Chapter 8
Lord Grayson’s Ball
London
Amelia entered Lord Grayson’s grand ballroom with Mrs. Pots by her side. The butler announced her name, the sound punching the air like glass shattering. Heads turned, and her stomach knotted. She felt like a tiny specimen to be gawked at and prodded. The members of the ton’s gazes were full of curiosity. A few smiled, while several chaperones donned a look of distaste in their shrewd eyes as if to say, competition.
Given that this was her first formal introduction to the ton, she told herself it was only protocol. Still, she gulped. The scene before her was nothing short of extravagance, as were the guests. She felt unnerved and out of place, even though she’d been trained for this day. A decade of training, to be exact.
“Well,” Mrs. Pots said, nudging her with her elbow. The woman’s plainly coiffured hair and her drab gown stood out like an eyesore. “Go fetch a husband.”
Amelia fought a frown. “I just arrived.”
“All three of the men on the list are here.”
“How do you know this?”
“I have my ways,” she said. “You’re here for one reason—to find a husband—and I am here to make certain you do exactly that.”
Even before her chaperone finished the sentence, Amelia was searching for him. She told herself that it was only to make sure she didn’t humiliate herself in front of him again. Better yet, forget the exchange you had with the earl this morning, she told herself as she walked deep into the ballroom with her chaperone. Pretend it didn’t happen. It was the only way she could move forward. Several gentlemen looked her way and smiled. Then another. And another.
“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s your inheritance they want,” Mrs. Pots whispered to her.
Amelia couldn’t understand why the woman held such a grudge against her. As it was, she didn’t feel purposeful or brave tonight. In fact, if she had her way, she wouldn’t be here at all. This was purely a means to an end, she reminded herself, and she wanted it to be over as quickly as possible.
She took a deep breath, her palm on her stomach and tried to ease the tension mounting in her neck and shoulders. Mrs. Pots gripped her arm and Amelia jerked, her heart wildly thumping in her chest.
“What is wrong with you tonight?” Mrs. Pots said. “Get in there.”
“Do not rush me,” Amelia hissed. “The prospect of choosing a husband without a proper courtship, or any regard for my opinion, isn’t something every girl dreams about.”
The woman observed her carefully with those familiar calculating eyes Amelia detested so much. “Go and take your pick. I don’t wish to be here any longer than we need to.”
“I don’t need you to remind me,” Amelia said, annoyed.
The woman glared at her. “I don’t understand you. Most women don’t have a choice in the matter, but your grandmother gave you a choice, although I cannot fathom why. I suggest you be grateful.” She paused as if concocting what she wanted to say next. “Go, get in there. I will get us refreshments.” She walked away before Amelia could respond, ignoring Society’s protocol that she remain by Amelia’s side.
Normally, Amelia couldn’t have cared less what she did now. But in this room, in front of these people, she couldn’t afford gossip. Amelia watched Mrs. Pots disappear among the crowd. She stood alone in the grand ballroom with all these guests, exposed.
When Mrs. Pots had returned from her errand this morning, there had been something odd about her. She’d been reserved, deep in her thoughts. What was her chaperone concocting in her head?
Had she discovered Amelia had sneaked out of the house last night? Or discovered her plan to annul the marriage?
The woman had even canceled the afternoon tea and reading of the Bible. It would be a disastrous end if she’d somehow discovered Amelia had no intention of staying married to anyone.
Breathing in deeply once more, she took in the scenery and the grandeur of the ballroom. A sparkle of shimmering lights reflected off the crystal glass of the chandeliers, and the scent of flowers lingered in the air as impeccably dressed footmen walked around catering to the guests. This magical night seemed to promise a fairytale to come. Even she could not deny the sense of freedom and excitement she felt just now. And the ivory silk dress her modiste had sewn together with exquisite detail made her feel, dare she think it, magical.
