by Aston, Alexa
He signed her card twice and excused himself. Soon, the orchestra struck up their first song and Amelia focused on each new partner, forcing any thought of Derek from her mind. Already, she’d eliminated Lord Shelton from becoming her future husband. While polite and a moderately good dancer, he barely could put two sentences together. She couldn’t decide if he was merely stupid or painfully shy. Either way, the viscount wasn’t for her.
She left the dance floor with her latest partner and stopped to consult her dance card to see whom she danced with next. As she started to lift the card, it came away from the ribbon attached to it and fell to the floor. Amelia knelt to retrieve it but a man stepped on it, his back to her.
“Excuse me,” she said, tugging on the card.
He turned and she saw it was the very handsome Marquess of Trumbull, a notorious rake she’d been told to avoid by numerous people. His lips twitched in amusement as he wheeled and joined her, squatting beside her as he retrieved her programme.
“Where have you been hiding?” he asked, his tone flirtatious as his fingers latched on to her elbow and he brought them to their feet. His sky blue eyes looked at her in amusement.
Feeling reckless—and knowing she had his attention—Amelia replied, “Why, under your nose, my lord,” her lashes batting coquettishly.
His fingers remained on her arm as he said in a low voice, “You have a very smart mouth on you. I’d like to see what I could do with it.”
Amelia couldn’t believe his outrageous words. Her breath caught as she stared at him, but she could see he was intrigued with her. At least for the moment. Then she glanced over his shoulder and saw Derek staring at them, his eyes narrowing in disapproval. She looked back to the marquess and snatched her programme from his hand.
“Thank you, my lord, but I’ll take this.”
Trumbull’s fingers closed on the card and tugged. Amelia didn’t give it up. She saw interest spark in his eyes.
“I’d like to ask you for a slot on your dance card, my lady—and ask your name since we haven’t been properly introduced.”
“I’m Lady Amelia Ward, sister to the Earl of Merrifield. Unfortunately, I have no vacancies available. Perhaps another time, Lord Trumbull.”
His fingers tightened on her elbow a moment and then he released her. His other hand jerked the programme from hers and he tore it in two several times before letting the pieces fall to the floor.
Shock filled her and then the thrill of the moment replaced it.
“I’m captivated by you, Lady Amelia,” the marquess said, his smile showing white, even teeth. “Come. Dance with me.”
Placing her arm on his, he led her to the center of the ballroom and caught her up in his arms as the music started up. The air rushed by as he twirled Amelia enough times to make her dizzy then held on to her so she wouldn’t fall.
“We should slow down,” she managed to gasp.
“Oh, I’m not much for slow,” he drawled. “I like fast music. Fast horses.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Fast women.”
She stopped, knowing this was too dangerous a game to play with a known rake. Frowning, she said, “I’d like to leave the dance floor.”
“I’m sorry, pet,” he said lightly. “I took my banter too far.”
Trumbull’s arms held her close and urged her back into the dance. Amelia danced without speaking and the song finally came to its conclusion. He leaned close and murmured into her ear, “Forgive me,” sending an interesting tingle rippling through her. She pulled back and nodded.
The marquess released her but tucked her arm possessively into the crook of his arm. Instead of returning her where he’d come upon her, he led Amelia toward the supper rooms. She hadn’t realized it was the supper dance.
“Come and meet my friends,” Trumbull said in honeyed tones. “I think you’ll be amused by them.”
They reached a table filled with couples laughing heartily. She only knew a few by reputation and none personally. It was a fast set, one which she didn’t think she’d ever be comfortable being a part of. Then she saw Derek looking her way, disapproval on his face. That decided her. He’d missed out on his chance with her, calling her immature, when he hadn’t truly spent any time in her company. Yes, she’d spoken often of fashion and ton events, but that’s what Thea had asked her to talk about. Her friend was saddened by not being able to make her come-out and pestered Amelia to reveal even the smallest details about every function she attended.
