Authors: Amanda Weaver
“How very mercenary of you, Amelia.”
“Everyone here is mercenary, Natty. It’s how this whole business works.”
He was silent again. “Yes, I suppose it is more marketplace than social gathering. Aren’t they all?”
“You sound rather world-weary. How did you become so familiar with ballrooms?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you implying I don’t belong?”
“Oh, no. You look as if you were to the manor born, with your fine suit and manners. How did it happen? This is a long way from the docks at Portsmouth.”
He shrugged and glanced away. “I was fortunate enough to meet Captain Sullivan.”
“Who is that?”
“A captain I worked under early on. He was an oddity in that he owned his own ship. Two, in fact. A self-made man in every way.”
“He sounds very enterprising. How did he lead you here?”
“I was very enterprising, too, and Captain Sullivan appreciated that about me. He took me under his wing, and taught me everything he knew about ships. When the time came, he sponsored me to take the exams for second mate, then first mate, then shipmaster. Under his guidance, I rose through the ranks quickly and was soon captain of his second ship.”
“It’s quite a step from captain to where you are now.”
Another enigmatic shrug. “Captain Sullivan never married and had no children. When I was nineteen, he fell ill. Terminally, as it turned out. He chose to make me his heir. He trusted I’d make something of what he’d worked so hard to amass.”
“And have you?”
He gave her a smug grin. “Captain Sullivan willed me two ships when I was nineteen. Now I own fifteen. I’d say so.”
“Oh.”
“What? No chippy comeback?”
“Give me a minute. Something will come to me.”
“No doubt.”
“But what about the rest?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, that explains the money, but it doesn’t explain
you
.” She waved a hand at him, encompassing his fine clothes and aristocratic bearing.
“You can buy anything, if you have a mind to.”
“How does one
buy
manners?”
“A few years ago, I met the youngest son of a marquess. He had, ah...a bit of a problem with opium, and had been cast off by the family. He was looking for passage to Bombay and didn’t have a penny to his name. We arranged a trade. I took him where he wanted to go and he taught me how to carry myself like a gentleman. It worked out well for both of us.”
“That’s rather how I did it, except my father paid Lady Grantham a load of money to turn me into a lady. Sad waste, if you ask me.”
Nate smiled down at her, a smile that made something in her chest give a sudden lurch. “You outshine any young lady here, Amelia.”
She snorted in laughter, mostly to cover up her discomfort. “Go on, now. Save your flattery for the proper young misses. You know me too well.”
“Perhaps. Doesn’t make it less true.”
“Your marquess’s son taught you how to wield a compliment well.”
He chuckled, the sound running across her nerves like the purr of a cat. All the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up. “Perhaps I’m naturally charming.”
“Hmm, somehow that doesn’t sit with my memories of you.”
“I grew into it.”
“You grew into a great many things, I think.”
“You would no doubt be amazed.”
“Don’t be fresh.” She reached out to pinch his arm, forgetting she’d meant to be cross with him. How was it she hadn’t seen Natty in ten years and he was still somehow the easiest person in the room to talk to?
“Amelia!” her father barked from behind her. She turned face to him and the gentleman he’d brought with him. “Papa, there you are. I lost track of you.” On purpose, but that didn’t signify.
He motioned to the newcomer. “Amelia, this is Mr. Cheadle. He wished to be introduced to you.”
Wonderful. Yet another man come to sniff around her fortune. She’d heard of him before, from Victoria and Grace, when he’d made a futile attempt to woo Victoria—or her money—the year before. With his excessively pomaded hair and sparse, waxed moustache, he was every bit as unappealing as they’d said. It didn’t matter if his father was a viscount. Close-set eyes flanked a thin, prominent nose over his pinched lips and weak chin. He was smiling at her, but with his large, horsey teeth, it looked like more of a grimace. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Cheadle.”
Mr. Cheadle grasped her fingers and bent to brush his lips over her knuckles. Never was she so grateful for her gloves, keeping those thin, damp lips from her bare skin. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Wheeler. Might I join you to watch Madame Fortunato’s performance this evening?”
The last thing she wanted to do was to sit next to this man and discuss opera all night, but her father was shooting her a look promising swift retribution if she was anything less than welcoming. She plastered on a smile and inclined her head. “Of course. That would be delightful. May I introduce you to my friend? Mr. Smythe, this is Mr. Cheadle. Mr. Cheadle, Mr. Smythe.”
