The Matchmaker's Match (17 page)

Before she could react, he flipped his palm neatly and caught her hand. His thumb stroked the tender spot between her thumb and forefinger. Her eyes widened. She jerked her hand, but he held more tightly.

“My lord,” she whispered with a false smile, “kindly let go.”

“Not until you find me a wife.”

“No.” She yanked her hand again.

It was a shame, really. He kept her hand within his, gently but firmly, admiring how neatly she fit. How the warmth of her fingers melted into his. Maybe he’d been approaching things from the wrong angle.

“Why exactly don’t you wish to marry?” he asked.

Her brows ratcheted upward, and her mouth rounded. Then, as though catching herself, she smoothed her features, and he had the sense she was hiding behind spectacles and primness.

“I beg your pardon?”

Oh, yes. Definitely hiding. That tone amused him, and his mouth quirked. “I am certain you heard what I said. My lady,” he added just to irritate her.

It worked. Her lips puckered, and she jerked her hand again. This time he let go.

“I have my reasons, and they mostly have to do with control.” She scoured the room. “You shouldn’t have done this. Someone might take note and talk.”

“Since you don’t intend to marry, I fail to see the issue,” he answered in a lazy voice, knowing it would infuriate her.

He was right. She turned toward him, mouth firm. “My reputation matters.”

“Your behavior suggests otherwise.”

“I don’t want to be banned from polite society merely based on a...a joke of yours,” she answered sharply.

“But what if it wasn’t a joke?” he said softly. He leaned forward, finding himself unable to resist the sweet scent of the rosewater she used or the tender flush to her skin. “What if I enjoy holding your hand and wish to do so again?”

The pink tint to her cheeks deepened to rouge. “That is a bold thing to say.”

“Do you object?”

She wet her lips, stymied by his flirtation. He swallowed, feeling suddenly unsure if he was doing the right thing. He didn’t wish to trifle with her affections, only to see where this feeling might lead.

“My lord,” she finally said, “I believe you should focus on the goal at hand. Namely, finding yourself a wife. For myself, I am working on making my brother happy, thereby making his wife happy.”

“But you’ve reneged,” he pointed out.

“I am deeply sorry, but I don’t see how I can fulfill my part of the bargain.”

“Amelia...” At her startled look, Spencer cringed. “That is, Lady Amelia, it is hard for me to believe you have single-handedly caused her ladyship to miscarry.” She started to protest his words, and he held up a finger. “No, hear me out. There are causes for that, and an independent sister is not one of those.”

“But stress is. And I’ve stressed her deeply.”

He shook his head. “Nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense.” She took a deep breath. “Eversham was quite clear with me about my part in the matter. Some of my letters to Parliament were aggressive in nature. In particular, toward a certain person.” Her eyes flickered. With pain? “I publicly castigated Lady Eversham’s father, and shortly after, she suffered her first...malady. A few months ago she discovered somehow that I had found a friend of hers a husband. When she realized I’d been paid to do so, she lost the next child. And now... Well, I moved in and sent invitations for a party designed to find you a wife, and you see what happened.” Her fingers were clasped, her knuckles white.

“This isn’t logical.” He wanted to get up and hit something. “You are not the only hardship in her life, and it’s silly to say you’re causing this to happen.”

Her dark eyes met his, serious behind the lenses of her glasses. “You’re right. It is illogical and silly and for anyone else, I would laugh it away. But this is my family. I cannot ignore my part in their pain.”

Mindful of curious eyes, Spencer refrained from throwing his hands in the air. “Surely you can’t believe in your heart that this is your fault.”

“I don’t know what to believe,” she whispered. “Only that I have caused Ev pain, and that is something I deeply regret. You don’t understand...”

“Explain it to me, then.” His voice came out clipped. He prayed for patience.

“Ev is my only family. My mother and father died when I was twelve. A carriage accident.” Her gaze left his, staring into the distance, unfocused and far away. “With the help of a guardian, Eversham took over the estate and all the duties of an earl. He should have been in the schoolroom. As he grew older, he should have been traveling, learning. Finding his place in the world. Instead, he spent his growing years recouping our family’s dwindling fortunes. He launched me into a spectacular Season, during which I failed to secure a husband. I cannot fail him again or cause him more distress. He had to marry Lady Eversham.” She bit her lip as though stopping herself from speaking ill of the lady.