Although she had not been allowed to attend every event growing up in Scotland, her grandmother’s annual ball was extravagant, and a treat. She’d sit back in the farthest level of the stairs, watch the guests, and dream of the day she would be free of the place. Meanwhile, she had been schooled in all aspects of good breeding. When she was finally allowed to attend the ball at the age of seventeen, she had learned to play the part her grandmother had wanted her to play: a properly educated, well-bred lady.
Yet tonight, being here, her senses were heightened, and she felt terribly clumsy.
The ball was in full motion, and Blackthorn heard the familiar music before he entered the grand ballroom on the ground floor. The fragrant aromas of beeswax and flowers permeated the hallway as he approached the ballroom. Hundreds of candles adorned the sconces and reflected from the chandeliers. The servants gracefully walked about the room in their liveries, serving guests their drinks.
He forced a grin and slowly walked into the ballroom. The crowd hushed in waves, then came to a painful silence. All eyes were on him instantly, and he felt a need to get the hell out of there. He didn’t like this. Despite being the son of an earl, he had never felt at home in this place. Among these guests, he could not deny the emptiness. He looked around, scanning the room for familiar faces.
Lately he had wanted, needed to share what he had seen—death, war, and destruction. But with whom? It was always a faceless someone. He’d been feeling this way since his brother passed, not quite understanding why. He told himself this was what happened when one had faced death in war and spent years around the world spying for king and country. A part of him was hollowed, empty, and nothing in this world would fill that void. He accepted this reality as he had accepted all the missions without hesitation.
He chuckled inwardly. He was skilled at pretending he was someone else, going from mission to mission. But he wasn’t playing a part now. He was the new Lord Blackthorn. Here, he couldn’t hide. Here, he was confined to the rules set forth by his forefathers, rules that would define him and eventually suck the life out of him. Fortunately, he wouldn’t be staying long.
He yanked at his tight cravat, which suddenly felt all too confining. What he needed was a tall drink. Or two.
He scanned the room, but what or who he was searching for, he wasn’t sure. One nameless beauty after another. Young and naïve. There must be nearly three hundred people here tonight. Scanning the crowd for a friendly face, he found none. Chatham was on his honeymoon with his new bride, and most of his brother spies for the Home Secretary were out of the county by the orders of the Prince Regent.
The blond woman caught his attention. Her figure was regal, with curves that tickled his fingers. He inched closer. The woman reached back with her long, delicate fingers to touch the hook of the silver necklace donning her slender neck. Inching closer again, he kept his gaze on her. The thought of those hands wrapped around his manhood, stroking the crown, made him tight with need. She turned her head to look at the gentleman next to her and something akin to jealousy ensued.
Then familiarity . . .
Amelia Knight. Damn the bloody woman.
He stopped dead in his tracks as his mind grappled with the idea of her. His body wanted her, but his mind warned against that very idea. In truth, he didn’t want to spend his entire evening quarreling, with her assaulting him every way possible. He had better things to do, like go off somewhere quiet and drink a bottle of scotch in peace.
Why was he even here?
Ah, yes. He’d promised Grayson he’d stop by.
Seeing well above the crowd, he searched for a drink. Even now, the crowd slowly dribbled into the ballroom from the hallway. As he walked toward the footman holding a silver tray, he saw Elizabeth Deveraux and his mother approaching him. He grimaced.
Too late to leave, as they had spotted him. He scowled and fisted his hands.
“There you are,” his mother said, joining him.
“Ladies,” he said. No doubt she had decided to conveniently forget their conversation in his study last night. His mother had a talent for selective memory. Otherwise, how did one go about the way she did without any recourse for her actions? Was the room getting more crowded? He looked around and noticed several groups of women and men feigning business, but he was keenly aware they were eavesdropping.
“It’s been a long time, my lord. Too long,” Elizabeth said, her tone light and sweet.
“I heard about your husband,” he said in a solemn tone. Elizabeth’s expression changed. Did he detect a hint of sadness in those shrewd eyes?
“Did you hear about the heiress?” she said quickly, avoiding his comment.
No matter how much Elizabeth would deny it, she loved gossip and those with the most fortune. In this case, he surmised she wanted to know if he was interested in the woman. Was she looking for a reaction from him?
