The Matchmaker's Match (26 page)

How could that be so? Cousin Lydia deserved a financially stable and kind man. Someone to care for her and her family. Security was important. Lydia didn’t understand the feeling of being adrift in the world, uncertain of your next moment. She and Lydia had shared many memorable times that included laughter and confidences. Surely her cousin would trust her enough to see reason.

Throwing a fortune away for a man... Amelia worried her lip. All this had happened beneath her very nose, and if it hadn’t been for Mr. Ladd’s investigations, she would have never known of Lydia’s plans. Questions pounded Amelia’s skull, and for the first time since leaving Ashwhite, uncertainty stirred within her.

It didn’t help that Lord Ashwhite smelled good, which boggled the mind, as she felt bedraggled and uncomely. While she hadn’t slept a wink for worry, he apparently had slept just fine. Even the clothing he’d procured at the last town fit him well.

With a huff, she crossed her arms and focused on the scenery outside her window. They’d gotten an early start. She’d wanted to leave him in the middle of the night, but despite her pique, she knew she couldn’t do that. One, she knew the driver wouldn’t take her anywhere. And two, she might take risks, but rarely were they foolhardy. To mount a horse in the black of night just because Lord Ashwhite had horned in on her rescue plans was the height of foolishness.

She’d said a prayer this morning. Asked God for patience. And to her surprise, she’d managed to bite her tongue for most of the day.

She ignored Lord Ashwhite’s frowns in favor of staring out the window. Hours slipped by. They stopped for lunch and hardly spoke. She forced down mutton pie and overcooked vegetables, refusing to look at him. If only she wasn’t dependent on his money or vehicle. If only he didn’t seem so concerned.

If only he didn’t touch the deep places within she’d forgotten existed...

When they finally reached Gretna Green, Amelia barely contained the urge to growl. As soon as she finished here, she’d go immediately home... No, she didn’t have a home. Fine. She’d return to her brother’s and demand they allow her a painting room. She’d hide in there and never husband hunt again. Quite obviously she had failed miserably at it. Who would hire her now?

Lord Ashwhite left the carriage and horses to be cared for while she huddled at the edge of the road. A fierce wind stirred the dust, swirling it around her skirt. Goose pimples danced upon her arms, and she shivered. Had they reached the town in time to stop the wedding?

She truly prayed so.
Please God, if You love Lydia, please keep her from making the biggest mistake of her life
. Her pleas felt empty, though. Where could her cousin be?

Lord Ashwhite strode toward her, his confidence strangely calming. The air of assurance he wore fit a marquis. The grim twist to his lips marred not his handsome face.

She set her expression to match his, pressing a palm to her belly to contain the apprehension fluttering through her. “Have you located them?”

“It doesn’t appear they’ve arrived yet. You may have received your post from Ladd before they were able to leave London, so we are probably ahead of them.” He pointed down the road. “I’ve been told weddings are easy and quick to perform. If we hurry, we may be able to talk to the blacksmith before his next ceremony.”

They started off, Amelia stretching her legs to match Ashwhite’s brisk stride.

They entered a dim storefront, and the odor of metal ground into her senses. So this was a smithy. She’d never visited one. She took note of the muted colors and darkness.

Surely the blacksmith must do his work in a lighter area.

“Is the blacksmith available?” Lord Ashwhite called out.

“Here,” a voice returned from the back of the room.

Taking the lead, Lord Ashwhite rounded a large table that held a multitude of iron products. Grays and browns were the color of this place. And the dust... Her nose twitched. She scooted closer to Ashwhite and followed him into a brighter, much hotter room.

A man bent over a roughly hewn yet sturdy-looking table. Behind him the stove crackled with heat. The flames licked upward, forever reaching.

The plot of her own life, she thought wryly. Ending up a spinster at her brother’s house was not in the plans. Perhaps it might be best to look into governessing.

She certainly would not be getting married in order to improve her lot. Her bodice seemed to close tighter against her ribs. No, that might prove to be as disastrous as being beneath her brother’s thumb. But if an employer fired her... The thought was too much. She straightened, wishing the perspiration upon her brow stemmed from the sultry room and not her own mangled emotions.