Amelia didn’t care what Derek de Wolfe thought of her now. She would sup with these people and enjoy herself. If he was jealous? So be it.
As she ate, the witty comments flowed quickly back and forth. Sometimes, the way something was said told her there was an innuendo that went over her head. She tried not to look perplexed or ask any questions, not wanting to appear foolish.
Trumbull fed her a pastry, his fingers grazing her lips. Amelia hid her discomfort and chewed quietly.
He took a finger and wiped it slowly along her bottom lip, causing her alarm. Before she could protest, he said, “There. You had some cream on your mouth.”
He took the same finger and slipped it inside his mouth, pulling it slowly out and then showing her it was clean. “I’d rather have licked it from your lips, Lady Amelia. Did you know what soft, pouty lips you possess?”
Her face flamed with his words and he chuckled. “You are quite the innocent. I like that.”
She rose and he followed suit. “If you’ll excuse me, I must visit the retiring room.”
His gaze held hers a long moment before he said, “Don’t be gone long, pet.”
Amelia left the raucous table and headed quickly to the retiring room. She relieved herself and washed her hands and then splashed water on her face, trying to cool down. She patted it dry, wondering if her plan of making Derek de Wolfe jealous had at least worked. She hadn’t known where he sat during supper, afraid to pull her attention away from her companions, lest they tease her.
She emerged from the room and found Derek pacing outside the door.
“There you are.” He came toward her and her heart threatened to pound from her chest.
“Did you wish to speak with me?” she asked haughtily.
“I do.”
Taking her arm, he led her to the foyer, which was empty. For a moment, relief swept through Amelia. The night had been full of too many people and too many conversations. To have a few blessed moments of quiet alone with Derek was most welcome.
Until he frowned at her.
“Merrifield isn’t here, Amelia, and so I believe I must be the one to look after you as a brother might.”
His words riled her. “I don’t want you to act as a brother to me,” she said angrily, not caring that she revealed the true way she felt about it.
Unfortunately, he took her words in an entirely different way.
“I know you have two brothers who usually care for you and that you think I’m merely meddling in your affairs tonight, Amelia, but you need to keep your distance from Lord Trumbull and his entire set. Many of the women have questionable reputations and all of the men are known for their depravity and loose morals. You don’t want to get mixed up with that kind.”
Her face flushed with embarrassment. “I don’t need you to lecture me. I’m a grown woman and can make my own decisions regarding whom I dance with and whose table I sit at.”
“Merrifield wouldn’t approve—”
“Oliver isn’t here,” she said flatly. “I am. He raised me to think for myself. I know what I’m doing, Lord Reston. I’m old enough to choose my own friends without any advice from you. At least these people talk to me. You usually ignore me and now talk down to me, as if I were a child.”
Amelia removed his arm from hers and glared at him. “I know what you think of me. I overheard you tell Lord Shelton that I was immature and empty-headed. It’s far from the truth, but you’ve never taken the time to get to know me. It’s too late for that now. I thank you for your conc
ern but I wish to pass. I have more dancing to do. Unlike you.”
With that, Amelia stormed back into the ballroom.
Chapter Three
Derek watched Amelia leave in a huff, her beautiful face flushed with color, her hips swaying as she left him standing speechless.
It mortified him that she’d eavesdropped on his conversation with Shelton. If she’d only stayed a moment longer, he would have apologized for any pain he’d caused her. Likely, she wouldn’t have listened, though. Derek had hurt her deeply with words she was never meant to hear.
Words that were nowhere near the truth.
It didn’t matter what she’d said to him. He would keep a watchful eye on her—and not because he was feeling brotherly. Far from it. Derek had been smitten with Amelia Ward from the moment he’d first seen her head bent close to Thea’s, whispering as two conspirators. He longed to run his fingers through her long, blond hair. Gaze into her penetrating blue eyes until he lost all rational thought. Nibble on her full, bottom lip. He thought her far from immature. The few times he’d been around her, he’d realized she was intelligent and spirited. And very beautiful. One of those women who would keep growing into her beauty until late in life.
