Page 2 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

“Perhaps you’re unacquainted with the fact that Amalie has more than her fair share of the Rockwood stubbornness. A trait she inherited from Caleb.”

Her mother’s smile was mischievous, but Amalie didn’t miss the bittersweet note in her voice. Aunt Louisa expelled an unladylike oath beneath her breath, and Lady Patience laughed at her sister’s frustration.

“And, like our brother, who simply dug his heels in even deeper if someone tried to convince him to do something he didn’t want to do, he passed that trait to Amalie, too.”

“And I refuse tae bankrupt father,” Amalie interjected pragmatically, annoyance driving her Scottish accent to override the refined English one she’d been taught to use.

“Nonsense,” Aunt Louisa said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Julian is not miserly, he’s simply better than some when it comes to managing his finances.”

“Something others might remember when it comes to buying new clothes,” Lady Patience teased, subtly reminding her youngest sister of the sizable sums she spent on gowns.

“Ewan has helped me curb my spending in that regard. Besides, we spend most of the year in Scotland. I don’t need as many dresses as I have in the past,” the Countess of Argaty sniffed with indignation, before her aunt pinned her gaze on Amalie again. In response, Amalie arched one eyebrow.

“Well then, if ye dinnae need that many new gowns, why do I? We come tae town even less than ye and Uncle Ewan. Which is precisely why I dinnae need any new dresses. Where would I wear them? And I will nae bring Father tae the edge of financial ruin.”

“That’s preposterous,” Aunt Constance said with the same frustration as her youngest sister. “I’ve heard your father tell your mother numerous time not to come back from Madame DuBois’s without a bill. And will you please remember you’re not in Scotland, darling. However do you expect to find a husband while using that brogue?”

Amalie slowly set her teacup down and narrowed her gaze at her aunt. Lady Lyndham immediately winced beneath Amalie’s glare.

“I will nae discuss my decision never tae marry.”

Amalie’s icy words immediately hushed the room’s conversation. Mouth tight with anger, she glanced around, silently daring anyone to say a word. She turned back to Aunt Louisa and Aunt Constance. In another display of defiance, Amalie deliberately drowned out her proper English accent by strengthening the Scottish brogue she’d acquired from living in the Highlands.

“Aye, Father is generous, but ye dinnae see his face when Mother handed him the last bill from Madame DuBois. We almost lost him to apoplexy.” Amalie bit into another scone, her chin tilting upward rebelliously.

“That’s an exaggeration, and you know it,” her sister exclaimed as she glared at Amalie. “He was simply surprised by the amount. I even offered to cancel several of the gowns, and he adamantly refused. He said he was happy to pay for my new wardrobe.”

Amalie took a drink of tea, while struggling not to point out Greer’s clothing allowance had always been double its size because of Amalie’s disdain for new gowns. Amalie saw Lady Patience’s gentle look of chastisement, and she released an inaudible sigh. Returning her teacup to its saucer, she turned her head toward Greer, who was eying her with more than her usual sisterly annoyance.

“I ken Father happily paid for your new clothes.” Amalie softened her words with a teasing grin. “But I also ken when ye marry, Father will be greatly relieved. Then Madame DuBois’s bills will nae come out of Father’s pocket anymore, but your husband’s.”

Greer’s frown slowly dissolved into a sisterly smile of exasperation as Amalie squeezed her sister’s hand in a silent apology. Seconds later, she’d breathed easier when the conversation turned to plans for Christmas Day. She should have realized then and there, her aunts wouldn’t let the matter drop. Amalie’s abhorrence for shopping made her a challenge, and a Rockwood never refused a challenge. In all likelihood, the minute she left Lyndham House, her mother had begun strategizing with her sisters to ensure Amalie’s surrender.

Last night after dinner, and at Aunt Louisa’s prodding, Greer had mentioned her visit to Madame DuBois’s. Greer had said it would only take a few minutes, but said she didn’t wish to go alone. Like a simpleton, Amalie had walked straight into the trap. No sooner had she offered to accompany her sister and wait for her in the motor car, than Aunt Louisa had pounced.

Gleefully, she and Aunt Constance had pointed out since she’d already be at Madame DuBois’s, Amalie could be fitted for new gowns as well. The final blow was delivered by her mother. Lady Patience had reminded Amalie how she’d been bemoaning the need for a new riding habit for the past two months. Defeated, she’d reluctantly agreed. In minutes, the outing had expanded to include all her aunts, her mother, Greer, and two cousins.

The clock on the wall of Rules chimed again, pulling her out of her musings. Resigned to her impending punishment, Amalie refreshed her cooled beverage as if doing so would delay the clock’s ticking. Absently biting into another biscuit, she wondered how many dresses her mother would insist they buy. A wry smile of defeat twisted her lips. With Aunt Louisa in the shop, Amalie would have enough gowns to last for the next five years of Hogmanay house parties.

“I really don’t know why you insist on going to the Rockwoods house party to celebrate the new year. You should spend the holiday with me.”

Startled to hear someone mention her family, Amalie jerked in surprise. When the waiter had shown her to her table, she’d been vaguely aware someone had been in the booth behind her, but she’d not seen them, and had paid no heed to their conversation.

Now, as the woman raised her voice slightly in obvious annoyance, Amalie rolled her eyes. Would the woman’s plaintive, yet husky voice convince her companion to change his mind? A throaty, deep chuckle floated over the high wall between the two tables.

Seductive and hypnotizing, the powerful sound brushed across her senses with a delicious, tangible sensation of pleasure. God in heaven, if the man looked even half as devastating as his laughter, a woman would find herself prostrate at his feet. Another deep male laugh floated over the wall, and Amalie froze in her seat. Teacup hovering just below her lips, she drew in a sharp breath of pained dismay. Dear God, that was Valeran’s laugh. She’d recognize it anywhere.

“What you’re really saying is you need an escort to the Latimer affair.”

“Of course, I do. But you know it’s more than that, Val. I’ll miss you terribly. Please say you’ll stay in London with me.”

“I’m sorry, Miriam, but I’ve no intention of spending new years in London.”

Amalie’s heart sank, and she closed her eyes against the emotions that always scraped across her senses whenever Valeran was near. Rarely at a loss for words, Amalie had been incapable of coherent conversation the night she’d met Valeran Rutherford, the Earl of Sommerville, at Lyndham House. Greer had said the man was handsome, but he was more than that, he was devastating.

When he’d taken her hand, an electric pulse had sped through her. The sensation had made it difficult to breathe, and Amalie had found herself trembling as the man held her hand. As if he knew she was disturbed, Valeran’s silvery blue eyes had narrowed and studied her with an intensity she found unnerving.

It was as if he had actually been able to see her, which was impossible. Her cousin, Jamie, had said the earl had lost his eyesight at the age of nine from a traumatic blow to the head. The injury had occurred during a robbery when his parents and sister had been murdered.