Chapter 7
Amelia looked up at the neoclassical facade with recessed sash windows on the second floor. Above the door was a circular balcony with bright flowers woven in and out of the ironwork, and vines hanging loose from a flower pot.
She took a deep breath, placing one hand over her belly to ease the knot that tightened as each second ticked by. She inhaled deeply and knocked three times. For several seconds, there was no answer.
Looking at the card she held in her hand, she checked the address again. What must be keeping him?
She looked around the street and noticed passersby, so she pulled her bonnet down to hide her face. Another tight knot twisted in her stomach, her nerves increasing by the second. She had taken every precaution to get here, including sneaking out of the house donning a simple dress and a plain bonnet. On a positive note, the house was only three blocks from her rented townhouse, so she’d be able to return home in time.
Why was she so nervous? She was here to thank the man and retrieve her reticule. That was all. But in truth, he held the key to her freedom. She needed him to agree to partake in her plan, so she had to make sure he could not refuse her. English aristocracy loved money, so much so that they overlooked most offenses.
After breakfast, she had rehearsed what she would say to Lord Blackthorn. She had recited the words so many times she gave herself a headache. Touching her chest, as if that would slow her heart, she used the silver door knocker to alert the house again.
Still no answer.
She looked at the card. This was the correct address. She had only an hour at most until Mrs. Pots returned from Grafton House on Bond Street where she was off posting Amelia’s letter to her grandmother. The woman had informed her she was not her personal servant. Still, in the end, she’d had no choice but to abide by Amelia’s wishes, once she’d informed her chaperone that the missive contained information her grandma was waiting for.
The butler finally opened the door. “May I help you, miss?”
Amelia handed him the card.
"Ah, yes. Please come in, miss.”
She stepped into the white marble foyer of the impeccably fashioned townhouse with an open staircase with a dark wood balustrade. There was a light floral scent that was quite inviting, and soft pink peonies in elongated vases throughout. Quite feminine, which begged the question, whose house was this?
“This way,” the butler said, and gestured for her to follow him. She had a dreadful thought that perhaps Lord Blackthorn may already have a wife and her grandmother had been wrong about him.
Amelia twirled her thumbs together, a nervous habit, as she followed the butler down the hall. Somehow, each step felt heavier than the last, as if her feet sank deep in a muddy pit. Stop being so nervous. But the thought of him refusing her made her nauseous and, after last night and assessing his temperamental disposition, it was a good possibility that he might tell her exactly what he thought of her proposal and send her on her way.
The butler stopped in front of a double door, knocked once, and opened it to introduce her to the two people in the parlor before leaving.
Lord Blackthorn saw her and stood ceremoniously. His handsome smile ceased as his gaze met hers.
Her stomach dropped at his grimace. In fact, he seemed downright irritated to see her. This would prove very difficult, she was certain of it. Her mind ordered her to enter the room, but her feet felt bolted to the floor.
The woman next to Lord Blackthorn observed her. There was nothing English about her. Her black hair was in a bun with loose curls hanging down her neck, and dark golden skin brought out her unusual eyes. They were curious and sharp.
Was she his wife? Disappointment pulsed through Amelia again. Her grandmother had assured her that the men on the list were bachelors. It wasn’t like her to make a mistake. But then again, it could have been a short engagement if she was with child. The exotic woman gazed at Lord Blackthorn, then at Amelia. Amelia was certain the woman's life wasn’t lacking male company, and it clearly did not exclude Lord Blackthorn. The thought made her feel quite nettled.
“You must be Miss Knight. I’m Zara. Please, come in,” she said.
Blackthorn watched Amelia. He had a quiet strength about him now, like that of a warrior ready to thunder down on his enemy at a moment’s notice. Her gaze dropped to his impeccably tailored cravat, then to his tailcoat and tight breeches before swooping up again to the breadth of his broad shoulders. Eyeing the solid column of his neck, she lifted her gaze to meet his green eyes that reminded her of a dewy forest just before sunrise. She dropped her gaze and looked at his dark fitted breeches and the well-formed mound between his legs.
Even she, a woman who never intended to be seduced, could not deny the physical attraction she felt for him. Suddenly, her clothes felt a little too tight and the air in the room a little too stifling.
“Are you all right?” Zara said.
Amelia looked at the woman next to him. Lord Blackthorn's mouth pulled into a thin line at the woman's question. Before Amelia could answer, Zara said, “Why don’t I leave you two to discuss . . .” The woman watched Lord Blackthorn, then Amelia, before finishing her sentence. “. . . whatever it is you both need to discuss. Fetch me when you are finished here, darling. You know where I will be.”
Darling? So, they were intimate. Why is that not a surprise? Amelia thought with disappointment. Once the woman left the parlor, Lord Blackthorn gestured for Amelia to sit. Amelia stepped into the parlor but didn’t go too far into the space. “Thank you, but I prefer to stand.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, and walked over to the hearth and leaned against it, still looking at her.
Neither of them said a word for several seconds.
“Is something wrong?” she finally said, breaking the silence.