Spencer was at a loss for what to say. He’d known Ev had come to the earldom at a young age, much as he had, though thankfully his mother still lived. He hadn’t known Lady Amelia carried such guilt over things outside her control.

Silence suspended between them, though not complete. The soiree was in full swing. Another young woman played the pianoforte, this time with more skill. Chattering and the rustling movements of stiff dresses filled the hole in their conversation.

Spencer studied the young ladies. Their youthful faces and innocent eyes. Where had he been during Lady Amelia’s come-out? Graduation from university, perhaps? He vaguely remembered Ev leaving for a semester to supervise his sister’s Season.

He took in her glossy hair and the strong, aquiline nose she wore like royalty. The direct gaze and slender fingers.

“I wish I had met you then.” The impetuous words surprised him.

Her brows arched, and for the first time that evening, a real smile broke her sober mood. “You wouldn’t have liked me.”

“I’ve always liked a challenge, and that’s probably what you were.”

“Most men wouldn’t say such a thing.”

“Most men are easily fooled by pretty looks.”

She blanched.

“Not that you don’t have pretty looks,” he rushed on, wondering how he’d made such a blunder so quickly.

Her hand waved dismissively. “Never fear. I am quite aware my brains exceed my beauty.”

He coughed out a laugh, surprised by her words and disagreeing completely, though not in a way she’d probably understand.

“My lady,” a voice whispered from behind them. Spencer swiveled, as did Lady Amelia. A maid peered at them from behind a potted plant.

“Sally?” Lady Amelia’s pitch rose. “Is that you?”

“It is indeed, and I have dreadful news. Just dreadful.” The branches rustled. “Can ye meet me in the coatroom?”

“Certainly.” Lady Amelia rose. “Please excuse me, Lord Ashwhite.”

He stood also, a head taller than the stubborn lady and just as determined. “I’m coming with.”

Their conversation wasn’t over by half.

Chapter Fourteen

A
melia was acutely aware of Spencer at her side as she rushed to the coatroom. Mortified by the conversation they’d had and yet strangely calmed, she refused to look at him. How could she, anyhow, with all the people at the soiree to skirt? Somehow this had become a crush of the worst sort.

She reached the coatroom and spotted Sally near the back, her face splotchy.

“Oh, dear.” Chest clenching, Amelia dodged an errant coat poking in the way. “Whatever is wrong?”

“It’s Dukes.” The girl sniffled.

Something tight and hard balled in Amelia’s stomach at the mention of her faithful butler. He had been with their family since she was a little girl. After hearing of her parents’ deaths, Dukes had held her while she wept. She would never forget his hand patting her back or the scent of his cologne. Eversham was to have given him a spectacular letter of reference.

“Tell me at once,” she said.

But her former servant had seemingly lost control of her faculties, for she collapsed to the floor in a mess of tears and skirts.

Had Dukes...died? Amelia swayed and blindly reached for a coat, something, anything to hold her up. What she found was Lord Ashwhite’s sleeve, to which she clung, for her knees trembled violently. Mouth dry, she blinked hard and willed some starch into her backbone.

Mustering every ounce of willpower she possessed, she released Lord Ashwhite’s shirt and marched over to the maid. “Sally, stand up at once and tell me whatever is the matter. Now, girl.”

Sally blinked up at her and rose to her feet, fingers balling in the front of her dress. “He’s been taken, my lady.”

“Taken?”

“Yes, my lady, to Newgate.”

Amelia’s jaw dropped. “But whatever for? He was to have been employed somewhere... My brother was to see to it.”

Sally shook her head, eyes wide in her splotchy face. “Dukes found a job briefly, but his arthritis was too much. He dropped an heirloom and the family fired him. When he came to me, he was hungry and dirty, but I have no room at my flat. I live with my mother, sisters and grandfather. I’m not sure what happened next, but this evening the cook was talking. Seems she knew of Dukes many years past and is right saddened to hear of his arrest.”

“There must be some mistake.” Dukes would never steal...but perhaps hunger had forced him to it? Though she was gladdened he hadn’t passed away, her hands remained clammy. Newgate would not keep a feeble old man alive for long. What could she do?

