He opened his eyes, shook his head, and forced his eyes to the second item on Lady Whittingham’s list.
2. Fidelity
3. Love
4. Passion
Indeed, Lady Whittingham wished for grandchildren. Lunden attempted some type of smile, but the effort failed. Of course, he knew how it felt to love deeply—first his parents, then his brother—and was astute enough to realize these sentiments paled when compared to the intimacy between two lovers.
But love proved a wasted emotion.
His gaze fell to the list clenched in his fist.
5. Courage
Now that he possessed in spades. He’d given up an easy life, adopted the habits of a recluse, and exerted courage every morning when he forced his eyes open and got on with the day.
Time was a merciless master. Hadn’t his trip to London proved the speed in which years passed and things changed? Amelia certainly had. Perhaps repaying this favor to Matthew would not prove so difficult.
Amelia was lovely. No, that word failed. He was momentarily stunned when she’d entered the room, as fiery and commanding as he remembered, except instead of a young pixie who caused her brother and his chums unending havoc, she’d matured into a breathtakingly beautiful woman.
Something unusual stirred deep in his chest and he shoved it away. He should get on with fulfilling the agreement so he could pursue his business matter and rid the city. London held too many memories and too much power to exhume all the secrets he labored to keep buried.
He rose and returned the folded list to his waistcoat pocket. He’d keep it there as a reminder to act on Lady Whittingham’s wishes with urgency. Then he walked to the sideboard and poured two fingers of brandy, relishing the burn as he swallowed it back.
Fortified, Lunden removed the suede pouch from his trousers pocket and slid his brother’s watch into his palm. The gold cover once boasting Douglas’s engraved initials was lost in the accident, although the crystal, scratched and splintered, still protected the inlaid face. He stared at it as he’d done countless times, and the forbidding hands screamed back their callous answer easing none of his pain—the time of his brother’s death, eleven twenty.
* * *
Amelia was her usual cheerful self when she met Charlotte at the door and advanced to the walkway the following morning. She allowed her friend to chatter until they reached their favorite bench and settled. With a glance to affirm their chaperones remained out of earshot, Amelia grasped Charlotte’s hand and informed her of the most current events.
“Scarsdale? I don’t know a whit about him aside from what you’ve just mentioned. We were too young when his difficulties in London arose, and certainly no one has included me in a discussion of dastardly deeds. Lord Dearing hardly talks to me at all.”
Charlotte’s smile faltered and Amelia watched as her friend struggled to conceal her unhappiness, a condition that grew more evident each morning.
Amelia persisted although her mind wandered down a different path. “I only bring it up because I wonder if there’s a connection between Scarsdale and my brother’s efforts to see me wed.”
“Why so ever would you think that?” Charlotte removed her slipper and shook a pebble free. “Did you hear your brother discuss the matter with him?”
“No, but Matthew speaks of little else with anyone willing to listen. I’d imagine Scarsdale became the next victim of opportunity.” Amelia nodded her head in visible disgust. “Never mind about that, I have a brilliant idea. I plan to visit my parents at Lakeview next week. I think you should ask Lord Dearing if you may accompany me. It would be lovely to escape the city for a few days and my parents will be delighted to see you.” A secret desire to isolate her friend for an extended period of time prompted Amelia’s invitation, but it was truly not subterfuge. She wanted to visit her parents and they would enjoy Charlotte’s company. Then she could pursue the quandary of her best friend’s melancholy without the boundaries of a thirty-minute morning constitutional.
“I doubt he’ll agree.”
Charlotte appeared uncomfortable and the change in her demeanor was yet another proverbial nail in Dearing’s coffin.
“It can’t hurt to try. One never knows until one poses the question. Does Lord Dearing so intimidate you that you can’t propose a simple request?” She hadn’t meant to sound harsh, but when tears threatened Charlotte’s eyes, Amelia regretted the words as they rushed from her mouth. “Forgive me. I didn’t intend to upset you, but I have it all worked out in my head. Traveling will be fun. Remember when we were younger before you became a wife? I miss our time spent together.”
