He cocked his head. “How boring.”
“I assume so, though Stirling is beautiful.”
“Oh, is that where he went? It’s lovely. Why did you not go with him?”
Amelia considered that. “I didn’t want to miss the season.” There was something rather intriguing about this man’s stare. She couldn’t look away. “My brother said he doesn’t know how long he will be gone and that I should stay and enjoy myself.” Why had she said that? On reflection, she was beginning to reveal rather too much about herself and Sam, all while looking into this man’s eyes. She ripped her gaze away and peered out at the gliding ducks.
“Interesting,” he replied.
“Not really.”
In her periphery, she noticed him turn to face the pond as well. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. She studied him more closely, now that he wasn’t looking at her. He had thick arms, which she found attractive. What did he do to build such muscle, and why did she like it?
Graham also had muscular arms.
She shook herself out of that thought.
“What is your name?” she asked him abruptly.
He angled his head toward her, those dimples appearing again, and she wanted to sigh blissfully. That kiss had changed her. Her eyes were open to appreciating handsome men in an entirely new fashion. She focused on his lips, and his grin broadened.
“Tristan Chase,” he said. “You should come to the Den.”
Her stomach fluttered. Was this flirting? “Perhaps I will.”
“Splendid. If you see your brother before I do, please inform him that Mrs. Dove-Lyon is intent on speaking with him.”
“I will,” she said.
He stood and tipped his hat at her before striding away.
Amelia pressed a hand to her dancing stomach. He had nice, broad shoulders, too. Was that something she liked on a man? Yes, yes, it was.
Graham also had large shoulders.
Remembering Graham, she blinked. She was engaged—to the world at least—and yet she’d made no mention of it to Mr. Chase and enjoyed their bit of banter, if that was the right word for it. She had so many more questions for Fran. Fran would definitely want a detailed description of Mr. Chase. Amelia smiled as she stood and made her way back toward the house. She chewed her lip, guessing at the wicked things Fran would say. Running her hands through the dripping leaves of a willow as she passed, she stepped on something squishy. Wincing, she turned to wipe her boot on the edge of the grass. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. It was fast, like a shadow, but one thing had been clear.
A John Bull top hat.
Suddenly, Mr. Tristan Chase was not the handsome, flirting fellow she met on a park bench. He was a stranger she’d given more information to than she should have. Cold slithered down her spine as she wiped her shoe and stiffly resumed her walk.She slowed, turning her head left and right as if taking in the sights.
Was he watching her now? Had the shadow been someone else? She couldn’t tell if it were her imagination or if it truly felt as though someone was watching her. Or following her?
She crossed a street, passing a flower cart and pausing to turn and smell a flower. She peeked back toward the park, and there he was, exiting the park and turning right, but he looked right at her and winked.
Then he had been following her?
She turned and walked swiftly toward her house. She didn’t know what to do, but she knew she must tell Graham. He would know what to do. And if this man knew Sam, he had to know Graham as well. Then she’d have to confess everything she’d said to Mr. Chase. Hopefully she hadn’t ruined their scheme, but the chill in her stomach wasn’t reassuring. Deep down, she knew she’d done something witless again.
Chapter Eighteen
Graham was atAlston’s bedside, reading and sipping coffee when Amelia entered, frantic as she discarded her gloves and coat that Petrov hurried to scoop up.
Graham stood, all thoughts of the night before and the torture it was causing him forgotten as he took in her flushed cheeks and wide eyes.
“I was followed at the park, but before that, I met a man.”
“When were you at the park?”