Both men inclined their heads at each other, making no move to shake hands. Mr. Cheadle’s eyes skated down Natty appraisingly, and he seemed to be barely restraining a sneer. Natty only smiled lazily at him. He seemed to receive as many unspoken slights as she did.
“Miss Wheeler,” Cheadle said. “I believe the music is starting soon. Shall we find our seats?”
Cheadle smiled at her, slowly and too familiar for a man she’d just met. When he extended his arm to her, she had no choice but to accept it. Her father ushered them forward with a wide smile, as if he was already imagining them walking down the aisle together. No matter what her father might be plotting in his imagination, she fully intended to use one of her vetoes to eliminate Cheadle, if his suit became serious.
Over Cheadle’s shoulder, her eyes sought Natty one more time. He was there, smiling that same secret-keeping smile. Again, it caused a minor revolt in her chest. Then he raised two fingers to his forehead in a mocking salute before he turned away, leaving her to the dismal company of Mr. Cheadle for the rest of the night.
Chapter Four
Amelia crossed the room, flanked by her father and that pretentious ass, Cheadle. It was probably best she was removed from Nate’s company, since he’d been enjoying hers far too much. When he’d entered the room and spotted her eyeing Lord Radwill with such naked speculation, he’d found himself at her side and teasing her before he’d even made up his mind to do it. Even more troubling, he knew for a fact Lady Julia Harrow was attending tonight and it hadn’t even crossed his mind to seek her out once he’d seen Amelia. A terrible lapse on his part, one he wouldn’t allow again.
Weaving through the crowd, his height made it easy for him to spot Lady Julia. Happily, she was already talking to Mrs. Lamott, a widow he’d met a few times previously. Mrs. Lamott was no longer young, but she was still reasonably attractive and had made no secret that she’d welcome Nate’s less
polite
attentions. He was glad he’d never taken her up on the offer because it would have been damned awkward to have her introduce him to Lady Julia if he had.
“Oh, Mr. Smythe!” she said, lighting up as he approached her. “How delightful to see you again. And looking so...healthy.” Her eyes drank him in from his head to his feet.
“The delight is all mine,” he replied, choosing to ignore the rest. “And may I ask who your lovely companion is?”
Mrs. Lamott’s eyes flickered to Julia and even though they’d been pleasantly conversing only a moment ago, now the widow eyed the younger woman with contempt. “Ah, yes. May I introduce Lady Julia Harrow, daughter of the Earl of Hyde?”
He’d done his research and knew Julia Harrow to be twenty-four, rather old to still be unmarried, especially as the daughter of an earl. He was a bit surprised to find her attractive, albeit in an unconventional way. Her jaw was perhaps a bit strong, but it balanced her high cheekbones. Her most remarkable feature, however, was her eyes, dark blue and slightly slanted, half shadowed under her curling, blond fringe. Her expression hinted at intelligence, and the sparkle in her eyes at suppressed wit.
“It’s a delight to meet you, Lady Julia.” Giving her his best smile and bowing, he took her offered hand in his, caressing her fingertips very subtly with his, brushing his lips over her knuckles. He held on to her hand for a beat too long and looked back up at her face, smiling again, as if they shared some intimacy. This move had worked on many women in the past, and indeed, Julia’s eyes widened. The corner of her mouth twitched, but before it could all resolve into an expression he could read, it vanished again behind her mask of cool composure, leaving him uncertain as to how he’d been received.
Perhaps she was a cerebral sort of girl, more impressed by conversation than the promise of physical intimacies.
“I’ve been so eager to meet you, Mr. Smythe. I understand you are a ship owner like my father.” Her manner was forthright, no flirtatious simpering. But she’d known who he was in advance of this meeting, which was promising.
“My commercial endeavors pale in comparison to your father’s, but yes, I am in shipping.”
She smiled slightly. Those intelligent eyes examined him. “How delightful.”
For the life of him, he couldn’t read her response, and generally he had no problem determining the wishes of the fairer sex. Despite her admission of wishing to meet him, he didn’t sense any sort of feminine interest. There wasn’t a hint of flirtation about her. Perhaps this was why she remained unmarried, a social awkwardness that made other men ill at ease. So, she was terrible at flirting. She wasn’t unpleasant or offensive. Nate wasn’t so easily dissuaded.
Mrs. Lamott cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said icily. “I see Lady Bartleby coming in and I should say hello.”
“Not at all, Mrs. Lamott. I’ll see to Lady Julia.” He gave Julia a conspiratorial wink. Quite bold, considering they were strangers. She smiled blandly back at him and said her goodbyes to Mrs. Lamott.