Unfortunately, he’d be around to see that unfold as they’d be inevitably thrown together through the coming decades. Not only was Amelia a friend of one of his sisters but his other sister had wed Amelia’s brother. It was as if they were related now, which made his interest in her slightly awkward. But what truly kept him from even thinking about pursuing her was when he’d overheard Amelia and Thea talking about love. Amelia enthusiastically wanted to find a husband she could love.
Derek didn’t think love existed.
His parents’ marriage had been a nightmare. His domineering father frightened everyone, including his very shy wife. Derek couldn’t remember a single time his mother had stood up to Rafe de Wolfe. His father had countless mistresses stashed away in every village within twenty miles of Esterley Castle. Who knew how many bastards his father had sired?
The ton wasn’t in favor of love matches. They happened upon occasion but often turned out to be messy. He hoped Diana and Merrifield would prove an exception. Looking at them, Derek could almost believe, for a moment, that love existed. The way Merrifield gazed at his new wife with a mixture of lust and protectiveness startled Derek. He’d caught the couple kissing on several occasions, fascinated by how passionate they seemed. As if true love might really exist.
It didn’t matter. He satisfied himself with available women. During his years at Oxford, he’d had an arrangement with a widow close to thirty. She’d taught him much about lovemaking, which he’d put to good use with two different women residing in the village nearest Esterley. In London, he’d visited a few bawdy houses, adding to his knowledge. No matter how many partners he’d had, love never entered the mix. It wouldn’t when he finally chose a wife, either. When the time was right, he’d select a suitable bride on the Marriage Mart, one who would run his household efficiently and give him a good number of children. He’d be respectful toward her and wish for the same in return. Love wouldn’t play a part of their lives. Derek didn’t like complications—and that’s all he saw love could be.
Especially if Amelia Ward were involved.
That’s why he’d approved of Shelton’s interest in his new sister-in-law. Shelton came from a solid background. He was reliable and intelligent and would make for a good husband. If Amelia would show some interest in him. Derek had watched the pair dance earlier in the evening and saw the reserved Shelton behaving in his usual manner. He might have been fascinated by Amelia but he certainly didn’t know how to show it. Derek saw the moment she lost interest in him. She’d quit trying to engage him in conversation and gazed across the ballroom in boredom.
Instead, she’d drawn the attention of Trumbull, a man wholly unsuited for marriage. The marquess had bedded countless women of the ton, married or not, and if the rumors were true—even a few men. Trumbull was the last man Derek would want interested in Amelia. Naturally, in her rebellious mood and with Merrifield absent, she’d been drawn to the marquess.
He wondered if he should speak to Colin Ward about the matter. The middle Ward sibling had spent most of his evening in the card room and would be returning to university tomorrow. Derek decided to keep quiet and wait. If need be, he would contact Merrifield upon his return and have him shut down any prospective relationship between Amelia and Trumbull.
Returning to the ballroom, Derek lingered in the shadows with a cup of punch, watching as Trumbull danced with Amelia again. She looked a bit uncomfortable in his arms and he wished her common sense would warn her away from the marquess. The man had ripped up her dance card, shocking many. Derek had thought it a joke, but if Trumbull continued to keep Amelia as his partner for what remained of the evening, the ton’s tongues would wag incessantly, damaging her reputation beyond repair.
The dance completed, Trumbull led her toward a set of doors that opened onto the balcony. Derek decided to follow them outside. He turned to his right and quickly descended a set of stone stairs, coming back around in the direction he’d seen Trumbull leading them. The night was still and it was easy to hear their conversation. He seethed, knowing the marquess’ reputation and how the man was leading Amelia on as he flirted shamelessly with her.
“Are you going to kiss me?”
Derek cringed at her question but made ready to rush to her aid nonetheless.
“I should,” Trumbull said, chuckling. “Have you been kissed before, Lady Amelia?”
