Lady Amelia's Secret Lover

by Victoria Alexander

  “Perhaps,” Amelia murmured. Winnie was right, Amelia wasn’t entirely to blame. Regardless, it was up to her now to make it right.

  Bea shook her head. “I still don’t see how taking a lover of your own will solve anything.”

  Winnie rolled her gaze toward the ceiling.

  “Bea.” Amelia sat down in the chair beside her sister. “I have no intention of taking a lover. I simply want Robert to think I am.”

  “Which, as these things go, should make him realize what he has.” A smug smile curved Winnie’s lips. “And what he doesn’t want to lose.”

  Bea’s concerned gaze slipped from one sister to the other. At once, her expression cleared. “Oh, I see.” She grinned. “You’re going to make him jealous with an imaginary lover. What a brilliant plan.”

  “Or completely idiotic. There’s always the possibility that he no longer cares enough to be jealous, but I don’t seem to have any other ideas.” Amelia sighed. “Robert is extremely competitive as well as ambitious. When we were first courting, he was quite jealous of my other suitors even if he himself could never seem to find the right words to express his feelings, at least in the beginning.” She thought for a moment. “It seems to me as well, if I want him to act toward me as he once did, I need to do the same.”

  Winnie’s brow rose. “Flirt with him, you mean?”

  Amelia nodded. “Yes, and keep him off guard. Behave as though this is the beginning and not the—”

  “End?” Bea offered brightly.

  “Middle,” Winnie said in a firm manner.

  Amelia ignored them both. “I should do and say things he wouldn’t expect.”

  “I doubt he expected you to announce your desire for a lover,” Bea said under her breath.

  “It’s a good start then.” Amelia grinned. “There was an excitement between us in the beginning, the start of a grand adventure, as it were.” She squared her shoulders. “And it will be again.” She glanced from one sister to the other. “I’ll need your help.”

  “We’ll do whatever we can,” Bea said.

  “I fear I will be of little help.” Winnie smiled in a weak manner. “Short of offering suggestions, that is. I’m not even sure at the moment that would be helpful. Murder of all men does seem to be uppermost in my mind of late.”

  Bea cast her sister a sympathetic smile. “You’re not especially pleasant these days.”

  Winnie’s eyes narrowed. “I am—”

  “Which might serve my purposes well,” Amelia said quickly. The last thing she needed right now was to have Winnie and Bea snapping at each other. No, this was a time when she needed the full support and cooperation of her sisters. “Suggestions will be gratefully accepted.”

  “We can send you gifts just as a suitor would do. Flowers, books of poetry, exquisite and expensive jewelry, that sort of thing.” Bea glanced at Amelia. “Although I would like to have the jewelry back.” She thought for a moment. “And it all should be done anonymously.”

  “Unless we find her a real suitor.” Winnie’s forehead furrowed in consideration. “Although introducing a flesh-and-blood man into this scheme might cause very real problems if indeed Robert is the jealous sort.” She met her oldest sister’s gaze and smiled in a wicked manner. “And yet that might be exactly the result you want.”

  “Yes, I suppose. Still, a real man…” Amelia shook her head.

  “I wouldn’t dismiss the idea so quickly,” Bea said in a casual manner.

  “You certainly have joined in the spirit of this.” Winnie eyed her sister with suspicion. “Why?”

  “Because she’s my sister and she needs my help. And because during the course of this conversation something has occurred to me that I hadn’t thought of up to now.” Bea heaved a resigned sigh. “It’s been a very long time since the three of us have done anything the least bit unexpected or improper or—”

  “Fun?” Winnie suggested.

  “Exactly.” Bea nodded. “At least not the way we used to before we were all married. We used to have all sorts of plots and plans and schemes, and I’ve just now realized how much I miss it. Oh, I know we have responsibilities now that we didn’t before. We are wives and mothers and respectable members of society and all that, but…”

  “But we miss those impetuous days of our youth,” Amelia said. “At least a little.”

