“I feel as though I’m caught in a dream,” Amelia whispered to her sister when they climbed the steps to Elmwood House Friday evening. A long parade of carriages pulled by magnificent horses rolled by behind them in the street. “Being a guest and arriving with all of this showiness is something of an experience.”

“I’m just glad our gowns managed to arrive on time,” Juliette said. “It’s nice to enjoy the evening with something new to wear.”

Amelia chose not to mention that her sister had several other gowns in her wardrobe that she’d never worn before. At least two of them would have been appropriate for this evening’s event. Still, she had to concede that she was a bit pleased with the prospect herself. After taking a close look at each of the gowns the dressmaker had delivered, she’d settled on a pretty creation of gold silk gauze. It had been meticulously stitched in layers of breezy skirts that billowed behind her as she walked. The bodice, cut lower than she’d expected, was accentuated with a pretty row of shimmering beads while a wide satin sash cut beneath her breasts to tie at the back in a bow.

Arriving at the entrance, she felt her stomach tighten with anticipation, because although she’d decided to forget about trying to win Coventry’s affection—not that she wanted it any longer since she’d fallen out of love with him—she couldn’t help but hope for him to be a bit taken with her this evening. It was an innate longing for him to be drawn to her femininity, to look at her with masculine appreciation glowing in his eyes and . . . Well, she simply wanted him to find her attractive. What harm was there in that?

Lady Everly introduced her and Juliette to their host and hostess, the Earl and Countess of Elmwood. Amelia managed to complete an acceptable curtsey before continuing through to the dazzling display of light reflecting off three crystal chandeliers and countless gemstones.

Accompanying her chaperones, she made brief and polite conversation with those who approached and asked for introductions. Her dance card was pulled from her reticule and soon contained the names of three partners with whom she would be dancing. She recalled two of the names from the list prepared by Lady Everly, but couldn’t remember the third, though she believed he was a baron. His title had been lost amid all the compliments he’d been bestowing.

“Ladies . . .”

The deep timbre of Coventry’s voice drew her attention as he came up behind them.

With her heart pattering so rapidly against her chest that she started to fear for her stays, Amelia took a deep breath and turned slowly toward him, catching him right in the middle of his elegant bow. Their eyes met and for a second he seemed to go utterly still. Blinking, he straightened to his full height and allowed his gaze to wander from Amelia to Juliette to Lady Everly and then back to Amelia once more before saying, “You must be the loveliest ladies here, besides my own mother.”

From her position to his right, the dowager duchess chuckled before moving toward Lady Everly and whispering something in her ear. The countess nodded and replied with an equally incoherent answer. Coventry turned toward Juliette. “I was hoping to dance with you if your card has not yet been filled.”

Juliette grinned. “Indeed it has not been. I’d be delighted to partner with you this evening, Your Grace.” She handed him her card and Amelia watched while he scribbled his name.

He turned to her next and for one fleeting second—just long enough for her skin to grow hot beneath the intensity of his regard—he lowered his gaze to the wide expanse of skin her gown revealed. “And you, my lady?” he inquired, his eyes meeting hers once again. “Would you be kind enough to partner with me, as well?”

Unable to get a single word past the dryness in her throat, Amelia nodded and handed him her card. He studied it so long she began to grow anxious. A frown appeared on the bridge of his nose. Looking up, he gave her an assessing look, considered the card once more and proceeded to write.

Amelia almost snatched the card from between his fingers when he finally held it toward her, her eyes flying across the various names until she encountered his. “The waltz?” She raised her head with a jerk and stared at him in confusion.

“Since your brother did task me with protecting you, I think I ought to prevent another gentleman from claiming it.”

“But . . .” She looked at her sister, whose eyes kept shifting from Amelia to Coventry and back again. “What about Juliette?”

His lips widened to form an accommodating smile. “I believe Lord Yates will be more than happy to step in. She will be fine.”

“But . . .”

Stepping back, he sketched a quick bow. “You must excuse me now. I have a bit of business to attend to. Mama?” He drew the dowager duchess’s attention. “I trust you and Lady Everly will keep a vigilant eye on Lady Amelia and Lady Juliette for the next hour or so?”

“Of course.” Both matrons were suddenly leading Amelia and Juliette away from Coventry while the dowager duchess craned her neck and scanned the room. “Let us find Mr. Lowell,” she said. “He must be here somewhere.”

