“Welcome,” she said as the butler stepped aside to let them in. Her cousin entered the foyer and stood beside her, and between the two of them, all the firelight and candles in the world could not stand a chance.
He was vaguely aware of the niceties being made around him. It was almost amusing that it was his taciturn friend who took up the role of the speaker, saying all the right things as he—the gentleman renowned in certain circles for his charm and wit—was rendered speechless at the sight of his betrothed.
Also, the fact that he was about to risk her wrath. That did not aid in his speech problems.
“Might I have a word?” She smiled prettily, and he blinked in surprise as her lashes fluttered up at him, so at odds with the open candor she’d greeted him with during their prior meetings.
But then, he supposed it cost her dear to be pleasant to the man who behaved so shamelessly, who stole a kiss of all things when she’d welcomed him into her home to celebrate the holidays with her nearest kin.
He cursed himself as a fool for the millionth time that day.
“A word,” she repeated, her voice firmer this time as if perhaps he had not heard her the first time.
“Of course. Perhaps after—”
But she was off, leading the way to a sitting area off the main foyer, out of view and earshot of the others, though she left the door open. Still, he cast a glance back as if seeking help. Panic was a useless emotion, but he felt it keenly now as he waited to hear whatever put-down she’d planned.
He had no doubt that after she’d had time to think about the extent of his improprieties, she’d realized she ought to chasten him—perhaps even send word to the duke about the improprieties his solicitor had taken while sent to act on his behalf.
That thought would have amused him a couple days ago—the sheer frivolous farce of it all.
Now? His sense of humor felt like a decayed old corpse, gathering dust as he figured out when exactly he’d let his own selfish whims get him into such a debacle.
She turned to face him, her hands folded in front of her. “You are probably wondering why I summoned you here tonight, Mr. Greenwald.”
He braced for the impact of her tongue-lashing. He could take it, and then he would get down on bended knee—he would tell the whole truth, apologize profusely, and promise to set things right. He held his breath until he got his chance.
“Truth be told, I wished to thank you.”
He blinked once. Twice. “Er…pardon me?”
Her smile widened in pleasure at his obvious confusion. “You thought I would be displeased with you, did you not? After…” She blushed prettily as her gaze dropped to the ground before returning to meet his head-on. “After that kiss.”
His mouth went inexplicably dry at the mere word. Heat surged through him at the reminder of the feel of her against him, of the absolute rightness of her lips against his, their shared breathing, their—
“I quite liked it.”
His eyes widened as he jerked back with shock. “I—that is—you did? I meant—pardon me?”
She laughed merrily, the sound a tinkling of bells, the epitome of the innocence and naiveté that he’d so callously taken advantage of.
He had taken advantage. Hadn’t he?
“Do not look so distraught, Mr. Greenwald,” she said, her gaze turning sympathetic. “I merely called you over here this evening to express my gratitude.”
“Gratitude.” He seemed doomed to repeat her words.
She pressed her lips together in barely suppress amusement. “Yes, gratitude. You see, your words last night, while shocking, were also quite eye-opening.”
He was almost afraid of the hope that flickered to life in his chest. Did that mean she shared his sentiments?
“But what I truly wanted to discuss was Harlow.”
“Your…Harlow?”
She grinned at his incompetent sputtering as he struggled to keep up. “Yes, my Harlow. I suppose we could call him that, could we not?”
“I suppose.” Yes, he wanted to cry. Undeniably, unequivocally. He was hers, just as she was his, and—
“Tell me about him.”
He stared at her in surprise. It was not a question, but a command. That was not the alarming part—the part that had him gawking was the dangerous glimmer in her eyes. For a second there, the happy-go-lucky little sprite before him was replaced by something far more cunning. But then the look was gone just as quickly, leaving him off-balance. “What would you like to know, my lady?”
“What is he like?” She sat down abruptly in a seat beside the empty fireplace and gazed up at him with wide eyes, like a pupil eager to be taught.
Once again, he found himself at a loss of words. “I’d say he’s…” He cleared his throat, trying to search for words to describe himself and also seeking any opportunity to smoothly come clean about his lies.
“Would you say he is kind?” she asked.
“Yes, oh most definitely.”
Her brows furrowed as if confused. “And yet, as you pointed out last night, he has all but abandoned me here.”
He frowned at that. “I do not believe I said that, precisely.”
She did not seem to hear him. “Is he honest?” she asked.
“Of course!”
“Really,” she murmured. He stiffened because her tone seemed to suggest that she believed otherwise.
“Of course he is,” he repeated. “What have others said to make you think he is not?”
She shrugged as if it was of no consequence and his pride smarted. He had the undeniable urge to declare his identity and then storm into White’s and call out any gentleman who’d been besmirching his name these past ten years behind his back.
He’d bet money on the Marquess of Haverford. The man had not liked him back in their school days and Royce wouldn’t put it past him to hold a grudge for a decade. “Have you been speaking to Haverford, by any chance?”
She narrowed her eyes in confusion for a moment before giving her head a quick shake.
“Who has been calling Harlow a liar?”
“Oh, no one,” she rushed to assure him. “At least, not outright.”
