Page 71 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

“That’s not what I said,” Valeran countered quietly as he leaned back in his chair, his blind gaze studying her across the space between them.

Amalie suddenly wished she’d not had the leaves removed from the table. Valeran’s hearing was excellent even when the table was extended. At this distance, he would hear even the smallest of inhalations she breathed.

“But,—”

“What I said was, they’ve probably heard the gossip, I did not say it was the reason for why you think they’re judging you.”

“Then what are ye saying?” she snapped as fear snaked through her.

The man was too damn perceptive, especially when she was certain he knew why the women she’d interviewed had made her uncomfortable. A small smile twitched at Valeran’s lips as he arched an eyebrow.

“I might be blind, Lady Sommerville, but my hands are not unfamiliar with your abundantly plump curves.”

Abundant. Plump. Amalie’s stomach began to roil. Dear God, was he laughing at her? Pain constricted her chest until it was almost impossible to breathe, while her heart ached as if someone were squeezing every drop of blood out of it. Humiliation rolled over her with the strength of a wave threatening to drown her in a sea of degradation and pain.

It was as if she were in Rules again, listening to the vicious poison spewing from Lady Chattfield’s lips. Worse was the memory of Valeran jokingly telling the woman that if Amalie was as described, he would have no interest in seducing her at all. Bile rose in her throat, and she fought hard not to retch as her stomach twisted viciously inside her. Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, and she closed her eyes.

She would not cry in front of this bastard. A Rockwood was made of much sterner substance. Words might be painful, but if they were turned to one’s advantage, they could make you stronger than the pain the words inflicted. Fingers trembling as they picked up her spoon, Amalie remained silent and began to eat her soup. When she didn’t speak, a small sound echoed out of Valeran, and she looked up to see him studying her with a frown.

“If you would like, I can send for one of the maids at Durville Hall to come to London for you to train.”

“There’s no need,” she said stiffly. “I’ll schedule some appointments tomorrow.”

“I want you to feel comfortable in your own home, Amalie, not judged by anyone, particularly a servant we pay for services rendered.”

“I’m sure one of the candidates I interview in the future will meet with my approval,” she said icily. At her reply, Valeran’s frown deepened, and he cocked his head to the side in a questioning manner.

“Is something else troubling you?”

“No.”

“You don’t sound very convincing, mouse.”

The moment he used the nickname, Amalie went rigid in her chair. Another wave of humiliation threatened to crash down on her head, but she didn’t shudder as the pain hit. Instead, she lashed back at it until it became a wildfire of fury scorching her skin

“How am I supposed tae sound?” she bit out through clenched teeth, grimacing as her voice slipped out of the smooth elegance of an aristocrat. Valeran immediately put his spoon down a second time as something indefinable flitted across his face.

“Now, I know something is wrong. Out with it, Amalie.”

“Nothing is wrong,” she spat out angrily. “I simply dinnae care for ye supposedly teasing me by calling me a mouse.”

“I can assure you, Amalie—”

Valeran stopped speaking the instant Jenkins entered with the savory on the serving tray. The sight of the servant made Amalie smile tightly. The Earl of Sommerville was about to discover his wife wasn’t a mouse. Angus Stewart’s blood ran through her veins, and her ancestor’s clan motto was courage grows strong at a wound. And by the blood and sword of her Scottish ancestor, she would show her husband what a Rockwood was made of.

In silence, the footman placed their main course in front of them, and when the man left the room, Valeran opened his mouth, clearly intent on pursuing the conversation the footman had interrupted. Amalie promptly forestalled him.

“I thought it time I started meeting with Mrs. Stubbins to begin setting the daily menus,” she said sweetly, determined to hide her anger so Valeran remained oblivious to what was coming. “I had Mrs. Stubbins prepare some dishes I don’t think you’ve ever had before, and I hope you…enjoy them.”

“I’m sure I shall,” he said with a smile.

It was the smile she loved, and she flinched at how it made her heart flutter in her chest. What was it about Valeran that could enrage her to the point she was ready to rend him limb by limb, then a split second later he could make her blood run hot until her body ached for his touch? Uncertainty suddenly rose up to push back at her fury.

What had begun as an effort to make Valeran drop his bland, diplomatic treatment of her had suddenly become a tool to humiliate him. Had the cruelty of others made her so sensitive that she was willing to be cruel as well? Ice sluiced over her skin. She knew how painful humiliation could be, especially when it was undeserved.

And just moments ago, he’d made it clear he wouldn’t allow anyone to judge her based on her appearance. Even his statement as to being acquainted with her plump figure had conveyed a gentleness, despite his amusement. Amalie’s heart sank. The Rockwood trait of recklessness was deeply rooted in her, and she suddenly realized how disastrous tonight’s outcome might be.

In her effort to jolt her husband out of his boring behavior, she’d recklessly failed to consider the consequences of his unfavorable reaction. Her heart sank as an unpleasant sensation swirled in the pit of her stomach. As she watched Valeran cut into the offal with his fork, bile rose in her throat.