Chapter Fifteen

“I must admit,” Amelia said some time later, directing the servant to deposit the tea service on the table, “it’s quite a surprise to see you.”

“A happy one, I hope,” said Jack, shoving his blond hair back from his face. He shared Amelia’s fair coloring—all her brothers did—but he had a greater share of their mother’s refined features. He’d always been “the handsome brother,” long before he’d eagerly donned the black-fleece mantle of “the ne’er-do-well.”

“Yes, of course,” she replied. “Claudia, would you be so good as to pour?”

Even Spencer’s ward had made an appearance, obviously curious about the arrival of this impromptu house guest. The young lady accepted the tea-pouring duty with reluctance, but Amelia offered her no reprieve. Claudia needed the practice serving, and Amelia needed to think.

Why on earth was Jack here?

Of course she’d hoped he’d come out for a visit. She’d spent the last several months dreaming up methods of removing Jack from his debauched London life. That was why she’d sent him a hasty note the day of her marriage, extending him an open invitation to stay at Braxton Hall whenever he wished. But the very same week?

“I would have come even sooner, had I known what lovely scenery Cambridgeshire has to offer.” He gave Claudia a dashing smile, and worry twanged in Amelia’s gut. That quintessential Jack grin worked entirely too well on impressionable young ladies.

It did little for Claudia, however. The girl’s eyes widened a fraction, and then she simply turned her head.

Good for her.

Shrugging, Jack reached for a sandwich and bit into it eagerly. “Traveling all night on the mail coach leaves a man devilish hungry. The cooks in those posting inns have nothing to match your skill, Amelia.”

“It’s only a bit of cold ham. I’ve ordered all your favorites for luncheon, though.”

“Ah, I knew you would. Even removed to Cambridgeshire, you’re the best sister a fellow could hope to have.”

As Claudia busied herself with the tea things, Amelia leaned forward and addressed him in a low, confidential tone. “The duke will join us any moment. Dare I hope this visit means you’ve raised the funds to pay him?”

“Oh, that?” He reached for a second sandwich. “That debt’s been dispatched already. Rents from the cottage, you remember.”

“Oh.” Amelia blinked. “Yes, of course. That was … fast.”

Why hadn’t Spencer mentioned this? She supposed he hadn’t yet received the payment. So much for their country house party. She hated thinking of Briarbank occupied by strangers, but it did lift a weight from her shoulders, to know that Jack was clear of debt. Perhaps that was the reason for this new lightness in his demeanor.

“How long will you stay?” she asked.

“A few weeks, if you can put up with me. Thought I’d ride over to Cambridge one of these days and see about resuming my studies.”

Her heart soared into her throat, and she swallowed her tea with difficulty. She couldn’t have dreamed of a better morning. First her conversation with Spencer, where he’d finally begun to reveal to her what a good-hearted, remarkable man he was—if inexplicably determined to hide it from the world. And now Jack’s fortuitous arrival, his intention to reform.

It was all so perfect. Jack could stay here for several weeks, away from his miscreant friends. Spencer would be such a good influence on him. Perhaps Jack could even live here when he resumed his studies—Cambridge was only a nine-mile ride away. In time, Spencer could find Jack a living somewhere: a nice vicarage, a few hundred pounds a year. It wasn’t much perhaps, but it would be a good life—and as much as the fourth son of impoverished nobility could reasonably expect. With a summer like that, she would scarcely miss Briarbank.

Brimming with optimism, Amelia nipped a lump of sugar into her tea. “Who did let it, in the end? Briarbank, I mean.”

Instead of answering, Jack rose to his feet. It took her only a moment to discern why.

Spencer stood in the salon entrance, freshly bathed and dressed in immaculate linen and dark, chocolate-brown wool.

