by Rose Pearson
What was worse, however, was Amelia now felt a little blush creeping up her neck and into her face as a jolt of pleasure ran through her. Lord Montague had been very charming indeed, and she had reacted to him very strongly. Perhaps, she considered, feeling her stomach swirling with a mixture of nervousness and delight, she had been taken in by his charm, which it seemed he was well used to using to get what he desired. As much as she ought to feel horrified by his lack of gentlemanly intentions and as much as she ought to desire to remove herself entirely from his presence, Amelia found she felt a good deal of delight and appreciation that Lord Montague considered her either beautiful enough or charming enough for him to set his sights on. She had been introduced to other gentlemen this last week, of course, but not all of them had reacted to her as Lady Smithton had hoped, for some made it quite obvious that they noticed her limp, whilst others were rather dull and staid. Lord Montague was neither boring nor showed any particular interest in her limp, save to ask her if she had recovered from her stumble. He was the only gentleman who had made Amelia’s heart quicken merely by allowing her eyes to rest on his, the only gentleman who had caught her interest thus far.
But you cannot allow yourself to do so any longer, she told herself sternly, as Lady Smithton’s attention was caught by the arrival of Lady Beatrice. You must do your best to separate yourself from Lord Montague, no matter what he seems to desire from you.
Letting out a long breath, Amelia settled her shoulders and gave Lord Havisham a quick smile, seeing him sigh heavily as Lady Beatrice and Lady Smithton continued talking. Lord Havisham was to dance with Lady Beatrice now, in order to help her improve her steps, and Amelia had the distinct impression he did not particularly enjoy doing such a thing. And yet, he did them regardless, simply to help her as well as to aid Lady Smithton.
That, she told herself, watching as Lord Havisham rose to his feet, is a gentleman who is truly committed and determined. Although, whether it was that he was committed to ‘The Spinsters Guild’ or to Lady Smithton, Amelia could not quite make out.
“I think I must hope I will be able to find a gentleman with as much devotion as Lord Havisham,” she commented quietly as Lord Havisham led Lady Beatrice to the floor, allowing Lady Smithton to resume her seat.
“Devotion?” Lady Smithton replied, glancing towards Amelia before turning her head back towards Lord Havisham. “Yes, Lord Havisham is very involved with us, is he not?”
Amelia bit her lip, unsure whether or not she should press the matter but choosing, in the end, to do so. “He is, yes, and I have been very grateful for his help, but I do not think it is for our sake that he is so willing.” She saw Lady Smithton’s cheeks begin to color a gentle pink, seeing she did not turn back to look at Amelia. “In that regard, Lady Smithton, I think you are fortunate, indeed.”
Nothing passed between them for a moment or two, and Amelia began to fear she had said more than she ought, only for Lady Smithton to sigh, smile and look back towards Amelia.
“Yes, I suppose I am very blessed in having Lord Havisham’s willing presence here,” Lady Smithton murmured, a small smile tugging at one corner of her lips. “And you are quite correct to state that he is devoted, Lady Amelia. It is something I have perhaps become used to, and so I am grateful to you for showing it to me once more.”
A little relieved, Amelia said nothing more but smiled at Lady Smithton before returning her gaze to Lord Havisham and Lady Beatrice. She herself could not hope for a gentleman to care for her in the same way she suspected Lord Havisham cared for Lady Smithton, but at the very least, she might begin to hope she could secure a gentleman who would be devoted to her and to their marriage. A gentleman who would not turn away from her and chase after others, as she knew Lord Montague would do. She had to be prudent and yet hopeful at the same time, but any thought of Lord Montague could no longer be entertained. That, Amelia knew, was what was expected of her and what was wise—even if the thought of his smile sent her stomach tightening deliciously all over again.
Chapter Seven
“Thank you, Lord Montague, for your very kind invitation!”
Oliver sighed inwardly but forced a smile to his lips, not having any particular interest in the company of Lady Greenacre but knowing it had been a wise thought to invite her. Being the wife of the Marquess of Greenacre, it gave his little gathering some pomp, something that would be talked about by others in the days to come.
“I am very sorry your husband is unwell,” he said, bowing over Lady Greenacre’s hand. “Do you think he will recover soon?”
