She was a dowager; he couldn’t argue against that. Instead, he changed the topic. “I do not appreciate your encouraging Clara to lie and sneak about. That can only lead to worse things.”
Her eyes flashed. “If Clara did so, it would have been her own prerogative. I never disguised the fact that our friendship continued after…”
“After you threw away our future.”
“After our engagement was dissolved.” There was a steely silence. “If Clara deceived you, then it was purely out of self-preservation.”
“You act as if I’m some sort of tyrant!” Amelia’s beast of a dog lifted her head at the volume of his voice and eyed him warily. Reading the animal’s displeasure, Dorian lowered his tone; he didn’t relish the possibility of losing his bollocks to a guard dog. “As her guardian, I need to know where she is and with whom she is associating.”
“As I said, she is in good hands. You may return to London, and you may collect her when she is ready to return, whenever that may be. I have told her she is welcome to remain as long as she would like.”
“If you think I am leaving her alone in your care, then you’re sorely mistaken.”
“I am not the one who has displayed questionable moral behaviors,” she bit back.
Dorian’s hand tightened dangerously on the glass in his hand. He had to set it on the oversized mantle before he shattered it in his grip or tossed it back in one great gulp…followed by countless others. He should have known Amelia would not make this easy. Well, he could play at that game, too.
“I will not be leaving Clara here alone,” he said, his tone dangerously low. “If you wish for her to stay, then I will remain as well. If you wish for me to leave your home, then…we should hope Clara’s maid has not yet unpacked all of her things.”
“You would have her travel all this way only to turn around and return to London? Do you think that is fair to her? After she has been looking forward to this visit for so long?” Doriandid not miss the white-knuckled way in which Amelia gripped her arms as they crossed over her chest. It told him, even as she spoke coolly and evenly, that she wasn’t unmoved or unshaken by his presence. In fact, it may very well have been the opposite.
Good.
“Yes,” he answered simply. “So, if you do not wish to disappoint Clara—the girl who has refused to remove you from such a revered place in her heart—then I must stay as well. The decision is yours.” He needed her to agree. Was it somewhat abhorrent to use his sister as a bargaining chip to coerce his way into Amelia’s home? More than likely. But, faced with the opportunity to finally move on with his life, he cared not one bit.
He tried not to become entranced by the way she caught her lower lip between her teeth in indecision. Amelia had always had a tender heart when it came to Clara, so the thought of having to set her out purely because Dorian had come as her chaperone was obviously creating a war inside of her. He could see it in the stiffness of her posture, her pensive silence, the quiet tapping of her foot on the stone floor beneath the desk.
Finally, when she met his eyes, Dorian could read in the verdant pools that he’d won the first battle even before she made a resigned nod of her head.
Chapter Two
Dorian’s trunks hadbeen deposited into a rather nauseatingly feminine room that reeked faintly of stale perfume and medicinal herbs. Positioned down the hall from the chamber in which Clara would be staying, it must have belonged to some long-dead great aunt of the late earl. He did not doubt that this had been done intentionally. Amelia had clearly decided that she was going to have to tolerate his presence if she did not wish to disappoint Clara, but that did not mean she had to treat Dorian like an honored guest of his station. He found it a curious mixture of irksome and amusing.
The chamber he’d been assigned overlooked the grand gravel drive leading to the castle’s outer gates and the glittering grey loch beyond—at least it would whenever the haze and fog decided to lift and reveal Scotland in its glory. He’d traveled to Edinburgh with Brinely a time or two in their younger years, so he wasn’t unfamiliar with the lands of the north; however, this was his first time staying in a Scottish castle. It wasn’t quite as drafty as he’d expected—then again, this one appeared to be in remarkably good repair. Amelia had done an admirable job with its upkeep.
Dorian’s pulse skipped at the memory of his first good look at her in years. Her bewilderment had been beautiful, and he relished the fact that he’d already set her back on her heels. He had the upper hand at the moment, and he fully intendedon keeping it. He was more determined than ever to see his plan through and show her how wrong she’d been about him—to shake her as she shook him, to make her feel a fraction of what he felt. It was encouraging to know that she was not indifferent to his presence. She seemed at war with herself; her eyes had always been expressive, and that afternoon had been no different. She was strong and determined, but she also seemed to hold onto some unresolved emotions when it came to him. They manifested as clipped words and standoffish posturing, but he hadn’t yet encountered anything that he could not overcome.
At least he was in her home.
That chasm had been traversed and, though it caused him no little pain to be so close to her again and not immediately pull her into his arms, he was pleased with how he’d maintained his head.
His valet arrived, bringing footmen carrying fresh white linens, pails of steaming water, and a brass hip bath for him to freshen up after his ride. Following his chilly reception, the heat would be a welcome change.
Once he was dry and dressed in a freshly pressed shirt, crisp white cravat, and ebony jacket, he examined his reflection in the cloudy looking glass. Though the image was slightly distorted, he determined his appearance was sufficient after he added a small diamond stickpin to the heart of his cravat knot. He wasn’t known as the dandy of London’s Rank of Rakes—that honorific was staunchly attached to Viscount Blackwood—but he still took a measure of pride in the image he presented.
Dorian took his time traversing the cavernous hallways to make his way back to the dining room that the butler had pointed out on their way to his assigned chamber. The echo of his boots ricocheted along the narrow space, making it easy to understand how someone might believe a place such as this was haunted by restless spirits.
Perhaps he was one of them.
Lord knew Dorian’s soul hadn’t been able to find peace in a decade.
Being so close to Amelia, so near to her again, had released a violent torrent of emotions within him—some he’d believed he’d stomped out long ago. In an instant, he remembered with striking vividness what it had been like to kiss her. What she had tasted like. How sweetly naive she’d been, and eager to please. How her hand felt when it cupped his cheek.
Dorian gave himself a full-body shake. He needed to push those thoughts aside and remind himself of the humiliation, the years of heartache he’d endured because of her. He needed to remember why he had traveled all this way.
Eventually, he found his way to the dining hall—a room far too grand to entertain only the lady of the house and her two guests (one more welcome than the other), but Clara had exhibited such awe at the room’s beauty on their tour that Amelia had agreed that they should take supper there that evening in honor ofherarrival. Dorian hadn’t missed the pointed mention of the singular, leaving him removed. Regardless, Dorian could not stop the bemused tilt of his lips. Some things never changed—Amelia’s quick wit being one of them.
Clara was seven years younger than Amelia; she’d been nothing more than a girl when he and Amelia had been betrothed. As such, Amelia—an only child—had doted upon Clara with all the zeal of one who had just discovered a long-lost sibling. During their courtship, Amelia had always purchased a small gift or trinket for Clara whenever he’d escorted her on one of their chaperoned outings—a bit of pretty ribbon, a painted spinning top, a posy of flowers from the park, a small bag of sweets from a shop. That had been part of what had made Dorian fall in love with her all those years ago; Amelia hadloved his sister and accepted her as family without hesitation or reservation. Not once had she ever considered Clara to be a nuisance, and there had never been anything contrived about the relationship. Their current situation made it clear that the relationship had held strong over the years. He experienced a pang of bitterness at that thought.
