The Matchmaker's Match (6 page)

As expected, Lord Ashwhite lounged in a chair. Unexpectedly, he held one of her novels in his hands. Open.

Her eyes narrowed. “You wished to see me?”

“Two days ago.” In a smoothly relaxed move, he laid the book, facedown, on the side table. He regarded her with laughing eyes. “Do you read much of that rubbish?”

Cheeks burning, Amelia set her jaw. “My reading materials are none of your concern.”

“Should I hire you—and after reading that, it’s a questionable venture—I would need to know that your ability to pick a spouse is not based on some impractical frippery that only exists within a woman’s imagination.” He tented his fingers. “Or perhaps these stories inspire you?”

His languid tone, the way his lips curved as if he were trying to hold his laugh in, set her teeth on edge. His aristocratic snobbery filled her with a sizzling need to throw a book at his head, which she didn’t understand. Why, she barely knew this man. She’d shared one dance with him, had one conversation, and yet she was beginning to comprehend why the jewel-laden woman at the ball the other night had slapped him.

Wetting her lips, she moved farther into the room. “As you are a good friend to my brother, I will pretend you have not insulted me within my own home. I will overlook the fact that you’ve been rude and hostile, and I will answer your questions. But first, have you need of refreshment? Surely the time you’ve spent encamping in my home has famished you?” She ended with a soft little smile even though she was seething on the inside. And those butterflies were waltzing in her stomach again, aggravating her even more. Her fingers clenched within the folds of her dress.

He studied her, the posture of his hands suggesting a more serious mood. Good. She could handle a man with a real goal, but a tease? No, she was ill equipped for that. Her mind flashed back to Lord Markham, and she grimaced.

“I am in no need of refreshment, my lady.” Lord Ashwhite stood and pointed to the other chair. “Would you care to have a seat so that we might discuss business?”

“We have nothing to discuss. You have asked and I have declined.”

“These books look costly.” Lord Ashwhite ran a supine finger down the length of her bookcase. “Does the money you receive from your brother cover your purchases?”

“That is hardly your concern.” But she found herself captivated by the movements of his hand. He touched her books lovingly, as a man who understood the value of such things.

“There is no Lord Byron here,” he murmured.

“No, I find his poems tedious and fanciful. Despite what you may think, Lord Ashwhite, I am a practical woman.” She injected sternness into her voice and forced herself to stop staring at Eversham’s friend. “And therein lies your problem. You want a wife, but I do not find wives. I find husbands for women who would like to marry well and marry happily. Furthermore, there has been a...change of plans for me. I am not presently taking on new clients.”

He swiveled that direct gaze of his toward her. She picked up her chin and gave him what she hoped was a glare that bespoke finality.

“But there is some sort of stress in your life, am I correct?” He advanced toward her in a slow manner, a glide almost. She resisted the urge to back away. “I have been given the impression that you may be forced to change residences soon. Which would be rather sad, seeing as you’ve made a home for yourself here. And would you be able to paint at your brother’s estate?”

She blinked. “What do you know of my painting?”

“I know your fingernails are stained. The books you read are not practical but romantic. You are not what you present to the world, my lady.”

Her breath came quick and uneven. “What are you suggesting?”

A languorous smile touched his face. His fingers spread in a supplicating manner. “I propose we work together in finding me a wife. The amount I pay you will be adequate in covering whatever is forcing you from your home. We shall both walk away happy from this partnership.”

Before she could form an answer—and in truth, she did not know what to say—Dukes appeared in the doorway.

“My lady, your runner is here,” he said.

Chapter Five

H
er runner? As in Bow Street? Spencer forced his face to blankness despite the questions ricocheting through his mind. Lady Amelia might have much more happening in her life than strained familial relationships.

She nodded to Dukes, back straight and that no-nonsense tilt to her chin lending her an air of authority. “Very well. Would you show him to the parlor while I finish with Lord Ashwhite?”

“Certainly.” Dukes bowed and disappeared from the doorway.

