Scandalized by a Scoundrel (2 page)

Young lady? Papa must be more piqued than usual. At five-and-twenty, it had been a while since she had heard that particular moniker. Conjuring her most contrite smile, Amelia said, “My apologies, Papa. Shall I ring for some tea to settle your nerves?”

Exhaling gustily, he nodded. “I suppose so.”

Suppressing a sigh of her own, Amelia strode to the bellpull and summoned the maid. Tea fixed just about anything in their household. She knew from experience that apologies followed by tea were the best antidote to her father’s censure. “What news from London?”

It was the perfect distraction, as she well knew. His brow lifted as his pale fingers caressed the copy of
The Times
sitting in his lap. “Dreadful. So terribly dreadful.” He shook his head sadly, but Amelia could see the gleam in his pale blue eyes. The backward slide of the modern world was his very favorite subject. “The things going on in our capital are enough to make one shiver.”

Settling onto the sofa across from him, she let him go on about the various bills, laws, and crimes dominating the paper. There was no use asking him about the positive stories or the society pages; he never bothered to read them. No matter, though—she always read the paper for herself when he was done. It was amazing how different the world seemed when she looked at it through her own filter.

When the tea came, she went about pouring them each a cup: undoctored for her father, a splash of milk for her. “I thought perhaps I would call on Eleanor and Lady Margaret today. The wedding is coming up, and it’d be fun to talk over all the details.”

Details such as who Amelia’s uninvited guest was this morning. She could hardly wait to speak to Eleanor. With the excitement of the whirlwind betrothal at the house party at her uncle’s estate last month, Amelia had hardly seen her since her return.

“Mmm,” he hedged, taking a sip of his tea. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You’ve already been out half the morning.”

She sighed and took a bite of the lavender scone Cook had sent up with the tea. Chewing slowly, Amelia savored the soothing blend of herb and honey. She’d learned over the years that her father was more likely to be persuaded if she took a few minutes to act as though she was carefully considering his thoughts.

Swallowing, she said, “True, but I think it would be a lovely way to share in our neighbor’s joy. As you know, half of the family won’t be coming.” It was such a wonderful occasion, she hated that anyone would take it for granted. To her, weddings in the case of a love match were the happiest of all occasions. With her unique circumstances, Amelia had long ago accepted that she would never be able to have the husband and family she had dreamed of as a child, so watching those she cared for find such joy was always a reason to celebrate.

She leaned forward, meeting her father’s gaze. “I believe I’ll take the carriage, as I wouldn’t wish to overexert myself. Do you think Falks would mind escorting me?”

Setting down his cup, Papa shook his head. “No, of course not. Very good of you to think of him.”

She smiled serenely and sipped her tea. Requesting Falks was the surest way to set her father’s mind at ease. At over six feet tall, their head groom was an intimidating presence, especially with his crooked nose and scarred cheek. He was also as kind a man as she had ever known, able to instantly calm horses and humans alike with little more than a handful of quiet words. It was a talent for which Amelia was very grateful, especially on those days when Papa was particularly anxious.

Those days seemed less and less frequent, thankfully. Still, she would have to be careful not to do anything to upset him again as she had this morning.

Her thoughts drifted back to the man she’d met on her walk. He was every bit as tall as Falks but with an entirely different presence. Flippant, fearless, insouciant—nothing about him said kindness or patience. He seemed like the sort of man who owned whatever space he was in. Including
her
property, apparently.

She took another bite of her scone, picturing the way his gaze had boldly traveled up and down her body. Clearly not a true gentleman. She swallowed, taking a quick drink to combat her suddenly dry throat. Even though Amelia knew she should leave well enough alone with it came to the man, her curiosity overrode her good sense. Eleanor would surely be able to fill in the blanks where he was concerned. The very moment it was late enough to pay a call on her friend, Amelia planned to do exactly that.

Chapter Two

“Amelia! How wonderful to see you.” Eleanor grinned broadly and motioned for Amelia to come join her in the small conservatory.

