His hair was more tame than when Amelia had last seen him, his clothes impeccably tailored to fit around his powerful body. He was every bit the dashing aristocrat he was supposed to be, and for a moment, she forgot how he’d chastised her yesterday and the chagrin she’d felt immediately after. But then his eyes bore down on hers and the edges of his jaw transformed into rigid planes. He had not forgotten their argument, and just like that, the memory of it and all the feelings that had since been evoked tumbled through her on an avalanche.
“Ladies,” he said, following his greeting with a bow. “How lovely you look.”
At least Amelia could agree with him there. Indeed, her appearance was much improved today since she’d chosen to put on a white gown sewn from the finest muslin. It had pretty puff sleeves and a blue silk ribbon tied right beneath her breasts. Determined to make a better impression, she kept her back straight and held her hands neatly folded in her lap. But her heart shook with every step he took in her direction, and it occurred to her then that the only remaining seat was the one immediately next to her on the sofa.
Lowering himself onto it while eels swam around inside her belly, he leaned back, waited a few seconds and then looked straight at her with eyes that demanded her attention. “May I please have some tea?”
She sucked in those words on a deep inhalation. This was her home, and with Gabriella away, her position as the elder sister made pouring tea for a gentleman caller her responsibility. The edge of Coventry’s mouth twitched, no doubt because he’d seen the flush now heating her cheeks. Did he mean to punish her by making a study of all her mistakes?
Swallowing a groan, she picked up the teapot and poured with an elegant turn of the wrist that pleased her. It must have surprised him as well, for he thanked her as if he’d expected her to spill it. Instead, she felt the edge of her own mouth twitch when she handed him his cup. She’d learned long ago that even the smallest of victories ought to be savored, and so she did exactly that.
“We were just about to decide on the most eligible suitors for Lady Amelia and Lady Juliette to pursue,” the dowager duchess explained.
“Ah,” Coventry said with a grin. “I have arrived at a hunting party. Will you be bringing out the hounds, I wonder?”
“They shan’t be needed.” Picking up the list of names, Lady Everly waved it in the air. “When these young men see Lady Amelia and Lady Juliette at Elmwood House on Friday, they will flock to them on their own accord. Mark my word.”
The slight puckering of Coventry’s forehead suggested he wasn’t convinced, but if that were the case, he failed to mention it. Instead he asked, “So then . . .” He reached across the table, accepting the list from Lady Everly’s outstretched hand. “Which of these is your main mark?”
“You needn’t speak of them as though they’re going to get shot at,” Amelia muttered.
“Does Cupid not wield a bow and arrow?”
Puffing out a breath, she crossed her arms, then remembered that she was supposed to keep her hands folded in her lap, and lowered them once more. She couldn’t say why Coventry was grating on her today for he’d been nothing but courteous so far. But there was something . . . perhaps the way he looked at her now, as if to say, I know your secret, and I will hold it over you forever. The worst part wasn’t even the fact that she only had herself to blame, it was the realization that he might be the only person capable of helping her. But to ask him to do so . . . Ugh! She’d almost rather swallow a slug.
Almost.
“We have advised Lady Amelia to consider Mr. Lowell first,” the dowager duchess said. She’d obviously decided to ignore the comment about Cupid.
Coventry gave a thoughtful nod while he studied the paper. “His grandfather is the Earl of Scranton, so there will be a title there one day. Presently, however, I doubt that few would think it inappropriate for him to marry a viscount’s granddaughter, regardless of her upbringing.”
Amelia flinched at the factual way in which he was talking. Not a hint of emotion seeped into his words as he continued to speak in favor of the potential match. By the time he was done, she felt raw inside. He’d even said he would happily make the necessary introduction, which could only mean he was pleased with the idea of her marrying Mr. Lowell. Perhaps he believed a courtship would give her something else to think of besides lying to him in order to buy an overpriced ruin. She still couldn’t help but shudder with the thought of him knowing how thoroughly she’d been duped.