He frowned at that.
“They merely refer to him as a coward.”
“A what?” He stumbled back a step but not before he caught the quick quirk of her lips. Like she found it amusing to have shocked him so.
“Surely you have heard his nickname,” she said placidly, as if explaining something simple to a child.
He caught himself sneering at the reminder. “The runaway duke.” He scoffed. “Ridiculous. Harlow never ran from anything.”
Liar.
That voice gave him a start. It was loud and insistent and…coming from his own conscience. He had been running for years. From his obligations, the heavy weight of responsibility…from her.
He cleared his throat and met her gaze evenly. “I do not believe the duke ever meant for…” No, that would not do. He trailed off at the questioning look in her eyes. In that moment, he felt utterly ridiculous. For ever having left this woman, for not having come back sooner, for making her feel abandoned and left to face the judgements of society on her own, and, not to mention…for speaking of himself in the third person. “Lady Amelia, I must tell you—”
“Do you read Shakespeare, Mr. Greenwald?” She cut him off abruptly, leaning forward as if this was a topic of great urgency.
“Er—”
“Oh yes, of course you do. We’ve already discussed this, have we not?” Her laughter sounded false to his ears, though he could not tell if that was his imagination or if he’d just come to know her laughter so well in such a short period of time. She tilted her head to the side as she looked up at him. “Do you know, I once told my cousin that I wished to perform some sort of elaborate hoax on Harlow.”
He arched his brows in surprise. “A hoax, my lady?”
She waved a hand blithely. “Yes, you know… Something from out of a comedy, lik
e dressing up as a gentleman to befriend His Grace, or swapping places with my cousin—”
“I do not think—”
“Madeline thought such a thing was utterly ridiculous,” she said, her voice firm and colder than he’d ever heard it. “But I argued that it would be romantic.”
He faltered, certain that the ground beneath his feet kept slipping away from him. “You did?”
She gave him a rueful look. “Silly, wasn’t I? To think that such a thing would be romantic. But you see, in my defense, I merely wanted to get to know the man who had played such an important part in my life. He’d come to be almost a specter,” she said, her tone filled with emotion he could not name. “Following me, haunting me, shaping my very existence and yet…nowhere to be found.”
His chest ached at the hurt she could not hide.
“I really do believe that His Grace—”
“Was a coward,” she finished for him with a wave of her hand. “Yes, I know. That does seem to be the general consensus.”
“And you?” he found himself asking. “What do you believe?” It took all his will not to open his mouth and ask her to give him a chance to explain. Because really, what could he say? He had no good reason for staying away as long as he had, and she had every right to her anger.
She lifted one shoulder. “For years I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. I thought perhaps he was so burdened with other obligations he had no time for me.” She met his gaze evenly and he felt pinned in place. “It never once occurred to me that he might be cruel.”
His breath left him entirely as he repeated the word woodenly. “Cruel?”
Her smile was sad as she sank back into her seat. “Yes, cruel. You see, what I realized was that Madeline was wrong.”
“She was?” His head was still reeling from that word. Cruel. Him? Certainly not. And never, never could he be cruel to this woman.
“Yes,” she continued. “Duping others is not merely ridiculous, it is dishonest and cowardly.” Her words stung more than she could know and her eyes narrowed on him curiously as she continued. “Don’t you agree?”
“I, er…yes, I suppose—”
“However,” she interrupted as though he had not spoken. “It is still ridiculous, is it not?” She let out a laugh that lacked her usual warmth as her eyes met his evenly. “I suppose Madeline was right, in a way. Who would ever be fooled by a girl dressed up as a man, or…” She gave a helpless shrug as she seemed to search her mind of another example. “Who would ever be duped by a duke in disguise?”
He flinched and then went still as her eyes met his, any hint of humor draining from her expression as her lips fell flat.
She knew.
“Lady Amelia, I—”
But she was off before he could finish. Up and out of her seat, whipping past him in a swirl of crinoline skirts and righteous anger.
“I can explain,” he said, not trying to hide the panic in his voice as he watched her walk away. She stopped short in the doorway. For a moment he thought he had her, his racing heart drowning out sense as he struggled to come up with a good explanation.
It seemed he waited too long, because she kept walking, her head held high. He shook himself out of this shocked state and chased after her, catching up to her in the drawing room where her cousin and Alec were seated alongside Amelia’s great aunt. Their soft, civilized conversation came to a halt at their sudden appearance.
He walked over to where she stood, facing away from him at the fireplace, the scent of evergreens mingling with her floral essence and making him feel the most absurd sense of loneliness. Standing so close to this woman but unable to touch her, to no longer receive the warmth of that smile or see the joy in those eyes. “Amelia, may I have a word—”
“No.” Her voice was soft but firm.
If it was not for the fact that her shoulders were hunched so she curved in on herself, he might have believed that there was no getting through to her. But even without seeing her face, he could feel her pain.
Pain that he’d caused.
“I can explain,” he said quietly.
The room behind him was ominously silent as the others clearly strained to eavesdrop.
