Chapter Eight
“I’m sorry, Lord Nicholas. She’s not at home.”
Nicholas stood in the parlor of the Bishops’ London house as Lady Bishop gave him an excessively polite brush off. “Do you know where she went?”
“I’m not certain.”
Because she was absolutely at home. Nicholas had watched her get out of Embry’s carriage.
Lady Bishop’s smile was stiff and did not reach her eyes—the picture of formality.
“Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“I’m certain I don’t know.”
“Lady Bishop, I know she’s here. If there’s something I’ve done to offend you—”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. She’s not at home.” Lady Bishop led him to the door. “Probably out trying to apologize for her behavior at the garden party, but I’m certain you know all about that. I hear you were involved.”
Ahh. “Lady Bishop.”
“I’m afraid that’s all the time I have today. You’re welcome to leave your card, though.”
You’re welcome to leave your card. So. Nick had managed to make himself persona non grata with Lady Bishop. He cringed to think what Lady Wakefield would say when she found out. “Thank you, Lady Bishop.”
In the meantime, however, he needed to update Amelia on her impending horse race. If he wasn’t allowed to see her, he doubted a letter would get through unscathed.
It was time to take advantage of rank.
Nicholas took a hired carriage—this time to Jasper’s townhouse. He was not asked to leave his card, and instead was led directly up to Jasper’s bedroom where the man in question was undergoing a shave. The dubious benefits of friendship.
“Nicholas! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I could have waited downstairs.”
“Nonsense. It’s not like you never saw me shave in France.” Jasper lifted his neck so his valet could get the area under his chin. “Are you here for something in particular or purely the pleasure of my company?”
“I need your name.”
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Lady Bishop is attempting to give me the cut. She wouldn’t dare do it to a duke’s heir,” Nicholas said. “I need your name.”
There was a distinct twinkle in Jas’s eyes when he responded. “It is useful sometimes, isn’t it?”
“I need you to tell Amelia about the wager I put on her beating Bradley Preston in a horse race.”
“Amelia is racing Bradley Preston?”
“Yes, but she doesn’t know it yet.”
Jasper stood up, waving his valet off as he wiped the last of the cream from his neck. “What have you two been getting up to?”
“We went to Lady Chisholm’s salon. Amelia got into an argument over women’s rights, and I entered her into a horse race.”
For a moment, Jasper only stared at him. “At a salon.”
“Yes.”
“One of those boring parlor functions where some old battle-axe holds court over young people too insipid to challenge her?”
“Yes.”
“From now on, I am attending everything you attend,” Jasper announced.
“That’s not really—”
“I insist. London is going to be much more interesting with you two running around stirring things up. Where you go, I go.”
“Fine,” Nicholas said. “As long as you’re also going to Amelia’s—right now.”
“Winslow, lay out something for visiting a respectable young lady and have the carriage brought around.”
“Yes, m’lord,” Winslow said before disappearing.
Nicholas knew from experience that getting dressed would take Jasper far longer than common sense dictated. He found a seat in a chair by the fireplace. “So. Tell her about the race, and I also need to know which room she’s staying in at the new townhouse.”
Jasper paused again, turning to him incredulously. “Why?”
“In case I need to speak with her.”
“I find this bedroom window precedent you two have going on most intriguing.”
“It’s not like that.”
“You realize you’re not fooling anyone, don’t you?”
Nicholas sighed. Being Jasper’s friend was exhausting. “It doesn’t matter. Her mother won’t let me past the front door, so I need to know which room is hers. In case something urgent arises.”
The smirk on Jasper’s face was not helping. “Oh, indeed.”
“Will you shut up and get dressed already?”
“As you wish,” Jasper said, still smirking.
Amelia was pleasantly surprised when the maid came to tell her Lord Bellamy had come to call. She’d expected to hear from Nicholas, but Jasper was an equally welcome boon to her spirits.
“Lord Bellamy!” She greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. “It’s lovely to see you again.”
“I don’t think your mother feels the same way,” Jasper said, with a tip of his head toward Lady Bishop’s rigid posture.
Her lips pursed visibly. “Lord Bellamy, I’m certain I don’t know what you mean.”
Amelia was still feeling reckless in the wake of the Chisholm salon and there was something thrilling about Jasper’s candor. “She’s still angry with you for hitting Embry. My mother adores Lord Montrose, more than she likes me, I’m beginning to suspect.”
