“No,” she wiggled, her voice raspy.
“Amelia.”
“No,” she said, pushing at his firm chest. He set her down. Amelia held the blanket to her front. A shield against him, his strength, his stupid honor, and his ethics. “I don’t need to be coddled. It was just a hysterical moment that caught me off guard.”
He folded his arms, his mouth set in a stern line. He was already dressed in his evening attire. “Crying is not shameful.”
Amelia sniffed and shook her head at him. “Of course not, but it is somethingIdon’t do, even if I’ve cried more in that last few days than I have in years. I am unused to it, and I don’t like it. Others can perceive crying as a weakness, something to exploit. I learned that a long time ago.”
He frowned.
“Never mind, it’s not important. I need to go dress for this evening.” She brushed past him. He didn’t stop her as she expected. He was different than before. In the maze, he’d been temperamental and gruff in a way that felt human. Now, once again, he was cold and austere, like a statue. Revealing nothing or feeling nothing—she never knew which.
“Sam took some broth,” she said without turning. To hide her puffy eyes, she laid the blanket over the end of the bed, keeping her back to him. She didn’t need any further humiliation today.
He cleared his throat. “I wrote to my parents and my sister,” he said.
“Oh?”
“The news of our betrothal is spreading quickly,” he said stiffly. “I don’t want them to hear it as a rumor before speaking with me.”
“It’s fortunate they’re away. They won’t have to deal with the gossipmongers like we will.”
“I’m betting they will want to return to town when they hear the news.”
Amelia pressed her eyes closed. She’d met his family once, when she’d attended a family dinner with Sam. They were nice people, which made the scorn of their son all the more unpalatable. Even his sister was sweet, and Amelia could see her as a friend, if only her brother weren’thim.
“Wonderful.” She turned and headed for the door. She paused and looked back to see him at Sam’s side, speaking softly enough that she couldn’t make out the words. Tonight would set the tone for the rest of their engagement, for however long it lasted.
And it would be awful. She needed armor against Blakewood as much as she did against the unyielding gaze of society that would now be focused on her. Unfortunately, her armor only came in satins and silks. And for tonight she needed a dress that would be both stunning and standoffish. She knew just the one.
Blakewood was going to hate it.
Chapter Twelve
Graham waited inthe hall for Lady Amelia to come down. He glanced at his pocket watch for the tenth time. She wasn’t delaying them, but he could feel every second that passed like it was a hair plucked from his skin. He didn’t know what awaited them tonight, and it worried him. What other calamity could Lady Amelia’s mouth bring down on them? His neck ached from the tension of grinding his teeth. He’d spoken to Alston about the afternoon and how he wanted to rip Nelson’s arms from his body for his indecent behavior toward Amelia, though he wasn’t sure Alston had been aware of him. But he didn’t speak of their conversation in the maze. Even if his friend couldn’t hear him, that had been a moment he couldn’t describe. He’d almost lost control. He had almost taken her in his arms in a fit of anger and jealousy. He’d wanted to show her she belonged to him, only him, and any man who touched her would forfeit his life.
Which was insanity. This engagement would be temporary. He simply had to regain his composure and wait for the tempest which was Lady Amelia Clark to run its course. And if luck favored them, he and Alston would one day laugh about this whole deranged charade over whisky at the Lyon’s Den.
Graham closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, stilling the clashing currents of thoughts inside him. The stairs creaked, and he looked up to see Lady Amelia descending, eyes on the carpet, in a steel-gray satin gown. He ground his teeth and clamped his mouth shut, sealing in the groan that rose to his throat. The dress hugged her breasts, lifting them and presenting them like desserts on a platter. The fabric moved with her body, somehow taunting him with the shape of her figure as it swayed with her steps. The candles set off the silver gems on the bodice, making her sparkle. A simple and elegant necklace with a single drop-shaped diamond floated right above the valley of her breast, teasingly, as if at any moment it might fall into the dark heaven and disappear. A storm—a beautiful, chaotic storm—morphed into a woman draped in a dress spun of rain clouds and shimmering with icy drops.
She tentatively locked eyes with him and then dropped her gaze back down.
Graham knew he was scowling. He couldn’t do a damn thing about it. The alternative was to throw her over his shoulder, take her to his room, and peel that dress off—but no.No. Those were the thoughts he had to bury. Deeply. In an unmarked grave.
He turned away, and a footman held out his cloak and hat. Graham gathered himself together as Lady Amelia stood behind him, accepting the help of a maid to put on her cloak. He sighed in relief. At least she’d be covered by her cloak in the carriage.
The footman held the door, and Graham waited for her to exit first, his gaze pinned to the elegant jumble of curls on her head that was likely crafted with a multitude of pins but seemed to taunt him, tempting him to claw his fingers through them. Longer curls bobbed around her shoulders, begging him to give them a tug. Everything about her appearance tonight enticed him to touch. Was that intentional? Was she trying to tempt him? Torture him? Stun him into willing compliance?
He fisted his hands for a moment as he stopped next to the carriage and offered to hand her in. She bit her lip, her cheeks blooming with color as she set her hand in his. He followed her, curious about her sudden bit of shyness, and took the seat across from her.
On the short trip to Mayfair, they didn’t speak. She stared out into the misty evening, and he did his bloody best not to stare longingly at her. When they pulled into the queue of carriages, the mist turned to sprinkles, and by the time they disembarked, they had a proper rain shower. She exited with her hood over her curls, and he followed. Once inside, they gave their cloaks to the waiting footman and followed the other guests into the music room. Doors opened to the drawing room, alleviating some of the crush.
Graham paused to ask her where she’d like to sit, but she stood frozen, tucking herself behind a door.
“Whe—what are you doing?”
“Aunt Ruth is in there,” she whispered.
