Chapter One
LONDON,1815
Amelia Andrews had waited four excruciatingly long years to marry the Viscount Lisford. Although everyone said he was a wicked rake who gambled and took advantage of innocent women, she didn’t care. He was, by far, the handsomest man she’d ever seen. His hazel eyes were mysterious, and his golden hair reminded her of a prince. This was going to be the year he finally fell in love with her, even if she had to throw herself at his feet.
Well, she could faint in front of him, anyway. Diving at a man’s shoes wasn’t exactly what her mother would deem ladylike.
In her mind, she envisioned reforming him, until he fell madly in love with her and—
“Planning your attack, are you?” came a voice from behind her. Amelia suppressed a groan. David Hartford, the Earl of Castledon, was here again. Sir Personality-of-a-Handkerchief, as she’d once nicknamed him.
He never danced and had never courted a single woman in all the years since his wife had died. He was justthereall the time. Watching, like a wallflower.
“I’ve never understood why the ladies here are so fascinated by Lord Lisford,” he remarked. “Would you care to enlighten me?”
She shouldn’t be speaking with Lord Castledon, although they’d had numerous conversations in the past year, with him addressing her back. If she didn’t turn around to face him, it seemed less improper.
Besides that, Lord Castledon was safe—a man she would never consider as a suitor. He wasn’t so terribly old, but he’d been married and widowed. He wasn’t at all dashing or exciting. Honestly, he was perfect for her sister Margaret.
A hard sense of frustration gathered in Amelia’s stomach at the thought of her prim and proper older sister. There had been a time when she’d been devastated, for her sister had nearly married the man of Amelia’s dreams. The viscount had cried off only days before the wedding, leaving Margaret a spinster and Amelia a shred of hope. She felt sorry for Margaret’s humiliation, truly she did, but it had been an impossible situation with both of them wanting the same man.
That had been years ago. Surely her sister would forget all about Viscount Lisford, especially if she had another man to wed. And Amelia strongly believed that sensible people ought to be paired together.Shewas not at all sensible. Impulsive, her mother had called her. Amelia preferred to think of herself as spirited.
“Lord Lisford is quite wicked,” she told the earl. “When you dance with him, you sense the danger. It’s delicious.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” he said drily.
From behind her, she sensed him stepping closer. Lord Castledon was quite tall, and even without her turning around, his presence evoked a strange sensation, as if he were touching her. The air between them grew warmer, and she grew conscious of him in a way that made her skin prickle.
She stole a quick glance behind her and saw the solemn cast to his face. It didn’t seem that he ever smiled, though the earl wasn’tunattractive. Aside from being tall, he had black hair and shrewd blue eyes. She’d never seen him wear any color except black. And he rarely spoke to anyone but her. She had no idea why.
“Dangerous men are nothing but trouble,” he continued, moving to stand beside her. “You’d be better off choosing a more respectable man.”
“That’s what my mother says.” Amelia opened her fan, adding, “But marriage to a man like Lord Lisford would never be dull.”
“Marriage is not meant to be entertaining. It’s a union of two people with a mutual respect for one another.”
She eyed him with disbelief. “That sounds awful. Surely you don’t mean that.”
From the serious expression on his face, she realized he did. “Didn’t you ever have fun with your wife?” she asked. “I don’t mean to pry, but I thought you loved her.”
“She was everything to me.”
There was a glimpse of grief that flashed over his face before he masked it. And suddenly her curiosity was piqued. This boring man, who all too often lurked near the wallpaper, had enjoyed a love match. Try as she might, she couldn’t quite imagine him engaged in a passionate tryst. But perhaps there was more to him beneath the surface.
Amelia’s heart softened. “No one will ever compare to her, will they?” She stared at him, trying to imagine a man like the earl in love with anyone.
“No.” There was a heaviness in his voice. “But I made a promise to my daughter that this Season, I will find a new mother for her.” His features twisted as if it was not a welcome idea.
A thought suddenly sparked within Amelia. There was nothing she loved more than matchmaking. She’d successfully paired her sister Juliette off with her husband, Paul, and here was anotherchance to find a match for Lord Castledon. Her sister Margaret was nearing five-and-twenty, and after being jilted once, she might be amenable to a man like the earl.
“I have an idea,” she told him, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. And oh, it was simply perfect. “We could help one another.”
The sidelong look he cast at her was undeniably cynical. “And what couldyoudo for me, Miss Andrews?”
“Reconnaissance,” she said brightly. “You’ll tell me all of your requirements in a wife, and I shall investigate your options. I know all the eligible ladies here, and I’m certain I could find the perfect woman for you.”
If Margaret wouldn’t suit, there were a few wallflowers who might fit his conditions.