  “Exactly. And I, for one, am feeling dreadfully old and far more proper than I ever imagined I would.” Bea raised her chin and met Amelia’s gaze firmly. “I think if you want to take a real lover, you should do so.”

  Amelia laughed. “I do appreciate the thought, but I don’t think it’s necessary. An imaginary lover will do.”

  “Then you should get a real man to assist you in making it appear that you have a lover. Besides…” Bea grimaced. “We all know I have never been good at keeping secrets. Although I haven’t been trusted with a significant secret in quite some time, I daresay that hasn’t changed. So it’s best that I know as little as possible. And Winnie”—Bea waved in her pregnant sister’s direction—“can’t be of any real help at the moment—”

  “Except for the dispensing of wise and clever advice.” Winnie grinned. “And perhaps the occasional offering of a brilliant plot or scheme.”

  “It is worthy of consideration,” Amelia said slowly. Still, the inclusion of a real flesh-and-blood man in her efforts—for advice if for no other reason—made a fair amount of sense.

  “Now.” Bea’s brow furrowed with thought. “All we have to do is find a man who knows how to court a woman.”

  “No.” Winnie shook her head. “A man who knows how to seduce a woman. Who has experience in these matters.”

  “Very good.” Bea beamed at her sister. “Such a man, by his very nature, would be discreet.”

  “A man who has just as much to lose if the truth were known as I do,” Amelia said under her breath, then smiled slowly. “And, dear sisters, I have the perfect candidate.”

  Chapter 4

  What was the man waiting for?

  Amelia resisted the urge to stare at her husband from across the dinner table. Or better yet, throw her glass at his head. This morning he had said he wished to discuss her plans further, and yet, thus far, he hadn’t so much as alluded to their conversation. It was most annoying. He was behaving as if nothing of importance had occurred whatsoever. She tried to ignore the nagging thought that perhaps to him, nothing had.

  Dinner had been a series of long, silent moments punctuated with periodic polite requests to pass something inconsequential, accompanied by pleasant smiles and occasional meaningless comments about the weather or an upcoming social event or the uneasy state of the world. Amelia was grateful that she and Robert had, early in their marriage, developed the habit of dismissing the servants between courses, to be summoned by a bell if necessary, rather than have them waiting in the room as her parents did. They would surely notice the beef wasn’t the only thing in the room that one could cut with a knife. That said habit had begun because they had both relished time spent alone in each other’s company for discussion of serious issues, or the kind of flirtatious banter that inevitably led to their retiring early, now struck her as ironic and perhaps even sad.

  In spite of Cook’s usual excellent offering, Amelia had no interest in food. Apprehension had stolen her appetite, although Robert seemed to have no similar problem. Surely the man couldn’t have forgotten her announcement. Or perhaps, in spite of his initial reaction, he simply didn’t care. She had no doubt that he had cared once. Determination squared her shoulders. Well, by God, she would make him care again. Or kill him in the process. Bea wasn’t the only one with murderous thoughts regarding men.

  She cleared her throat. “Robert, I think we should—”

  “Amelia,” he said at precisely the same moment. “I believe we have—”

  They stopped and stared at each other. The tiniest hint of a smile quirked the corners of Robert’s mouth. “Do go on, my dear.”

 
What on earth did he have to smile about? “I was saying that perhaps we should talk.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” He nodded and stood. His tone was cordial but there was a distinct twinkle in his eye. “Would you be so kind as to join me in the library?”

  “For brandy and cigars no doubt,” she said without thinking, matching her tone to his.

  He chuckled. “If you wish.” He moved to her chair and pulled it out for her. “Although I have never noticed any particular appreciation on your part for cigars.”

  She stood and accepted his arm. “I daresay there are any number of appreciations on my part that you haven’t noticed.”

