But he knew the jig was up. Lady Amelia Crofton may have found him beneath her notice, but enough of London knew his background that she was sure to find out his connections now.
She finished reading and wordlessly folded the pages and handed them to him. “Well, that was informative.” She poured another cup of tea and sipped it.
He opened the pages.Fuck.
SOCIAL CLIMBING REACHES NEW HEIGHTS.
WAS AN EARL’S DAUGHTER KIDNAPPED?
COMPROMISED?FORCED TO MARRY?
Beneath the headline was a sketch, him the size of a giant with Lady Amelia slung over his shoulder.
Blood pounded in his ears. His body shook, and the newspaper crumpled in his hand.
Kidnapping? Forced marriage? He’d been trapped into an unwanted marriage by an earl’s daughter who hied off into the country on her own, by a duke who refused to do the right thing by his fiancée, and an earl who spread gossip maliciously, and somehowhewas the villain?
He slammed the paper to the table.
“Damn.” He shouldn’t swear in front of a lady, but “Goddamn!”
He pushed back from the table, running his hands through his hair. What was he going to do? He stood and paced the length of the dining room in long, fast strides, spinning on his heel each time he reached a wall. This could jeopardize everything. There would be so many ramifications. He would need to get ahead of them.
Amelia stared at him over the rim of her teacup, not an ounce of emotion showing.
“Does anything ever crack that façade?” he asked.
She raised an eyebrow. “I’m English. We’re not disposed to such extravagant displays of feeling.”
“I’mEnglish.”
“Well, there’s definitely French blood in there somewhere.” She returned to staring at the orange segments on her plate as if nothing had occurred that was worth interrupting her meal for. Infuriating woman.
“This is unfair. All I did was save your bloody life.”
She stabbed at the orange with her fork. “Of course it’s unfair. Life usually is. Now should we discuss this, or shall I leave you to your tantrum? I’d remove the china, but I can’t help but think your smashing it against the wall may just improve it.”
He ignored that last jibe to turn his attention to the real catastrophe.
Everyone read the society pages—well, every woman—but the husbands would once they heard the rumor from their wives. Not that he gave a rich royal damn about the lords of London, but he had a reputation to protect. Not the ridiculous conceited reputation of the aristocracy, but of an honest, upright, fair-dealing businessman. Rumors of kidnapping could tear that to shreds.
He needed to go into damage control. Now.
He looked over at Amelia, who was now sitting primly in her seat, sipping on tea and watching him pace.
He was loath to admit it, but any rescue from the scenario was going to involve her help.
He took the seat directly opposite her, his arms resting against the white linen, his face as controlled as he could manage.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“What amIthinking? I’m wondering when you were planning to tell me that I had not, in fact, married a factory worker.” Her tone was pleasant, but the look in her eyes told him to reinforce the lock on the door between their bedrooms.
She continued, picking up steam. “I was also wondering why we are living in a musty, rundown half of a house with shabby furniture, no garden, and next to no servants.”
And there it was. The crux of her problem, and further proof that she was the most self-centered woman in England.
“That’s what has upset you? There are not enough people here to wait on you? You’re inconvenienced by the need to brush your own hair and make your own bed?”