“And you,” she replied, pausing to nod her thanks to the butler before stepping down into the miniature paradise. She wended her way through potted plants and around a bubbling fountain to where her friend stood beside a decorative rack full of exotic-looking flowering plants, watering can in hand. “It’s so lovely here,” Amelia said, pausing to draw in a lungful of the earthy, humid air. “I could easily lose myself in a place like this.”

“Better you than me,” Eleanor said ruefully, setting the can down and brushing off her hands. “But it does help to pass the time when all I can do is wish for the wedding to hurry up and get here.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Especially when my betrothed is off gallivanting with someone other than me.”

Amelia laughed at Eleanor’s sarcastic eye roll. “The scurrilous swine—what is he thinking, leaving you behind like that?”

A gust of wind blew in through the open windows, rustling the palm fronds and sending a loose leaves fluttering across the tiled floor. Eleanor brushed a few errant strands of hair from her eyes and chuckled. “I have no idea. I suppose he thinks that just because he has a friend in town, he should spend time with the man. And speaking of Lord Winters,” she said, raising her eyebrows with a mischievous grin, “I’ve heard you’ve met.”

Lord
Winters? Amelia only just managed to keep her jaw from dropping open. The man was a nobleman? But what of his strange accent? And the very ungentlemanly manners? And his lack of alarm at having a weapon pointed at him? She had so many questions; she didn’t even know where to start. Pressing her lips together, she nodded in acknowledgment of Eleanor’s statement. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what
Lord
Winters had said about the encounter. After all, holding a wedding guest at gunpoint wasn’t the most neighborly thing she’d ever done.

Eleanor broke out in a wide smile. “It sounded as though you made quite an impression.”

The unexpected heat of a blush crept up Amelia’s neck. What her friend must think of her. “I’m
so
sorry about— ”

“No, no,” Eleanor said, holding up a hand. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. And really, the man is a bit of a scoundrel. You did well to put him in his place first thing.”

Amelia half-grinned, half-grimaced. He’d hardly been intimidated by her. He had been amused more than anything, drat the man. “I’m not sure I managed to put him in his place. I was the one with the pistol, but he seemed to be the one with the upper hand.”

Eleanor fluttered her hand dismissively. “You know those military men—always acting as though they are in control of everything. I’m sure he was shaking in his boots underneath that bravado of his.”

He was military, too? Amelia pictured him as he’d looked that morning. Immovable. Confident. Cocky, even. Bravado was exactly the right word. It made sense that he would be a military man. “If you say so. He is a friend of Mr. Norton’s from the army, then?”

“He is. He and Nicolas served together for nearly two years.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed. He had such an unusual accent, I didn’t think he was British.” Yes, she was prying, but she was curious. Much more so than was usual for her. After Mama’s death and all that followed, Amelia and her father both tended to steer clear of gossip.

But instead of answering her unspoken question, Eleanor’s gaze slipped past Amelia’s shoulder to the garden beyond the conservatory’s wall of glass. “Speak of the devil! The men are back. Come, let’s go greet them.” She hooked arms with Amelia and grinned. “You and Lord Winters need a proper introduction, after all.”

An unexpected surge of anticipation coursed through her as Eleanor hurried for the door, pulling Amelia along.

Proper? Nothing about the man had seemed proper this morning. Not his stubbled cheeks, not his sarcasm, and certainly not the way he had looked at her. The question was, would he be the same in the company of their friends? As odd as it sounded, she found herself hoping he would be.

She was sick to death of everyone always being so
nice
to her. Yes, they all meant well, with their pitying looks and gentle tones, but for once in her life, she wanted to talk to someone who didn’t know about her parents. Someone who wouldn’t tilt their head in that sad way, and whisper about “dear Sir Elroy and his poor daughter” as she walked by.

