My treasure?Of all the ridiculous pet names.
Andwhyexactly had they now moved to pet names?
Barely keeping the grimace at bay, she looked to the rose.
“Er... thank you.” She took the flower, then held it awkwardly as Lord Norwich straightened. Should she put it in her reticule? Or call for a vase? It was rather silly to put a single bloom in a vase.
“I chose the flower as I thought it would complement your hair nicely. May I?”
Amelia could not help the widening of her eyes. “You wish to... what exactly?”
He raised his brows. “Place the bloom in your hair, of course.”
Of course.She attempted not to scoff. His regard felt far too demonstrative. Too enthusiastic. His expression was too charming, yet it contrasted the stiff set of his shoulders. What exactly was Lord Norwich playing at, and how would she manage to extract herself from the game?
But before she could concoct a reason to decline, he was stepping closer and gently tugging the flower from her hand.
He stood almost a full head taller than her and so could easily reach her coiffed curls, though she did not incline them toward him. Was her neckline tight enough to hide the scars from that angle? She raised a hand to press it closer to her skin. Then she felt him tugging slightly on the styled hair, was suddenly surrounded by a rich scent of sandalwood, and became altogether far too aware of his enveloping heat.
She chanced a glance up through her lashes at the exact moment that he looked down. Their gazes caught, as did her breath.
“Perfect,” he muttered, and Amelia tried to fight through the fog that so suddenly surrounded her.
And then there was an almighty tug, and her head jolted forward.
“Blast!” Another tug.
“What have you done?” Amelia gasped, her head pulled in a way that she could now only see the floor between them.
“My finger—I’ve managed to get it snagged in—one moment.”
He tugged again, and Amelia cried out. “Good heavens, stop pulling!”
“I am trying to fix—”
“Well, don’t!”
He huffed, and his warm breath set the curls around her face dancing. “I do not know how you expect me to fix this if you don’t allow me to even try! Unless, perhaps, you enjoy the forced proximity? Hmm?”
Amelia rolled her eyes, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Not in the least,” she growled. Then she sighed. “Very well, but stop all the tugging; you needn’t behead me in the process.”
Lord Norwich grew still as he, presumably, set to work untangling his hand from her hair. Amelia blew out a frustrated breath. How had he even managed to become so entangled? It was absurd.
Finally, with minimal tugging, he released her head and stepped back.
Her temple was now throbbing, and she most certainly looked a sight. Amelia reached up with a cautious hand and felt the jumble of curls and escaped hairs. She sighed. Without much thought, except to the remedying of her hair, she began moving to the door.
“Where are you going?” Lord Norwich stopped her with a hand on her upper arm.
Amelia looked up in disbelief. “I cannot very well go out looking like this. My hair is a fright, and it will take more than a few pins to fix it, I am certain.”
His eyes lifted to the top of her head and squinted in a grimace. “It is not so terrible.”
“Your expression says otherwise.”
He removed his hand from her arm and rubbed his chin. “Well, it is perfectly acceptable to arrive late to the opera.”
The pain in her head grew, and she lifted a hand to rub near her hairline. “We would already be late at this point. If we wait for my maid to undo this mess and restyle my hair, I would be surprised if we make it at all.”