He heard Alec clear his throat. “Perhaps we should give them some privacy—”
“I do not think so.” Her cousin’s voice was made of granite. Her great aunt meanwhile could be heard whispering questions. “What’s happening? Why is Amelia upset?”
He tuned them out, taking a step closer, pausing only when she tensed at his proximity. “Amelia, please—”
She turned to face him and his heart ached at the tautness around her mouth as if she were holding back tears, the sadness in her eyes that belied the anger in her tone. “You wish to explain?” she said. “No need. I am certain I understand perfectly well.”
He frowned. How could she? He barely understood himself.
She arched her brows and tilted her chin up. “Are you so very distrustful, Your Grace, that you felt compelled to ascertain my fidelity yourself?”
He blinked in surprise. “Your fidelity? No. No, of course not.”
She crossed her arms in front of her as if to protect from any more injuries. “This was a test, was it not?” Her chin tipped up even higher. “Your kind words, your passionate declarations, your…” Her nostrils flared on her next inhale. “Your kiss?”
Behind him he heard a commotion as some of her words reached her family. He and Amelia ignored the questions and conversation that erupted behind them. Her eyes were still fixed on his and he fought the urge to kiss her again just to show her how real it had been for him.
How could she even think that he’d been insincere?
How? Perhaps because you’ve done nothing but lie to her.
“Amelia, you must believe me,” he started.
“No, I don’t have to believe anything you say,” she said.
He nodded. “True. But I hope you will give me a chance to explain.”
Her brow furrowed as she clearly battled emotions. “No,” she said. “Allow me to explain. I will not dishonor my parents’ wishes or the legalities that bind us. But I have no wish to hear your explanations, no desire to become better acquainted with the man I am to wed—”
When he went to interrupt she held up a hand to stop him.
“I will perform my obligations, but I will never forgive the fact that you sought to trick me—”
“I did not know that you were you!” His abrupt protest sounded just as ludicrous aloud as it did in his head.
Her furrowed brow creased with confusion. “What is that supposed to mean?” She shook her head before he could answer. “Never mind. Your secret is out now, Your Grace.” Her eyes grew shuttered as she gave him a look that made her look proud and noble and…well, like a duchess. His duchess. A woman he’d spend the rest of his life loving and one who’d likely spend the rest of her days resenting his very existence. He stared at her askance as he tried to come up with a way to get past this icy shield she’d erected.
“Please allow me a chance to explain,” he said. Nay, he begged.
She sniffed. “There is no need, Your Grace. I have waited many years to meet the man I am to marry, and now…” She eyed him from head to toe. “I finally have.”
Chapter 11
Madeline was hovering. “Are you sure there is nothing I can get you?”
Amelia bit back a sigh as she sipped her hot chocolate the next morning. She and Madeline and her aunt had exchanged presents and sang Christmas hymns…but nothing about this day felt like a celebration.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Madeline asked, her tone gentler than usual. “It may make you feel better.”
Amelia shook her head. She did not wish for gentle coddling. She wished to forget. Perhaps turn back time so she’d never met the charming Mr. Greenwald. But in lieu of that she would take cold hard truth over the kindest of well-intentioned half-truths or optimistic romantic notions.
“No amount of talking is going to make me feel better about the fact that my betrothed did not trust me, wished to dupe me, and then made an utter fool out of me.” This last part was said through thinned lips as she willed her emotions to remain under her control.
“He may not have meant to—” Madeline stopped abruptly at Amelia’s glower.
“Please,” she said. “I know you want to make me feel better, but please do not try to excuse him.”
Madeline fell silent with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”
Amelia gave her friend a little smile. She knew Madeline wasn’t apologizing for herself, but for the sorry situation.
“He should never have tried to deceive you,” Madeline said.
A now-familiar feeling made her stomach clench. Humiliation. Her pride was beyond wounded to know that her soon-to-be husband had been tricking her, testing her, and most likely laughing at her behind her back.
She dipped her head as heat surged into her cheeks at the memory of the things he’d said. “He did not mean it,” she said more to herself than Madeline. “He did not mean any of it.”
“You do not know that.”
Amelia lifted her head and arched a brow.
Madeline reached out and squeezed her hand. “Were you so very fond of him?”
Amelia’s laugh was bitter. “Mr. Greenwald? Of course not. I barely knew him.”
Madeline’s look was mild but she did not speak. She did not call her out on her lie.
Still, Amelia shifted guiltily. “It is silly.”
“Say it.”
Amelia heaved a sigh. “It is only…I thought that I knew him. I thought…” She shrugged. “I thought that he knew me.” She could not bear to look at her rational friend’s expression. “I was such a fool, wasn’t I? So starved for some sort of romance that I was too quick to believe I’d found it just because a man smiled at me.”
She squeezed her eyes shut with a groan as she remembered the way she’d so thoroughly swooned—inwardly, if not outwardly—that very first day they’d met. She opened her eyes as her lips turned down in annoyance. “Was that why he felt the need to test my loyalty with those declarations and that…” Kiss. She could not bring herself to admit to it, not even to Madeline, though her friend likely suspected, if she had not overheard.
Charming the Runaway Duke: A Sweet Regency Romance Page 7