For once, she wanted to be around someone who was completely irreverent. Eleanor was great in the sense that she never treated Amelia with kid gloves, but she was a friend, and obviously there was kindness between them. Lord Winters was something else all together. He clearly had no reservations when it came to doling out sarcasm or challenging her.

She liked that. She didn’t want that to change.

When Eleanor paused to open the door, Amelia put a staying hand to her arm. “Wait. Does Lord Winters know… That is, did you by chance tell him about—”

“No, of course not,” Eleanor said quickly, shaking her head. “All he knows is that you are a neighbor. Well, that and that you aren’t afraid to defend yourself.” She gave her a playful nudge, and Amelia smiled in return.

Thank goodness.
“All right. Thank you. It’s not that I’d think you’d gossip, but…” she trialed off with a helpless shrug. “Let’s just say people tend to think it’s a detail others should know before meeting me.”

Eleanor’s smile dimmed just a bit, and she slid her hand down to grasp Amelia’s. “All anyone needs to know about you is that you are a kind, patient, beautiful woman with impressive aim.”

Laughing out loud, Amelia nodded. “Yes, I think that last part is probably prudent.” She tipped her chin toward the French door, through which she could see the men walking on the garden path toward the house. “Shall we?”

As they stepped outside into the sunshine, Amelia savored the silvery flash of anticipation that slipped through her belly. He might be impertinent, he might be vexing, and possibly even rude, but there was no denying that Amelia was rather looking forward to this
proper
introduction.

***

He hadn’t expected to see her so soon.

But as he walked back from the stables with Norton, mud-stained and happy after an exhilarating ride, there she was. His own personal Venus, close at Miss Abbington’s side as they walked out to greet them.

An unexpected jolt of pleasure went through him as Miss Watson’s eyes darted up and met his. The contact lasted little more than a second before she directed her gaze to Norton. Gabriel took the opportunity to study her as the two greeted each other.

Even from ten feet away her eyes were startlingly blue against her rosy cheeks. She was tall for a woman, standing a good half-foot taller than her friend, and in this light, he could see that her thick, dark hair actually held hints of red. She could never fade into a crowd—not with such strong features. He liked that. He could never blend into a crowd either. In fact, he’d been told that his height and physique could be intimidating at first.

He pursed his lips. Perhaps he shouldn’t judge her reaction this morning too harshly. He may be dressed as the gentleman he was, but it still must have been startling to happen upon someone like him on a deserted path. As a soldier, he had to appreciate the level of confidence she had exuded with that pistol of hers. It had never once waivered.

And regardless of what he thought of her or how she had treated him, she was a friend of his hosts and therefore must be treated with respect. Who knows, maybe she would turn out to be as pleasant as Miss Abbington.

Doubtful, but possible.

“I do hope you are enjoying this beautiful day,” she said to Norton, her expression much more relaxed and welcoming than it had been for Gabriel.

Norton nodded. “Indeed we are. Nothing like a brisk ride through the English countryside to make the most of a fine afternoon.”

Deciding it was best to just be his normal self and push past any awkwardness, Gabriel scoffed. “Brisk? Take another look at your dictionary, my friend. That ride could only be described as breakneck.” He shook his head, chuckling lightly. “I can only assume you were in a hurry to return to the house. Imagine that,” he said with a sly smile toward his friend, followed by a wink at Miss Abbington.

“No arguments there,” Norton replied, sliding his arm around her waist. “And now I am doubly glad for it since our neighbor has come to call. Miss Watson, please allow me to introduce my friend, Lord Gabriel Winters.”

Gabriel waited until her sapphire gaze met his before offering a challenging smile. “Oh, we’ve met,” he said, his voice reflecting dark amusement as he dipped his head in an abbreviated bow.

“Actually, we haven’t,” she replied, quirking her brow with a touch of wry humor. “If we had been introduced properly, I doubt the morning would have progressed as it had.”

His jaw tightened at her words. Of course it wouldn’t have. With a proper introduction, she would have known of his station. In his experience, nothing turned an Englishwoman from sour to sweet quite like the words
my lord
. It had happened again and again since he’d inherited the title, and each time he became that much more cynical.