“Amelia!”
“We’re going to keep on like this, Mother. It might be kinder on your nerves if you let us speak in private.”
“Despite my derelict manners, I promise not to ravish your daughter senseless.” The way he said it was not convincing in the slightest.
Lady Bishop was the picture of indignation as she huffed and rose from her chair. “I’m leaving the door open.”
Amelia nodded, watching her go. “Goodness. I enjoyed that a little too much. She’s been so awful lately.”
Before Embry’s carriage axle had broken in front of their drive, her mother had been devoted to Julia. They had so many more shared interests—Amelia had often been happily left to her own devices with a book while the two of them poured over fashion plates and the latest dance steps. That her own mother could abandon Julia so abruptly, and over a ridiculous wedding, was appalling.
Jasper smiled. “I’m afraid it was contrived on my part. I needed to speak with you privately.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been sent as a messenger from Nicholas.”
“Why didn’t he come himself?”
“He did. Your mother told him you weren’t at home.”
For a moment, all Amelia could do was gape.
“It appears his role in your salon scandal has removed him from your mother’s good graces.”
“She has no right!”
Jasper patted her hand. “There, there. Is it so awful having to use me as a middle man?”
“Not at all, I just can’t believe it.” Amelia shook her head. “Did you know she banned my sister from my engagement party?”
“I did.”
“She’s gone completely addled over this engagement. It’s like she’s an entirely different person.”
“Well, hopefully when you manage to get yourself un-engaged, she’ll go back to normal.”
“Hopefully, though I’m not sure I’ll be able to forgive her for what she’s done.” Amelia rubbed her temple. “Or that I’ll be able to get thrown over. Embry blamed himself for the argument with his aunt.”
Jasper’s eyebrow raised as he grinned. “How saintly of him.”
“It’s ludicrous. What am I supposed to do now?”
“Race Bradley Preston on Rotten Row.”
“Excuse me?” She couldn’t have heard him right.
“Apparently, our Nick signed you up for it already.” Jasper settled himself into an armchair, crossing a boot over his knee.
A race on Rotten Row? Was he mad? She clutched a settee pillow to her stomach, shaking her head. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“He’s on the hook for one hundred pounds if you lose or back out.”
“One hundred pounds!”
“Nicholas has great faith in your horsemanship.”
Amelia appreciated Nicholas’s confidence in her, but it was a lot of money to come up with if she lost, which she might very well do. She didn’t know a thing about Bradley Preston. He could be an exceptional rider. “Surely he must be joking. Rotten Row, in front of all those people?”
Jasper leaned back against the cushions. “Think of it as an excellent opportunity to commission a new pair of trousers.”
Amelia’s worried her lower lip with her teeth. “With a matching jacket?”
“Of course,” Jasper promised. “You’ll be impeccably fashionable.”
“While I engage in a scandalous public spectacle.”
“The best way to occupy one’s time when one is fashionable.”
Amelia grinned. It was impossible to be worried in Jasper’s company. “All right.”
He avoided looking at her, choosing instead to inspect the weave of his own cobalt trousers, when he said, “Nicholas also asked me to find out which room you’re staying in here.”
The barest of tingles started up under her skin. “Did he say why?”
“In case something urgent comes up.”
“I see.” Of course. If her mother wouldn’t let him in the house, he would need to reach her some other way. Jasper wouldn’t always be available to play messenger. “It’s on the first floor. Third from the back of the house.”
The sound of Lady Bishop coming back down the hall put an end to the discussion. “Amelia. You’d better go up and change soon if you don’t want to be late for dinner.”
“I won’t keep you,” Jasper said, rising to leave. “May I call on you again at the end of the week?”
“I don’t think—” Lady Bishop began.
“That would be lovely. I’ll make sure I’m available.”
Jasper bowed formally to her mother. “Lady Bishop, always a pleasure.”
Lady Bishop acknowledged him with a slight inclining of her head as he left. Then it was only her and her mother.
“What were you two discussing?”
“The usual,” Amelia answered. “Fashion. Horses. The new house.”
It wasn’t even technically a lie.
On his return—after an inconsiderate number of detours—Jasper announced that Nicholas would be responsible for the costume since it would be difficult for Amelia to procure men’s clothing without a great deal of questions being asked. In typical Jasper fashion, he had not collected any of the required information to accomplish that task, requiring Nick to go to great lengths to fulfill the promise. He went to his dressing room and dug through Bertram’s kit until he found a measuring cord. Stuffing it in his pocket, he went downstairs to call for the carriage.