“Which one?” Blackthorn said. His mother frowned. There were several women who each had over twenty thousand pounds in dower. You could usually tell by the size of the crowd around the young woman, if one were to really assess the situation, which he had no interest in doing.
“The heiress from Scotland. I was informed she would be attending tonight.”
She was here all right, and she wanted Somersby Hall. God knows why. That house was a curse to the family, and he meant to rid himself of it quickly so that he could pay off the damn debt, close down the houses, and leave London.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, ladies, but I must be off.” After a few drinks to take the edge off, he intended to approach the heiress about her interest in Somersby Hall.
“Where are you going?” his mother said.
“Somewhere quiet.”
“Oh, I see Philip,” his mother said, giving no thought to what he’d just said. “I hear he recently returned from abroad. I must go speak with him. Come, Elizabeth.”
Blackthorn gazed at the young man standing proudly at his father's side. Philip sipped his drink and smiled at the young woman he was conversing with. Some said Philip had inherited his late mother's principles. While Philip may stand for all that was moral, his father, Sir Kendall, was quite the opposite.
Blackthorn looked at his mother. “Do as you wish.”
"I will. I just wish my only son would learn to enjoy what life has to offer,” she said, and crossed the room with Elizabeth to greet Philip.
Blackthorn slowly unleashed his breath. Then, from the periphery, he felt someone approach. He sensed it before he knew. An unwelcome visitor. He made his attempt to quickly walk away. Too late.
“Ah, your mother is looking quite . . . well,” Sir Kendall said with an amused tone.
This is going to be one hell of a night.
“And Lady Deveraux seems to have recovered from her husband’s passing,” Sir Kendall added, giving him a knowing look. There was a hint of insolence in Kendall’s voice.
“If you say so.”
“I didn’t think you would show tonight,” Kendall said.
“Why is that?”
“Let’s just say you don’t seem the sort to enjoy these types of gatherings.”
The man was perceptive, which made Blackthorn wonder if he was spying on him. “If you’ll excuse me.” He started to walk away.
“Just a moment, young man.”
Blackthorn stopped in his tracks. The thought of teaching Kendall some manners gave him a great deal of pleasure now. Normally, he wasn’t one to let others dictate his behavior, and living the life of a spy had taught him to play the part well in that regard. But he detested bullies, especially ones that threatened him.
He turned around and glared at Kendall. “What?” he uttered, letting all formalities fall.
When Blackthorn had discovered his father owed an insurmountable sum, he had dug deeper and found out this bully owned a high-priced brothel and gaming halls. Oh, yes, he knew of the brothel and women, the so-called high-priced Cyprians that Kendall controlled with an iron fist. He catered to the highest bidders of the ton, but what Society was blind to was that the owner was not a woman Kendall had strategically placed in these brothels, but Kendall himself.
“I suggest you listen if you know what is good for you,” Kendall hissed.
“Do not threaten me, old man,” Blackthorn whispered. “I am aware of your dealings . . .your so-called ‘businesses.’”
Kendall’s lips thinned and his eyes narrowed.
“You will not approach me again regarding this matter. I gave you my word you will get your damn money.”
Shaking his head, Kendall noted, “Lucky your father is dead. He would surely be disappointed to see you treat his friends with such impudence. After what I did for him.”
“You have a canny way of twisting the truth,” Blackthorn murmured.
“If you knew the entire truth . . .” Kendall grinned.
“Do not mistake who you are addressing. Unlike my father, I choose not to skulk in the presence of a gutless bully.”
Kendall’s eyes widened, and his lips thinned like a tight string. “How dare you. I make it my business to make certain I come out the victor, so if I were you, I’d be a little more grateful that I didn’t call in the debt today.”
“Get out of my sight,” Blackthorn warned.
“If I don’t see the money in thirty days, you will regret it,” Kendall warned. “I would hate to see your name appear in the headlines of The London Times, or better yet, see you die in a debtor’s prison.”