Resisting the urge to tug on his cravat, Thomas strode toward the gaming room and approached the sideboard where a selection of bottles and carafes had been put on display. He poured himself a brandy, downing the spicy liquor in one swift gulp before pouring himself another. What in God’s name was Lady Amelia wearing? He tried to recall, but his mind remained blank, save for a vision of creamy skin rising from beneath a blur of gold trimmings. And her breasts! How the hell had he failed to notice the impeccable shape of them before? They were like a pair of treats encased in smooth deliciousness just begging to be sampled.

Damnation!

He’d have to have a strict word with his mother and Lady Everly about this. Not that there was anything inappropriate about Lady Amelia’s choice of gown per se—especially not if its purpose was to cause her dance partner to falter—but he’d been so accustomed to seeing her more modestly attired that this new vision she presented was like a kick in the shin.

Refraining from fetching a shawl or some other large piece of fabric and demanding she cover herself had been bloody difficult. In fact, he’d been tempted to stick to her side and ensure that every gentleman she entertained would be looking at her face instead of a few inches lower. But the fact was he’d come here for more than one reason, and since he’d no desire to ruin Lady Amelia’s evening, he’d chosen to remove himself from her company and leave her in his mother’s and Lady Everly’s capable hands before he said something regrettable.

Savoring his next sip of brandy, he scanned the room until he located Lord Liverpool. The prime minister was finishing up a game of faro so Thomas strode forward, slicing his way across the carpet until he stood at the man’s shoulder. Leaning down, he whispered close to his ear, “I was wondering if I might have a word.”

“Your Grace,” Liverpool said, turning his head and looking up. He didn’t seem too pleased with the interruption, but excused himself to his companions anyway before shoving himself to his feet and following Thomas to a private corner. “How may I be of service?”

“It is about my bill,” Thomas began.

Liverpool raised a knowing eyebrow. He rocked back on his heels before saying, “I am sorry, Coventry, but I do not see a positive outcome for it.”

“Why not?” This bill meant everything to him. “Have you even tried to convince others of its importance?”

Lord Liverpool blew out a breath and quietly nodded. “It is not that we do not think children ought to be protected, but forcing men to acknowledge by-blows and then creating a law that allows these offspring the same rights as legitimate children is unwise. There are women who would happily take advantage of such a law. And what then? Would you insist that every earl who cavorts with his mistress should give the product of his indiscretion the right to inherit?”

Thomas leaned forward and met the earl’s unrelenting gaze. “I would have men take responsibility for their actions. And I should like for each of them to have the opportunity to make their offspring heir, if that is what they wish to do.” Tempering his tone, he softly added, “It is what I would like to do.”

Liverpool stared at him for a long moment before saying, “Although I sympathize with your . . . situation, your bill is too personal, Coventry, and far too preposterous to even consider. No one else can relate to it, so I would suggest you think of something else—a different proposal with greater appeal. Like a way in which to reduce crime or create better working conditions for the lower classes. That is something even the House of Commons can get behind.”

Tightening his hold on his glass, Thomas acknowledged Liverpool’s dismissal. It was a blow, mostly because of the effect it would have on Jeremy’s future. The very thought of it turned his stomach, but there was little he could do. Passing a bill was difficult work, and he’d known he’d faced an impossible battle. Unwilling to reveal the extent of his disappointment, he gave the prime minister a swift nod. “I will think about it,” he said. Wishing Liverpool a continued good evening, he took his leave and returned to the ballroom where a minuet was presently underway.

Several ladies smiled and batted their eyelids in his direction. He greeted them all with a noncommittal nod—one that would hopefully dissuade them from thinking they might have a chance at snatching him up. Marriage wasn’t something he planned to consider—not as long as he had Jeremy to look after. The boy’s well-being, his education and care, were his prime concern. Everything else seemed somewhat insignificant by comparison.

Although . . .

Stepping past a pillar, he was suddenly afforded an unhindered view of the dance floor where at least two dozen ladies and gentlemen were twisting and turning in time to the music that rose from the orchestra’s five violins. Only one face captivated his interest, however. Lady Amelia. She was radiant right now with the blush of exertion painting her cheeks in a pretty shade of pink. And her smile. It was enough to make even the most stalwart bachelor want to propose. She was clearly enjoying herself and the attention Mr. Lowell was giving her in the form of winks and privately spoken words. There was an intimacy between them that for some unknown reason made Thomas want to march out onto the dance floor and pull her away from the man’s hungry gaze.