Charlotte’s face softened and with a little sniff, her tears vanished. “I know. I miss you as well. This has all become difficult, but I’ll make you a promise. I’ll ask Lord Dearing about journeying with you to Lakeview, if you confront your brother about this marriage business. You should uncover his plans so we’ll know whether he intends to bind you to the next available bachelor or include you in the decision. We must do everything in our power to ensure you escape as mismatched an arrangement as mine. Do we have a deal?”
Shrewd business indeed, but Charlotte made a fine point. A shudder skittered down her spine at the thought of marriage to the wrong gentleman, the commitment itself inevitable for no other reason than to ease her father’s concerns. She was a dutiful daughter and cared for her parents deeply. That being true, she should at least understand how much control she would wield in the process.
“Deal.” She extended her hand and they shook on their agreement in the same manner she’d seen her brother do on many an occasion.
The walk home seemed quicker and the future a tiny bit brighter as she climbed the stairs and strode into Matthew’s study, not bothering to knock. But he was not there.
Scarsdale, his midnight hair and broad-shouldered stance a clear indication a different man waited near the windows. A mixture of world-weariness and secrecy hung around him as if he possessed so much of the qualities they overflowed onto the floor like a death shroud.
He turned before she could finish her assessment of his stature . . . or recover her breathing.
“Lady Amelia.”
He announced her name, each syllable a deep timbre, and she smiled, all at once her stomach at odds. “Your Grace, you must call me Amelia. You did so when we were children. It seems rather foolish to stand on formality now.”
“I agree, and you must return the familiarity. We’ve known each other through decades.”
A stilted pause ensued although Amelia could feel the thunderous beat of her heart as if it played a concerto on her rib cage. Little made her nervous, but she knew no other label for the strange sensation.
“Your brother isn’t here at the moment.”
She noted the quiet intensity in Scarsdale’s gaze, a somber concentration that overrode any other emotion that dared enter his eyes. He appeared the same yesterday. Did his expression never change?
Her memory produced his smile, although she couldn’t have been more than six years old when she’d first met him at Lakeview. For some odd reason, she could still see his lopsided grin, the left cheek dimpled, as he yanked on her braids and ran from the sitting room, acting on her brother’s challenge. Peculiar, how the single memory stayed with her. Matthew had a fondness for issuing tests of risk-taking conscience and daring spirit. Perhaps that was the reason.
“Thank you. May I ask you a question?” When he made no indication, she attempted an explanation of sorts. “To satisfy my curiosity.”
Cold fury darkened his eyes. Apparently she’d struck a nerve, but she dared not study him long. It would be all but impossible to concentrate on her objective if she drank too much from his intoxicating whisky-brown eyes.
* * *
Lunden stiffened and forced himself to relax a breath later, unwilling to permit this forthright hoyden to pry into his past. The events surrounding Douglas’s death were a millstone around his neck, at one time a noose,
and he would not allow anyone to dredge up information he fought so vigorously to keep buried.
“Pardon?” His voice had lowered to a malice-filled whisper. He would listen to Amelia’s inquiry, if she’d proved so bold, and then remind her gossip preyed on the weak-minded. The sharp memory of the unending censure of his brother’s death hardened his jaw. Those rumors, born as mournful whispers, seamlessly evolved into lascivious exaggerations. He could not imagine what version of the mistruth Amelia meant to explore.
“Are you here to acquire a bride?”
“What? No.” He had no idea how she’d conjured the ungodly notion he needed a woman in his life and he almost laughed with relief. He’d been too quick to judge her motive.
“Oh, very good. I thought, perhaps my brother . . .” She did not finish, the awkwardness of her suggestion loud in the room.
“Have no fear. I would be your brother’s last choice.” He kept his sober expression in place despite his self-deprecating response.