“No. I’m curious about it. I gather you have quite a bit of experience in this area. I could stand to be more informed.”
“Then you’ll have to wait, pet. Our first kiss will be at the altar—once you bear my name.”
“You haven’t asked me to marry you, Trumbull,” she pointed out.
“If I did, what would you say?” he mused.
Derek waited, his heart pounding, the blood rushing to his ears.
Say no, Amelia. Say no. Please say no.
“Ask and you’ll find out.”
“Lady Amelia, will you marry me?”
A long pause gave Derek hope and then she said, “I need to know you better, Trumbull. Court me.”
“Court you?” Trumbull laughed heartily.
Derek imagined the smug smile on his face and wanted to punch the marquess until his knuckles bled.
“All right,” Trumbull agreed. “For one week. Then I will ask you again. Let’s return inside.”
“To dance?” Amelia asked coyly. “I believe courting involves dancing.”
“As you wish.”
Derek waited several minutes, trying to rein in his emotions. He’d known Trumbull from Eton. Though the marquess was three years older, he’d bullied nearly every boy in Derek’s class and then charmed his way out of trouble. Trumbull wasn’t good enough for Amelia.
But Derek had no say in the matter.
Unless he told Merrifield immediately. Should he interrupt his sister’s honeymoon? Diana would never forgive him. She’d led an extremely difficult life, thanks to their father exiling her from Esterley when she turned up with child. With their father’s death, Derek had assumed the title and wanted Diana to be happy, bringing her to London to find her a husband. Rumors about her past had flown about as the Season had begun. Merrifield had been the one man interested in Diana from the start, ignoring the rampant gossip. He’d proven both his love and devotion. Derek couldn’t infringe on the first happiness she’d had in years, not after all she’d been through. Merrifield loved Diana’s twins already as if they were his own. He was the one who’d insisted Finn and Mena accompany them to Merrimore. It would be wrong for Derek to show up and put a stop to their idyllic week away.
The newlyweds would return to London in one week. From Trumbull’s words, he would ask Amelia for her hand again after that same span of time. Derek would bide his time and call on Merrifield once they arr
ived.
He only hoped it wouldn’t be too late.
The past week had been a whirlwind of activities. Trumbull called on Amelia each afternoon, where every day another of Oliver’s friends suddenly showed up for tea, acting as chaperones. The marquess had taken her riding in the park in his barouche, drawn by the finest pair of horses she’d ever seen. They’d attended the opera and theatre with several of his friends. Everywhere she accompanied him, much laughter and gossip occurred, with references and jokes known only to his group, making her feel like an outsider. Amelia tried to banish her insecurities, especially since Trumbull had been so attentive, paying her numerous compliments and focusing on her as he ignored all others.
His attention made her even more popular at the three balls she’d attended in the last several days. Men flocked to her, many who hadn’t even noticed her before. Having so much attention was exciting though, at times, Amelia felt as if the events unfolding were like a team of horses out of control which couldn’t be stopped.
What impinged upon her happiness was the fact that she wanted to make Derek de Wolfe jealous more than she enjoyed Lord Trumbull’s company, which was absolutely foolish. Trumbull was the catch of the Season, a marquess destined to be a duke, and a man with looks and power and wealth. If he asked her to marry him—as he’d promised he would—Amelia doubted she could refuse him.
She ventured to the drawing room and picked up some embroidery that she’d left days ago, trying to concentrate on the intricate design and failing miserably. Their butler interrupted, letting her know that Lord Trumbull had come to call.
“Show him in,” she said, a little worried that it was an hour before teatime and too early for any of Oliver’s friends to have arrived. She shouldn’t have agreed to see Trumbull in the house without a chaperone but it wouldn’t have been the first rule of Polite Society that she’d broken this week. In a way, it increased the excitement of his chase of her, seeing him alone in this forbidden way. He made her feel like breaking the rules since he was well known for doing so himself.