But a part of her had hoped against all odds that he might not have been quite so eager to see her form an attachment to another man. Foolish woman that she was. He had never viewed her as anything other than his friend’s sister, and he never would.
Tightening her stomach around the pain slicing through it, she reminded herself that she didn’t care. He was not as kind as she’d thought him to be but in possession of a brutal streak she’d rather avoid from now on. Still, she ought to make a better effort at offering him an apology. Perhaps then they could at least return to some sort of friendship where she didn’t feel as though he was constantly judging her.
“He will inherit a large estate one day,” Lady Everly said, still speaking of Mr. Lowell. “In the meantime, the twenty thousand pounds he makes per annum is a respectable sum. If I recall, he even enjoys a good game of croquet.”
“Really?” Amelia asked with interest. She’d only recently been introduced to the sport a couple of weeks ago, but had taken to it with pleasure right from the start.
“Why does that seem to please you?” Coventry asked. “Do you like to play?”
“On occasion,” she said with a bit of a shrug. Looking at him then, she added, “There can be something very rewarding about hitting a ball with a mallet.”
He looked dubious, but still ended up saying, “In that case, I would suggest trying golf, but that game requires more finesse than one would be able to garner from wielding a cumbersome bit of wood.”
His implication wasn’t lost on her, which prompted her to respond in kind. “My only regret is when I miss.”
“I believe golf is played at a club just north of London,” the dowager duchess said, seemingly unaware of the veiled argument taking place. “I can look into it if you would like to learn.”
Amelia forced a smile. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I believe I shall stick to croquet for now. Especially if that is what Mr. Lowell enjoys playing.”
“I believe he is fond of shuttlecock too,” Lady Everly said. “In fact, he enjoys playing a wide variety of games.”
“Excellent.” Amelia reached for her teacup and took another sip. “We shan’t be bored then when we’re together. What a relief.”
Beside her, Coventry made a sound that sounded a bit like a choked cough. So she glanced toward him and saw he was actually smiling. Or doing his best not to and failing miserably. It lasted only until he found her watching, at which point his lips tightened to accommodate the stern look that followed.
With a shake of her head, Amelia turned away and decided that she would have one of the tempting biscuits that sat on the table just waiting to be devoured. Picking one up, she bit into the flaky treat, enjoying the flavor of ginger and spice as it nipped at her tongue.
“Shall we resume your dance lessons then?” the dowager duchess asked.
Amelia froze with the remainder of her biscuit still poised in midair.
“I think the ladies did very well last time,” Coventry said. On the table before him, his tea remained untouched, prompting Amelia to wonder if he’d requested it only to unnerve her. “They need not go over the dances again.”
“I disagree,” Lady Everly said. “Amelia made several mistakes, so I would like to ensure she can manage to refrain from doing so when Society is watching.”
With a sigh, Amelia accepted the fact that she was once again the center of unwanted attention. She set down her biscuit and glanced at Coventry, whose posture remained as stiff as ever. Still, the dances wou
ld allow them a chance to speak more privately, which might not be such a bad thing if she truly wished to convey her regrets with sincerity.
Well, it was rather like swallowing cod-liver oil, wasn’t it? One did it because one had to, not because one wanted to. But in this case, it would be the right thing to do, which left her with little choice but to get it over with.
“Perhaps you are right,” Coventry said. “It would be unfortunate if anyone thought her to be anything less than the lady she truly is.” Getting up, he turned to offer her his hand with a meaningful look.
The fact that her insides collapsed beneath his regard did not prevent her from forcing elegance into her limbs and rising as if she floated on air. Her chin came up and her eyes met his with defiance. “I can assure you that that will not happen, Your Grace.” She settled her hand carefully over his, just as Gabriella had taught her, and followed the gesture with a smile. “Shall we proceed?”