“Do you perform weddings?”

“Aye, sir, got one in just a bit.” The blacksmith struck his project repeatedly, and the sound echoed through the room, ringing in Amelia’s ears.

“We are looking for a particular bride, Miss Lydia Stanley. She might be coming in this evening or in the morning.” She pushed a damp strand of hair behind her ear. “We wish to find where they’re to be married at once. Can you help us?”

The blacksmith cocked his head, his eyes roving up and down. She tilted her head and looked at him over the rim of her spectacles. He guffawed, slapping large paws against his legs.

“People don’t make appointments in Gretna Green. They just show up. Now, ye might check with the blacksmith down the road, but this week we be the only ones performing weddings. Ye haven’t come to stop one, have ye? I won’t have that in my shop.”

Amelia plastered her hands on her hips. “Never fear. I’ll see you still make your money.”

“That be the truth, my lady?”

“You have my word. We will be staying at the inn. You might make a bit more should I arrive in time to halt the proceedings.”

She could see his mind working over her words. It didn’t take him long to come to a decision. “’Tis hard times, and a man must feed his family. I’ll send someone round to fetch ye if the need arises.”

“Very well.” She pivoted and left, aware that Ashwhite had not said much. As they meandered back into the open road, she asked, “You do not approve?”

“Not a bit.” He reached out, his hand cupping her arm and stopping her in the middle of the road. Thunder rolled, and her skin prickled with the sensation of static in the air. Or perhaps it was the look in Ashwhite’s eyes.

She could not tell if he was angry with her or something entirely different. The darkening afternoon played with the angles of his face. A shiver coursed through her. Mouth dry, she wrenched her arm from his hand. “It is not for you to approve or disapprove. Lydia cannot marry this man. Her future will be in ruins.”

“The only ruination I foresee is the kind that results from refusing to give in to one’s heart.”

Absurd. Why did she bother arguing with this man? She crossed her arms as another strong breeze brushed past her. “You don’t understand.”

“Enlighten me, then, for you say that money and status should not determine the qualifications for a happy marriage, yet those are the only things standing in the way of this one.”

“Nay, there is more. They’ve barely known each other, and their marriage defeats the entire purpose of her search for a husband.” A raindrop plopped against her cheek. She wiped it away.

Ashwhite’s gaze searched hers. Another raindrop fell between them, and another, until suddenly they were standing in a downpour. Thunder cracked above them, and Amelia jumped. Her clothes stuck against her skin. Her heart raced and her throat felt tight. Ashwhite made no move to get out of the storm, and though she would have liked to, there was something in that keen look of his that challenged her to stay. Despite the burn behind her lids, she would not back down.

“Do you not think a marriage based on love is more beneficial than one based on desperation?”

“That has nothing to do with what I said.” She blinked against the deluge battering her vision. “I think he’s carried her away. Made empty promises.” She waved a hand. “Led her to believe things about himself that are not true merely because he is lonely and about to leave England for parts unknown. He has charmed away her senses.” The last words stopped her cold, for she clearly remembered how it felt to be swept away. The heady exhilaration of thinking oneself wanted, only to discover how mistaken one was...

Ashwhite stepped forward, crowding her. He grabbed her shoulders and hauled her against him. Right there in the street for all to see. His fingers dug into her arms.

“What, pray tell, are you—”

His head lowered, and his lips absorbed the last of her words. For a moment she was too stunned to move. Or perhaps it was that her knees felt like custard. And then the full impact of his kiss slammed into her. How warm his lips were, how tender his embrace. Dizziness, pleasure, all enveloped her until she could no longer think.

Long-suppressed emotions overwhelmed her. Waves of feeling crashed over her, resonating through her soul like a thousand pinpricks of bliss. She pressed against Spencer, feeling the tightness of his arms around her as though this was the most perfect embrace in the entire world. He smelled of clover, fresh and invigorating.

The rain fell around them.

She felt safe.

She might have stayed there forever had he not drawn back. Had he not given her the most crooked smile imaginable. Satisfaction practically glowed from his skin.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for quite some time.”