Lady Greenacre laughed merrily and waved a hand. “Of course he will,” she replied, her eyes twinkling. “It is just his gout. You know very well that excess is the cause of such a malady and therefore, Lord Montague, I cannot help but think he has brought it on himself!”
Oliver nodded, murmured something about hoping Lord Greenacre would once more be able to join society, and then waved Lady Greenacre in. There were a few more guests still to greet.
“Lord…Davidson.” His lips pressed together hard as Lord Davidson walked into the room, his eyes darting about the room whilst a cold smile flattened his lips. “You were not invited, I do not think.”
Lord Davidson shrugged. “I thought to attend anyway,” he replied as though this was something Oliver ought to have expected. “You know very well there are certain matters that are not yet at an end between us.”
Oliver grimaced, feeling his tension rising but knowing full well it was his foolishness that was to blame. “I am not about to deliberately ruin my chances of success with the lady to ensure you lose yet more coffers,” he stated, quite firmly, as Lord Davidson’s eyes narrowed. “That is what you believe, is it not?”
Lord Davidson shrugged. “I do not know quite what to think,” he stated, with a lift of one shoulder. “After all, you stated very clearly you would not partake in any bets made in Whites, and now, it seems, you have agreed to do so regardless of your previous concerns.”
“That is because I have very little choice, as well you know,” Oliver replied angrily as one hand curled into a fist, his ire burning hot with a deep and unrelenting fury. “But I, for one, shall behave honorably and whilst I will pursue the lady in question, if she rejects me—as I hope she will—then you will have nothing from the bet you have placed.” Forcing himself not to react any further, he shook out his hand, trying to bring down his anger to a quiet coolness so that none of the other guests, who were watching, would see his fury. “I intend to behave honorably, as much as I can.”
Lord Davidson snorted. “No, Lord Montague, that is not what you are to do.” Stepping a little closer, he looked Oliver straight in the eye. “You are to succeed. I need that money. Therefore, if you do not succeed, then I shall have to do as I have threatened. You know such a thing will not go very well for either you or the lady.”
“I am well able to steal a kiss without too much difficulty,” Oliver retorted, only for Lord Davidson to hold up one hand, angering Oliver further.
“You did not read the bet carefully enough, I believe,” he murmured, making a cold shiver run through Oliver’s frame. “You must not just steal a kiss, Lord Montague. You must have her confess her love for you.”
Oliver stared into Lord Davidson’s face, his heart stopping completely for a moment. It was one thing to have a young lady swept away by his charms to the point that she would let him take a kiss or two, but quite another to encourage a lady’s true affections. Yes, he was quite certain some of the young ladies he had tempted in the past had allowed a fondness for him into their heart, but he would never once have thought any of them had fallen in love with him.
“I needed as many gentlemen to bet against me as possible,” Lord Davidson explained, softly. “To steal a kiss is much too easy for you. Therefore, you must have the lady profess her love for you in order for me to win the wager.” He chuckled, shaking his head at Oliver’s foolishness. “There are many who think you cannot charm a la
dy into admitting such a thing, for that would take a degree of dedication on your part, and you are much more inclined towards a quick seduction.”
Oliver blinked rapidly, his heart beginning to race with the enormity of what was now facing him.
“That is the bet, Lord Montague,” Lord Davidson finished, stepping back from Oliver and grinning in evident contentment, clearly aware that Oliver was a little shaken by this news. “You cannot escape it now.”
And without another word, Lord Davidson stepped away from Oliver, wandering into the room in an amicable fashion as though he had every right to be a part of the present company. It was all Oliver could do not to pursue him, grasp him by the arm, and propel him from the room, even though he knew that to do so would make matters all the worse.
An icy hand grasped his heart and sent rivulets of cold all through him, making Oliver shudder for a moment. He could still recall what it had been like to receive Lord Davidson’s note, expressing what he had done and expecting Oliver to do precisely as he had been directed without hesitation. Quite how Lord Davidson had discovered Oliver had enjoyed a particularly warm acquaintance with the Lady Thornhill last Season, Oliver was not quite certain, but evidently, the fellow had done so and now fully intended to share such information with the Marquess of Thornhill, should Oliver refuse to agree to do as Lord Davidson asked.
