Amelia straightened her spine, smiled, and nodded at her sisters. They entered Cheltham House’s drawing room, filled with its gilded furniture, dark carpets, and enormous crystal chandelier. Tonight the vast space was festooned with mistletoe and holly, and a massive Yule log burned cheerfully in the hearth.
Amelia curled her fingers around the glass of claret her mother pressed into her hands and took a big swallow, appreciating the trail of warmth the liquid left behind.
Her mother turned away to greet Evan, and Amelia tried not to stare at them. She knew her mother would rather poke her own eyes out than create a scene in her own drawing room amongst so many guests, so Amelia was fairly certain she’d be her usual genial self and give Evan the welcome he deserved—even if the countess didn’t think he deserved it.
“My lady!”
Amelia turned toward the man, and her stomach sank when she saw George MacBride grinning at her. To his right was his wife, a sweet creature who doted on their two children, and who appeared to be increasing with number three. To his left was that other man—the one she knew but couldn’t place.
Amelia had never liked George. They’d never been friends. And after she’d heard that bit of his discussion with Evan that night in the garden, she’d liked him even less. However, he was still a neighbor, and she was well bred enough to know how to be supremely civil even to those she disliked.
She forced her lips into a welcoming smile as they approached. “Mr. and Mrs. MacBride. I am so glad you were able to join us for Christmas this year.”
George gestured to the man beside him. “You remember Mr. Henry, don’t you, my lady? He’s recently returned from India.”
Something in Amelia’s chest tightened. Fletcher Henry—the third youth who’d been in the garden that night. He was the one who’d laughed and said she was a fat, lazy cow and that he wouldn’t deign to touch her with a cattle prod.
She hadn’t seen Fletcher since that night. And now he was here. All three of the youths who’d maligned her were here.
She kept her smile firmly fixed in place. “Mr. Henry. Of course I remember you. How wonderful to see you again.”
Fletcher was a thin, dark-haired man with a straight bearing and sharp, angular features. He inclined his head. “My lady. You were lovely when last I saw you, but your loveliness has increased tenfold with maturity.”
Sickness churned in Amelia’s gut. What a liar. How dare he pretend he’d ever thought she was lovely? The gall of the man!
She managed to look down before he could see the flash of anger in her eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured, even as she ground her teeth.
“Fletcher is planning to return to England permanently,” George said.
“Indeed. I have been expanding my fortunes in London and India for the past several years, but now I feel it is time to settle in a proper English country house and allow others to toil on in India,” Fletcher said.
They talked about India and travel for a time, Amelia smiling and nodding, and inserting the appropriate questions at the appropriate times. Just when she was prepared to make her excuses and walk away, a footman announced dinner, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
But then, Fletcher held out his arm. “May I escort you into the dining room, my lady?”
“Ah, I am sorry, Fletch,” a smooth voice came from behind her, “but the earl has requested that I escort his daughter to dinner.”
Fletcher’s thin brows shot toward his forehead as his gaze snapped to Evan, and Amelia released a long, relieved breath as Evan took her hand and threaded her arm through his.
She couldn’t imagine that her father had actually asked Evan to escort her, but she was utterly thankful to have him beside her right now.
Fletcher’s eyes narrowed on their interlocked arms, then he gave Evan a tight smile before bowing in Amelia’s direction. “I shall see you in the dining room, then, my lady.”
* * *
Dinner was interminable. It wasn’t so much his own discomfort that bothered Evan, it was Amelia’s. And he couldn’t blame her for being uncomfortable. Everyone kept sliding glances at her as if she were some kind of fascinating specimen. And as much as Evan attempted to stare each of them down, they were relentless, their interest obviously fueled by Berwicke’s gossip about her liaison with Evan at the inn.
The plum pudding arrived in a fiery circle of flaming brandy, and everyone dug in. Amelia’s sister Emmaline was the first to discover something—a coin, which she clutched to her breast. “I am to be rich!” she gasped in delight. Everyone chuckled, because everyone knew that Emmaline had been born rich and would always be so.