Drawing a breath, he forced back the unwelcome darkness materializing in his gut. It was only a dance. That was all. Not to mention that Mr. Lowell would make her a wonderful match. Thomas knew the man well—considered him a friend. He’d be a fool if he ruined things between Mr. Lowell and Lady Amelia by acting like a jealous suitor. Which he wasn’t. Not in the least.

“She has turned out well.”

Glancing at the man who’d spoken, Thomas greeted another of his friends, Baron Hawthorne. “It does appear that way, does it not?”

Hawthorne moved so he and Thomas stood shoulder to shoulder while watching the dance. “Her sister has too, by the way. Shall we wager on how long it will take for each of them to marry?”

Thomas took a sip of his brandy before tossing a look at his friend. “I’d rather not. The ladies are under my protection until Huntley returns. It would not be right.”

“Understood. But I will still offer my opinion on the matter, if you like.” When Thomas said nothing, Hawthorne added, “I expect they will both have gentleman callers tomorrow. Lowell there is certainly smitten.”

Frowning, Thomas considered the way the man’s eyes followed Lady Amelia’s every move. He wouldn’t care about her past in the least. If anything, he would welcome the idea of marrying a duke’s sister and the connection such a match implied. “How long until he proposes?” In Thomas’s mind, it was no longer a matter of if but of when.

“I cannot say. Perhaps a week?”

Thomas’s head snapped to the side, his eyes coming to rest on his friend’s somber face. “That soon?”

Hawthorne shrugged. “Like I said, I cannot say, but that would be my guess. He will want to seal the deal before someone else tries to do so. And they will. That much, I can guarantee you.”

Unsure of how he felt about that, Thomas returned his attention to the dance, which was presently coming to an end. Lady Amelia accepted Lowell’s arm and allowed him to escort her off the floor, steering her toward Thomas and Hawthorne.

“Coventry,” Lowell said as he and Lady Amelia came to stand before them. “You are looking well this evening.”

“As are you,” Thomas said. Unable to help himself, he glanced at Lady Amelia before meeting Lowell’s gaze once more. “I never realized you were such a skilled dancer.”

“One must make a particular effort when partnering with a woman as lovely as Lady Amelia.” Dropping a besotted look in Lady Amelia’s direction, Lowell said, “I believe she has woven a spell with her charm. I am quite taken, no doubt about that.”

Lady Amelia turned a becoming shade of pink. Her lashes lowered ever so slightly, in an innocent sort of way, and the smile that followed held an element of shyness to it that could have slayed an attacking army.

Holding himself completely still for fear he might say or do something uncharacteristic and rash, Thomas took another sip of his brandy, realizing then that his glass was empty. He glanced around quickly, eager to locate a footman on whom he could count for a refill. Except Lowell was now talking again, praising Lady Amelia’s grace and beauty to a point where Thomas was tempted to grab the man by his lapels and give him a sound thrashing for no other reason than that he’d noticed. That, and the fact that Thomas was well enough acquainted with the man to know of his appreciation for the female form. There was no doubt in Thomas’s mind that Lowell had noticed how well Lady Amelia’s bodice hugged her breasts or how that enticing display of skin swelled against her décolletage with every breath she took.

Christ!

“Are you all right?” The question was spoken by Hawthorne, who was studying him in a quizzical sort of way.

Thomas blinked. “Yes. Of course.” Except his throat had gone dry and he couldn’t seem to gather his thoughts in any coherent way.

It made no sense whatsoever, but it did remind him to have a private word with Lady Amelia and let her know that she should be careful when keeping a man’s company, no matter how well-mannered or honorable that man happened to be. So he looked at her—at the sweet innocence glowing in her eyes. It was so apart from the fierceness with which she’d confronted him earlier in the week and the anxious resolve that had overcome her two days ago when she’d spoken of her plan for the school.

The feistiness was gone, replaced by a feminine softness that did peculiar things to his stomach. Not that the feistiness hadn’t affected him in its own way, because it had certainly forced him to pay attention to her, but this . . . this purity she was emitting was where her true power lay. Doubting she was aware of it, he pinned her with his gaze. “My lady, I was hoping to have a private word with you. If you will permit?”

All hint of calm evaporated from her features, replaced by a flash of concern. “Certainly, Your Grace.” She turned to Lowell. “Thank you for the dance.”