Cutting a glare, the pig walked away. Blackthorn raked his hand through his hair and took a deep breath to ease the mounting urge to beat the hell out of Kendall. He’d been in prison while on a mission, and he didn’t give a damn about his name appearing in any gossip columns.
Walking in the opposite direction of Kendall, he saw Lord Benedict Grayson near the tall window across the room. Grayson, who wore a ridiculously wide grin on his face, was speaking with someone. It must be a woman—why else would he don such a ridiculous smile? But Blackthorn couldn’t tell who at his angle, as a tall gentleman was blocking her. He inched closer to greet his friend and take his mind off the unpleasant encounter with Kendall.
As he approached, Grayson was drooling all over the mystery—
Oh, hell. Amelia Knight, he said to himself when the gentleman blocking his view of her walked off with the woman he was speaking with.
Her hair was pulled up in a loose bun and secured with an ornate pin, showcasing her silky neck, one that was meant to be kissed. Even now, his fingers itched to loosen her hair and let it tumble down like a waterfall, but another part of him wanted to turn on his heel and walk away.
Gray gently cupped her elbow and leaned in a little, whispering something in her ear. A twinge of envy pricked Blackthorn. Gray saw him approach and threw him a look that said hands off—I saw her first. Simply to vex him, if nothing else. They’d always had a healthy dose of rivalry. Blackthorn’s gaze moved down the curves of her body, and again his body reacted without his permission.
Miss Knight, the heiress who’d had the audacity to walk out after a heated argument. He saw her smile and his mouth pulled into a grin. You’re an idiotic fool. His gaze lowered to her chest, the perfect bosom that rose and fell. Her hand moved up to fiddle with the stone on the necklace. He continued to approach.
“Blackthorn,” Grayson said, “I’d like to introduce Miss Amelia Knight."
Blackthorn cocked his brow, waiting to see what she would say.
“We’ve met,” she said with a polite smile.
Grayson looked rather amused. “I see,” he said. “Well, then . . .” He observed them both. “I guess there is no need for introductions.”
“I apologize,” Miss Knight said, “but I am in need of refreshment.”
“Of course. Shall we?” Grayson said with a wide grin.
“Might I have a word, Miss Knight?” Blackthorn instinctively reached out and nearly grabbed her elbow, but stopped when the group of women took notice.
She looked back at him. “Oh?” She looked at Lord Grayson’s questioning gaze.
“If the lady wishes it, Blackthorn.”
Amelia looked at Grayson and smiled before turning back to Blackthorn. “I’m rather . . . parched, my lord. Perhaps another time. If you will excuse me.” She proceeded to allow Grayson to guide her to the refreshments table.
He watched her walk off with Grayson with disappointment squeezing his chest. Not quite understanding this strange feeling, he turned and walked off in the opposite direction. Parched? What kind of damn excuse was that?
Bloody woman.
Amelia pulled her cloak tightly around her to ward off the chill outside the ballroom. She liked the cool breeze on her warm face. She had been feeling suffocated in there. Lord Grayson seemed to be an amiable man. She enjoyed his company and kindness. Perhaps he would take part in her plans, instead of Lord Blackthorn. The idea was enticing, but something in her didn’t entirely agree with the idea.
Looking up, she saw a few stars dotted between the scattered clouds. The moon peeked through the clouds brightly. She smiled. The distant music slowly faded, and silence engulfed her as she walked farther away from the entrance of the ballroom. From where she stood, she could see the dazzling lights through the tall windows, guests drinking and enjoying themselves. She had to admit, even with her distaste for this type of gathering, she somehow felt enchanted by it all for once. But, in the end, she had never felt she belonged here, and in truth she didn’t.
Looking back, she noticed someone exit the ball, and she continued on a narrow pathway toward the manicured rose garden. Ahead of her, there was a private area with a bench surrounded by trees.
Having no wish to converse with anyone, especially Lord Blackthorn, she walked ahead to the trees where she hoped to ensconce herself. Once there, she sat down on the bench and hoped the trees would shield her from prying eyes.
When she heard footfalls coming toward her, she held her breath. Suddenly, she was all too aware of her response to being watched. You're being ridiculous. No one is staring at you.