When Amelia discovered the gold ring deep within her serving of plum pudding, her sisters squealed with pleasure, and everyone laughed at her wide blue eyes and her expression of speechless surprise as she cupped the ring in her hand.
“Looks like you’ve another marriage in your future, my lady,” Evan’s mother said to Amelia. “Congratulations.”
Amelia turned a lovely shade of pink and cast her eyes downward as she laid the ring on the tablecloth beside her. Evan fought the urge to whisk her away from all these people and take her somewhere safe. Preferably somewhere that contained a bed.
“Do you not wish to marry again, my lady?” Fletcher asked her.
“Someday, maybe,” Amelia said in a voice so low Evan almost couldn’t hear her. Then she cast a quick glance at him, her cheeks still flaming.
On the other side of Amelia, Fletcher chuckled and said, loudly enough for Evan to hear, “What good luck for me,” which made Evan seethe. Manners, and the desire not to ruin Amelia’s parents’ dinner, were the only things that prevented him from throttling the man at that moment.
After dinner, things only grew worse. George drank too much—a problem he’d had even when they were youths. When he began raising his tone belligerently over the indistinct murmurs of the drawing room as several of Berwicke’s daughters sang a Christmas carol, Fletcher took him by the arm and suggested they walk for a while. Clearly, Fletcher hoped the brisk air would sober his friend. As they passed Evan, George slurred, “Join us outside, old chap. Fletch has promised to share some fancy tobacco he acquired in India.”
“In a while,” Evan murmured, not quite ready to end his current conversation with the countess. “You go on ahead.”
They left, and he turned back to the older woman.
“So you were saying?” she asked him, her hazel eyes shrewd and assessing. She’d asked him about how he’d encountered Amelia on the road.
“I told Amelia I would be happy to take her home,” he said. “However, she refused my help, at first.”
“Of course she did.”
“I didn’t understand why, at the time. But she told me later.”
The countess pursed her lips. “And what did you have to say for yourself, Mr. Cameron?”
He looked the woman square in the eyes. “What I did was unforgiveable, my lady. But your daughter has given me the great honor of her forgiveness, and I will always be grateful for that.”
The countess shook her head. “One of Amelia’s greatest shortcomings is her soft-heartedness. You will not find me so easy to forgive, especially of such a crime against a beloved daughter.”
“I understand,” he told her. “I hope that someday I will prove myself worthy of your forgiveness.”
She just gazed at him.
“For,” he continued, keeping his tone even, though his heart galloped in his chest. “I believe I am in love with your daughter.”
At this, her eyes went wide. Then, her lips twisted. “That’s not possible. You’ve known her one day.”
“On the contrary. I’ve known her all my life.”
“You are both adults now. Amelia has changed irrevocably from those innocent days of her girlhood. I am sure you’ve changed, too.”
He leaned forward. “Yes, my lady, we’ve both changed. But we’re both still intrinsically the same people we were when we were ch
ildren. Did my mother ever tell you of my youthful desire to marry Amelia?”
She looked startled. “No.”
“I was informed in no uncertain terms that she was too far above me, and such an event would never come to fruition. And yet, here I stand, years later, finding that my feelings on the matter of marrying your daughter have never wavered. However, I am a man now, whose hopes aren’t so easily dashed by those who consider themselves older and wiser.”
“Is that so?”
“It is,” he said softly. “And if Amelia will have me, I will be your son by marriage someday soon, my lady. If you cannot forgive a neighbor for his transgression, I hope you’ll find it somewhere within you to forgive a son.”
She gave him a considering look. “I’d absolve a son, if he earned his forgiveness.”
“I intend to earn yours,” Evan said. He glanced around the vast room, seeking out Amelia and frowning when he didn’t see her.
“I believe she went upstairs to wish her sisters goodnight,” Lady Cheltham said, reading his mind.