“I hope it will be our first of many,” he murmured as he gave a slight bow.

Hawthorne received a smile from her while he in turn wished her a continued good evening. Thomas offered her his arm and began leading her toward the French doors that would take them out onto the terrace.

“You danced well with him,” he said while steering her past a cluster of guests and toward a quieter corner.

“I had a good partner with whom to practice.” Her voice was light, underlining the compliment.

He smiled in response. The soothing effect of her words warmed his heart. “Thank you, my lady.” Drawing them to a halt, he moved so he faced her directly. Wondering how to proceed from this point, he decided to simply address his concerns. “I would like to caution you, however.”

“Oh?”

He absorbed the way her lips parted around that word and was instantly assailed by a series of unforgivable imaginings involving the two of them in a way that sent blood roaring through his veins. What the hell? He balled his hands into fists and dug his nails into his palms in an effort to focus on what he needed to say. Thinking of her in a state of undress . . . gloriously naked and with her hair tumbling down over her back and those breasts . . .

“I understand you are enjoying the attention men like Lowell are giving you.” He could barely speak on account of the tightness that surged through his limbs, the quickening of his pulse and the low inhalations of his breath. Combined, they produced a sense of panic and guilt so acute he was tempted to flee. It took every bit of self-control he possessed to thwart the instinct and remain where he was. “However . . .” He forced the words out. “I feel it is my duty to warn you against encouraging any man too much.”

“How do you mean?”

She seemed genuinely curious while he was beginning to feel completely out of his depth on this one. “Your gown.” He indicated the garment with a wave of his hand, hoping this would be enough of an explanation.

“Is there something wrong with it?” She sounded truly concerned.

“Well . . .” Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he wondered how best to explain and decided there was nothing for it but to be completely honest. “It is a bit risqué.”

“Ah.” Pressing her lips together, she crossed her arms as if trying to ward off his critical assessment.

And then the worst possible thing happened. She turned away from him, but not before he caught a glimpse of wetness clinging to her lashes. “Lady Amelia?”

“It wasn’t my idea, you know, to cut it so low. I should have known you wouldn’t approve since you never . . .” Her hand came up, swiping at her face. Shaking her head, she turned back to face him with a look of renewed strength he hadn’t expected. “For some reason, you always find me doing the wrong thing, whether it’s falling from a tree, tripping during a dance or undergoing a questionable business venture. Tonight, I was actually hoping for your approval, only to realize I’ve worn the wrong gown.”

“My lady, I meant what I said to you kindly.”

“I know you did. I have nothing but my own foolish expectations to blame for the way in which I feel right now.”

“And how is that?” He’d meant to advise her in the best way possible. Instead, he’d hurt her.

The knowledge did not sit well with him. Indeed, it made him want to pull her close and whisper comforting words in her ear, which would probably be the worst idea ever since they were in public and he’d no desire for a swift engagement, not to mention what she might think of such an intimate gesture. The last thing he wanted was for her to assume his interest in her went beyond the bounds of friendship. Which it didn’t.

“It doesn’t matter.” She smiled in spite of the pain that welled in her eyes. “Perhaps we ought to go back inside and enjoy the rest of the evening?”

“There is something else.” He simply had to make this right. So although he knew it was probably a terrible idea and had only intended to help her with her financial problem by suggesting she host a charitable fund-raising event, he found himself saying, “I won’t lend you the necessary funds you require in order to pay Mr. Gorrell, but I will offer it to you as a donation.”

Her expression froze for a second before transforming into a visage of wary jubilation. “Truly?”

There was no going back now, so he nodded. “A few conditions will apply.” He might be making the most generous offer of his life at the moment, but he wasn’t going to do so without some certainty that she would be fully invested in this project.

“Name it. Anything at all.”

He could think of a few things he’d like in return, but going there would be stupid and dangerous, so he bit his tongue and focused on practicality. “First, I expect you to draw up a viable business plan so I can assess your understanding of the costs and logistics involved in this endeavor.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand. “Next, you must tell my mother and Lady Everly about this project and your involvement in it, and finally, you must acquire their approval.”

Amelia stared at him. Her legs shook beneath her skirts while a series of wild little flurries rushed through her. What he’d said about her gown earlier had upset her more than it should have. Worst of all, he’d seen the devastation she’d felt in response to his censure. Consequently, he’d regarded her in a way she’d rather forget as fast as she could—with pity. But even as she’d wished herself a world away from him, he’d surprised her with this incredible offer.