A flicker of uncertainty entered his gaze, and for a second he simply stood there, staring back at her. But then he collected himself and nodded. “Certainly.” He glanced at his mother. “I trust you will be counting the beats again?”
“Of course.”
Coventry led Amelia across to the parlor door and out into the hallway. “Then by all means, let us get on with it,” he murmured, leaving no illusion about his desire to partner with her this afternoon. It was just as lacking as hers was.
Chapter 7
Feeling irritable on account of the sleepless night he’d passed, Thomas led Lady Amelia through to the ballroom while the rest of their small party followed behind. She did not glance at him once while they walked, her eyes stubbornly trained on their destination. A weaker woman would no doubt have shied away from him after the way he’d treated her yesterday, but not Lady Amelia. Her posture was more correct than he’d ever seen it before, her determinedness to safeguard her pride so astute it gifted her with a regal bearing. She was not going to let his angry words bring her down. On the contrary, she would thwart them with her head held high.
There was something to be said about that. For one thing, he respected her for it. For another, he couldn’t help but be a little bit proud of her for standing up to him with as much resolve as she had. Most young ladies would have backed away. Then again, most young ladies would not have lied about their whereabouts and then proceeded to traipse through the streets of London dressed like a beggar in order to rendezvous with a man at a questionable location. The memory of it still infuriated him and yet . . . as convinced as he’d been of her wrongdoing last night, he’d since concluded that she might have been right about a couple of things and that she deserved an apology for his aggressive behavior.
“We will start with a typical country dance,” his mother announced once he and Amelia had stepped into the center of the ballroom. A beat began and he held out his hand. She placed hers over it and it occurred to him she was making a particular effort to touch him as little as possible, the point of contact so light it was barely there at all.
Annoyed for some reason he couldn’t explain, he led her through the paces at a leisurely speed, turning, stepping aside and moving forward with precise movements. Today, she had no difficulty with her steps. Even the reel and cotillion were executed with success. It was almost as if her annoyance with him lent an element of focus she’d been denied before. Which seemed absurd. If anything, he would have thought it would have been the other way around.
“And now for the waltz,” his mother said. “If you manage that as well as the previous dances, Lady Amelia, you are bound to become a remarkable success.”
Thomas took his position across from her. She still refused to meet his gaze, her eyes trained on a spot right next to his shoulder. The effect of her standoffishness—the contrast it held to the last time they’d danced—was such that he felt compelled to force a reaction from her. Any reaction would do at this point. So he stepped toward her the moment his mother began to clap and pulled her into his arms.
A gasp flew from between Lady Amelia’s lips as he swept her into the dance a second earlier than she’d expected. Her eyes were brightened with amusement before she banked the emotion with a glare that pushed at his chest. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” Tightening his hold, he leaned in and whispered, “I am dancing, Lady Amelia, that is all.”
They were close, not quite inappropriately so, but enough for him to notice the way her tendons worked in her neck, straining against the rapid beat of her pulse. He’d unnerved her again, and if her hitched breath had not been enough to confirm this, her sudden missteps did.
“Damn you, Coventry.” Fire burned in her eyes, swallowing the brown and leaving nothing but dazzling green.
He clutched her tighter in order to steady her pace, and perhaps for another reason as well, though he chose not to think of what that might be. Those eyes, however. Hell, he couldn’t stop looking at them no matter how much they conveyed her annoyance with him.
But he wasn’t going to admit the effect they had on him either, how they seemed to steal his breath and shake his heart. So he chose to tell her a truth—one he never shared with anyone. He wouldn’t have mentioned it now if she hadn’t given it power. But since she had, he told her gently, “I have been damned for the last five years, my lady. A curse from you can hardly make matters worse.”
