Page 4 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

“I’m happy to be of service in that regard.” This time, a definite ring of acerbic irony pulsed through Valeran’s reply. It was clearly lost on Miriam, but his acrimony for the woman left Amalie completely baffled. If the man disliked the woman, why was he involved with her?

“Then why won’t you prove how much you cherish me by staying in London instead of going into the wilds of Scotland?”

“Because I gave my word to Jamie, and I never go back on my word.”

The emphatic, almost irritable note in his voice made Amalie’s eyes widen, and her eyebrows shot upward. Valeran was annoyed with the woman. She didn’t even have to see his expression or his mouth thinning to know just how aggravated he was. On several occasions, she’d witnessed Valeran’s reaction to anything he found annoying or frustrating. Would Miriam blithely go on with her pleading? Maybe even convince Valeran to stay in London for new years? Hope blossomed inside her before her shoulders sagged. It was a hopeless wish.

“Please don’t be cross with me, Val, but I truly will be forlorn without you.”

“I’ll only be gone a few days, Miriam.” Amusement filled his voice, his annoyance apparently gone. No, a voice in the back of her head murmured. It was still there, it simply simmered just beneath the surface. Amalie tried to reject the thought, but the voice in her head continued to try and persuade her otherwise.

“And what about Westbury’s mousey cousin? Do you intend to seek her out?”

Amalie quietly set her teacup down on its saucer. Miriam’s venomous remark tightened her muscles with outrage. Her sister Greer, as well as their cousins, were not only lovely to look at, their sweet, generous, and spirited natures enhanced their beauty. Hands closing into tight fists, Amalie gritted her teeth. Anyone who thought to denigrate her family would find themselves being dragged straight to hell, where she would personally oversee their torture. Lady Chattfield was vying to be first in line.

“Jamie has more than half a dozen female cousins, and several gentlemen have remarked how lovely all of them are.”

A strong note of anger reverberated in Valeran’s voice. For an instant, Amalie wanted to hug the man for defending the women in her family. She drew in a quick breath. If she’d actually been close to the man, her impulsive Rockwood nature might have actually made her do just that. Fear sent her heart plummeting down to her stomach then upward to beat rapidly in her chest. Such an action would be extremely dangerous.

“Oh, I’m sure one or two will do well for themselves with the dowries they’ll have.”

“Not every marriage is about money, Miriam.” Valeran’s steely rebuke startled Amalie. Even though she’d stayed as far away as possible from him, she’d learned a great deal about the man from her hours of studying him from the shadows. It was rare to see him angry. The few times she had, he’d been outraged about an injustice he’d seen or unable to stop. But there was no doubt in her mind as to his reaction now. Valeran was seething with fury.

Confused, she frowned. With each passing second, she was growing more and more convinced Valeran didn’t like Lady Chattfield. The inflections in his voice made it obvious to her the man was struggling to hide his intense dislike of the woman. It didn’t make sense. Why didn’t he just walk away from the woman if he found Lady Chattfield so repugnant? As for Miriam, either the woman was an imbecile for missing Valeran’s reprimand, or she simply ignored it. Amalie settled for imbecile as the woman uttered a noise of disdain.

“Perhaps not, but not even a modest dowry would help this woman. She’s quite homely, and her face has a pinched look to it. Not to mention her razor-sharp tongue.”

“You must be thinking of someone else, Miriam. The woman you’re describing sounds like a harridan. I’ve met all of Jamie’s cousins. None of them matches your description.”

“No, she’s definitely a Rockwood. Really, Val, do try and help me think. I’m talking about one of the older cousins. I think she might live in Scotland?”

“Are you referring to Greer Rockwood?”

“No, no, not her. I’m talking about the plump, frumpy-looking one, her sister, perhaps?”

“Amalie Rockwood?” Valeran said her name with a quiet, almost menacing ferocity.

A steely warning was layered beneath the soft question in his voice, but Amalie barely registered his icy words in her conscious mind. Instead, Lady Chattfield’s description of her was what rang out loudly in her head. The woman’s cruel remarks were no different than ones she’d heard in the past. Amalie was accustomed to snickers, vile whispers, and heartless gossip. But this felt different.

“Yes, Amalie Rockwood, that’s the one,” Miriam exclaimed with satisfaction. “She’s plumper than a mouse.”

Humiliation flooded Amalie’s cheeks with heat. Unable to move, she stared down at her teacup. When she’d entered Rules earlier, she’d only intended to gird herself for the battle she faced in Madame DuBois’s shop. That hellish, humiliating experience would be nothing compared to this.

While callous words still hurt and embarrassed her, they were no longer debilitating—until now. Miriam’s words had dealt her a blow unlike every hateful insult she’d heard combined. If the woman had used claws to slice her chest open and rip out her heart, it could not hurt more.

Never had anyone’s words made her feel physically ill. Today was the exception. The violent way her stomach churned made her afraid she might actually be sick at her table. A barely audible sob of anguish whispered out of her.

Confused, she closed her eyes, willing her stomach to stop churning. Why was she so upset? The woman’s description of her was no different from others she’d overheard. Why did Lady Chattfield’s words cause her so much anguish? The answer flitting through her head simply intensified her nausea.

Unable to move, Amalie’s fingers twisted and tugged at the napkin in her lap. In the back of her head, she heard shouts for her to leave. Razor-edged warnings telling her she would sink lower into a pit of agony a masochist would find pleasurable. Yet every command her brain issued to flee, her body refused to obey. It was as if she’d been knocked to the floor, too stunned to get up.

Tears threatened to cascade down her cheeks, and Amalie blinked rapidly, unwilling to let them fall. Lady Chattfield's opinion meant nothing to her. But Valeran’s did, a voice in her head whispered. She quickly denied it. No, Valeran's opinion of her meant nothing. The lie threatened to be Amalie’s undoing as she sat frozen, Lady Chattfield’s hateful words slicing into her one after another like sickening blows of a claymore hacking her to pieces.

Chapter 2

She truly is a fat little mouse, Valeran. She’s also exceedingly boring,” Miriam said with condescension and unrestrained contemptuous amusement.

“You find any woman boring, Miriam.” Valeran struggled to make his reply sound as if he were amused and teasing her, when what he really felt was disgust.