When all was quiet, she let out her breath. It must be the stress and the pressure of having to choose a husband she didn’t want. These people. This place. At times, the thought of playing the part her grandmother wished was almost too much to bear. But memories of her childhood helped to refuel her resolve and remind her where she came from: the slums, born to a fallen woman who had given her only child away.
But this place brought back too many memories and too much shame. These people who had once viewed Amelia as a thing in the streets called her filth and poor, now gathered around her with compliments.
Cook had been kind, and he truly cared for her. Not like these vultures circling around her because of her inheritance. Perhaps, when all this was over, she would look for him. She wanted nothing to do with these people, yet she needed them. How conflicting was that?
The image of Lord Blackthorn rescuing her like a gallant knight came to her—not that she knew what a gallant knight would look like. But she knew the reality. He wasn’t what she pictured; no, he was a highborn privileged lord, just like the rest she had come to know. Still, he had helped her and Kate in the alley the other day. Maybe he couldn’t live with himself had he turned a blind eye to their desperate need, so there must be some good in him.
She heard footfalls coming closer.
Then closer again.
Then came a very familiar voice. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
She stood up from the bench and stepped closer to the trunk of the nearest tree, as if it should shield her. “You startled me,” she blurted out. The hood of her cloak fell back as she looked up at his gaze. Under the moon, the distinct contours of his face cast a shadow that made him look aloof, dark, and foreboding. He reminded her of a dark knight ready to do battle at a moment’s notice. His gaze didn’t miss a beat as it lowered to her lips . . . her neck, and down to her bosom. She pulled her cloak closed and held it tight.
The breeze tousled his hair, and his expression softened, becoming almost gentle. She wondered what he looked like when he smiled. And why must he look quite so irritatingly handsome? Under his gaze, she felt exposed and discomfited.
Clearing her throat, she said, “I . . . I must be heading back. I am certain Mrs. Pots will be looking for me by now.” She walked several steps but halted at the sound of his voice. Her heart pumped harder and faster as each second ticked by.
“Wait,” he said. He looked as though he were contemplating something. “Take a walk with me?”
Walk with him? Alone, in the dark? The thought made her heart leap with uncertainty. Why would he possibly want this? He had made it clear to her exactly what he thought about her, hadn’t he? “Why?” she blurted out. There was no point in ceremony with this man. They’d passed that.
He regarded her for several seconds. “A curious response.”
“It’s a perfectly natural response.”
“If you say so,” he replied smoothly.
“Why do you persist in seeking me out? You made your intention clear to me.”
He took several steps forward and stopped. “I see you are still harboring ill will from this morning.”
“I am most certainly not,” she said. “Besides, you don’t know me well enough to make that judgement.”
“Of course you are,” he said. “I make it my business to know people. Rest assured, Miss Knight, seeking you out was the last thing I wanted to do tonight, but it’s important I speak with you.”
Ugh. So he wanted something from her, just like every other gentleman in this blasted town. Already she had the attention of several gentlemen and Lord Grayson because of her inheritance. They were like a pack of wolves closing in on their prize. Why else would he seek her out? “Very well, say what you must.”
“I rather hoped we could do this in private.”
“There is no one here,” she said, looking about.
“I beg to differ.” His eyes guided her to look far left beyond the garden.
Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t see anyone.” Certainly, the man was observant. This made her wonder what else he had been spying on. She must really be cautious with him.
“I insist.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to discern what exactly he wanted from her. “Very well, but I’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible.” As silly as it was, she felt so unsure of herself when she was around him.
“Very well, give me a few minutes head start. Follow me into the ballroom. Turn left. Down the hall, another left. It’s the third door to your left. Knock twice.”
She nodded, pulled her hood over her head, and watched him leave.
Blackthorn entered the house and walked toward the library. With each step away from her, thoughts of Miss Knight became solid in his mind. She may indeed be reckless and stubborn, but he was beginning to admire her courage.