There was still a great deal left to be weathered in the task of getting Amelia free of her fiancé. While he hoped to avoid bringing any shame to his family in helping her, he would see it through no matter the cost. Explaining that would take more than a few moments though, so he was glad when the carriage was announced.
Nicholas had the driver let him out around the corner from Amelia’s house and made his way through darkened alleys into the yard behind their townhouse. He found the window Jasper had described and started his assault with one of a handful of stones.
“You ought to fight giants,” Amelia’s voice drifted down.
“What?” he whispered back.
“David and Goliath. You ought to fight giants, the way you’re always throwing little stones.”
“Can we discuss the Bible at another time? Is it safe to come up?”
There was an agonizing pause as she went to check. “Yes. Be careful, though.”
As if he could be anything else, sneaking into a woman’s bedroom. He made his way up the back stairs and down the hall without incident, but he could practically feel his hair turning grey. When he closed the bedroom door she’d left cracked, Amelia laughed. “You look petrified.”
“You would, too, if you’d had to sneak around below stairs. This is why I have a tree by my window in the countryside.”
“Oh? You coordinated with the groundskeeper to make it easier for me to sneak into your bedroom?”
He would have, if he’d thought of it. “How can you be so calm? You’re usually at least as much of a wreck as I am.”
“Mother went off to the opera with a friend after dinner, and most of the staff have the night off.” She stretched out her arms. “I am blissfully alone. Anyhow, what was so urgent?”
“I need your measurements.”
Her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “For?”
“Your riding costume. I need to have it made at my tailor, and I can’t exactly bring you in.” He held out Bertram’s measuring cord. “So I need measurements.”
Amelia blushed, studying the carpet for a moment before nodding. She moved to the middle of the room, arms still outstretched.
Nicholas tried. When they asked him at the gates of heaven, right before they refused him entry, he wanted it on record that he’d tried. He attempted to get an accurate measurement—first without touching her at all, and then without asking what he knew he needed to ask.
“What’s the matter?” Amelia asked. “Does it usually take this long?”
“No.” This was some sort of cosmic retribution.
“Well, what’s the trouble?”
“Your dress. The skirts are all in the way and it has inconvenient poofs in places and I—”
“You need me to take it off.”
In more ways than she would ever fathom. He was a complete cad. Still, there was hope to be had in her ready agreement. She wasn’t averse to being undressed in his company. Considering that he’d like to spend the rest of his life with her company—preferably undressed—it was a pleasing realization.
He needed her to take off her dress. He was in her room, she was going to undress, and he was going to touch her. It wasn’t as if he’d never touched her before. But this was different. It shouldn’t be—it was only Nicholas—but the tingles were even worse than when he’d almost kissed her. Part of it was feeling his fingertips flirting against her stockings. Tickling the edge of her waist. Brushing lightly across her shoulders. But the rest—he was going to see her.
“I’ll need your help.”
“H-h—how?” He coughed, like he had something stuck in his throat.
“The buttons down the back.”
He stood up behind her. She felt his breath on the back of her neck. The warmth of his hands hovered just out of reach. “Nicholas?”
He coughed again. She felt his fingers make contact with the first button. It slipped loose, and even though she’d been expecting it, it startled her.
“Are you all right? Should I stop?”
“I’m fine. It’s fine.” Amelia took a deep breath. “You’ve seen women in their underclothes before. Even if I haven’t…been seen. It’s fine.”
He didn’t respond, just went to work on the next button. She wished she could see his face. When he had the buttons undone halfway down her back, she tilted her head back to glean some sort of calm from the ceiling. The flutter of his breath sent a shiver across her skin.
“Mia?”
“Hmm?” She took it back. She didn’t wish she could see his face, because then he’d be able to see hers.
“Are… I…”
Amelia took a deep, steadying breath. Her response to Nick was all-consuming and there was no reining it back in. And if she was completely honest, she didn’t want to reign it in. Not with his mouth next to her ear. The way Nick was making her feel was exhilarating. She leaned back, relishing the feel of his hands pressed against the small of her back between their bodies.
“I think that’s it,” he said as he stepped away.
