She sighed. “Well, I am. What more do you want me to say?”
“Not more. Less. Say less of everything that pops into your head, and maybe both of us can escape this charade undamaged. Can you manage that? If not for you, or me, but your brother?”
Amelia nodded. “I talk more when I’m nervous.”
“It’s just me and you. Why are you nervous?”
She hated the way tears were constantly lodged behind her eyes now. She just wanted to hang on until Sam was better, but every day that he lay there, she lost a little more of her strength. She blinked them away. He saw it. Her weakness. He stepped toward her, and she raised a hand.
“Save it for when we’re in the public eye. I don’t need you to coddle me right now.”
He shook his head and strolled past her. “Come along, little fiancée.”
Little fiancée.The words sent a jolt of shock through her. Amelia ground her teeth as she followed, though he did have a point. Every time she opened her mouth, she made matters worse. From now on, she’d try to outdo him in stoic silence.
Chapter Ten
The following eveningfound Graham sipping whisky at the Lyon’s Den, the burn not quite enough to drown out the simmering anger that pulsed through his veins as he watched his fellow Lyons mill around the main floor of the gaming club. The night was early, and the real games and gambling hadn’t yet begun. But Graham hadn’t been able to sit next to Lady Amelia any longer at Alston’s bedside. Not without reaching out to strangle her. Or hold her, promising he’d make all her troubles go away, bring Alston back to health, and hang the moon and stars in her bedroom to give her light. Or worse still, pull her into his lap and seduce her to within an inch of her life.
But he didn’t have long to sit here and smolder in his thoughts. Tonight he would escort her to Lady Smythson’s musicale. He would be expected to remain by her side as—what had she called him? Ah, yes, a possessive and jealous fiancé.
Those words had rocked him.
Those were the precise emotions he’d felt when he’d seen Nelson leering at Amelia.
Possessive, because Amelia washisto protect. Jealous, because he’d spent years fighting his own urges to stare at her with longing. No one was allowed to look at, or touch, or eventhink about her in such a way. Not even he let himself dwell on those wicked thoughts that wanted to fill his mind with visions of her soft skin, and the sweet moans she’d sigh into his ear—
He slammed his glass down but couldn’t seem to loosen his grip around it.
Now they were engaged. And it didn’t matter if the two of them knew their engagement was a fake one. In society’s eyes, it was real. His family would soon hear about it—shit, he needed to tell them first. His mother would be furious if she were the last to know. Graham needed to send out letters immediately. What would he say? The anger rose again. Amelia acted so carelessly. She’d put him in such a bind, both physically and morally. His parents wouldn’t understand if he told them it wasn’t real and that it was a temporary distraction. And if they knew he was sharing the house with her, his parents would demand a wedding. There was no way around their inevitable hurt and disappointment. And what of his sister? His broken engagement could affect her, too.
Before he crushed it, he let go of the tumbler in his hand.
He feltherpresence before he turned. Despite knowing she was just a woman—though a mysterious, conniving, eccentric woman, to be sure—he felt a chill on his neck and a tinge of fear. She moved like a phantom, her face covered by her black veil.
Graham straightened and turned to stand before the Black Widow of Whitehall. Owner, matchmaker, master manipulator, queen lioness of the Lyon’s Den. She cocked her head, and though he couldn’t see her eyes, he could feel their perusal of his rumpled clothing.
“Heavens, I never thought I’d see such a sight. The impervious Graham Blakewood is in disarray. To what do we owe this pleasure? An impetuous tryst?” She chuckled in that sultry way of hers that hinted at her rumored past as a courtesan.
“I beg your pardon, madam, for my attire.”
She placed a hand on her cocked hip. “I’m intrigued, you see; I just received word of a bit of gossip, which I certainly hope isn’t true. I had such grand plans for you, after all. It would be such a shame.”
Graham swallowed. Plans? “What gossip would this be?”
“That you’re engaged to Lady Amelia Clark. Is this true?”
He nodded. “It was announced yesterday afternoon at Lady Cecily’s garden party.”
“And yet you don’t look pleased by this occasion. May I be of service?”
“I am pleased, but the announcement was sudden and rather unexpected.”
“Ah, yes. Lady Amelia is much like her brother. Reckless, but not witless. I adore Lord Alston. I love to watch him pummel his opponents into withering, desperate messes I can exploit.” She peered around. “Is he here?”
Graham’s hands went cold. “No, madam.” He didn’t want to say more. He surely didn’t need to explain Alston’s whereabouts unless directly asked. The less that people knew, the better the lie would hold.
“Pity, that. He is still unattached, isn’t he? I hope I won’t be hearing of his abrupt betrothal, too.”