Her posture softened, all at once at ease. “Then Matthew did not speak to you about finding me a match?”
Her eyes communicated skepticism and he noted a touch of rebellion in the question. A variety of answers, all capable of avoiding the truth, leapt to mind and he discarded them. He’d accomplished enough lying for a lifetime, the result stranding him in an untenable situation, labeled a liar, and ostracized from society as a consequence for showing loyalty to his brother.
“Now that’s a different question altogether.” He stepped closer to where she lingered near the door. Did she think to make a fast exit after her brazen inquiries if the answers proved unacceptable? “I was under the assumption all young women dreamed of balls and similar delectations, a life lived in the social spotlight on the arm of their husband.”
“Not me.”
She didn’t say more, the two words softly spoken, yet something had changed. She stood almost as tall as he and there was nothing about her that professed defeat, although her words signaled a deeper meaning to her admittance.
“Your brother wishes to see you married as soon as possible. You’re two and twenty. Most women are settled by that age.”
Her chin shot up and her emerald eyes, framed with inky black lashes, flashed in defiance. “Settled, yes, and unhappily so. The very word implies compromise and dissatisfaction. Am I to have no say in the matter? It’s my future he plans, not some insignificant puzzle he seeks to complete before moving on to other things.” She pushed past him to the table and shuffled a few pieces in her distraction as if to emphasize her anger.
“It’s the way of things. The world’s rules are not of my making.” If they were, then his past wouldn’t haunt him still.
“I have no wish to be sentenced to a life of unhappiness, forced to wed by convention, or matched by convenient arrangement.” She turned with a shake of dark, silky curls and pinned him with a stare, her words as sharp as her perspicuity. “I would prefer to live independently if left with a dismal choice. I’ve nothing against marriage unless I’m not to have a say.”
The girl possessed spirit enough to drive a man to Bedlam. The sooner he resolved this business, the greater his chance at finding some small scrap of peace.
“I see.” Defiance tinged her cheeks pink, the contrast of innocence at odds with her confident stance. Damn it, she looked fetching.
“I have no desire for Matthew to find me a husband, never mind involve a virtual stranger in the private affair. He accuses me of wasting time and lacking effort, but I’ve discovered no suitor who sparks my interest.” She sighed. “Why would you assist him?”
He tempered his anger. “Your brother almost died defending my honor. There is little he could ask that I would not endeavor to achieve.”
She dismissed his reply with a straightening of her shoulders. “It will be no easy undertaking. I can’t imagine why any intelligent man would desire a contrary wife.” She strode forward and met his eyes in challenge, nearly upsetting the puzzle with the abrupt twirl of skirts. “Matthew tells me I’m outspoken and difficult. A square peg for a round hole or nonsense like that.”
Something ached inside his soul but he forced the emotion away. “There’s nothing wrong with being different. I’d imagine you possess qualities that overshadow any fault you find in your nature.” Pouty lips and endlessly long legs, for example. How glorious those legs would feel wrapped tightly around his hips. And those lips pressed against . . . He cleared his throat and realigned his thoughts.
“So you’ve agreed to assist him. I understand.” She closed her eyes for longer than a blink. “I don’t suppose I can change your mind.”
“Is there something about marriage that disturbs you?”
Her previous determination wavered and her eyes dimmed the slightest. “Yes, that’s true.”
Her response was both sufficient answer and obscure confession. Lunden eyed her with avid interest. For such a cheeky girl, she seemed exceptionally closemouthed in regard to her reluctance to marry. Was it a matter of control? Fear? “Why have you dragged your feet and delayed your fate? You possess beauty to catch a bachelor’s eye. I am sure, were you to set your mind to it, you could charm any gentleman.” His mind conjured an image of Lord Trent’s flaming crotch and Lunden mentally corrected himself.
Amelia paused, her lush lips pursed as if she wanted to reply but decided otherwise.