Damn. Amelia pushed the dress free of her shoulders and petticoats. “Can you untie my skirts?”
She didn’t need him to, but she was obviously possessed by some sort of wicked spirit.
He stepped forward again, and when he was finished, she was left in her stockings, drawers, and shift.
Amelia crossed her arms over her chest and turned. “Will this serve?” Now that she could see him, he was flushed and having trouble meeting her eyes. He seemed to be focusing intently on a spot a few inches to the left of her head.
“Nick?”
“I need a moment.”
Curiosity got the better of her. “For what?”
“I’m trying to convince myself you’re Jasper.”
Amelia laughed. “Why?”
“I’m not attracted to Jasper, and I think this will go a great deal smoother if I am in a proper frame of mind when I start touching you.”
When I start touching you. Amelia shivered again.
“You’re cold. I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I’ll…get ahold of myself.” He moved close and started measuring her legs with quick, efficient movements.
Meanwhile, she was wishing he’d get ahold of her. Had he meant he was attracted to her? More than the usual, that is. She knew he considered her to be attractive in the general sense, but she hoped he’d meant in a specific, special sense. If he had…perhaps the feelings he inspired in her weren’t such torture after all.
When it came time to measure around her chest, Amelia dropped her arms and met his eyes head on. He swallowed audibly. This time she was certain of it—he was as affected as she was.
The certainty made her bold. “Nick, are you attracted to me?”
“Wha…I—”
“I mean, really attracted. Not just passively appreciative.”
Nicholas finished his measurement in a series of quick, jerking movements. “I should go. I have to get these to the tailor straight away or it won’t be done in time.”
All of the awkwardness she’d felt. All the effort she’d put into trying to quell her response so she didn’t jeopardize their friendship. He felt it, too. “Nick.”
“I’ll let myself out!”
And before she knew it, he was gone and Amelia was left standing in her undergarments. It would not be the last he heard from her on the subject. If Nicholas was attracted to her, and she felt confident he was, she meant to explore it. She may have lost her faith in marriage, but if there was a chance she could investigate these tingles—she could think of no better person than Nick to investigate them with. He was her best friend and partner in all of her greatest adventures. It made perfect sense that he should also be her partner in this.
“How did you fare?” Jasper asked when Nick was shown into his library.
He’d been too flustered to go home to Philip’s. They would immediately know something was amiss. “She asked if I ever am attracted to her—while she was in her underclothes.”
“Well, that’s progress.” Jasper grinned. “Although the fact that she doesn’t know is evidence of historical failure.”
“It’s too much progress. It’s too soon.” Nicholas threw himself into a chair, trying not to think about the perfect curve of her hips or the faint shadow of her nipples through the linen.
“By all accounts, it’s been most of your life.”
“But she’s still engaged!”
“Barely.”
“Not barely. Technically, she’s still engaged to another man.”
“A blackmailer,” Jasper argued with a raised eyebrow.
“It doesn’t matter. She’s the love of my life, Jasper. I’m not going to have our first kiss—our first anything—tainted by unsavoriness.” If he wanted Amelia to reconsider the possibility of marrying, everything must be perfect.
“That’s utterly adorable.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“Don’t make asinine statements.”
Nick pushed his hands through his hair in frustration. “I love her, Jas. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I can’t start with a stolen kiss in her bedroom while she belongs to someone else.”
“And that’s where you and I differ,” Jasper said, raising his glass. “Because I can imagine no better beginning.”
They had chosen an early hour to minimize the number of firsthand observers to the scandal, but the stream of men and women riding through the grand entrance of Hyde Park suggested that word had gotten out. Being there to witness the Earl of Montrose’s outspoken fiancée race Mr. Preston on Rotten Row was apparently well worth an early start to the day.
Nicholas waited outside the carriage, checking his timepiece. “Are you ready?”
“Almost,” Amelia’s muffled voice came from inside.
“Can I help? We’re going to be late.”
She popped open the door and stepped out. “What do you think?”
For a moment, he thought nothing at all. From the waist up, Amelia didn’t look particularly out of the ordinary. The crimson jacket fit much like one of her usual riding costumes, with a fall of white lace and a fashionable topper perched on her head.
It was where the jacket stopped that Nicholas’s thoughts became muddled. Bright crimson velveteen clung tightly to her full hips, making her gender unmistakable. Her calves were incased in black leather riding boots with a similarly expert fit.