Oh, dear. All the sensual excitement of their encounter in the stables … it rushed back in the space of a moment. When Jack had arrived, Amelia had carefully banked the fire of her lust—she’d had no choice—but beneath her every motion and every breath, desire had been quietly smoldering all the while. And now Spencer appeared, and he was … the poker, or the bellows, or the very long straw one used to light tinder—heavens, take any crude male analogy, and it fit. One glance at his tall, strong, handsome figure, and heat washed over her, instantly. Perspiration beaded in inconvenient places—the cleft of her bosom, the backs of her knees, her inner thighs. Even her mouth watered. Her choices seemed to be two: look away, or liquefy. She opted for the former, hoping to spare the silk upholstery of her chair.

“Your Grace.” Jack made an elegant bow. He did have very pretty manners, when he chose to use them.

“Mr. d’Orsay.”

“Oh, come now, Morland. Won’t you call me Jack?” Jack took his seat. “We are brothers now, you know.”

Amelia risked a glance at Spencer then. His face revealed no pleasure at Jack’s sudden familiarity. His eyes were hard and unforgiving. Magnetic and entrancing. Demanding and arousing.

Look away, look away. A good hostess doesn’t salivate.

“Well, Jack.” He strode into the room and joined their group, dropping his muscled frame onto a slender, straight-backed chair that looked, Amelia worried, rather unequal to the challenge. “Let’s dispense with the pleasantries, then. What is it you want?”

“What do you mean?” she said. “He’s come for a visit.”

“Oh, has he?”

Amelia couldn’t fathom the reasons for Spencer’s suddenly cool demeanor. But Jack didn’t seem overly surprised.

“Yes, of course.” Her brother chuckled nervously. “A visit. Fine way to welcome me.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows in a clear expression of skepticism.

“Perhaps I want to see how you’re treating my sister,” Jack said, his voice growing defensive. “You took her from us rather quickly, don’t you think? And there’s talk”—he leaned forward—“about you.”

“What sort of talk?” Claudia asked.

Everyone froze, surprised by the young lady’s sudden question. By appearances, she’d spent recent minutes arranging lemon slices with tiny silver tongs rather than heeding the conversation.

“The usual talk?” Claudia’s dark eyelashes fluttered with interest. “Or something new?”

Amelia bit her lip, both appalled at Claudia’s rudeness and eager to hear Jack’s answer. Obviously Claudia knew nothing of Leo’s death and the mysterious circumstances surrounding it, but Amelia wondered if Julian Bellamy had been spreading his suspicions through Town. She prayed not. Spencer would be proved innocent eventually, but the stain of scandal was difficult to scrub clean. Rumors of the duke’s involvement in a murder would damage the prospects of all connected with him. Claudia, most of all.

“Claudia.” Spencer addressed the girl without even looking at her. “Leave us.”

“But—”

“I said, leave us. Now.”

His tone was rapier-sharp, and though Amelia understood his reasons for wanting Claudia gone, she hurt for the girl. No one deserved that sort of dismissal, especially not in front of a guest.

“It’s all right, dear,” she whispered, laying a gentle touch atop Claudia’s wrist. “We’ll see you at luncheon.”

Tears gathering in her eyes, Claudia rose from her chair. “No, you won’t.”

As she fled the room, Spencer winced just a little. Amelia filed away a thought for some later date: Give His Grace some lessons on the care and feeding of children. He did well enough with foals, but he was a disaster with young humans. She’d best find a way to work on that, before birthing him a child of his own.

Oh, heavens. The mere thought of carrying his babe inside her … Her heart gave a sweet, sudden kick.

“Now, then.” Spencer braced his elbows on his knees and leaned forward over his linked hands. “Let’s settle this. You’ve come here to see how I’m treating Amelia?”

Jack fidgeted in his chair. “Yes.”

“You. The devoted brother who deserted her at a ball without chaperone, transportation, or a coin to her name. Who played high with money he didn’t have, to the detriment of her hopes and prospects. Who failed to appear at her wedding. You … are questioning my treatment of her. Do I understand this?”

Jack blinked.

Spencer turned to her abruptly. “Amelia, how are you being treated? Well enough?”

After a stunned moment, she replied, “Very well.”

“There you have your answer, Jack. The reason for your visit is satisfied. You’ll remain here as my guest tonight, and tomorrow you’ll head back the way you came.”