“And there is the matter of your father’s declining health,” he pressed. “Marriage seems the best path forward.”
“I detest the idea of a binding decision made in haste, although I would never disappoint my father. If you’re bent on pursuing this objective, we should come to an accord. A guarantee of sorts to smooth the process.”
Lunden gathered his patience close. How entertaining. What would the lovely termagant propose now?
“I will meet the gentlemen necessary and make a genuine effort to find a suitable husband if you’ll agree to a short list of requests.” She raised her chin a notch, her silken curls in unruly disarray.
“You have demands?” The lady was a shrewd opponent, a devious charlatan disguised in burgundy fustian and blond lace.
“Requests. Once married I will have little freedom. Label it foolish, but I wish to experience a taste of excitement before I become a wife.”
Marriage with the right man would fill your life with nothing but exciting experiences. All of them delicious.
He banished the observation with no desire to enlighten. The whole situation was none of his concern beyond resolving one obligation, so he could attend to his personal affairs. “You hold a surprisingly dismal perception of marriage. I believed your parents happily married for decades.”
“Oh yes, and it further proves my point. My parents are a love match. Marriage for convenience or any other reason is a trap. I know that to be true.”
She didn’t expound on her statements and Lunden didn’t inquire of her certainty. Marriage was a waste of brain power, but love, that was a topic on which he had very strong views. “Love makes life complicated and is the stuff of childish dreams. A life without love is the purest existence.”
She gasped, her slender brows furrowed as if his words shocked and saddened at the same time. The moment did not last and she angled her chin higher.
“Do we have an agreement?” Her spectacular eyes glinted with purpose and determination.
The lady had one goal in mind, although any purpose that helped him speed the process was welcomed. She stepped closer, almost too close, and he was struck by the brilliant spark in her gaze and the subtle scent of jasmine. It suited her, all uncommon beauty and wildflower. A thrum of desire ignited under his skin. She extended her hand to further her proposition.
The corner of his mouth twitched at her businesslike pose and he clasped her bare hand in a firm shake. Her fingertips trailed across his palm as she withdrew them and when she rushed from the room, he stared to where her delicate caress lingered, no matter they no longer touched.
>
Chapter Four
Had she pledged her soul to the devil? Scarsdale claimed an unscrupulous reputation and she not only bargained, but aligned with him to work toward a common goal. Marriage. Something she didn’t desire at present, but would be forced to accept. Was it wrong of her to want love? The duke would never understand. His opinion of the emotion left her flabbergasted.
Before he’d reconsider their agreement, Amelia rushed to her bedchamber and flipped through the pages of her journal intent on finding the list in question. Measuring her eagerness, she gently tore the page from the stitched binding and hurried downstairs to Matthew’s study. No gentleman would agree to such outlandish behavior, not even one rumored to disregard propriety, but she fanned the flames of hope nonetheless, determined to latch on to an opportunity to accomplish her goal.
Her boots couldn’t carry her fast enough and she returned to the study, relieved to find Lunden remained. Had she thought he would flee? This man who left the city amidst outrageous scandal a decade ago and never once looked back.
“You’re still here.” The words escaped before she could stop them and he inclined his head as if he misunderstood her doubt.
“I’m a man of my word.”
His deep tone emphasized the hard edge of the statement and Amelia resisted the urge to withdraw, yet at the same time his gaze conjured images of heated brandy and goose down, a secret promise of all warm, wonderful things. She could eye him forever and never become bored of the view. She steadied her hand as she extended the paper in his direction. “Here is my list.”
He accepted the foolscap and scanned her writing. His dark brows rose by the time he neared the end but he did not laugh, nor did he thrust the list in her direction with a flat refusal.
“Your brother won’t be pleased.”
“I make no presumption you’d be foolish enough to inform him.” Something associated with a grin twitched his lips as he slipped the paper into his right breast pocket.
London's Wicked Affair Page 3
