Amelia cocked her head. “So, the male body is the threat, but we imprison the females. It makes perfectly cruel sense.”
He watched her with hooded eyes, or at least it felt like it.
“I didn’t make the rules of the world,” he said finally.
“But you do uphold them.”
“Lady Amelia, please, for my sake—just do as I ask.”
Amelia leaned forward. “That is precisely it. You haven’t asked. You’ve ordered. And you expect me to obey without explanation. I just want to know why. Why must I live so caged if the problem is men and not women?”
“We long ago accepted that we men are disgusting creatures of base urges. My apologies. We’re only trying to protect you.”
“From yourselves.”
“Yes.”
“But you are not all of mankind. So why is it such a problem when I am only here with you? What are you protecting me from when it’s just the two of us?”
He remained silent. And that silence spoke words that Amelia wasn’t prepared for. Awoke questions she didn’t know how to ask him.
For the first time, she looked at him and saw something she’d never cared to see before. A man. And he saw her as a woman. A woman who inspired his base urges.
She should have been scared.
But this was serious Mr. Blakewood, and for all his talk of disgusting men and their urges, she did believe he would always protect her. She may not like his choices or his personality, but truly, he was a man she could trust with her well-being above all things. Her brother obviously felt the same, and that was why Blakewood was here at all. She would do her best to be more considerate of his help.
But a card had been flipped, altering the course of this game. She saw him differently. And he had revealed he saw her as awoman, even dressed as she was right now in Sam’s clothes. She swallowed, determined to get the conversation back on track and away from this intense stalemate.
She stood and came to stand beside his chair. “What if I refuse Sir Daniel’s invitation and you and I go someplace crowded and dark, like Convent Garden, where I can be seen as a perfectly healthy Lord Alston from a distance.”
“No. You cannot leave the house dressed like this. He would never forgive me if I let you do this. I’m sorry.”
“Please, we don’t know how long...”—she swallowed and set her hand on his shoulder—“how long he’ll be unwell.”
Or alive. The unsaid words hung in the air between them.
Blakewood put his hand over hers. Bare skin to bare skin. He held his breath. Even her hands were too pretty to be Alston’s.
“Mr. Blakewood, please,” Amelia begged. “I might be losing my brother. I’ve never been so scared in my life. Just please help me.”
“I will do whatever is in my power to help you. But not this. Go change. We will think of something. You’re scared and exhausted. With rest, things will be clearer.”
Fat teardrops rolled down her cheeks and Amelia angrily swiped at them. Mr. Blakewood brought her close against his chest with a tug of her shoulder, keeping his hands on her upper back, and she didn’t fight him. He held her, letting her cry into his shirt, until she was able to draw a steady breath and stepped out of his hold.
Amelia mentally shook herself, jerked her jacket back into place, and lifted her chin. “What about tonight?” she asked.
“Tonight you’re both ill. The fish was bad.”
She sniffed and rolled her eyes. “Very well.”
“I’ll send the reply.”
Chapter Five
The next morning,Graham took a bath in the chamber that had somehow become his by default over the last few days. He was more comfortable here than in his own lodgings, which were rented rooms in a fine house suitable for men like him, wealthy gentlemen unencumbered by things like inheritance and titles. That was his uncle’s problem and his cousin’s future problem. But his great-grandfather had made wise investments—as had the generations that had come after—and thus, even though Graham’s father had been only a second son, he’d carried on a fine legacy for himself: wealth, security, status born from said wealth, and entry into the highest levels of society. A good name carried itself well even without noble status, as long as there was money to be had.
But he was saved from the marriage mart by being a mere mister and—as Alston would say—so quiet at times he could be a house plant.