“Before we were interrupted, you made a proposition.” Lady Amelia turned to him. Whatever vulnerabilities he’d sensed only moments ago were gone, replaced by the sheen of pragmatism. “I must decline...again. As I said, I am not taking on new clients. It very well could be that this business of mine is ended. While I admire your persistence, you must stop now, for I do not foresee a change of mind or plans.” With that, she gave a quick jerk with her head as if to underscore the firmness of her words.

“I am not one to give up lightly,” he warned her.

“And neither am I.”

Perplexed, feeling at a crossroads, he studied her. He had the strongest intuition that this lady could help him, and yet she refused.
Lord, what now?

He had a responsibility to the people of Ashwhite. Furthermore, he did not trust Dudley to look over the property the way he could. His fingers tapped against his legs as he worked through the situation. Lady Amelia looked flustered, though knowing her, she’d deny such a feeling.

Her hands gave her away. She sported the most interesting look of sternness upon her face, but her fingers knotted within the folds of her dress, a rather pretty shade of pink that put roses in her cheeks. Or mayhap it was his words doing that.

He met her eyes and saw the determination there. There was only one way he could think of to sway her. He moved closer so that she might see the sincerity upon his face.

“My lady, might you consider my plight more seriously? It would probably be well to explain my need of a wife.”

Her lids flickered and there was the barest hesitation of breath, so he proceeded. “It is not only for my well-being but also for the people who depend upon my property for their livelihoods. Ashwhite is a prosperous estate near Kent. Through different ventures and progressive farming methods, I’ve increased its profits and created a home for many.”

Lady Amelia looked away, but her fingers had stilled their fidgeting.

“It is my fear that should the estate leave my hands, the one to whom it is going may not manage it as well. I love my childhood home, and I love the people there.” His voice unexpectedly caught, for at that moment images from boyhood rose to his mind. Cook, with her flushed cheeks and wide smile. His old nanny, who now lived a happy life in a small cottage on the grounds. His childhood friends who’d grown to become the barons and rectors living nearby.

“Truthfully, my lord, you make a compelling argument.” Lady Amelia raised her gaze to his, worrying her bottom lip. He saw the compassion radiating in her direct look and felt the first stirrings of hope. “I still must decline, however, for should I take on your case, it could ruin me.”

“I don’t understand,” he said slowly.

“The wherefores are too complicated to speak of now, but I would like you to know I respect your desire to protect your people. If I could help, if I thought it were profitable for both of us, I would. Please believe me, my lord.” She placed her hand upon his arm.

He looked down, felt the heat of her imprint against his sleeve. Her hand was small and delicate, with tapering fingers that hinted at her artistic temperament.

“Perhaps someday I shall see your paintings,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. A heady sensation was taking over him, one he well recognized but did not care to resist. “Perhaps when I find a wife, I shall commission you for a portrait?”

A fine blush spread across her face, and he decided that she felt the same strange pull he did. Not only that, but he’d rendered her speechless. His stare dropped to her lips, which parted ever so slightly.

She stepped back quickly and would have lost her balance had her hand not still rested upon his arm. Her grip tightened. “My guest is waiting for me. I must go, but thank you...” She trailed off, sounding uncertain and perhaps afraid.

He had much more experience than she in the ways of attraction. Whether she knew that about him or not, he wasn’t sure, but he bore the responsibility to put her at ease. He gave her a short bow and gently removed her touch from his arm. The absence of her hold left a curiously cool place upon his sleeve.

Swallowing past the tightness of his throat, he smiled. “Thank you, my lady, for your time. I hope you might change your mind.”

Her head shake was curt. “I fear not.” She backed to the door. “Perhaps I shall see you next week at Almack’s. Fare thee well, my lord.”

He nodded as she left the room in a graceful sway of skirts. What an enigma, and yet...he had no idea why Eversham found her exasperating. Then again, he’d just discovered that his feelings toward her were not quite brotherly.

He’d had these feelings before with other women. The emotions were short-lived and passed quickly. No doubt they would for Lady Amelia, as well. He let out a heavy sigh. It appeared this avenue led to a dead end. He might have to go about finding a wife the old-fashioned way.

Soirees, balls and, worst of all, the throat-clutching, loathsome house party.

Stifling a groan, he stalked out of the library. As he entered the small hallway, he noticed the parlor door remained open. Lady Amelia’s skirt was visible just past the entrance. A man’s voice carried into the hall.