“Tomorrow?” Amelia blurted out. “Why, he traveled all night by coach just to get here. I’d hoped he could stay for some weeks. He means to ride over to Cambridge and see about resuming his—”

“Tomorrow.” The word was a verdict, not a suggestion. End of discussion. But his gaze trapped hers, and the conversation continued.

Why? she felt herself silently asking. Why are you retreating to this cold, arrogant behavior, after the lovely morning we just shared? If I truly mean something to you, why can’t you extend the slightest consideration to my kin?

There were answers there, in his eyes. But she couldn’t quite make them out.

And then something clattered to the table between them, breaking the silent communication with a sharp, metallic clang.

Amelia’s eyes flew to the object instinctively, and she gasped at what she saw. A small, roundish disc of brass, stamped with a horse’s head.

Leo’s missing token.

“Oh my …” She reached for it in surprise.

Jack clapped a hand over the coin. “I have what you want, Morland. And I know what it’s worth to you.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Spencer said.

Enmity sparked between the men, exploding all Amelia’s hopes for a happy, idyllic summer.

“However did you get that token?” she wondered aloud. “There are investigators searching all London for that scrap of brass.”

“Yes, well. The investigators haven’t come asking me.” Jack’s lips quirked in a strange little smile, and a sliver of fear pierced Amelia’s heart. Oh, God. He couldn’t have been involved in Leo’s murder. Not her own brother. No, no, no. It simply couldn’t be.

No.

It simply couldn’t be.

She replayed the events of the evening, slowly filling her lungs with relief. Jack had been with her at the ball all evening. True, he’d departed early, at half-eleven. But Mr. Bellamy and Lord Ashworth had appeared not an hour later, and Leo had already been dead for some time. Jack could not possibly have been involved. Thank God. But the question remained …

“How did you get your hands on that token?”

“It was the damnedest thing,” her brother said, speaking to Spencer. “I’d been passing some time with a—” His gaze flicked toward Amelia. “With an acquaintance, a few days ago. We had cause to exchange a coin or two, and I spied this in her purse. Offered her a guinea for it, and she happily made the exchange.”

Amelia’s stomach turned. This “acquaintance” had to have been the prostitute who found Leo. She knew Jack had been sinking lower and lower … but this exceeded even her worst imaginings.

As usual, Spencer didn’t mince words. “So where’s the whore now? Could you find her again?”

Jack stammered a bit, rising to his feet. “Look, man. Perhaps we could discuss this alone.”

“Why? Amelia’s no simpleton. She already knows you’ve been taking her money and throwing it away on dockside bunters.” Spencer stood, too. “It’s a bit late to spare her the shame, Jack. If you want to try redeeming yourself, start with information. Where did you find this woman? Where did she take you? What does she look like? What did she tell you about the attack, about Leo?”

“Why should I tell you anything? So you can get to her first and hush her up?”

The room went very quiet.

Jack strolled forward. “Julian Bellamy thinks you killed Leo.”

“I don’t give a damn what Julian Bellamy thinks.”

“Perhaps not. But others do. When he talks, the ton listens. And public suspicion like that is hard to live down. Your pretty little ward there”—Jack’s chin jerked toward Claudia’s exit route—“might suffer for it. As would my sister.”

“Well, if you’re so concerned for Amelia, you have the evidence to exonerate me right there in your hand. Julian Bellamy thinks I killed Leo to get that token. Obviously, I don’t have it.”

“No, you don’t.” Jack flipped the coin into the air and caught it in his hand. “I do.”

Amelia’s heart plummeted. Of course. He needed money. Though his debt to Spencer was dispatched, he must have landed himself in worse straits now, and he hoped to buy his way clear with that token.

“Oh, Jack,” she said, coming forward. “Just tell us what trouble you’re in. There’s no need to extort assistance from the duke. As you say, we are all family now. We can find some way out of your scrape, surely.”

“He’s not getting a penny from me,” Spencer bit out.