Color drained from her face, leaving her pale and with a startled expression that almost bordered on pity. Hating it, he spun them around, leading her in a series of wide circles that quickened their pace until they were both breathing harder. Would they ever resolve this tension between them? he wondered. It had risen like a brick wall, and Thomas wasn’t entirely sure of how to knock it back down or if doing so would even be possible. He hoped it would be, for he rather missed the smiles Lady Amelia had always bestowed upon him. They’d been so full of genuine happiness they made him want to smile too, no matter how rotten his day might be.
But she didn’t appear to be in any mood for reconciliation at the moment, and he had to admit that his most recent remark didn’t make it seem as though he might be either. Except he was. As disappointed as he was in her, especially for lying, he desperately wanted to put their dispute behind them and get back to their amicable repartee. He continued to ponder that thought until his mother clapped the final beat and he drew Lady Amelia to a stop. Perhaps if they could have a chance to speak privately?
“Mama,” he said as he led Lady Amelia toward the spot where his mother was standing beside Lady Everly and Lady Juliette. “The dances have exhausted us. Do you mind if we take a turn in the garden and get some fresh air before I continue with Lady Juliette?”
His mother considered the request for a moment. She glanced toward the French doors leading out onto the terrace, then returned her gaze to him. “I see no harm in it as long as you remain within view.”
As if disappearing from view was an option on the stretch of green that sat between the house and the park. “Thank you,” he said without pointing that out. “We won’t be very long.”
Whatever Lady Amelia’s thoughts were on his attempt to whisk her away from the others, she didn’t voice them. Rather, she accompanied him in complete silence and with renewed stiffness to her stride.
“I must confess this hostility between us is beginning to grate on me,” he said, leading her out to the terrace.
“Then you obviously have no patience for combat since it has only been little more than twenty-four hours since our falling-out.”
He gave her a humorless smile. “Is this how you wish to continue? With each of us throwing sharp rejoinders at the other until we eventually say the one thing that will ruin our friendship forever?”
“No.” She sighed. “Of course not. But you are obviously still angry with me and I . . . well, to be honest, I thought my irritation with you had subsided until you arrived this afternoon.”
Not knowing what to say to that exactly, he drew her t
oward the steps leading down to the lawn. A couple of trees stood in one corner close to the hedge that hugged the fence. Beneath them sat a stone bench, partially shaded by overhanging branches. It was a much finer day today than it had been yesterday. The sun had turned the cloudless sky a bright shade of blue, the golden rays enhancing the colors around them with an almost surreal vibrancy that shifted everything else to the background. It was just him and her now, secluded from the outside world in this tiny piece of heaven the garden had to offer.
They reached the bench and he motioned for her to sit, which she did while he remained standing. “I am not the sort of man who stubbornly insists on being right. While I do strive to avoid mistakes, I am not without fallibility.” Raising her gaze, she looked at him in a different way than she had done since his arrival. Her eyes were more studious now, more attentive and somehow more alert. It prompted him to continue. “With this in mind, I have assessed our conversation yesterday at great length and found . . .” It was vital he chose his next words wisely in order to avoid making matters worse. “The way in which I responded to your behavior was unacceptable. Please accept my apology with the assurance that I will never insult you in such a way again.”
“Thank you, but my behavior, as you put it, was deserving of your wrath. I acted carelessly because I wanted to accomplish my goal. The obstacles in my path didn’t matter—I was too intent on thwarting them by whatever means necessary.”
Pressing her lips together, she appeared to be suddenly lost and uncertain, and the innate need that followed, to sit down beside her and pull her into his arms, was quick and powerful. He resisted it only because of his strict upbringing, and then immediately wondered what on earth had come over him.
Her next words chased his fragile ponderings away. “You’re not the only one who needs to apologize, Coventry. What I did was reckless, just as you said, for numerous reasons. Lying to you only made matters worse and I . . . I now fear it will influence the opinion you have of my character. Which is why I must assure you that I don’t make a habit of being dishonest. But I felt it was necessary at the time, though I was wrong to do so, and for that I am sincerely sorry.”
The Duke of Her Desire: Diamonds in the Rough Page 7
