There was absolutely no way she'd enter one of those with Elijah. There was also a small theatre and an assembly hall, either would be a safe choice—were it evening and either of them actually open. “Hmmm. I don't know.”

  “Then shall I pick a place?”

  She cast a nervous glance at the bathhouse, praying he wouldn't pick there. “I suppose.” She wagged a finger at him. “But if it's somewhere inappropriate, then take this as your warning.”

  A sly grin took his lips as if he were challenging her. “Your warning has been heeded, Mrs. Banks.” He offered her his arm and led her down the street.

  With each step she took, her feet grew heavier. She shouldn't have chanced a glance down at the bathhouse, now he was going to take her there for sure.