Amelia had only seen Aaron’s home once, when they had ridden by it in his rig during an afternoon excursion together. He’d pointed out the townhouse, one that faced the park, and she oohed and ahhed at the lovely location. Her father had cooed just as loudly later over the proof that Walters had money.
Now she rode her mare, Cherry, onto the drive in front of the house and shuddered. She’d somehow made it here uninterrupted and unmolested. Now she questioned her choice. She wasn’t announced or expected. She didn’t even know if Aaron would be home to greet her.
But it was too late to go back now. She owed the man this courtesy. She owed herself the chance to see him one last time before they were separated by these bitter circumstances.
She moved to the door and knocked. There was the sound of movement and then the door opened. She was surprised to find it was Aaron, himself, standing there. He had an apple in one hand, with a bite missing from it, and he wore no shoes or jacket. She blinked, unprepared as he stared down at her, almost as if he didn’t recognize her.
His straw-colored hair was mussed, like he’d been running his fingers through it, and his dark blue eyes were a little bleary. His undone state was a shock to her, and she waited for that sense of awareness to fill her. The one that seemed to come with no trouble the moment she walked into a room with Brighthollow. But there was nothing but embarrassment that she had found him thus.
“Great God, Amelia!” he said at last as he cast a glance over his shoulder into the house. “I didn’t expect you—what are you doing here?”
She swallowed hard. “Oh, Aaron, I know it’s wrong, but Ihadto see you. Something has happened. Something terrible!”
He pursed his lips, and for a moment she thought perhaps he was annoyed. But then his expression softened. “You are overwrought. Will you…come in?”
He stepped aside at last and she entered. To her surprise, the foyer was quite plain despite the fine address. There were spaces where paintings had clearly once hung, but they were gone now. It was a rather cold and empty space.
“Come to the parlor.” He led her there. “I’m sorry I cannot offer you tea. My servants have the morning off.”
He opened the door, and she entered a small parlor. There were two shabby chairs in front of a fire and two half-filled wineglasses on the table between them. Since it was so early in the day, she wondered if they had been left over from last night. It seemed odd that his servants had not removed the items.
He muttered something beneath his breath and grabbed for them as she settled into a place.
“Let me just…I’ll be back,” he said, and then he left the room without another word. He shut the door and she heard him talking for a moment in the hall. A female voice answered, probably whatever maid was left while the other servants were out.
Amelia stood and paced the small room, her heart racing ever faster. What in the world could she say to his man? How could she find the words?
He returned a few moments later, and she smiled. He had fixed himself and was now wearing boots, so when he stepped into the room he seemed more the man who had courted her the last few months.
He left the door open to maintain some propriety and hustled to her, sitting down and taking both her hands in his. His gaze swept over her face as he said, “You are so very upset. What has happened?”
She drew a long breath and blinked at the tears that rushed to her eyes. His kindness didn’t make this easier.
“I-I came here because I must tell you in person. It is only fair.” She shook her head.
“Tell me what?” he asked, his brow knitting.
She swallowed hard and forced herself to be brave. “Aaron, I cannot marry you as we planned.”
The gentleness on his face departed in an instant, and he shook her hands away. “You are breaking our engagement?” he asked, his tone suddenly cold as an icy winter’s day.
She bent her head. “Not because of my desires, I assure you. It turns out my father owes a debt to a very powerful man. And they’ve made an arrangement that my marriage to him will settle it. They’re—” Her voice shook and she tried desperately to maintain control. “They’re making preparations even as we speak. I will likely be forced to wed him before the week is out.”
Aaron had been staring at her, his gaze even and cool and unreadable. Now he folded his arms. “Who?”
“The Duke of Brighthollow,” she whispered.
His nostrils flared slightly, and then he got to his feet. He paced away, stopping the sideboard where he splashed a generous amount of scotch into a tumbler and downed it in one angry sip. He shook his head, and then he let out a humorless laugh.
“That bastard. Always thwarting the best laid plans,” he said.
She stood and turned toward him, confused by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “What? What do you mean? Do you know the duke?”
He glanced at her, and then his expression grew sad as he set his glass away and sighed. “I’m afraid I do. I once lived in Brighthollow, myself. I certainly was not as elevated as the duke, but I knew of him. Talked to him in passing. He is a cold bastard, but what can you do when someone holds that much power? We had a disagreement over—”
He stopped and his mouth drew down deeply. She moved toward him. “Over what?”
“It hardly matters now,” he said. “It would be unseemly to discuss him, especially since it seems you will be forced to wed him. I would not want to poison your opinion of the man.”