“Well, Lady Julia...” Now that he’d achieved his goal of getting her alone, he was at a loss. All his usual flirtations felt as if they might bounce off her like a wall. “Are you looking forward to tonight’s performance?”
“Oh yes, I am fond of music,” she replied.
“Yes...me, too,” Nate said lamely. Julia smiled on, serene and impenetrable.
He glanced over her shoulder, scrambling for a new topic. Amelia was already seated between her father and Mr. Cheadle, who were having a conversation across her. Her eyes wandered about the room in abject boredom. Oh, that was a look he remembered well. It was the one always preceding some shocking behavior or dangerous stunt. Did this adult Amelia still respond to boredom by getting herself into trouble?
Her gaze fell on him and, for a moment, a hot wave of awareness surged through his body. Seeing Amelia all grown-up was still startling. How he reacted to the woman she’d become was even more so. Who would have guessed the scrawny girl with tangled curls, muddy hems and skinned knees would grow into the woman across the room? The jet-black curls and flashing dark eyes were still the same, but they’d all come together in a way he’d have never predicted.
Just as he was getting lost examining the pale curves of her shoulders and the graceful arch of her neck, her eyes snapped to Julia and narrowed. She looked back at him, rolling her eyes before turning away. The little baggage. She was the same Amelia after all.
He turned back to Lady Julia. No distractions, not when he’d finally launched the campaign he’d been planning for months. The prize was before him; he needed only to figure out how to win it. “Lady Julia, may I escort you to your seat?”
She gave him another unreadable smile and took his offered arm. “That would be delightful. I think we have a great deal to talk about, Mr. Smythe.”
Nate couldn’t imagine what she meant, but he wasn’t about to disagree with her. No matter what Julia Harrow wanted to discuss, he’d do it happily.
Really? An earl’s daughter and
Natty
?
Amelia watched Natty escorting Lady Julia Harrow to her seat, stewing on an emotion that stung in an unfamiliar way.
She’d known him first. She’d known him longer and probably better than anyone on earth. But all he’d done was tease her like some bratty younger sister. For Lady Julia, a
stranger
, he behaved like a perfect gentleman. No,
worse
than a perfect gentleman. A perfect gentleman with a marked interest in a young lady.
Madame Fortunato took her place and began to sing, and it was all Amelia could do to stay put in her seat. Especially not with the spectacle of Natty and Lady Julia constantly drawing her attention across the room. He had an arm draped casually across the back of her chair and would lean in now and then to whisper something to her, his hand almost touching her bare shoulder. His hands were so large. Would those fingertips feel smooth or rough? What did his voice sound like now when he whispered?
She was furious with him for being such a shameless flirt, and furious with herself for wishing she was the one he was flirting with.
Even worse than Madame Fortunato, and the spectacle of Natty and Lady Julia, was Mr. Cheadle. He was every bit as odious as Victoria and Grace had claimed, attempting to engage her in conversation every time there was even a momentary break in the music. Considering they’d just met and she’d said scarcely six words to him, his attentions were woefully transparent. He must be penniless.
When Madame Fortunato took a break, Amelia did, too, scrambling out of her seat and practically falling across the laps of the other guests as she made her way out of her row. Genevieve would kill her for such deplorable manners, but she didn’t care.
No one had made their way out to the terrace yet, since everyone was trying to impress either Madame Fortunato or each other with their pithy observations about the performance. It was cool and quiet after the stuffy ballroom behind her. As long as Cheadle didn’t find her out here, she’d be safe. Plucking a late-blooming rose from one of the bushes edging the terrace, she pulled it apart, tossing its withering petals into the darkness beyond.
What on earth was Natty doing with Lady Julia? And why did she get this courtly version of him dancing attendance on her? Of course, Lady Julia was lovely, the ideal well-bred young lady and the daughter of an earl.
She
had sat through the concert with her hands folded in her lap and her attention fixed on the soprano. Julia Harrow didn’t fidget or count the minutes until she was free. Apparently the adult Natty appreciated well-behaved young ladies.
It was none of her business. He had nothing to do with her world and what he did with himself—and with whom—was none of her concern. So what if one glimpse of him tonight had made her stomach erupt in butterflies and her face flush? It was of no account.
