Page 12 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

Sweet heaven, why hadn’t she simply maintained the voice and demeanor she always used when he was near? The answer didn’t please her. He was also striking far too close to home. Once more, her gaze flitted toward the path he was still blocking. No, not blocking, she simply didn’t want to go near him. That was another lie, a mocking voice whispered in her head.

“It betrays you as someone who has lived in Scotland most of her life. In fact, I suspect you live here most of the year.”

Valeran’s words made her flinch. Amalie had known he would discover the truth. The question was, why had she let him? Why hadn’t she just fled the moment he appeared on the summit?

“Your ability to suppress that soft, splendid burr indicates your education was one that only a wealthy merchant or peer could afford for his daughter.”

“I see,” she murmured with resignation. Another predatory grin tilted his lips.

“While it’s always possible, you’re a…courtesan, I—”

“Ye bastard,” she exclaimed with fury. Without thinking, she took two steps forward, her fists clenched, ready to land a blow to his jaw at his insult. A blow that her male cousins could attest to being one worthy of a fighter in the ring. He wouldn’t be so cocky then. He chuckled.

“There it is again, that sweet, musical lilt. I think a man could die happy if your voice was the last thing he heard,” he murmured as if speaking his thoughts out loud.

Stunned, she stared at him, slack-jawed. No one had ever described her voice the way he just had. Something like hunger flashed across Valeran’s features, and Amalie’s heart skidded out of control.

“As I was about to say before you interrupted me, I think it unlikely you’re a courtesan. A fact further confirmed by your fiery reaction.”

“Ye are an arse, Lord Sommerville.”

“As I said, that enticing brogue of yours can only belong to two or three women in attendance at the house party, and I know you’re not Lady Stewart.”

Amalie’s anger dissolved into fear, and her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. What an unmitigated fool she was. She’d allowed her sharp tongue to destroy her anonymity. Hiding in the shadows was no longer possible. Worst of all, she knew the man would be relentless in his efforts to discover her reason for avoiding him all this time.

Bewilderment furrowed Valeran’s forehead as she stared at him with resignation. He cocked his head to one side, his confusion becoming stunned amazement, and then triumph. With a grin, he bowed slightly.

“The elusive Miss Amalie Rockwood, I presume?”

Chapter 4

Silence greeted Valeran’s revelation, and he pinned his gaze on Amalie’s shadowy figure. Could this possibly be the same woman who’d been hiding in the shadows since the night they’d met at Lyndham House two years ago? The same woman he’d touched under the mistletoe yesterday evening?

Last night, when he’d reached the main doorway of the salon and caught Amalie’s wrist in his hand, the electric shock streaking up his arm had stunned him. It had brought back the memory of a similar sensation the first time they’d met. But the current of energy surging through him last night had been more powerful than what he’d experienced when they’d met at Lyndham House.

The visceral awareness he’d experienced last night had been one he’d not been able to shake. Even now, he could feel her soft, silky skin beneath his hand as his fingers had wrapped around her wrist. Amalie had been trembling wildly as if terrified, and certain she’d been poised to flee, Valeran had reached for her waist.

Before he could stop her, she’d twisted violently out of his grasp and fled the salon. She’d been frightened of him, and he hadn’t enjoyed the sensation. He wanted to know why she was afraid of him, and what he’d done to make her dislike him so vehemently. But most of all, he wanted to know why she’d hidden in the shadows from almost the first moment they’d met.

Not until he arrived at Callendar Abbey several days ago had he been able to confirm his suspicions that Amalie’s avoidance of him was deliberate. Every concerted effort he’d made to speak with her had met with failure. Not even staying close to Melham had given him the opportunity to reach her before she fled. Like a mouse escaping a cat, Amalie had eluded him every time. When she didn’t speak, Valeran frowned.

He’d been enjoying their exchange of barbs. Amalie was clever and a quick thinker. The thought of no longer matching wits with her was disappointing. Puzzled by her continued silence, he grimaced. What was running through her mind right now? As silence continued to fill the space between them, the frustration of his youth rose to the surface. It was a foreign emotion he’d not experienced in years, but Amalie had managed to rouse it from the tomb it had been enshrined in years ago.

What color were her eyes? Were they flashing with the same fiery dislike her voice and words had held when she was arguing with him? Curvaceous and well defined against the snow-covered ground, he concentrated on the light and dark shadows of her face. He wanted to run his fingers across her features to create a more definitive image in his head as to what she looked like.

Every time he studied someone’s face, the variations of white and gray hues could tell him the shape of a mouth, nose, and eyes. He could tell when a person smiled, frowned, and on occasion other emotions as well. When he combined those small pieces of information with an individual’s body language and voice inflections, he was capable of knowing a great deal about someone.

Valeran jerked slightly as a stunning revelation slammed into him. Today was the first time he’d ever heard Amalie Rockwood’s true voice. At Lyndham House two years ago, that Scottish lilt of hers had been hidden by a proper, aristocratic tone. All the other times she’d greeted him, she’d spoken in a soft, polite, completely nondescript voice. Instinct told him it had been a calculated move on her part. She had to have known he identified people by voices. But Amalie had never allowed him to hear her unique voice until today.

Silken, honeyed notes laced with fire, and impossible to forget. Every scathing insult rolling off her sharp-edged tongue was softened by that lyrical voice of hers. A fact Valeran doubted she would appreciate him pointing out to her, but it was true. Amalie possessed the voice of a siren. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard in his life.

A wry smile suddenly twisted Valeran’s lips. The last time he’d been at Callendar Abbey, he and Jamie had stumbled upon Amalie here on the summit of the cnoc beag. She’d barely said two words before she darted down the hill. As his cousin had disappeared from view, Jamie had mused aloud as to whether or not Amalie might be infatuated with Valeran.

His friend couldn’t have been any further from the truth of the matter. Jamie’s cousin wasn’t enamored with him. Amalie Rockwood didn’t like him. Correction, loathe was a more accurate term as Valeran reflected on the past several minutes in her company. She’d not spared him one iota at any point during their verbal sparring.

Sharp steel ran beneath her musical brogue. If it had been a sword, she would have splayed him open more than once. What Valeran found truly amazing was how she’d managed to hide the truth from Jamie. That was a feat in and of itself. Valeran knew from experience how perceptive his friend was. It was almost impossible to hide strong emotions from Jamie, but Amalie Rockwood had done precisely that. But why?

The soft crunch of snow being crushed beneath her foot drew Valeran’s muscles tight with anticipation. Her skirts created a whisper of air against the snow-covered ground as she took two steps in his direction, then jerked to a halt. The harsh breath of exasperation she drew in filled the space between them.