“Of course not,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
“You’re staring at me rather strangely.” She should approach him with her proposal now, but she needed to calm her nerves; otherwise, she would no doubt botch up the proposal.
He ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s not you. I must confess, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“On that note, I want to thank you again. Your assistance was most welcomed.”
The expression on his face made her want to take it back. Last night had been traumatic enough on everyone. No matter what the reasons were for his foul disposition, she vowed to not take it personally.
“If I gave you any sign that I wasn’t grateful, I do apologize.” She tried to keep her tone even, but those piercing green eyes were rather unnerving, and she wished he would stop looking at her as if she were a bug to be crushed.
She waited for him to acknowledge her comment, but he didn’t.
“The reticule?”
“Of course,” he said. Walking to the console, he retrieved her small silk reticule and handed it to her. “Here is it, Miss Knight.”
“Thank you, Lord Blackthorn.” A botched introduction was all she needed. This entire situation was one disaster after another.
Time ticked awkwardly for several more seconds. How to even start the conversation? She hated feeling this way, this uncertainty that gripped her. Damn, he looked even more irritated. Clearing her throat, she regained her courage and told herself to stop acting like a damn schoolgirl. “Please tell your wife I—”
“Wife?”
“Yes,” she said. “Isn’t Miss Zara your wife?” His wife. Who else could she be, Amelia thought, defeat pulsing through her.
His brows lifted. “The last time I checked, I was quite single.”
She let out a sigh of relief. She had never thought one sterile, single word could bring such relief. Then it quickly dawned on her who the woman really was. His mistress. So, he was no different after all. Why did this surprise her again?
The exotic beauty was a highly paid…
She hated to think of the word. Her mother had been a whore and her grandmother had made sure she knew it. Her grandmother made sure she knew exactly what her mother had been doing with those men. Hot resentment bubbled in her chest when memories of her mother flashed into her mind’s eye. She had refused to believe it at first, but she had seen these men with her own eyes.
Amelia bit back the resentment she had kept at bay for so many years. My son was indulged, and he was weak and emotional. Look what it got him. Dead, her grandmother had said to her years ago. If you are to survive in this world, you must learn to rise above these useless, base needs that have no place in survival.
Her mother had never talked of her father. Every time she had asked about him, her mother had teared up and ignored her questions. To her grandmother, marrying for title, position, and pedigree was survival. The old woman wanted no less from Amelia for giving her a home. If she didn’t deliver, her grandmother would strip her of everything.
The mistress was none of her concern. Still, the thought of them together made her hot with mixed feelings she couldn’t name. “Oh, I see . . .”
“Is something troubling you?” Lord Blackthorn asked.
“Of course not. What you do here is your business, not mine.”
He looked confused for a second, then understanding seemed to dawn on him. “You’re right, it’s none of your business why I am here, but this isn’t a brothel.”
“If you insist.”
He took several steps toward her, now standing only a few feet away. For a moment, he looked as though he might give her another spiteful retort. She held her breath for the blow, waiting. Then, slowly, his gaze lowered to her lips, and remained there. His eyes blazed with sudden desire. Oh, heavens, he looked as though he might kiss her. Yes, yes, yes.
No, no, no. What was she thinking? In the midst of her own ridiculous fray, she heard him speak. “Is there anything else you wish to discuss before we conclude our business? Or would you like to insult Zara some more?”
“It wasn’t my intension to insult anyone. I was merely here to retrieve my pouch per your instructions and to thank you for your help.”
He frowned, his brows pulling together tightly. “You have a hell of a way of showing your gratitude.”
“I can see coming here was a mistake,” she said, lifting her chin.
“I will agree with you fully in that regard.”
“I will be on my way then.”
“Good.”
Christ, the stubborn, reckless, and self-righteous woman had the gall to come in here and insult everyone. He hated the way his body had betrayed him when she entered the parlor. She was beautiful, there was no denying that, and she very well knew it. Annoyingly so, and he was certain those damn curves, that flawless skin, and those full lips beckoned every breathing gentleman in London to abide by her wishes. Well, he was not one of them.
Damn, what was it about her that troubled him? He hardly knew the woman. It was not as if he’d never seen an attractive woman before. She was an heiress who had the gall to conduct herself as she pleased. Perhaps he was lacking a woman’s company. That must be it.
He ran his hand through the thick of his hair and down his face with equal parts frustration and fatigue. He had this sudden urge to plant a facer. Perhaps a boxing match would get the energy out of his system. Yes, that sounded good just about now. Perhaps he’d call on Gentleman Jackson on Bond Street, or in an alleyway. Either would do just fine at this moment.
“Has your lovely girl gone?” Zara said as she entered the parlor.
He didn’t face her. “She isn’t mine, far from it.”
She walked over to him and linked her warm fingers though his, just as she had done many times long ago. “Care for some distraction, my darling?”
He pulled his hands away from her. Walking over to the window, he faced the busy street.
“What is the matter?” she said, coming to stand next to him.
He looked at her. “What makes you think there is anything wrong?”
“My darling, I’ve known you a long time . . .” She paused. “Is this about Miss Knight?”
“No.”