“Don’t misunderstand me, Morland,” Jack said. “I’m not a blackmailer. Now that would be low, even for me. Besides, the Stud Club tokens”—he tossed the coin and caught it again—“can’t be bought or sold. Everyone knows that.”

“You want me to play you for it,” Spencer said.

Jack nodded.

“By God, you truly are an idiot. A prideful, stubborn idiot.” He shrugged. “But if you insist … In my library, then.”

He walked swiftly from the room, with Jack following after him. Amelia stood there for a moment, stunned. Then she picked up her skirts and gave chase.

“Jack,” she said, catching her brother by the sleeve halfway down the corridor. “What is it? Are you in debt again?”

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.

“Don’t do this,” she pleaded. “I have access to funds now … We’ll find some other way. You’ll never win against the duke.”

“You don’t know that.” He shook off her grip and kept walking. “It’s a game of chance,” he said dryly. “That’s what makes it so very exciting.”

Chance had nothing to do with it. Not against Spencer.

Abandoning all hope of reasoning with her brother, Amelia charged forward and overtook her husband. At least he had a logical mind, if not compassion. She pulled up short, stopping him in front of the library entrance.

“Please,” she whispered through her teeth. “Please. Don’t.”

“This doesn’t concern you, Amelia.”

“Of course it does. We both know Jack has no chance to win against you. And he’s clearly in trouble with someone. If he leaves here defeated and upset, he’ll only dig himself deeper still.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“No, it’s mine. And if you …” Her voice trailed off, leaving the remainder of the sentence unspoken and obvious. If you care for me at all, you won’t do this.

“For God’s sake, Amelia.” Jack stepped between them. “This is men’s business. Stop meddling in my life, for once.”

Before Amelia could even begin to respond—Jack wasn’t there anymore. He was on the carpet, moaning in pain, and Spencer was shaking out his fist.

“You—” She clapped a hand to her cheek and gaped at Spencer. “You hit him!”

“Yes. But not half as hard as I wanted to.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Damn it, d’Orsay. That was barely a punch. Pick yourself up. It’s embarrassing.”

A stunned Jack struggled to his feet, rubbing his mouth.

“Now apologize.”

“Sorry,” he muttered through rapidly swelling lips.

“Not to me, you jackass. To Amelia.”

Staring at the spot of blood on fingertip, Jack swore incoherently, then mumbled, “Solly, Ameeya.”

Spencer flung open the library door. “Now let’s finish this.”

It took all of twenty minutes.

Amelia waited in the corridor, arms crossed over her chest, pacing in time to the hall clock’s ominous ticks. Dread welled inside her with each passing minute. Surely Spencer could have beaten her brother in the first round, had he wished to. Perhaps he was toying with Jack, the way he’d toyed with her. Drawing him further into the game, building false confidence … and of course, Jack would not know when to walk away.

Finally, the door swung open, and Jack emerged. Amelia flew to him, scanning his expression for clues to his state of mind. “Will you be all right?” she asked. No need to ask whether he’d won or lost.

He stared vacantly at the wainscoting, rubbing his neck with one hand. An impressive bruise bloomed across the left side of his jaw. “I don’t know. I don’t know what will become of me now. I thought …” He blew out his breath slowly, then turned and gave her a defeated half-smile. “I wish you better luck than mine, Amelia. I fear you’ll need it, married to that man.”

He kissed her cheek, then strode off down the long, carpeted passageway.

“Wait,” she called after him. “You’re not leaving already?”

He did not break stride to answer—which was, she supposed, an answer in itself.

“Jack!”

He halted, but did not turn around.

“Have you enough for your fare home?”

“Yes, just.”

“When will I see you again?”

“Soon,” he replied, throwing her a cryptic glance over his shoulder. “Or never.” He jammed his hand into a pocket and resumed strolling away. Turning right toward the entrance hall, he disappeared from view.

Amelia wheeled around and charged straight into the library. “How could you do that to him? How could you do it to me?”

With deliberate calm, Spencer closed the drawer he’d been holding open, then stood from his desk chair. The crisp linen of his shirt stretched taut across his shoulders as he rose. He’d removed his coat for the game, evidently.