Despite knowing the sort of marriage she was destined for, she’d resisted making a choice for so long because she’d hoped in time she might encounter a suitable man who sparked some kind of fire in her. But not once, in all her forays into Society, had she met a man who raised more than mild curiosity. She’d read about flaming passions and heated kisses in the lurid, forbidden novels she had traded with Vic and Grace, but her blood had never been stirred by a flesh-and-blood male. She’d begun to think those passions were the invention of novelists and no man could ever make her feel that way. And now one had, and he was hopelessly out of her reach. It was
wretched
, wanting something she couldn’t have.
“What’s the verdict? Does Cheadle love you madly or not?”
She didn’t trust herself to look at Natty, knowing her insides would plunge in an unwelcome, delicious way. When he came near her, it was as if her whole body stretched luxuriously and unfurled. Terribly unhelpful, when she was determined to send him packing and behave.
“I’m sure the answer will always be ‘not,’ regardless of the state of the petals and irrespective of whatever he might proclaim. Isn’t Lady Julia waiting for her glass of punch or something?”
“Pardon?”
“The lovely Lady Julia Harrow. I saw you sitting with her. Surely she’s missed you by now.”
“Somehow I doubt it,” he muttered. “And what of Cheadle? Surely he’s climbing the walls pining after you.”
She sighed and turned to face him, tossing the last of the ruined flower to the ground and brushing her gloved fingers together. “You know he’s not, Natty. Men don’t pine after me, only my money. The only reason anyone at these things speaks to me is because of my fortune.”
“I’m speaking to you and I have my own fortune, thank you very much.”
“You only speak to me to tease me.”
“You used to like it when I teased you.”
“I’m not a child anymore.”
“Obviously.”
The word hung between them for a moment, rife with meaning. He might have only meant she was all grown-up and out in Society, except his eyes made a lightning—fast perusal of her body as he said it, so fast, he was likely unaware he’d done it. In a rush, it broke over her that Natty was aware of her in the same way she was aware of him. Not as an old playmate from his childhood. As a woman. He was as affected as she was, even if he was spending his evening paying court to Julia Harrow.
His eyes made their way back to hers and they both held the gaze. This newly discovered knowledge sizzled through her body. Her skin flushed and her breaths grew shallow. Natty’s eyes stared into hers. His lips parted slightly, as if he, too, was baffled by this sudden shift in the air. The atmosphere around them felt charged, the way it did when thunder began rattling the windows and lightning lit the night sky, but still the rain refused to fall. At any minute the clouds could collide and deluge the world, but until then, all the energy of the universe danced on the breeze.
She wanted to tease and flirt with him to see how far things would progress. She wanted to see the skies open up. She wanted to be drenched by the rain.
But blasted Genevieve’s counsel began whispering in her ear, reminding her of what she
should
do, how she
should
behave. She truly despised doing what she ought and not what she wanted, but even she had to admit, standing out here alone on a dark terrace with Natty would lead nowhere she should go. There were titled, eligible men inside waiting to pay court to her fat fortune. Natty was all wrong, out of reach, in another world. Which made him doubly appealing, thanks to her contrary nature.
“I should go back in,” she murmured, gathering the train of her dress and turning away.
“What, not up for teasing anymore? That’s hardly the Amelia I remember.”
“That Amelia was a little girl. The grown-up me has a bit more control, Natty.” A barefaced lie, but he didn’t have to know it.
“Would you please leave off calling me ‘Natty?’ No one’s done that since I was a boy. It’s Nate now. Although we can’t be on such familiar terms with each other.”
Now she couldn’t even use his old nickname? It seemed as if everything they’d once had was gone. Turning on him, she poked a finger into his chest—his exceedingly broad chest, which felt terribly solid under his starched shirtfront. “Very well,
Mr.
Smythe
, we’ll be as formal as you like.”
“You don’t have to be as formal as
that
.”
“Don’t I? You were
painfully
formal when we met at the Miltons’ ball. You were so crisp I nearly cut my finger on you. That is, before you walked away from me like I was any stranger on the street.”
“Is this why you’re so snippy with me? You’re angry because I behaved appropriately in a public place?”
She couldn’t resist rolling her eyes. “Just what I need. Another gentleman behaving appropriately. My life is overrun with appropriate gentlemen.” And now, when she finally felt something wild and hot for a gloriously inappropriate one, he insisted on
manners
. It made her feel positively reckless.
“Ah, yes, you’re quite the proper little lady now, aren’t you?”
Amelia bristled, her hands curling in so tightly she could feel her fingernails cutting through the fine thin leather of her opera gloves. Well, there went another pair.