“I understand.” Telling the dowager duchess and Lady Everly would not be easy. Indeed she dreaded it already. But she was prepared to do as he asked in order to achieve her goal. “Why don’t you stop by my house tomorrow afternoon? I’ll have a business plan ready, and I’ll tell your mother and Lady Everly everything, as well.”

“You cannot possibly have a plan ready so soon.” He looked her carefully in the eye. “These things take weeks, months even, to prepare.”

“I don’t have that kind of time.” She knew she faced a challenge, but he was also underestimating her if he didn’t think she’d made any calculations before approaching Mr. Gorrell in the first place. “Trust me, Your Grace. I will put the plan together by tomorrow afternoon.”

He still didn’t look convinced, but at least he didn’t argue. Fortunately, his expression had also returned to normal, which was quite a relief. She hadn’t really known what to make of the way in which he’d been studying her earlier. It was as if his eyes had glazed over when he’d mentioned her gown. She’d almost expected him to grab her as he had done at the house and reprimand her for daring to wear a fashionable French design.

Apparently, he did not like the daringly low neckline, a fact that had made her confidence dwindle until she’d felt anything but beautiful and sophisticated. Rather, his remark had made her feel stupid for ever supposing a mere gown could make a difference—that it would miraculously alter his perception of her. Not that she’d expected him to fall on his knees in reverence, but a bit of masculine appreciation on his part would have been nice.

“Regarding my earlier comment,” he began, as if reading her mind, “I am sorry for the effect my words had on you, but as your friend, I feel it is my duty to be honest with you.”

“I understand. About the house—” She simply had to escape this topic.

“I wasn’t though. Honest, that is. Not completely.”

Stunned, she stared back up at his face, watching shadows spill across the angular planes. “What do you mean?”

He stared at her, his eyes holding hers for so long her knees began to grow weak. “You are stunning,” he finally murmured, so low she barely heard him. “I know I may have suggested the opposite, and for that I apologize. It is just . . .” His nostrils flared as he puffed out a breath. “Men are primitive scoundrels at their core, not because they want to be, but because it is in their nature. Here in Society, they are taught to suppress their instincts. And they do, for the most part, but that does not mean you should not be careful.”

“You worry a man might see me like this and be overcome by lust?” She couldn’t help but laugh. “I think that’s absurd.”

His hand struck out swiftly to clutch at her wrist. Fire lit in his eyes. “Do not underestimate the power you wield.” His hold on her tightened. “You have been put on display tonight by my mother and Lady Everly. The only problem is most men will see you as a treat to be whisked away and devoured. They will know marriage is likely to follow, but they will not care, because their desire to possess what you offer will override their common sense.”

The harshness with which he spoke sent a spike of fear up her spine. And yet, she kept her head up and tried not to let him affect her, which was futile since no man had ever affected her more. No, they weren’t right for each other and she would do well to consider any other gentleman but him, but as much as she tried, she couldn’t deny her attraction to him. Not even when he was hurting her wrist and saying the most unbelievable things.

“Are you suggesting that I would allow myself to get ruined?”

That seemed to sober him. Releasing his hold, he ran his hands through his hair and muttered an oath. “No. Yes. I do not know.” He stared at her as if she presented a puzzle that he was having a damnable time solving. “Your brother has asked me to protect you during his absence, and I would be remiss in my duty toward him if I did not tell you these things.”

At least he was being truthful, so perhaps she should be, as well. “You’re right. The dress is too much. I knew it when the dressmaker was asked to lower the neckline another inch, but your mother and Lady Everly insisted on such an alteration being to my advantage. I don’t know enough about the ways of the ton yet to argue on such a point when they’re both doing so much in order to help.”

His face relaxed into a visage of quiet relief. “Then you will wear something a little more modest in the future?”

“Yes.”

With a nod to confirm their agreement, he offered her his arm. “I believe the waltz will be starting up soon,” he said. She placed her hand upon the firm muscle that lay beneath the sleeve of his evening jacket. “Let us go back inside so we don’t risk missing it.”

Saying nothing, Amelia allowed him to guide her back into the ballroom. She’d looked forward to the dance all evening, and their recent conversation was not going to change that. It would simply serve as yet another reminder of why he would never in a million years consider making her his duchess.