“How could I not?” His eyes went to Leo’s brass token, which lay in the center of the ink blotter. He scooped the coin into his palm. “I couldn’t risk allowing him to leave here with this. God knows where he’d lose it, or what further damage it might cause, should it fall into the wrong hands.”

“Yes, but why take it from him this way? He is in financial straits; you want that token. Why not find a solution beneficial to you both?”

He gestured toward the door. “You heard your brother. He didn’t want a price for it. The damn fool wanted to play. Was I supposed to refuse?”

“Yes! You know better, even if he doesn’t.”

“I don’t know where you expect your brother to get some sense, if you keep thinking for him.” He folded his arms. “Perhaps now he’ll have learnt his lesson.”

“He’s learned nothing, except not to visit me again.”

“I can’t say that comes as a disappointment.” He walked out from behind his desk.

“Not to you, perhaps. It’s a grave disappointment to me.” More than a disappointment. More like devastation. She hated to even think about what would happen once Jack returned to Town.

“For God’s sake. Jack is a no-good wastrel. He takes your money and in return gives you no end of worry. And yet you defend his horrid behavior. You coddle and reward him for it.”

“No, I don’t.” Her voice shook. “I continue to love him despite it. And I hold out hope he’ll reform. You needn’t have simply thrown him money. Jack told me he wants to resume his studies at Cambridge. Take orders in the Church.” He hadn’t truly said that last bit, but it was the logical extension. “You could offer him a living as a vicar, or some other chance to earn back his debts.”

“My tenants are my responsibility. You want me to place their spiritual welfare in Jack’s hands? Inconceivable.” He shook his head. “And he didn’t come here with any intention of resuming his studies or taking orders, Amelia. He came for money. He changed his tale the moment I challenged him.”

“He changed his tale the moment you cast him out! Without so much as a word to me, I might add. I thought after this morning, you might begin to see the virtue in engaging your wife in open conversation. We might have at least discussed the matter before you swindled him out of that token and tossed him out on his ear.”

When his only answer was a gruff sigh, she pressed a fist to her chest. “You say your tenants are your responsibility. Well, my brothers are mine.”

She’d been ten years old when Young William was born. Mama had been so weakened from the birth, it was all she could do to tend the baby. Hugh and Jack were seven and six at the time, and their care fell to her. You must be my little mother, Amelia. Look after the boys. And she’d done her best, ever since.

“Spencer, please. I’ve already lost Hugh. I can’t lose Jack, too.”

He came to stand before her. His face was dark with emotion, his posture one of power and strength. His sheer physical nearness roused her body, and she recalled the way he’d tangled his limbs with hers in the stable, kissed her throat, stroked her bare thigh … Despite her anger, she was a breath away from launching herself into his arms and begging him to hold her, kiss her, pleasure her, care for her.

Love her, and understand.

And then he said quietly, “Jack is already lost, Amelia.”

No. Amelia gaped at him, tears burning in her eyes. Marrying Spencer was supposed to mean her brother’s salvation, not his doom. He’d exhaust his fortune for an ill-tempered horse, but he’d write off her brother with a single remark?

“Don’t you say that,” she whispered. “You don’t know him. He and Hugh were just a year apart, and such close friends. It’s like a part of Jack died with him, and he keeps trying to fill that emptiness with gaming and drink. You don’t know how he was, before.”

“And you are blind to the man he is now. I’ve seen this before, in reckless youths with a taste for high stakes and brains starved for good sense. I tell you, he is lost. He may yet find his way back, but only if he discovers the will and strength within himself. Nothing you can do will make him change. You need to snip his leading strings, for both your sakes. No more consoling, no more cajoling. No more money. If you’re not strong enough to cut the ties, I’ll do it for you.”

