Chapter Eleven
Politics was a dicey game. Society was a great deal more complicated. And given that Elliott had spent the afternoon failing at the first game, he was not in the best frame of mind to attempt the second. But he had promised his sister, and so he appeared at her front door at precisely four of the clock. He was unhappy, frustrated, and not fit company for anyone. And yet, all of that disappeared the moment Amber stepped into the parlor.
She wore a simple gown of rose, too pale a color for her, he thought, but muted colors were expected of ladies entering the marriage mart. She smiled in greeting even as she turned to accept a fashionable wrap from his sister.
“This will keep you warm if the weather kicks up,” Diana said. “But if you can stand it, keep it off. A little cold engages the male mind.”
She meant that men enjoyed seeing the outline of nipples. If even the vaguest bumps appeared, men would come from everywhere just to greet her.
“She doesn’t need ploys,” Elliott grumbled as he shook out the wrap and put it across Amber’s shoulders. “She’s beautiful just as she is.” He meant what he said to an almost disturbing degree. After all, he knew many lovely ladies, several of whom were considered quite beautiful. Objectively, Amber was fair but not exceptional.
Except when he looked at her, his breath was stolen away, and he couldn’t figure out why. Her face was pleasing with clear skin and a pert nose. Her figure was delightfully curvy, but not overly so. Why was he struck dumb when she entered a room? And why did he watch as she murmured her thanks to the butler and smiled earnestly up at his sister?
Because she was honest, he realized. No coyness, no games. She looked directly at one when she spoke, and he saw no deviousness in her words or form. If she was embarrassed, he knew. And if she wanted something, he knew that as well. Her body was strong, telling him she labored. It didn’t matter to him whether she was a farmhand or the grandest duchess in the land. She was not idle, and that appealed to him. But most of all, when she looked at him, he felt it. He felt her. Her attention, her perception, and even her desire.
He saw that all in her eyes and face when he offered her his arm. He felt her self-possession as they walked calmly toward his phaeton. And when he turned her around to lift her onto the seat, he felt her body tremble and saw her tongue dart out to wet her lips. That was desire, he thought. And it matched his own.
He set her on the seat but did not release her. “I don’t like the idea of introducing you to other men. I don’t like where this might lead.”
She blinked. “You fear someone might recognize me?”
He frowned. In truth, the idea had never occurred to him. “Not at all. I don’t want you looking at anyone but me.” This was not an unusual thing to say among theton. The flirts bandied about the phrase nearly every hour. But it was not typical of him, and he wondered if she knew that. Worse, he wondered what that meant for him. He was not a man to say silly things. He had more important worries on his mind. Affairs of state, the management of a nation. And yet, he was completely consumed by the idea that Miss Amber Gohar was shopping for a husband.
It upset him enough that he stomped his way around the phaeton before jumping up on the other side. Fortunately, she was still there, and this time her smile was teasing as her gaze locked with his.
“Will you feel better if I promise to look at you every moment we are together? At least one second for every minute.”
He snorted. “And who shall get the other fifty-nine?”
“Someone who dresses with more flair,” she responded tartly. “Like him, perhaps.” She gestured across the street at Mr. Dennis Shaw. A young popinjay fresh out of school with more money than sense. Elliott wondered if the riot of colors in his attire made his valet physically ill.
“You cannot mean for me to dress like that.”
She laughed, a truly lovely sound. “Not you. You haven’t the mannerisms to carry it off. But he is worth a gander, don’t you think?”
“Not even a gosling,” he retorted as he got the horses moving. “I shudder to think what he paid for that monstrous attire.”
“Enough to make the tailor very happy.”
Well, he supposed he’d never thought of it that way. If Mr. Shaw had money to burn, then there were worse places to spend it than on a tailor who was feeding his family on the one purchase.
“You see,” Amber said as she turned to look at him. “Fifty-nine seconds of incomprehensible color, and one second to rest my eyes with your unending, monotonous black. She frowned for a moment. “Did you wish to be a clergyman when you were a boy?”
“What? No! My fondest wish was to be a hussar. I wanted to ride a horse into battle with my sword flashing in the sun.”
“Their uniforms are quite spectacular.”
“Quite. I was a boy and easily impressed by such things.” He shook his head. “I used to think military glory was the most exciting thing in the world.”
“What changed you? I sincerely doubt you own a crimson coat or gold epaulets. Something happened to make you choose black, more black, and then a little white with your black.”
“It wasn’t ever the clothes that drew me. I wear black because it’s convenient and doesn’t show the dirt.”
“Very practical,” she agreed. “But what of the boy who dreamed of glory?”
“He met men who went to war.” He looked at her. “My father used to visit the military hospitals, and he brought me along. I grew up listening to their stories. After my father died, I went in his stead. It’s something I do to honor him and the men who fight for England.”
She sobered. “So that is why you are working so hard for your resolution.”