As soon as he entered the library, he saw Elizabeth by the hearth. Immediately, she looked at him, her expression dour, almost sad. He left the door ajar and strolled in, but only far enough to keep a discreet distance.
“I didn’t realize anyone was in here.” He didn’t trust her one bit. After returning home from the war, he’d discovered she had married an earl. Their promise had meant nothing to her. There had been no letter, no apology. Her entire dismissal of their relationship had been enough to show him just how cowardly she really was. But then again, he’d been too young to comprehend the gravity of his commitment.
“I had hoped to see you here,” she said, lowering her gaze. She bit her lower lip as she used to do when she wasn’t certain how to approach him. He could never deny her then, but it was different now. “As I recall, libraries were your favorite place to escape.”
He didn’t want to encourage her behavior. In truth, there was nothing between them, not even if he tried to salvage what they’d once had so long ago. “I must go.”
“Wait. Stay.”
“I really can’t.”
“Will you not allow me the courtesy to explain, Richard?”
“Courtesy?” he started. “Interesting choice of words.”
“Oh, my darling, I had no choice, you see . . .” She paused, as if she were struggling to speak. “Papa threatened—”
“You owe me no explanation, my lady. Not anymore.”
“Richard,” she said, reaching for him, and he stepped back. “Please, will you give me a chance to explain, after all we’ve been through?”
He didn’t allow himself to think on this. She was manipulative, and her words akin to poison. “This is highly inappropriate.”
“Even after all we’ve been through?”
A few kisses here and there, and promises she’d broken. “You made your choice. You must live with it.”
She paused and looked squarely at him, watching him as if calculating her next move. “All right. I don’t know what I can do to change your opinion of me.” She paused and took a step closer to him. “But know this. If there is any hope that you may find it in your heart to forgive me, I will endeavor to make that happen.”
Not in your lifetime, he thought. There was a time he would have believed her, but now her words felt like shards of broken glass under his bare feet. He had been a damn idiotic fool to not see her true self; but then again, they had been too young.
A knock at the door broke the silence. Bloody hell. The damn door opened wider, and the angelic beauty stood before him, her smile fading . . .
“Miss Knight,” Lord Blackthorn said. “The countess was just leaving.” He gestured for her to leave.
The two women observed each other most curiously. Then the countess turned to him with a sensual smile. “Until next time, my lord.”
Amelia watched as the countess leaned in toward her to whisper in her ear. “He’s in a feisty mood tonight. Please do take caution with him.” Honestly, everywhere she looked, women were either ogling him with girlish whispers or seeking him out with no shame in the hope of gaining his attention.
As the door clicked shut, Lord Blackthorn said, “The countess was—”
“How you conduct yourself with the countess in private is of no concern to me.” She stepped deep into the study with an undeniable disappointment pinching her heart.
He observed her as if she were an oddity he could not discern. Disappointment slowly seeped deeper into her veins. What did she expect from this man? For him to be a handsome knight in shining armor come to rescue her? Why was she letting herself feel this way?
“Are you always this blunt?” he said, breaking the silence.
She watched as he walked to her. Her initial reaction was to take a step back, but she didn’t move for fear that he may see right through her. It seemed for a moment he had something to say so she waited, but all he did was run his hands through the thick of his hair as if frustrated. Troubled, even. She looked at him. Really looked at him, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of grief lingering in his eyes.
That instant, she realized she had never cared to consider if this man might have troubles of his own. What could a titled man with everything he could ever want in this world be concerned about? All the women of the ton flocked to him as if he were the last man in London, and he had the kind of freedom she desired—to live out his life as he pleased.
“Are you always this arrogant?” she said, when what she wanted was to know what was troubling him. The man brought out the worst in her, she thought.
He said nothing for a moment.
From the proximity of him, his lingering fragrance was too enticing and made her feel strange and nervous. Her heart leaped quicker at the thought of the changed disposition between them. All he was doing was standing there looking at her and she felt so exposed. Her gaze lowered and took in the entirety of him. He was dressed in his impeccably fitted suit that made her feel strangely warm. His mustard-yellow waistcoat framed by a dark blue tailcoat fit his broad chest perfectly. His cream breeches showcased his fine legs to perfection. Everything about him was flawless. Too perfect.