Regardless, he had considered the matter, and thus, had taken himself to Whites to look at the betting book. He had not looked long at it but had glanced at the words and the gentleman’s signature, leaving Oliver with no doubt that the fellow intended to do just as he had threatened, should Oliver refuse to agree. Lady Thornhill had been a very lovely acquaintance, and he had enjoyed a few short weeks of her company, but it had come to a swift end, and Oliver had thought himself glad to be parted from her in the end. The Marquess was known to be a cruel sort of gentleman, although a good deal older than his wife, which was why she had sought out perhaps more gentle company. However, Oliver knew all too well the Marquess would do all he could to punish Oliver for what he had done, should he ever come to hear of it. The Marquess was both powerful and wealthy. There was a great deal he could do, should he decide to do so, making Oliver consider him a formidable enemy. It had been unwise, he knew, to have given in to his desires for Lady Thornhill, but she had been so very willing, and he had always liked beautiful things. He had cared nothing for her sorrows and her struggles in her marriage to Lord Thornhill, but had used her for his enjoyments. When she had begun to cling to him, when she had begun to speak to him and cry on his shoulder over her unhappiness, he had not had any other choice but to bring things to a close, knowing full well she would not speak of it to anyone and neither would he do so. Now, however, it seemed someone had taken notice of their closeness and had perhaps come to the simple conclusion. Lord Davidson was now using that conclusion against Oliver, forcing him to do what he did not want to do.
Oliver had thought about simply offering Lord Davidson money instead of having to go through with the bet, but then he had shied away from the idea. Lord Davidson might then try to take more money from Oliver, perhaps using the very same threat, and Oliver would have no choice but to give it to him. With the betting book, it seemed Lord Davidson’s only intention was to gain some money back and to prove to his friends he was not as unlucky as they believed him to be. Either that or perhaps he had not realized he could use the same threat again.
Cursing himself that he had not taken the time to read all that had been written in the betting book, Oliver shook his head, closed his eyes, and let his breath rattle out from him. Lord Davidson was not asking merely for Oliver to behave as he had done before, in pursuing young ladies in order to be the first to kiss their innocent lips, but rather to go a step further and encourage Lady Amelia’s affections to the point she would state herself in love with him. Oliver did not want to do so, of course, for Lady Amelia was not at all the sort of young lady he would normally seek out, given she had a limp and was, he had presumed, quite unable to dance or the like, and besides which, there was something nudging his conscience when it came to that particular lady. To make her fall in love with him might be a great and somewhat difficult task, but whilst Oliver believed he could do so, he found himself entirely unwilling. Lady Amelia already had enough difficulties when it came to the ton, and thus, he did not want to add to her burden. To have her fall in love with him, only to reveal he cared nothing for her and had done so only to win a bet, might very well break her entirely.
But what choice did he have?
“Lord Montague?”
A quiet, slightly uncertain voice reached his ears, forcing him away from his thoughts and returning him to the present. He turned, an expectant smile on his face, only for it to die away at the sight of Lady Amelia standing before him, with her companion a little behind her.
She was utterly resplendent. With a gown of light green that lit up her eyes, and dark tresses held back, seed pearls and a ribbon or two flowing through the waves of her hair, Oliver found himself lost for words.
She took a step forward, her limp pronounced, but Oliver barely even noticed it. Reaching out, he took her hand and bowed over it, pressing his lips to the back of her hand very quickly but hearing her swift intake of breath.
“Thank you for attending this evening,” he said, truly appreciative that she had come. “You look quite wonderful, Lady Amelia.” Lifting his head, he smiled at her and looked into her eyes, expecting her to blush, to turn her head and look away, smiling quietly at his compliment.
Instead, she looked back at him silently for a moment or two, no smile on her face and no lightness in her eyes. It was as though she were judging him, considering him, and trying to work through the compliments he had given her as though they meant more.
“Good evening, Lord Montague.”
Mrs. Peters pressed forward, forcing Oliver to let go of Lady Amelia’s hand and seeing her turn to walk away from him without another word. A little perplexed, he tried to smile at Mrs. Peters, stumbling over his words as he welcomed her. Mrs. Peters nodded, her expression tight as she hurried after her charge.