“I think it is,” she said. “I have never seen you so affected by a woman before. Not even me, as I recall.”
He didn’t want to have this conversation. As it was, he needed to head back to his townhouse to make certain his mother had removed all her things to Blackthorn Hall.
She ignored his question. “Miss Knight,” she went on. “You never mentioned how you came to know her.”
“An unfortunate encounter.”
She watched him. “Curious response,” she said. “I hear she’s worth a fortune, and she’s here to find a husband. Am I to surmise you are not one of the men who are fighting for her affection?”
“If I am considering marriage, which I am not, she is the last person on Earth I would want as a wife.”
Zara’s eyes narrowed. “Now I know you are lying.”
Blackthorn gave her a peck on the forehead. It wasn’t that he didn’t find Zara attractive. She was a beautiful and brave woman who had made something of herself when she escaped the slums with her cunning. This tactic of hers would have worked on him months ago, but now, it had lost its potency. He was tired, and all he wanted was to get the hell out of London as soon as his business with Kendall was dealt with. The only reason he had come to London in the past was to see his brother, Max. Now, with him gone, there was nothing here for Blackthorn.
She observed him for a while and she finally said, “I know the look of a man who’s besotted.”
By the time Amelia reached her townhouse, she was irked—no, she was more than irked. So much so that she almost slammed the front door, and she had never done that, not since she was thirteen.
When she was young, this resentment and anger would have turned into tears she’d shed when she was alone. Until Mrs. Pots came to fetch her for another lesson and a fitting for another ridiculous, overpriced dress.
This unsettling emotion was like an unyielding storm that was wreaking havoc on her life. She didn’t know how to manage this . . . this unsettling feeling of disappointment. Why was she allowing this man to affect her this way? Just because he was no longer a choice, it didn’t mean an end to her plan. She’d simply have to move on to the next man on the list.
The thought didn’t ease her mind. Not in the least.
Kate had once said Amelia would have to face her demons. Amelia hadn’t asked her to elaborate. Despite their friendship, she never spoke to Kate about her parents. It was too painful, and almost made her weep and left her confused in the end.
She bit her lip and closed her eyes. Lord Blackthorn seemed to bring out the worst in her. Perhaps it was better that she’d realized just how unsuitable he was for her plan.
She walked up the stairs and made her way to her room before Mrs. Pots returned from her errands. Pulling her bonnet off, she tossed it on the chair next to the fireplace. Moments later, Kate opened the door and quietly slipped into her room.
“Well? How did it go?”
She plopped down on the chair by the fireplace, quite unladylike, and realized she had demolished the pretty bonnet. Fiddling with it, she said, “Not well.”
“What do you mean, exactly?” Kate said, sitting on the edge of Amelia’s bed.
“We had a disagreement.”
“I see.”
Amelia looked at her friend and sighed heavily. “It’s impossible trying to talk to that man. He is so arrogant, egotistical, and—”
“Rude,” Kate added with a faint smile.
“Yes,” she affirmed. “He is, very much so.” She rubbed the back of her neck to release the tightness there. “It doesn’t matter now. I will have to move on to the next candidate.”
“So, he refused your proposal?”
“Not exactly,” she said. “All right, I didn’t have the chance to bring it up.”
“Because he is . . . rude?” Kate said again with a faint smirk.
Amelia gave her a sideward glance. “It’s not just that. There is something about him that brings out the worst in me. I am certain he will not agree to my proposal.”
“You don’t know that until you speak with him first,” Kate said. “You will simply have to convince him. I am sure he can appreciate that.”
“The man is so intolerable.” Even while she was saying these words, she knew Kate was right. There was a reason she had asked Kate to come with her to London. Amelia had been too sheltered, and she needed a friend who could make her see the possibilities.
“You didn’t think this was going to be easy, did you?” Kate said with an encouraging smile. “You want to be sure he isn’t interested before you move on to the next man on the list. After all, there are only three options.”
“Perhaps I can write to him and propose my plan that way.” That sounded more appealing than having to face the ill-tempered man.
“You can,” she said. “But will you be satisfied with that?”
Amelia wasn’t certain. Secretly, she hoped Lord Blackthorn would not present himself at the ball tonight. Surely the inheritance would convince him. What man in his right mind would say no to that kind of sum? “I will think on the matter,” she said. “You will be there, won’t you?”
“I’d love to go with you, but I have this matter I must remedy.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes and no,” Kate said. “It’s about my late husband.”
Kate had mentioned her late husband had passed in Boston five years ago, but that was all she had said on that matter. It seemed to pain her every time she brought up the subject, so Amelia didn’t pry further.
“Is it serious?”
“No, just some things I need to go over with my lawyer. He is in town. Go to the ball and have a good time. There is the verb conjugation on your desk. Mrs. Pots left it for you before she went to mail your letter to your grandmother.”
Amelia rolled her eyes in defiance. She was the last person on Earth still conjugating verbs at twenty. But that wasn’t what was making her nervous. Proposing her idea to him made her stomach churn, and if she could avoid it, she would.
She picked up the parchment with the list of names. All right, Lord Blackthorn, let’s see what you have to say . . .