“This is a bad idea,” he said.
“Why?”
“I can see all of you.”
Amelia looked down at her own thighs. She twisted around to check her backside. “I’m covered.”
“But it…” Nicholas struggled for the proper way to word it. “It leaves nothing to the imagination.”
She circled him, observing his own riding clothes. “Neither do yours.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Women’s minds aren’t as vulgar as—”
Amelia cut him off with her laughter. “Is that what men think?”
“I’m certain of it.”
“You’ve seen me in trousers before. You’ve never thrown me over your shoulder and had your way with me.”
He might not be ready to declare himself, but he could start clearing up this misunderstanding of her not knowing he was interested. “Just because I haven’t doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it.”
She blushed, looking away when he didn’t. “Well, maybe you should have.”
Nicholas took a steadying breath.
She grinned. “Come on. We’ll be late for the race.”
They retrieved their mounts from Nicholas’s groom. Nicholas moved to give her a hand up but she waved him off, swinging into the saddle with ease. The provocative bouncing of crimson-encased flesh as she landed and found her seat caused Nicholas’s own trousers to fit uncomfortably.
“We can call the whole thing off.”
“And cause you to lose one hundred pounds?”
He didn’t care. “It’s only money. I can—”
“No need. I’m doing it.” She clicked to her mare, setting the beast in motion.
Nicholas cursed, mounting his own horse in a hurry and chasing after her.
It felt deliciously wicked to be riding astride in public, especially knowing Nick was affected by her outfit. She wished he were the only one looking—there were plenty of people who could see her now that she’d turned the corner onto the long tree-lined row—but she wouldn’t let it ruin the morning’s triumph. Nicholas had flirted with her in earnest. There was a good chance he would be amenable to an affair. It was enough to let her block out the crowd and concentrate on the race.
Amelia leaned down to whisper to her mount. “Steady, Dio. We mustn’t be too tense or we’ll lose speed.”
The little mare’s ears flicked in response. Dionysia did not need Amelia’s advice on how to race. She was in fine form even with the trip to London. If anything, being cooped up had added an extra spring in her step.
Nicholas caught up with her as she reached Mr. Preston and his cronies.
“Wakefield,” Mr. Preston said with a tip of his hat. “For a moment I thought you weren’t going to show.”
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Nicholas said.
Preston turned his attention to Amelia and Dionysia. “Shouldn’t you have brought a larger horse, or can’t you control a true racing breed?”
Up until that moment, the wager had merely been a means to disgracing herself in Embry’s eyes. Now, it was deeply personal. Amelia was bloody tired of people making side comments, disparaging her loved ones, telling her how to behave, sneering at her horse. Mr. Preston was going to rue the day he ever looked at Dio.
“I understand you have a wager with Nicholas regarding the outcome of this race,” she said loudly enough to draw attention.
“I do,” Preston agreed.
“Shall we make a wager as well?”
Preston scoffed. “I wouldn’t want to rob you of your pin money.”
“Oh, I’m quite confident you won’t. Shall we say two hundred pounds?”
Mr. Preston blanched. “That’s quite a wager.”
“Nicholas, please assure Mr. Preston I am good for it.”
Nicholas looked slightly concerned, but he nodded. “She is. You may consider me her guarantor.”
“I, ah—”
“Unless you don’t think you’re going to win,” Amelia added. “Three hundred pounds is a lot to lose in one race. If you’d rather play it safe, I understand.”
Amelia let the murmurs running through the gathering crowd do her work for her. She could see Preston imagining his manhood being called into question with each whisper.
“Deal,” he said.
“Excellent. Let’s start the race.”
“You don’t want to run a lap or two to warm your mount up?” Preston asked.
“No, thank you.” Amelia had already warmed Dionysia up before she changed clothes, but Preston didn’t need to know that. Let him think she was an inexperienced horsewoman and underestimate her if he liked.
They lined up at the start of the row. Amelia tried not to think about the two hundred pounds she’d just put on the line. Good Lord, what if she lost? What on earth would Papa say? Don’t think about that. It’s time to be Julia. Don’t think about the risks.
She leaned down again, rubbing the side of Dio’s neck. “Shall we make our sisters proud today?”
The little horse pawed the dirt of the track.
They were in agreement. There would be no losing today—nor any other day. They were champions and they gave way to no man.