Summoning her resolve, she took a deep breath and patted Sally’s shoulder. “Thank you, Sally. You’ve done the right thing in coming to me. I shall remedy this at once.” With what money remained to be seen.

“Oh, thank ye!” Sally bobbed her head and curtsied. “I better return to my duties.”

“It was good to see you.”

“And ye, my lady.”

The maid scurried out, and with her retreat, Amelia’s strength waned. Trembling, she leaned against the wall and dragged in a heavy breath.

“How can I help?” Lord Ashwhite took her hand, his thumb rubbing circles against the tops of her fingers.

“I have relied too much on you.” She closed her eyes. Just for a moment. Just to gather her wits. Which, unfortunately, were being scattered by Lord Ashwhite’s quite comforting touch. She yanked her hand away. “Why did you follow me? Our discussion is done. I am not finding you a wife. I realize it is dishonorable of me to go back on my contract.” She swallowed hard, for her spontaneous declaration the other night certainly rankled now. “However, my brother’s wife’s health is more important than my...hobbies.”

Lord Ashwhite’s eyes narrowed. “We had a deal.”

She wet her lips. “You’re right, but please understand my position.”

“I do.” His face softened, and the gentle look in his eyes curled warmth through her belly. “You’re doing what you feel is the right thing. But I have to do what I think is right, as well. And saving my land, the people who rely on me—that’s my priority. I won’t stop until it’s done.”

She shook her head, despising the discombobulated feeling lurking inside. Normally decisions appeared cut-and-dried for her. But now there was so much to weigh. Her brother. Lord Ashwhite’s tenants. And Dukes. She had to take care of Dukes somehow.

The stipend she had from her mother... Would that be enough? She squared her shoulders.

“First I must make a list.” Yes, that was what she would do. A list. She pushed past Lord Ashwhite and strode into the main room. The scent of perfume and flickering candlelight battered her senses, and suddenly the walls were tilting toward her...

“My lady, you are not well. Perhaps a bit of fresh air will do.” Ashwhite took her elbow and prodded her toward a door that led to a patio. His fingers were firm and strong. She knew from experience gardens waited outside, with curved walking paths and ornate benches. The dizzy feeling persisted, a heavy pressure against her skull.

It was the silly old corset she wore. The new maid had drawn the strings far too tight. She tried to take a deeper breath and only managed to see stars. Her steps faltered.

“Take care, my lady.” Ashwhite’s breath ruffled past her ear, intimate, and his grip tightened. “We’re almost to a bench.”

They moved through the door, and humid air engulfed them. The moon cast a bright radiance that clarified the path before them whilst darkening the shrubbery into muted shadows.

“Spectacular, isn’t it?” Lord Ashwhite tilted his head up, staring.

Amelia studied the moon, too, feeling the quietness of the moment, the gentle hum of insects and muffled sounds of music. Lord Ashwhite’s arm was still linked with hers. The lunar glow illuminated his features. And then he turned to look at her. There was a sparkle in his eyes, a quirk to his lips, that caused a different type of dizziness to pass over her.

Was she floating? Because she felt the solid ground beneath her feet, but her head was...starry, or was it her heart beating unnaturally fast? Yes, that was it. Too much blood flow to the brain.

“Are you feeling better now?” he asked.

“I think I should sit,” she murmured. Perhaps that would calm her racing heart. This beastly attraction. It was certainly causing problems with her equilibrium. “Stop smiling like that,” she said, crossness snipping her words.

“Like what?” His eyes creased at the corners.

Oafish man.

She shot him a scowl but allowed him to lead her to a bench swathed in moon glow. Gratefully she sank onto its cool surface, resting her fingers on the edge. Lord Ashwhite sat beside her, and his scent surrounded her. Sandalwood soap, mostly. Perhaps the slightest hint of cologne.

Discreetly she inhaled.

“What happened in there?”

“Too much perfume,” she said simply. Her vision was clearing nicely and her pulse slowing. Very good. All she’d needed was to sit and catch her breath.

“You’re not having corset troubles again, are you?” He chuckled at his reference to the first time they’d met and his comment that dancing could relieve an overly starched corset. She resisted the urge to swat him. That would be quite unladylike, though,
oh
, so tempting.