  “Obviously I have been remiss in that respect.” He escorted her the short distance from the dining room to the library, released her arm, and stepped to the cabinet where his liquor and cigars were kept. “I suspect I have been remiss in a great many matters when it comes to you.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “I should do something about that.”

  She stared at him for a moment, then smiled slowly, the sort of provocative smile that promised any number of things she had no intention of providing. The sort of smile she hadn’t directed at him for a very long time. “Yes, you should.”

  He turned back to her and offered a glass of brandy.

  “What?” She arched a brow. “No cigar?”

  “Did you want a cigar?”

  Of course she didn’t want a cigar. She found them foul and disgusting. She accepted the brandy. “Not tonight, I think.”

  “Imagine my surprise,” he murmured, and sipped his drink.

  She stared at him. “Are you surprised?”

  “No, not at all.” He chuckled. “You’ve never hidden the fact that you don’t like the smell of them.”

  “Nor do I like the taste of them.”

  “And yet you’ve never smoked a cigar.”

  She laughed. “Are you sure?”

  “I think I would have noticed,” he said wryly.

  “I believe, Robert, we have already agreed that you are not as observant as you should be.”

  He studied her for a moment. “And yet I am observant enough to know that you are not the type of woman to smoke a cigar.”

  “Nonsense.” She took a deep swallow of the brandy. “What type of woman smokes a cigar?”

  “The type of woman a man does not marry,” he said firmly.

  Now was probably not the time to let him know she and her sisters had once tried one of her father’s cigars in an effort to understand what men saw in them. “Why not?”

  “A woman who smokes cigars might well be prone to any number of other disreputable activities as well.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “No doubt whatsoever?”

  “None.”

  She swirled the brandy in her glass. “Then what does a man do with a woman like that?”

  “A woman like what?” he said cautiously.

  “A woman who smokes cigars and is therefore likely to engage in other disreputable activities.”

  “Nothing,” he said without hesitation. “Absolutely nothing. Not a thing. One has nothing to do with such women.”

  “Really? I would think such a woman would be eminently suitable to, oh, I don’t know, the position of mistress perhaps.”

  A muscle in his jaw clenched, but his voice was noncommittal. “I do not have a mistress.”

  “Of course not,” she murmured.

  “I will not say it again,” he warned.

  She shrugged. “As you wish.”

  “But you don’t believe me.”

  “Why shouldn’t I believe you, Robert? You’ve never lied to me before.” She tilted her head slightly. “Have you?”

  “No, never,” he said quickly but not quite quickly enough. There was something to be said for marrying a man who had a difficult time with blatant dishonesty. From the moment they’d first met, she could tell when he wasn’t being completely truthful.

  “Regardless, the discussion at hand is not your mistress but my lover.” She smiled in a pleasant manner and held out her now-empty glass. Where did the brandy go? “Isn’t that what you wished to talk about this evening?”

  He cast her glass a disapproving look but took it nonetheless. “That is indeed what I wished to talk about.”

  She seated herself in one of his comfortable wing chairs and watched him refill her glass. The man was remarkably collected given the topic they were about to embark upon. But then, oddly enough, so was she. This must be how a warrior felt before going into battle. Cool, calm, and determined.

  “Have you made any further decisions?” He passed her her glass.

  “Further decisions?” She adopted a light tone. “Beyond the decision to take a lover, you mean?” She shook her head. “I daresay, Robert, that was rather significant in and of itself. I’m not sure I wish to make more than one decision of such magnitude in a single day.”

  “Then you’ve not yet begun…” He searched for the right words. “Interviewing applicants.”

  “Interviewing applicants?” She laughed. “Goodness, Robert, I’m not hiring a servant, I’m looking for a lover.”

  “This morning you mentioned advertising in the Times,” he said in a matter-of-fact manner.

  “This morning you were paying no notice to what I was saying.”

  “And yet I did notice that.”

  “Very good.” She raised her glass to him. “I’m impressed.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, all humor gone from his eyes. “How did we come to this, Amelia?”