“Cut the ties? With my own flesh and blood?” She couldn’t believe that this was the same Spencer she’d conversed with in the stables this morning. He knew how important her family was to her. How could he even suggest this? “Of all the arrogant, unfeeling …”

“Ah, yes.” With a humorless laugh, he unfolded his hand. Between them, the brass token glittered in his palm. “I’m the villain. Jack can show up at this house, drowning in gaming debt, having recovered this coin from a low prostitute. He can impugn my honor, threaten my cousin’s reputation, and insult you to your face—”

“You hit him!”

“—and I’m the villain.” He muttered a vicious oath. “I’ve spent a week laboring under wrongheaded suspicions. I’ve exhausted every scrap of patience and consideration, worked day and night to see these accusations proved false. You claimed to believe me, even when my efforts failed. Now Jack appears with the very evidence of my innocence in his pocket, and I’m the deuced villain. Worthless ingrate that he is, he gets your loyalty. He’s the one you defend.”

The wounded look in his eyes … God, she felt it twist in her heart. But what could she say? “He’s my brother.”

“I’m your husband!”

The force in his voice sent her stumbling a half-step in retreat. The predatory gleam in his eyes sent her back another two. Her heart drummed furiously in her chest.

“I am your husband. We exchanged vows, in case you’ve forgotten.” He held up the token between his thumb and forefinger as he advanced. “And that same night, you made me a pledge. Once this token was found, I would have all of you. You would deny me nothing.”

“What do you mean? You’ve just threatened to forcibly separate me from my family. Now you expect me to behave as if nothing has changed? Lie back on the bed like a good, obedient wife?”

“No.” In a rush of strength, he caught her by the waist and swept her backward, until she collided with the wall. “I’ll take you right here, never mind the bed.”

He lifted her slightly, wedging his legs between hers and supporting her weight with his thighs as one hand dropped to burrow beneath her skirts. She gasped for air as he shoved the heavy velvet up to her waist, too stunned to resist. His fingers found her sex, and she was still wet for him from earlier, still tender from the night before. The sensation was overwhelming. Without preliminary, he pushed two fingers inside her, and her inner muscles cinched around their girth.

He stilled, breathing just as heavily as she. “You wanted this.”

Wanted what? To marry him in the first place? To be taken hard and fast against the wall? To witness the hurt in his eyes and feel that sharp edge of retribution, after the way he’d devastated her just now?

“Yes,” she breathed. Yes, she wanted all of this.

He withdrew his fingers, and she felt him tugging at the placket of his trousers. He gritted his teeth as he struggled to free himself, supporting her weight and endless wads of velvet with one arm as he worked the buttons with his other hand. Amelia let her own arms dangle at her sides. She didn’t want to help him, but neither did she want to push him away. Despite all her anger and wounded feelings, she still yearned for the pleasure he could give. It was as if her heart had walked out the door with Jack, but her body was still here, mindlessly craving.

Once he ceased struggling with the buttons, he grasped her hand in his and pulled it between them, tunneling through all the layers of cloth. He wrapped her fingers around his swollen, rigid length. His skin was hot to the touch, scalding against her palm.

“Show me you want it.” He tightened his fist until she was sure their combined grip must be hurting him. “Guide me in.”

He released her hand, leaving her clutching his manhood between them. He cupped her thighs in his hands and lifted, spreading her legs wide.

Using the hard, pulsing handle he’d provided her, she pulled him closer. Not down between her folds, where she knew he wanted to be, but where she wanted him. She rubbed his engorged crown against the sensitive place at the top of her cleft. Pleasure rolled through her as she massaged the swollen bud with his hardness and heat.

He groaned, and his fingers bit into her thighs as he tilted her pelvis. His hips bucked, and he thrust against her, dragging his full length through the moist folds of her sex. She tightened her grip, pulling him away. He’d given her control, and she wouldn’t relinquish it now. This was what she wanted—to grind against his hard length, to rub his velvety heat against her in just the way she liked. She wouldn’t have dreamed lovemaking could be so good when begun in anger instead of tenderness … but it was. Oh, it was.

Writhing her hips, she worked herself closer and closer to release. As the sweet tension grew, she released her breath in a low, taunting purr.

“Curse you.” His hips jerked again. “Guide me in.”

