CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“The lovely evenings of summer are the best calculated for the unfolding of beautiful truths.”
Private Education: A Practical Plan for the Studies of Young Ladies.
Elizabeth Appleton. 1815.
Hugh flung himself from the carriage, thundered up the steps to his townhouse and flew through the abruptly opened door. He’d given the household the night off but his faithful Cruikshank still held fast to his station.
“Where is she?” he growled, straightening his crooked cravat and tugging his tousled hair flat.
The butler cocked a brow at his master’s lack of hat. “Miss Jones was to retire, Sir, but recalled some documents she wished to peruse in your library. I believe she is still–”
Hugh tore up the two flights of stairs, stalked down the corridor, threw open the library door and slammed it behind him.
Standing aside his desk, an array of documents spread, Amelia clutched a folder in one hand, hair loose and with all thepink roses gone apart from the one still pinned to her green satin bodice. She gazed up. Her throat bobbed. “That was quick.”
A swell of such anger and hurt surged through him. That she could be so damn calm, so bloody unaffected, so hellishly impassive, while he…
He frowned.
Amelia’s eyes were red-rimmed.
The folder trembled in her hand.
Her skin ashen pale.
Breath light and hitching.
And his anger abated.
“What was quick?”
“L-Lady Tremlach. I hope you understood me. Lady Twyford is not who is providing the Brotherhood of Ravens with information so you n-needed…needed to…”
He prowled towards her, snatched the folder from her fingers and threw it to the desk.
Enough was enough.
“Amelia, listen to me. I was in fact attempting to disentangle myself from Lady Tremlach when you walked in and granted me carte blanche to seduce her or, to be more accurate, gavehercarte blanche to seduce me. I declined the lady’s invitation and dashed off in search of you but was delayed by–”
“Hugh.” She placed a hand to his chest, lashes lowered. “There is no need for a tale. Not with me. Yourtrone d’amourcravat is askew and half your waistcoat buttons…gone.” She swallowed. “I unders–”
He placed his palm to her lips. “No. You do not understand. I am dishevelled because as I was dashing down the stairs after you, I happened upon the fifth Duke of Swanford ascending. Your stepbrother. Expecting me to move aside for him to pass, I was overcome by such rage and a most curious compulsion to land a fist upon the blaggard’s jaw. As misfortune would haveit, he had two cohorts with him and so there ensued a bit of a…skirmish on the landing.” Now was not the time to detail the broken window, the ruin of his hat or the loss of Macbeth’s head.
Eyes widened above his palm. “Youwallopedtheduke! Atthetheatre!”
He smiled. “Damn it, Amelia, do you not know how much I want you?”
And he realised she did not. As a matter of fact, he realised that for all Amelia’s confidence, for all her ingenuity, she had no idea at all of how much he desired her. Perhaps growing up, she’d unknowingly felt eclipsed by the brilliance of the Butterfly Courtesan, denting self-belief in her own beauty and allure.
Was that why she’d not followed her mother into the profession? Little did Amelia know that if she chose, she could have the whole world at her slippers.
“I desire no one but you, Amelia Lambert. I want your beguiling lips upon mine and your lethal hands all over me.” His own shifted to cup her cheeks. “What do you say to that?”
“Oh.”
Good enough for him. “And for yourself, Amelia? Are you truly so…” He whispered lips over hers. “Unaffected by me? Do you not…shiver when we touch?”