He carefully watched her as if he were trying to read her thoughts. Beyond the facade, there was something else there, something she could not name, and the way he was looking at her made her very uneasy. “What did you want to speak to me about?” she said.
He sighed heavily. “Why don’t we start with a proper introduction . . . to start anew? Yes?”
She nodded.
He took her hand and placed it in his as if she were a fragile doll. His hand was warm and surprisingly calloused. This was not the hand of a man who lived a luxurious and privileged lifestyle. He lowered his lips and kissed her knuckles, sending tingles up and down her arm.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Miss Knight.”
Her instinct told her to pull her hand away, but she couldn’t. Didn’t. Instead, she wanted to slide her hands inside his coat and feel his warm skin against hers. To taste his skin on her lips. His frame told her he was big under his clothes, but just how big? Did he have the rippling muscles of a Greek god, or was he lean? She’d seen pictures of naked men in books before, but never a live model. She suddenly blushed.
She gently pulled her hand away. “Lord Blackthorn,” she whispered. Her gaze lowered to his lips, then down further, and she suddenly had an urge to undo his cravat and toss it. Stop this at once, she chided. She was silent for a few seconds, not really knowing how she should proceed. No doubt he’d had dozens of women at his disposal, and she would be an insignificant nobody if it weren’t for the money. He’d never look twice at her otherwise, she knew. The thought was sobering, and it made her remember why she was here in the first place.
She sat down on the chair by the large desk in the middle of the room to put some distance between them. “What did you want to speak to me about?” she said again.
He sat down opposite her. “My solicitor tells me you are interested in Somersby Hall.”
“I am,” she said.
“It’s yours if you are serious about acquiring it.”
“Why would I not be serious?” she said, frowning. “Is it because I am a woman?” She was surprised by her own defensiveness and irritation. He had merely asked her if she was serious, and she’d snapped back. The truth was, she was afraid he’d see right through her—her insecurities, her doubts. In turn, she was afraid he would find out the truth of her birth and attempt to circumvent this deal and take all her possessions. She was afraid of losing everything.
“A curious response,” he said, raising his brows.
She ignored that remark. Go ahead, propose the marriage. Do it now before you lose your nerve. She could hear Kate’s words now telling her that it was not going to be easy. “There is something else I must speak to you about—that is, other than Somersby Hall.”
His brows rose again. “Oh?”
“I will keep to the point since neither one of us wants to waste any more time than necessary.” She stood straighter and looked squarely at him. “I am to inherit a large sum of money . . . quite large, actually. Unfortunately, there are certain stipulations I must adhere to before I can inherit.”
His eyes narrowed shrewdly at her. “Let me guess,” he said, as if reading her mind. “You need a man with a title?” The tone of his voice was so condescending. Before she could retort, he said something that really hit a nerve with her. “Isn’t that why a woman such as yourself comes to London for the Season?”
Such as myself? She felt a sudden urge to show him exactly what kind of woman she was. She took a step forward and looked squarely at him. “And your kind, my lord, will resort to any means necessary to get your hands on a large sum of money, isn’t that right?”
“You don’t know me well enough to make that assumption.”
“I know enough of your kind, my lord,” she remarked. “If I had it my way, I wouldn’t be here. Believe me when I say that marriage is the last thing I want. God forbid I might aim for greater things in life than to be chattel to an entitled, self-absorbed man.” His brows pulled, and his lips thinned, but she wouldn’t take it back. “Not that you would comprehend that.”
“I wonder, what might have caused you to regard my sex quite severely? Mmm?”
“It’s your nature. Your kind can’t help yourselves, as it’s a trait by default.” All the men presented to her at balls had one thing on their minds: her inheritance, she thought sullenly. They were all the same, just as the man standing before her. They were privileged yet unwilling to do anything with the power they held in their hands.
