“And do you feel the need to escape right now, Miss Balfour?” Lamplight caught the green flecks in Mr. Lambert’s eyes.
“I don’t know about Amelia, but I wouldn’t mind escaping to the comfort of a softer chair.” Colin rose, his great frame bumping against the table and toppling the salt cellar in front of her.
Scrambling, she snatched the thing into an upright position, then pinched some granules from the spilled pile and lobbed them over her left shoulder. No sense inviting lies and disloyalty into their lives.
Across the table, Mr. Lambert eyed her with an enigmatic stare. Had he never seen anyone toss salt before? She stood.
So did the doctor, not once varying his gaze. “After you, Miss Balfour.”
Grabbing her cane, she passed him, breathing in his now-familiar scent of sage and lemon. Out in the corridor, Colin’s long legs disappeared down the length of the carpet runner instead of turning off into the sitting room. He glanced over his shoulder, catching her eye, then disappeared through the farthest door.
What in the world? She followed, a small frown pinching her brow as she entered the oak-paneled library. A fire was laid and sconces glowed. An intimate setting. Far too personal and relaxed to entertain a guest, breaking all the standard protocols. “Would not the sitting room be a better choice, Brother?”
Colin sank into the overstuffed wingback near the hearth, a greatoofwhooshing out of his lungs and the cushion as he landed. “I think we’ve all seen enough of that particular room. Besides, these chairs are more comfortable.”
Mr. Lambert’s voice rumbled at her back. “I have purposely kept my talk of medicine to a minimum tonight; however, I cannot help but ask you now, how are you feeling, Mr. Balfour?”
Her brother’s mouth twisted. “How would you feel after more than a fortnight of taking jolts to the head?”
Amelia studied the deep lines that spidered out from the corners of her brother’s eyes, her heart breaking. He should be attending house parties, riding in hunts, and smoking cheroots with other young men, not bravely hiding his hideous face and the pain of a daily procedure that wrecked him.
She smoothed her hand along her skirt, working out her anger. “Colin, if this is too much, we can call it an evening.”
He snorted. “I am as tired of my bedchamber as I am of the sitting room.”
His words, while valiant, frayed at the edges, belying his fatigue. She glanced at Mr. Lambert, pleading with her eyes. If he suggested they retire, perhaps her brother would be more inclined to listen.
But he did not meet her gaze. Instead, he reached for his white cravat and began untying the long band of fabric. “Well then, how about you allow me to regale you with a diversion?”
Amelia gaped as his collar fell open, exposing the skin of his neck down to the hollow between his collarbones. Scandalous!Thiswas his idea of entertainment? She should look away. Turn her back. At the very least order him to return his neckcloth at once. Yet her mouth dried to ashes and her eyes refused to stare at anything other than the hint of black hair peeking at the top of his shirt. Oh, my. Why was it so infernally hot in here?
Of all the inopportune times, he looked at her then, no doubt noticing the warmth that burned on her cheeks. The mouth she couldn’t seem to close all the way. The skirt she clutched in her hands.
The gold flecks in his eyes flashed with undue humour. “I believe your best viewing advantage would be on the chair next to your brother.”
She retreated a step towards the door. If he began unbuttoning his waistcoat, she’d fly to Betsey and have her strong-armed maid usher the man out.
As if reading her mind, a rogue smile lightened his dark features, half-pirate and half-king-of-the-world. “Don’t fret, Miss Balfour. I assure you my neckcloth is all I will be removing.”
Colin burst out laughing. “I say, Lambert! I have no idea what your intended diversion is, but the look on my sister’s face is the best birthday amusement you could have possibly devised.”
Lifting her chin, Amelia hobbled over to the chair with as much poise as she could summon. Let them have their laugh. She would show them both how a dignified person ought to act. “Please, by all means, go on with whatever it is you intend to show us, Mr. Lambert.”
“Right, then.” He gave her an approving nod while winding his cravat into a long, ropelike shape. “It is no secret that sailors are renowned for their knot tying, and I learned several that ought to amuse, especially accompanied by a poem you may be familiar with, ‘A Sailor’s Song,’ by the Scottish authoress, Joanna Baillie. Will that suit?”
That he’d chosen literature warmed her heart, but that he’d selected a piece by a female made her positively giddy. Forgiving the doctor’s recent teasing and his open collar, Amelia couldn’t help but smile. “That should suit very nicely, sir.”
“Then we begin.” His fingers worked the makeshift rope as his low voice filled the room.
“While clouds on high are riding,
The wintry moonshine hiding,
The raging blast abiding,
O’er mountain waves we go,
We go, we go, we go,