“Wipe the smirk from your face, my lord. You may have just ruined my reputation.” She worked hard to control the trembles ricocheting through her. They were from a chill. Merely that and nothing else.

He waved a hand, dismissing her concerns as though they were but flotsam. “Nonsense. No one saw a thing. They are all huddled cozy in their homes whilst we stand in the rain, kissing.”

She shivered as anger flushed through her. What could she say? She was standing in a downpour, wishing he would kiss her again, and he acted as if nothing important had just happened. She wanted to slap him for his impertinence.

Mud sucked at her shoes as she spun away. She’d march right back to that inn and leave him here in the rain. As she started forward, he stopped her...again. The press of his fingers prodded her to face him.

“Kindly unhand me.” A regal voice despite the rain wetting her cheeks and dripping from her chin. She lifted said chin, just to make sure he understood she meant exactly what she meant.

His hair clung in dark rivulets against his face. A searing energy coursed through her. Her heart throbbed against her rib cage in hard, quick knocks that belied the irritation engulfing her. Was he going to kiss her again? He certainly looked as though he would, and the worst thing was that she wanted him to.

Chapter Twenty-One

S
pencer knew he’d made a big mistake.

As rain soaked his clothes and lightning rent the sky, regret pummeled at him. Lady Amelia appeared uncertain, and he’d never seen her look that way. Eyes wide, she backed up.

“Perhaps it’s better that I see you in the morning.” Thunder followed her words. She grimaced and looked around. “We shall search for Lydia then.”

She flounced away, or maybe ran away, and he massaged his neck. What a horrid thing he’d just done, swept up in a tide of emotion, carried off by a need deeper than he could explain.

One kiss, and he’d pushed her from him. That had caused the distance he saw in her eyes. He was sure of it. And the kiss had told him only one thing: Lady Amelia was the woman he wanted to marry.

Groaning, he trudged after her to the inn. Warmth from a flickering fire greeted him. He gratefully took the cider a maidservant offered him and sat near the fireplace. Lady Amelia had no doubt retired to her room. Ruminating, perhaps, on her horrible client. He stared into the fire, cognizant of the owner’s watchful eye. Tension radiated through his shoulders.

He’d misread Lady Amelia. Yes, she responded to his kiss... He sipped the cider slowly, remembering the way she’d melted into him as though only he mattered to her.

He wanted that, he realized. In a marriage. Passion and trust. His parents had had neither. All his errant pursuits before had been nothing more than a longing to fulfill his loneliness. Finding a deeper relationship with God had only shown him how deeply alone he’d been.

Should he pursue her?

Why not Lady Amelia, when he knew with certainty that his life would not be whole without her in it?

That settled, he drained the last of his cider and made his way up the narrow stairs to his room. Though the inn was small, it appeared clean and cozy. Tomorrow should be interesting. If events went well, if he could salvage what had happened tonight. Then he hoped for a more amenable outcome.

A prayer slipped past his lips as he fell asleep, and the feeling inside him blossomed into a hope he couldn’t ignore.

* * *

The next morning, that blossom felt more like a thorn than a flower. He winced as he followed a very determined Lady Amelia. They’d visited a smithy and a parson with no success in locating Miss Stanley. Yesterday’s storm had passed, and the sun rose across the misty Scottish lowlands in muted hues of gold.

Which only reminded Spencer of Lady Amelia’s hair. Though only paces ahead of him, she strode without looking back at him. In fact, breakfast had been a strange affair. She’d rambled on about politics and the state of the prisons without ever once meeting his eyes.

Lengthening his stride, he caught up to her. Her hair, plaited becomingly, was just as beautiful as in his imagination. Before he could say anything—and he wasn’t sure what he would say, only that something needed to be aired—she hurried forward into the smithy they’d visited yesterday.

Voices hushed as he rode Lady Amelia’s wake. Several faces looked up from the front of the room, which had been decorated with ribbons. There stood a man he recognized as the blacksmith. Black cloth draped his shoulders.

Spencer frowned at the farce.

The other face he recognized belonged to none other than Miss Stanley. Even with her hair down, he recognized the bright blue eyes shining at him.