How very odd.
Oliver’s frown grew steadily as he watched Lady Amelia, seeing how she made her way towards Lord Havisham and Lady Smithton, who had arrived some ten minutes earlier. They greeted her warmly, and she smiled and nodded at them in a way she had not done towards him. A little injured—although unable to explain why he felt such frustration when he had been treated so by many young ladies wary of him—Oliver continue to watch Lady Amelia with a steady gaze, wondering what it was he had done that had caused her to treat him so.
Unfortunately for Oliver, the entire evening seemed to pass in a very similar fashion. Whenever he sought Lady Amelia out, either Mrs. Peters, Lord Havisham, or Lady Smithton would be present with her. She said very little to him on each occasion, showing no particular interest in continuing their conversation and clearly unwilling to harness the opportunity to further their acquaintance, such as it was.
“I think I have to declare defeat already,” he murmured, picking up a glass from the tray and seeing Lord Davidson standing nearby. “The lady will not so much as share more than a few words with me!”
Lord Davidson rolled his eyes. “You know you must succeed,” he stated, bluntly. “That is my expectation, Lord Montague. Else there will be consequences.” He chuckled darkly, making a shudder run down Oliver’s spine. “Besides, out of all the young ladies in society, Lady Amelia is surely the easiest young lady to capture, Lord Montague! She is not going to be considered by anyone else, so I am quite certain she will be flattered by your attention, given she will be so unused to receiving even a momentary glance from a gentleman.” He grinned at Oliver, who turned away from the man, feeling a little sickened. That was quite true, of course, but he did not want to hear it so callously spoken by Lord Davidson, who had, it seemed, a good deal more cruelty within him than Oliver had expected.
“I
do not notice her limp,” Oliver retorted, with a sharpness to his tone he had not intended. “I do not think that makes Lady Amelia any less of a lady than those who surround her.”
Lord Davidson stared at him for a moment, then let out a chuckle that made Oliver wince inwardly at what he had just revealed.
“Goodness, this may be more difficult for you than I had first considered!” he laughed, making Oliver turn away entirely. “She has quite caught your attention, Lord Montague, has she not? And you have never once felt such a thing before, I am quite certain.”
Angry with Lord Davidson’s behavior and even more upset with his own foolishness, Oliver muttered darkly under his breath. He began to weave his way through the guests, knowing he ought soon to be beginning the musical part of the evening but feeling the need to find a little solace for a short time.
Walking from the drawing-room, he slipped into the ballroom, his steps hurried for he knew he could not be away from his guests for long. The door to the gardens was open, and he stepped through it at once, taking a long breath of the cooler night air and trying to use it to calm his anger. He disliked Lord Davidson intensely and to have spoken so openly to him had been more than foolish. Now Lord Davidson would continue to mock, to press, and to otherwise anger him in ways Oliver had never thought possible.
His head slammed into his hands as he sank onto a nearby bench, his heart quailing for a moment as he considered Lady Amelia and what he was now expected to do. There was something about Lady Amelia that did, in fact, capture his heart. He wanted to think of her as he did every other young lady of his acquaintance, but whenever he did so, there was something within him that rebelled at the idea. He wanted to reject such a thought, wanted to turn away from it given it felt both strange and delightful in equal measure, but regardless of what he wished, it remained within him. By all accounts, he ought to have given Lady Amelia nothing more than a quick glance, given she had such a frailty with her leg, but for some reason, he had not been able to do so. She was beautiful, yes, but there was something more about her that tugged at his heart. He wanted to go to her, wanted to converse with her and discover more about her. He had never wanted to do such a thing before and, if he were being truthful with himself, Oliver would admit he was a little frightened by such a desire. Young ladies were nothing but sport to him, were nothing but easy entertainment that brought him both satisfaction and a pride he had so often let fill his chest and his heart. Now, however, he felt ashamed at the thought of pursuing Lady Amelia in the same way as he had done to so many others. Was it just because he did not want to bring her more shame when he knew the ton looked down at her, laughed at her, and mocked her for being less than perfect? Or was there more to his considerations than that?