And she did. Not because he’d told her to, but because it was what she wanted now. To feel him inside her, filling her, thrusting with helpless abandon.

She clutched his neck and stared at the ceiling. He gripped her thighs and pressed his face to her throat. There was no more eye contact, and no more conversation. Just a frantic rhythm and building sensation and a climax so sharp, so stunning, her mouth fell open in a silent scream.

He growled against her shoulder, filling her deep as he reached his own peak.

And in the aftermath, as he slumped breathless and shaking against her—a miracle occurred. Amelia put her hands on his shoulders. And then she pushed him away. The physical bliss of her climax had nearly split her in two, but her anger and confusion remained intact. She had no foolish desire to hold him, to cradle him close and stroke his hair. No deep, secret wish to hear him murmur words of praise and love in her ear. She’d taken what she wanted from him, and she was satisfied.

Finally, she’d reached a position of equality with her husband. She’d learned how to give him her body without risking her heart.

What a cold, bitter triumph it was.

Spent and trembling, Spencer withdrew from his wife’s body. His knees locked as he lowered her to the floor.

She said, “I thought I was promised finesse.”

Spencer winced. He wasn’t especially proud of that performance. It had been brutish, angry, brief … and goddamned amazing, which somehow made it worse. “Do I owe you an apology?”

“Don’t be absurd.” Her eyes were the pale blue of river ice. “We both enjoyed it.”

He turned aside to straighten his garments, needing to escape her gaze. He’d just enjoyed the most intensely pleasurable sexual experience of his life, with the eager participation of his creative, willing lover. And he felt lower than the carpet fringe.

Shaking out her skirts, she said, “When can I have my money?”

“What?” Had she honestly just asked him for money? As if she were a common whore, lifting her skirts in a darkened alley for a tup against the wall? There was angry but amazing, and then there was … coarse.

“As you’ve just reminded me, we had an agreement when we married. I give you children; you give me security. Those were your words, Spencer. Specifically, you promised me twenty thousand pounds. I’d like to know how soon I can have it. If you refuse to let me see my brother, I’ll help him on my own. I’ll … I’ll …” Her words tumbled together, growing increasingly fraught with emotion. “I’ll do something. Perhaps I can send him back to university, or buy him a commission, or just find some place for him away from Town …”

Spencer put a hand to his temple. Her loyalty to Jack was admirable—and the very reason they’d met—but her protective efforts were doing her brother more harm than good. There was no way in hell he was going to hand over thousands of pounds and let her squander it by proxy in London’s seediest brothels and worse. “The money is held in trust. I can’t just give it to you. It doesn’t work that way.”

“I’m certain you could make it work that way, if you wished. You’re quite free with your chequebook when it suits you.” She cast a glance at the wall they’d so recently buttressed. “I’m holding up my end of the bargain.”

Bile rose in his throat, giving his words an acid tinge. “You’re not with child yet. By that logic, I don’t owe you anything until a son is born.”

“Half,” she said numbly. “I want half in advance. Or there’ll be no son at all.”

“What the devil has come over you? Holding your favors for payment, as if you were a harlot? This conversation is beneath you, Amelia. It’s beneath us both.”

“You’ve driven me to it!” A tear streaked down her face. “Don’t you have the slightest capacity for empathy? Leo was attacked while wandering the same neighborhoods Jack’s frequenting. Jack could so easily have been the one who was killed. I can’t just idly sit by and wait for him to come around. By the time he does, it could be too late. Yes, I would barter my body to save him. I would give my life, if that’s what it took.” Turning away, she buried her face in her hands.

A rough sigh deflated his chest. He closed the distance between them and slid an arm around her shoulders. She flinched, but he held her tight. He might not have possessed a natural talent for this hugging business, but he’d always been a quick study. He stroked a hand down her spine. “Jack doesn’t deserve that kind of devotion.”

“Who truly does?” She ceased struggling and buried her face in his waistcoat, and he folded both arms around her. “But you can’t ask me to stop loving him. It isn’t fair.”