Whatever inclination he’d had to make a fresh start with her began to seep away. In its place, he reverted to the detached, devil-may-care attitude people expected of a young lord. “I’m perfectly content with how the morning progressed. If, however, you’d feel better if you apologized, I certainly won’t stop you.”

Her dark brows shot up like a pair of gulls taking flight. “Apologize? Whatever for? You were trespassing on our land. I believe my response was appropriate, given the situation.” Ah, there was the glimpse of the woman he had met.

Norton cleared his throat, reminding them they had an audience. Biting back a smile, he addressed Miss Watson. “Knowing Winters, I’m certain you’re in the right on this one. Although, now that you’ve been introduced, let’s hope weapons are no longer necessary.”

“We’ll see about that,” she murmured.

Gabriel stifled a snort. Whatever else he could say about her, she certainly had spirit. Was it possible that she wasn’t as much of a lemming as he’d feared? He tilted his head to the side and smiled as his good humor resurfaced. “Come now, Miss Watson. Let us call a truce through the wedding, at the very least. I am to stand up with Norton, and I’d hate to be derelict on my duties.”

“And after the wedding?” she asked, one delicate brow lifting in challenge.

He laughed and spread his arms. “After the wedding, you are free to take up arms against me at will.” Yes, he was playing along with her, but damned if she didn’t strike him as interesting. He liked it when she was a bit prickly. At least then, she didn’t seem as though she were pandering to his bloody title.

Miss Abbington smiled and shook her head. “Careful, Lord Winters. I do feel it prudent to warn you that Amelia is quite a good shot.”

Was she? He flicked his gaze in her direction. He’d assumed it had been for show. Not that he doubted she’d pull the trigger if threatened, but she didn’t exactly look like an accomplished marksman. Perhaps it was the frilly dress and bonnet that had thrown him off. “Indeed?”

“Oh yes! She doesn’t advertise the fact, but I have seen her practice before, and I daresay you wouldn’t wish to be at the wrong end of her pistol.”

Miss Watson’s cheeks flushed with the compliment. “Thank you, Eleanor. You are much too kind.”

Gabriel almost laughed. He could like a woman who preferred praise for her marksmanship over praise for, say, her looks or sewing skills. “Truly, the two of you are ruining all my preconceived notions of well-born British females.” Notions he had come by the hard way.

When Miss Watson’s brows lowered, he held up his hand. “That was a compliment, I assure you. With all the marriageable misses suddenly being thrust before me, I admit I had formed a rather unflattering opinion of your countrywomen.”

What an understatement. Since inheriting the title four months ago, he had gone from invisible nobody to England’s most eligible bachelor, just like that. During his first official season in the House of Lords, he couldn’t walk out of his door without nearly tripping on some debutante or another being conveniently placed in his way.

As if he had any intention of taking an English wife. He knew exactly why everyone—particularly his father’s family—was clamoring for him to find a woman of proper rank and lineage, and he’d be damned if he’d give them what they wanted.

Oblivious to his turn of thought, Miss Watson pursed her lips. “That was quite possibly the oddest compliment I have ever received. But I wonder, my lord, are not Englishwomen your countrywomen, as well?”

Norton snorted, shaking his head. “Oh, Miss Watson, you know not what you ask. Why don’t the two of you take a turn about the garden so you can hear the whole, convoluted story.”

Her blue eyes flicked to Gabriel, interest sparkling in their depths. “I must admit, I’m properly intrigued.”

“Excellent,” Norton said, grinning broadly as he patted Miss Abbington’s arm. “Shall we sit in the gazebo, Ellie?”

Gabriel nearly rolled his eyes. Obviously the man was just looking for an excuse to be alone with his bride. A tactic the lady in question seemed more than willing to endorse. “That sounds lovely. Do behave, Lord Winters. I can assure you my aunt is watching our every move from her sitting room.”