Oh dear—her husband had a heart. And if he didn’t stop looking at her in that way he may as well take hers.
His gaze darted to her mouth. It was a subtle movement, as was the small step he took, closing the distance between them and forcing her to look up to maintain eye contact. Her heart pounded—so loudly she guessed he may have been able to hear it—and her hands grew hot.
Could he be about to kiss her? Would she allow it? Her eyes dropped to his lips. An overwhelming desire to feel them upon her own sent a rush of emotion and nerves through her.
But then, movement behind him drew her attention. Regrettably, she leaned slightly to the side, unable to see fully over his shoulder for his height. A couple was walking down the path toward them, and a quick glance to the side showed that a lady and her maid were strolling past on the opposite bank.
“Edward.”
“Mmm?” His gaze was still riveted on her face, drinking her in. Her cheeks flushed.
“There are people about.”
“So?” His hand snaked about her waist, drawing her nearer and leaving a trail of fire in its wake. She could feel his breath tickling the loose curls about her forehead. The brim of her bonnet lifted as her head tilted up. “We are meant to be convincing them of the earnestness of our marriage, are we not?”
His low voice sent shivers down her spine, but his words were like a dousing of frigid water. His revelations may have rung true, but this? This nearness and promise of a kiss was all an act. An act. And she had nearly fallen for it herself.
Her feet moved backward, putting much-needed space between the two of them. He looked just as disappointed as she felt. But the difference was his disappointment was only pretended. Or, if it was real, it must have been only the disappointment of a man pulled from his near victory. For certainly the only enjoyment he could feel must be physical alone.
Amelia brushed at her skirt, pretending detachment. Her heart also wished to detach from her body, it would seem, with how hard it was jumping about.
“Forgive me.” Lord Norwich’s words, spoken formally, seemed more a question. Amelia only nodded brusquely before grasping his arm.
“You wished to take a stroll by the lake, did you not?” she trilled, far too loudly. Edward—no, Lord Norwich, she would not let that wall down again—looked at her strangely before responding just as loudly.
“Yes. Indeed. Shall we?”
Again, she nodded, stepping forward with a tad too much bounce in her step. She reined in the nervous energy coursing through her, lowering her head to gaze at the path below her feet.
They walked a handful of paces before Edward—Lord Norwich—jostled her arm minutely. She glanced sharply at him, a question in her expression.
He smiled, though it seemed tight to her, something in the way his eyes did not quite light up as they usually did. “Perhaps,” he breathed, “if you did not furrow your brow so, as if I were dragging you to your demise, we might convince these people that we are happily married.”
His words were a near repetition of their earlier conversation but lacked the teasing warmth. The corners of his mouth pulled tighter as if trying to affect a reassuring smile. He was right. Again. Amelia had to put aside her own tumultuous emotions for the sake of her sister.
She smiled brightly at him and laughed at his nonexistent joke. “You are quite right.”
He nodded at her, his porcelain smile still perfectly affixed, and pulled her closer to his side before speaking loudly as a group of four drew closer, walking in the opposite direction. “Now. You must tell me which piece you plan to play at the Middleton’s musicale tonight. You are quite an accomplished musician, and I cannot stand the wait to hear you this evening.” His smile grew more charming but no more real.
One of the ladies in the oncoming group, the one with hair so fair it was nearly white in the sun, raised her eyebrows slightly, smiling at the two of them in surprise as they slowed.
“Ah, Lady Sophia, Miss Fawcet.” Lord Norwich bowed slightly, not offering a single compliment, to Amelia’s astonishment. “Charleton. Morely.” He nodded at the two gentlemen.
Amelia smiled and offered a slight curtsy.
“Have you had the pleasure of meeting my beautiful wife? This is Lady Amelia Norwich, daughter of the Duke of Stafford.” He nearly always included her father’s title in his introductions of her, though it was unnecessary. Perhaps it was a reminder to their companions of her standing? Perhaps he did not feel his own title was enough?
Again, the group exchanged murmured greetings and varying dips and bows, and Amelia forced herself to focus on the conversation at hand.
“I do hope we will see you all at the Middletons’ this evening,” he continued. They had not actually spoken of attending, but it would seem they now were.
Through his jacket, Amelia could feel Lord Norwich’s tense muscles. He seemed uncomfortable with the exchange, though she could not fathom why. Perhaps there had been some indiscretion with one of the ladies? No. They would have given him the cut direct if that was the case... would they not? She barely restrained her hands from unwinding from Lord Norwich’s arm and twisting together in discomfort.
“Yes, of course,” one of the gentlemen, Mr. Charleton, responded, a jaunty grin on his face. “And it sounds as though we will be quite entertained by your wife’s playing.” The man smiled openly and without guile between the two of them, but Lord Norwich only stiffened further.
“Yes. You will,” he ground out.
“Excellent. Excellent. I am sure we all look forward to it.” He looked about at each of his companions, his smile still broad. They each nodded or smiled in return, though none with as much exuberance.