He held her as she cried, trying to come to grips with his own painful conclusion—that he couldn’t ask his wife to stop loving her fool of a brother, any more than he could force her to feel the same for him. He let himself imagine, for a treacherous moment, what it would be like to know that Amelia would do anything for him. Give her last worldly possessions, her body … her life if it came to that. If he were ever so fortunate as to be the recipient of such affection, he damned sure wouldn’t be spurning it to chase idle pleasure in gaming halls.

All he need do was throw some money at Jack, and he’d be in her good graces again. But the whole cycle would just repeat. Sooner or later—most likely sooner—Jack would resurface, having squandered it all, promising to reform if only they’d give him a little more. And Spencer would be forced to refuse, and Amelia would cry …

No amount of reasoning or explanation could change her mind right now. She was too compassionate, too tenderhearted to break the pattern. He had no choice but to be the arrogant, unfeeling villain and do it for her.

“Spencer, please. If you could just talk to—”

“No,” he said firmly. “There will be no discussion, Amelia. My decision is made. I cannot, in good sense or good conscience, give your brother any funds. Now that he’s realized that, I think you’ll find Jack will be the one cutting the ties.”

She cried some more. He would have held her longer, but she pulled away. Instead he just stood there awkwardly, watching her weep. It was a miserable way to pass a quarter hour.

“Well?” she said finally, hugging her arms across her chest. “Where do we go from here?”

“We go to Briarbank. As soon as possible.” At least he could offer her that much consolation—a holiday at her cherished cottage. “Now that Leo’s token is in my possession, it won’t help my cause with Bellamy. More than ever, I need to gather him and Ashworth in one place and talk matters through.”

She stared at the carpet, and he sensed two factions warring within her: the wish to see her home again, and the desire to rebel.

Spencer might not yet have the key to her heart, but he did know the five words that would improve her disposition and win her cooperation. The same ones that must have worked for Jack, time and time again. He played that trump card now. “Amelia, I need your help.”

Her shoulders softened instantly. God, it was so easy, he almost felt guilty about it. She lived to be of service to those around her, to the point that she would deny her own happiness to secure others’. It might be low of him to take advantage, but if it was that or lose her completely …

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Didn’t Jack tell you? Briarbank is already let for the summer. You’ll have to rethink your house party plan.”

“No, I won’t.”

Her brow crinkled. “You won’t?”

“I …” He sighed. Brilliant. Now he was lying to her. He abhorred deceit, but if he told her the truth now, she would take it all the wrong way. He’d forfeit whatever remaining grain of esteem she might still have for him. “I’ll make them a better offer. Will you still want riding lessons?”

Will you still want to spend time with me?

She shook her head. “If we’re to leave as soon as possible, I’ll be too busy.” She looked toward the door. “I should go begin writing letters now.”

But she didn’t move. She just stood there, staring at the door, as if waiting for him to say something. It felt like a test, and he’d spent his boyhood living in terror of just such oral exams. He never knew the right thing to say.

“Amelia …” He exhaled slowly. “I still need an heir. But as you ask, I’ll honor our initial agreement. If, once you have borne me a son, you no longer wish to live with me …” He hated the thought of it, but at least he had the better part of a year to change her mind. “I will release the entirety of your trust and provide you with a completely separate home.”

Her lower lip trembled. Then thinned. Then folded under her teeth and all but disappeared.

Wrong thing. Wrong thing to say, completely. Devil, damn, blast.

For midday in summer, the air in the room took on an odd chill.

“Yes,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “That was our agreement, wasn’t it? I should never have expected more.”

“I just …” Damn it, how had this past hour gone so wrong? This morning, they’d been on the cusp of something wonderful. Closeness. Friendship. Intimacy. Now there was a wall between them. “Amelia, I just want you to be happy.”

“Oh, I shall be.” Lifting her chin, she smoothed her palms down her stomach and hips. “I am going to Briarbank, and I have a house party to host. Of course, I will choose to be happy.” Her cheeks tightened with a forced smile as she headed for the door. “Well. Now that’s settled. If you’ll excuse me, I have dinner to plan.”