  “How? The usual ways, I suppose.” She drew a deep breath. “When I discovered you had a mistress—”

  “When you jumped to the erroneous conclusion that I had a mistress.”

  She ignored him. “I was, needless to say, upset, hurt, and angry.” She glanced at him. “Not unexpectedly, I might add.”

  “Not at all.”

  “However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized infidelity might not be the problem in and of itself, but rather an indication, a symptom, if you will. While I would much rather blame everything on another woman, and you—”

  “Understandably so.”

  “I do suspect that I am as much at fault for the state of affairs between us as you are.”

  His brows drew together. “What state of affairs?”

  “There’s a distance between us that I never dreamed could happen. The passion we once shared appears to have vanished. So if you have sought passion elsewhere…” She shrugged. “As I said, it is as much my fault as it is yours.”

  “It seems to me”—he chose his words with care—“if I agree with you, I am something of a cad. If I disagree, taking this all upon my shoulders, then I am an even greater cad.”

  “Noble, however. If one can be noble and a cad.”

  “I doubt it.” He sipped his brandy. “I don’t feel the least bit noble, and whether I accept full or partial blame, I do feel like a thoughtless cad.”

  She cast him a polite smile. “Then perhaps you should say nothing at all.”

  “Saying nothing at all may well have brought us to this point.” A rueful note sounded in his voice.

  “The point where I am looking for a lover and you do not deny that you have a mistress?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re twisting my words.”

  “I know.” She took a sip and gazed at him over the rim of her glass. “It’s great fun.”

  He studied her carefully, and she imagined this must be how he looked at prospective clients, as if assessing the truthfulness of their nature. As if looking into their very souls. Well, she was his wife, and if he didn’t already know what was in her soul, they were worse off than she had imagined.

  “You do realize, as your husband, I am well within my rights to forbid this endeavor of yours.”

  “Why not simply lock me in the attic and be done with it?”

  “Any number of men would.”

&n
bsp; “But I did not marry any number of men, I married you.”

  “And I have failed you.” His gaze met hers, and for the first time in a long time, her heart fluttered. “I wanted to make you happy for the rest of your days, and I have not done so.”

  “I haven’t been especially unhappy.”

  “No, even I would have noticed overt unhappiness. No doubt you’ve simply been…comfortable?”

  “I suppose I have.”

  “Content?”

  “Why yes, for the most part.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve become nothing more than an old shoe for you. Or a well-worn glove.”

  She straightened in the chair. “You most certainly have not.”

  “But there is no longer passion between us. Excitement. A sense of adventure. I bore you. You said it yourself.”

  “I don’t believe I said bored.”

  He waved off her protest. “You needn’t say it aloud; it was implied. I have been derelict in my duty as a husband. By God, I’ve failed as a man!”

  “Don’t be absurd.” She laughed. “Now you’re being as dramatic as your brother, and you are never dramatic.”

  “You intend to take a lover, Amelia. It calls for a certain amount of drama. Regardless of whether I have a mistress or not, you have admitted our life together is not what it once was.” He tossed back the rest of his brandy, slapped the glass down on the mantel, and strode toward her. “I once promised to make every day an adventure, and I’ve obviously failed.” He plucked her glass from her hand and set it aside, then braced his hands on the arms of her chair and leaned over her. “I intend to rectify that.”

  His dark gaze bored into hers. She pressed back deeper into the chair. “What do you mean?”

  There was a look in his eye she had very nearly forgotten. Determination? Desire? Passion? Her heart thudded in her chest.

  “I mean…” His voice lowered and he leaned closer, trapping her in the chair. The oddest frisson of excitement skated up her spine. “I want you”—he nuzzled the side of her neck—“to be happy, Amelia.”

  “Do you?” she said in a decidedly breathless voice.

  “I want you”—he shifted his attention to the other side of her neck—“to know passion again.”