Granted, the man before her had managed to assist her, risking his own life in aiding her and Kate, so he must have some measure of decency in him. Still, she was not going to sacrifice everything to answer his questions, only to have him take it all away. She watched him carefully, as his expression was still as stone. It was difficult to read this man, which made this all the harder.
“Present company excluded, for the moment,” she said. “You’ve gone out of your way to assist us, so that much gives you some measure of decency.”
“Oh, that makes it so much better,” he said sarcastically.
“I mean what I say.”
“I am sure you do, in a crude way.”
“I’m determined.”
His expression hardened. “I will agree with you on that. Determined and reckless.”
He meant her presence at Whitechapel, but she didn’t want him asking more questions than she was willing to answer. “Are we going to conduct our business? Or shall we insult each other some more?”
“Very well. What are the details of this proposal?” he asked.
She watched him carefully, trying to decide how much to reveal. His expression remained hard, causing her to tread carefully. From where she stood, his striking eyes looked deep blue or green, as if she could sink into them. They seemed to change at will, probing her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. And why had she not noticed his nose that looked as though it had once been broken? Her gaze lowered to his lips, and her heart thumped faster and harder at the thoughts possessing her mind. God, could the man be any more insufferably handsome? She was certain he knew it too, hence his overinflated ego.
“You are correct in that I must marry a man of title to gain my inheritance,” she said. “It is also true that I want Somersby Hall, but you must know I don’t have the funds to purchase the house now. Once we are wed, I will have access to my entire inheritance.” She paused, trying to read his expression, but he gave away nothing. “I am only asking for a year, two at the most. My grandmother’s physician thinks she doesn’t have much time,” she said. “I can draw up a contract which will note that fifty percent of my inheritance and Somersby Hall will be mine; the rest is yours to do with as you wish.”
“Fifty percent of what exactly?” he said, his brows rising.
“One hundred thousand pounds, and my grandmother’s summer cottage in Wales will be yours, too.”
“That’s significant,” he noted. “Why are you doing this?”
“I already told you.”
“Clearly you have properties you can make use of and enough money to be very comfortable for a long time. Why do you want Somersby Hall?”
“I have no wish to remain in Scotland or Wales.” It was a prison to me and is filled with bad memories, she thought.But instead she said, “Or be handed over to a man without any regards to my wishes. I will not be treated like a chattel.”
He narrowed his eyes as if trying to figure out her true motives. “I can understand your need for independence, but chattel? You can easily sell your grandmother’s property.”
“I don’t want the burden of having to sell it after my grandmother’s death. In fact, I don’t want any part of it, and I don’t plan on setting foot in Scotland or Wales again,” she said.
“I see.” He nodded. “You want to break all ties and start anew.”
She nodded. “Will you agree to it or not?” He looked as though he wished to probe further, but he didn’t, and she was thankful.
“Who’s to say I won’t change my mind once we are wed?”
True, and she was scared to death of it, but at this point, she didn’t have much choice. It was a risk she must take. “As I have said, from your assistance the other night, I assume you have some measure of honor and decency.”
He watched her again with those probing green eyes that seemed to read her thoughts. His gaze lowered to her lips and to her bosom, making her feel extremely discomfited.
“Does this contract include consummating the marriage?”
“Of course not.” The thought of such things with this man made her insides tingle with uncertainty. If she wasn’t careful, she feared he might see right through her with those sharp eyes of his. “Our arrangement will be strictly business.” She paused. “I must tell you that my grandmother has me watched day and night by her loyal companion, Mrs. Pots. This woman would be no less than gratified to see me fail in all regards.”
“I see. You despise this woman?”
“It wasn’t always that way.” Mrs. Pots was a bitter woman, and much of her bitterness was directed at Amelia. “My grandmother has thought of everything, and I am left with few choices.”
“To gain your independence.” It was a statement rather than a question. “What of your parents?”
“They’re dead.” Her father was dead. Even if her mother was alive, she’d never made any attempt to contact her. Sudden hot anger and resentment burned through her. She didn’t like this. She didn’t want to feel this feeling that always seemed to cloud her mind. “I don’t have much time. I need an answer.”