“My brother arranged a betrothal between us, without my knowledge or my opinion,” Amelia continued. “It was not official, but the Baron was supposed to come to our house the day after the ball tomakeit official. The moment I met that—forgive my language—hideous creature, I knew I could never marry him, just as I knew my brother would force me to.
“I am not usually so reckless or daring. In truth, I have always been the epitome of a wallflower. I believe I have a permanent dent in my shoulders where I have pressed myself against the wall so hard, to avoid being noticed. But, that night, desperation awakened a beast in me. A beast who would stop at nothing to be free of Baron Hervey.”
Lionel stopped turning the glass. “A wallflower? I realize I have not known you for long, but I have never thought of you as shy.”
“As you say, you have not known me for long,” Amelia mumbled, touching the back of her hand to her blazing cheeks.
It might have been the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her, for her shyness was always thefirstthing people noticed, if they noticed her at all.
“So, I was Baron Hervey’s replacement?” he said, taking a sip of his wine.
Amelia watched, transfixed, at the movement of his throat as he swallowed the drink. He really did look so very handsome tonight, and if he had been wearing his spectacles, he might have been the most handsome man she had ever beheld.
What a pity it is all for naught.
Suddenly, she realizedhehad been vague too. He had told her strictly that he did not want any children, but he had not told her why. By the end of the final course, she intended to have theanswer to that, for if he expected her to go through life without ever knowing motherhood, she deserved to know his reasons.
And they had better be good ones…
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Amelia?” Lionel prompted, slowly getting used to the way her name felt in his mouth.
He rarely called anyone by their given name, so it was something of an adjustment. Nor was he certain when he had dropped the ‘Lady,’ though he supposed it did not fit anymore. She was not ‘Lady Amelia,’ she was ‘Lady Westyork.’
“Hmm?” Amelia shook her head slightly, as if dispersing some lingering thought.
“Am I to understand it that I was Baron Hervey’s replacement?”
Her eyes widened a little. “Mercy, no! A replacement for Baron Hervey would be a lopsided sack of potatoes with a nasty smirk drawn on the front.”
It took a great deal of willpower to keep a smile from creeping onto his face at that, for he had agreed to this dinner as a meansof putting distance between them, not bringing them closer. If he laughed, he might give her hope, and he was already veering too close to the line.
Several times, he had heard his voice soften, prompting him to school it back into cold indifference. Or what he hoped sounded like cold indifference, anyway.
We should have no acquaintance beyond toleration. I will not warm to her. I cannot.Indeed, even the topic of conversation was becoming dangerous, opening up avenues of familiarity that should stay closed.
“Apologies,” she said hastily. “As you can tell, when it comes to Baron Hervey, I transform into some other creature with a rude tongue and rash behavior.”
Lionel nodded. “I believe Baron Hervey has that effect on everyone he meets. You are, in truth, being rather polite.”
Stop jesting with her!he scolded himself, concerned that his tongue and his brain were not quite cooperating with each other.
“In truth, I came to your townhouse that night because it was the only thing I could think of. I never considered how it might appear to you.” Her brow creased in consternation. “Goodness, I hope you did not—and do not—think I am some manner of fortune hunter. It truly does not interest me. Your name was in my head, that is all, and I knew where you lived because one of the gossiping mothers revealed it, and… the rest you know.”
Lionel poured more wine for them both from the carafe, though he suspected he should not drink too much more. He needed to keep his wits about him.
“You can rest assured that I do not believe you are a fortune hunter,” he said. “Mrs. Scanlon told me that you looked horrified at the prospect of purchasing new armchairs when there were two perfectly good ones in the rear parlor you could use.”
Her cheeks flushed afresh with that pretty dusting of pink, her eyes shining in the glow of the candles. “I have never liked spending money on myself, or for frivolous purposes. And those armchairs are wonderful. I have spent many glad hours already in their comfort, with my books.”
“Yes, I heard you visit the library often. You must enjoy reading a great deal?” he remarked, cursing himself.
He needed to be quiet, he needed to show no curiosity, he needed to resort to one-word replies; what he did not need to do was find out more about her. Yet, he could not help it, as if compelled by a force beyond his control.
“Oh, it is my happiness, Lionel.” She sighed, her eyes sparkling with that inner light that had nearly made him spill an entire inkwell earlier. “It is my truest joy, and you havesuchan excellent library. I was able to find all the books that my brother took and hid from me, or burned, deeming them inappropriate.”
If I ever cross paths with you again, Martin Thorne, you shall have a lot to answer for. And I shall ask with my fists.Irritationprickled in Lionel’s belly, disgusted that any brother could treat their sister like that. Since meeting Amelia, he had been filling in the details between the short, saddening tales that she revealed, and he did not like the picture that it painted of the life she had lived before this.