He looked back at the older woman, giving her a sheepish smile. “Of course.”
Mrs. MacBride approached them to thank Lady Cheltham for her hospitality. The woman was flustered and flushed—abandoned and embarrassed by her drunken husband. Evan couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor woman.
Evan excused himself and ventured outside in pursuit of George and Fletcher, supposing he should get that encounter over with as quickly as possible. He would ensure George was put to bed before he embarrassed himself further. And Fletcher—well, Evan needed to find out what the man’s intentions were when it came to Amelia. He didn’t like the way Fletcher looked at her.
He didn’t like it at all.
Chapter Seven
Amelia pulled her cloak tighter around her. The gardens were dark and shadowy, though the servants had lit lanterns at intervals along the path.
Amelia’s mother ensured this part of the inner garden was in pristine condition year-round, keeping flowers in bloom every season. Now, deep in thought, Amelia strolled along the line of poinsettias backed by larger bushes that cast heavy shadows over the path.
Edmund had left her a large fortune, and for the last two years she’d used it attempting to make some impression of good upon the world. She worked in various charitable endeavors several days a week, because giving back to those less fortunate made her feel like her life was of some value.
She saw her family whenever she could—she loved them all, from her gruff father down to impetuous Veronica. When they came to London she stayed with them. And whenever she had the time, she came out to Cheltham House. Never did she feel more loved and accepted than when she was with her family.
Until now. Now, there was Evan.
The feelings she’d experienced in the last two days—it was as if she’d awakened from a years-long slumber that had begun on that night she’d heard him slandering her. Something inside her had died then—or she’d thought it had. But now, it seemed like it had only lain dormant, and being with him again had reawakened it.
It’s only been two days, she reminded herself.
But it didn’t matter. She’d loved Evan ever since she could remember. She’d spent the last several years thinking she hadn’t known him after all, that he was some kind of monster. But she’d been wrong. She did know him.
And she still loved him. Desperately.
She loved the way he’d looked at her tonight across the drawing room, the need and longing stark in his eyes. She loved the way he’d touched her last night and this morning, his caresses so gentle. He’d cherished her, and the feeling of being cherished had gone straight into her heart, mending it and warming it. That feeling wasn’t something she wanted to let go of. Ever.
She hesitated at the corner where the path turned, and looked up at the half-moon peeking out from beyond the clouds, its light sending rays of varying shades of silver and gray over the billowing clouds. It wasn’t snowing now, but it was cold enough, and from the looks of those clouds, it might snow again.
She wanted Evan. She knew it with a certainty that sank deep into her bones.
Yet it’d only been two days. And though they’d conversed constantly since he’d taken her into his carriage yesterday, was that enough? Two days of deep conversations, one night of lovemaking. How could it be enough to plant the roots of a lifetime together?
The sound of muffled voices drew her out of her reverie, and she looked back to the path, her brows drawing together. What was this?
The voices sounded like they were coming from the direction of the circular pavilion on the path that wound down a gradual slope to her right and eventually ended at the creek.
She took a few hesitant steps in that direction, then stopped.
What was she thinking? Eavesdropping didn’t have a history of ending well for her.
But curiosity smothered common sense, and she hurried down the hill, then slowed her steps to a creeping pace as she approached the bend that led to the pavilion.
The first voice she could make out was the drunken one of George MacBride as he slurred, “Damn fine cigars you have here, Fletch.”
“Thank you.” There was Fletcher’s voice, not at all drunk. “It is my pleasure to share them with you.”
There was a moment of silence, presumably whilst the two men enjoyed smoking. Then George chuckled slyly. “I think you’ve gone and put a wrench into our friend’s plans, Cameron.”
Amelia stiffened. Why on earth was Evan out here with Fletcher Henry and George MacBride? She swallowed hard. The past felt like it was crashing down upon her, but she was frozen to the spot. She needed to see how this would play out.
“What do you mean?” Evan’s low, smooth voice asked George.