Had he said “Dudley”?

Spencer glanced around. Not seeing the aging butler or any other servant, he ventured closer to the door.

“Are you quite sure, Mr. Ladd?”

“Yes, my lady. My information has been verified several times.”

Lady Amelia responded, her voice low and refined. Spencer couldn’t catch her words. A puckish intention overrode good sense, and he strode into the parlor.

They turned toward him, shocked. Lady Amelia with her sharp eyes and pretty mouth both rounding, and the runner who was surprisingly young and fit looking with a wild mane of hair that rode about a curiously blank face.

Spencer made a neat bow and then straightened. “Please pardon my rudeness. I could not help but overhear your dialogue concerning Lord Dudley.”

Lady Amelia, to her credit, remained composed. She curtsied and then beckoned him in. “Lord Ashwhite, this is Mr. Ladd. He is in my service on a special project.”

They exchanged civilities, and then he looked to Lady Amelia and waited.

She arched a brow at him. Sunlight streaming in through large windows glinted off the edge of her spectacles. Very well. He’d make the conversational overture. It did not matter to him in the least if Mr. Ladd found him rude.

“I have an interest in Lord Dudley and will pay to hear what you have discovered about him, Ladd,” he said.

The runner leaned on his heels and rocked a bit, his face a quiet study of consideration. At last he held out a palm. “A farthing will do.”

“Done.” Spencer retrieved his money purse from his pocket and gave the man what he had asked for. He slipped a glance at Lady Amelia. Her face looked a tad pinched. He had the feeling she wanted to reprimand him, but not in front of the runner. An absurd sense of satisfaction settled over him.

Mr. Ladd gave the piece a nip and then slid it into his pocket. His eyes, a remote brown, took in Spencer. He allowed the perusal and did his own. Shabby coat but expensive shoes. Clean nails and unkempt hair that looked, nevertheless, washed. This man might be a trusted source for Lady Amelia.

“Mr. Ladd, if it is all the same to you, I will fill Lord Ashwhite in. I’m sure you have other matters to attend to this morning.”

“An excellent notion, my lady.” The runner retrieved the coin but Spencer shook his head.

“Keep it,” he said.

After a brief hesitation, Ladd nodded. He gave Spencer what felt like a warning look and then smiled at Lady Amelia. “Are you sure you’ll be safe in his company?”

Spencer bristled. Did this man disapprove of him?

Lady Amelia let out a delicate chuckle. “But of course, Mr. Ladd. He is a family friend. I do thank you for your most excellent work once again. You’re an asset to the agency.”

To Spencer’s surprise, and possibly chagrin, he watched as Mr. Ladd’s impassive features took on a flush. The man bowed to Lady Amelia, murmured, “At your service” and left the room.

Once again, Spencer was alone with Lady Amelia. Exactly what he wanted. A grin overtook his features. “My lady, you have information to share?”

* * *

“Tell me again why I am riding with you?” Lord Ashwhite sat in the corner of the open hackney Amelia had hailed. He looked quite perturbed, most likely because she hadn’t shared with him yet about Lord Dudley’s financial straits.

Instead, she’d hustled out of the house, the need to see her brother more important than indulging a marquis’s curiosity.

She did not own her own phaeton or curricle, which did not usually pose a problem because she was in walking distance of most everywhere she wished to go. When she traveled to Bath, she borrowed her brother’s landau.

Arcs of sunlight from the window splayed against her dress but left the marquis across from her in shadows. She scowled at the man, whose arresting gaze irritated her to no end. Or did it stimulate? She shrugged off the unwelcome thought. Stuff and nonsense, that was all. Her life did not resemble a fluffy novel with its exciting tales and dashing heroes. No, real life required choices and practicality.

“Well?” Lord Ashwhite prompted her.

“I—uh—” Amelia’s mind scuttled for an answer whilst hardly remembering the question. Oh, yes. His annoying presence in the hackney.

Summoning a bit of steel to her spine, she gave him an arch look. “You’ve disrupted my business for three days. If you must know, it is paramount that I see my brother this morn. I don’t have time to dillydally with you and your games.”