“Well, he is in possession of some grand plans for Lady Amelia.”
Evan didn’t respond. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Amelia tried to imagine the expression on his face. Curiosity? Anger? Agreement?
“Even if she’s still a little thick around the middle,” George continued on blithely, “she’s damned pretty, too.”
Fletcher made a scoffing noise. “Pretty? I wouldn’t go that far.”
Evan didn’t say a word.
Amelia slammed her eyes closed against the flood of pain that seemed to come out of nowhere. She stood frozen on the path, her head bowed, her fists clenched at her sides, struggling against the hurt.
“She has nice eyes,” the drunken George argued.
“Eh,” Fletcher said dismissively. “They’re too round.”
Evan didn’t defend her.
She knew, she knew, that this was it. Evan would eventually speak, and he would agree with Fletcher. The past would repeat itself, and the time that she’d spent with Evan would prove to be just an illusion.
That’s all it was, really. She’d only promised to be his in that inn, in that tiny room, until the storm cleared. She knew that it had only been a short fling with a time limit.
“And her hair is a pleasant shade of blond,” George continued.
“Too dark. That shade appears perpetually dirty to me,” Fletcher said.
She wasn’t the impressionable sixteen-year-old girl anymore. This time, she wouldn’t crumble under the weight of a few cruel words. She squared her shoulders and squeezed her fists tighter until she could feel her nails biting into her palms.
“Well, you cannot deny that she’s ripe enough for a good bedding.”
At that, Fletcher laughed. “No, I won’t deny that. In fact, I intend to—”
Thud. The dull noise was followed by a groan of pain.
“You bastard.” Evan’s voice, ripe with fury. “You will not speak of Lady Amelia like that.” Another dull thud, the obvious sound of a fist connecting to flesh. “Nor will you. Ever. Do you understand me?”
Opening her eyes, Amelia raised her head.
“What the hell?” Fletcher sputtered. “What is wrong with you, man?”
She crept forward behind a thick bush that separated the final turn in the path from the pavilion.
Her view was broken by twigs and leaves, but she could see the small structure, glowing pale white in the sparse moonlight, the circle of its roof held up by thin Grecian columns. The three men inside all stood facing one another. She recognized Evan right away from the way he held himself in a bristling posture. He was nearest to her, with his back to her. Beyond him, Fletcher rubbed at his jaw, scowling at Evan. George stood next to Fletcher, his shoulders rounded as he pressed a hand to his sternum.
“What the hell were you talking about?” Evan bit in George’s direction. “What grand plans does he have for Lady Amelia?”
“What the devil is wrong with you, Cameron?”
Evan ignored the question, instead turning to Fletcher and pushing him so hard in the shoulder he stumbled a step backward. “Tell me what the hell he’s talking about.”
Fletcher held up his hands. “Nothing important. Just wanted to see if perhaps the lady would be interested in making a match with a man like me.”
Even from here, Amelia could see Evan’s shoulders tighten.
“Why?” he growled out.
“Well”—Fletcher gave a wolfish smile—“despite her shortcomings, no one can deny the lady holds a certain powerful appeal.”
“What appeal?” Evan’s voice was low and dangerous.
“He plans to seduce her. She’s a prime catch now, what with all that blunt she inherited from the old man,” George slurred, his gaze moving back and forth in drunken fascination from Evan to Fletcher.
“Blood and money, my man. Blood and money,” Fletcher confirmed.
“You came here with the intention of wheedling a match with a lady for whom you hold no esteem.” Evan’s voice was dark, and dangerous enough to send a shiver up Amelia’s spine.
“My esteem for her runs very deep indeed!” Fletcher argued.
Evan sneered. “You want Lady Amelia for her title and for her fortune, yet you inherently despise her.”
“You’re hardly in a position to judge, Cameron,” Fletcher said snidely. “You thought she was equally as repulsive as I did, and yet here you are, seducing her in country inns—”
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