His Jilted Bride (Historical Regency Romance)

by Rose Gordon

  Elijah ground his teeth. “Don't you think I've tried that already?”

  “No. I envisioned you just telling her to take her clothes off and get under the covers.”

  “Do you have feathers filling your skull? I told you earlier that she turns cold at my kisses and pulls away from my touches.”

  “Then you're doing something wrong,” Henry said simply, knocking the sides of his leather boots together. “I might regret asking this, but—”

  “Then don't ask,” Elijah barked, slamming his hand, and consequently the parchment, on the table.

  “—how exactly are you touching her?”

  “With my hands. The same part of your body that will soon be holding a pistol at the opposite end of a field from me if this conversation continues.”

  Henry threw his hands up into the air. “Someone has to give you advice. You seem to be unable to get the task done.”

  “And what makes you an expert about such matters? Unless I missed something, I didn't see you sneaking off to any brothels, either.”

  Henry neither confirmed nor denied his charge as he brought all four legs of his chair back to the wooden floor with a sharp snap. “Forgive me. I was just trying to help you lose your virginity before you reach an age where your concern won't be if your partner is willing, but if you're able.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Oh, there you are,” Edwina said to Amelia as she sauntered down the hall to where Amelia was standing outside the library where Elijah and Henry were inside discussing her with no cares or morals. “You're welcome to go in there if you'd like.”

  Amelia cleared her throat. “I already did,” she lied. She gave an exaggerated sigh. “As it would happen Alex and Caroline don't keep many books that would hold my interest.”

  “No?” Edwina asked with a grin. “Do you not find grasshoppers and honeysuckles as fascinating as those two do?”

  Amelia's lips bent into a watery smile. “No. I'm afraid I don't.”

  “Surely we can find something that does.” She looped her arm through Amelia's. “Come, I'll show you where I hide the novels.”

  Amelia dug her heels into the carpet. The last place she wanted to go was into the library where Elijah and Henry were discussing her. Or more specifically, bedding her. Embarrassment flooded her as the snippets of phrases she'd overheard sounded in her head, “...I've married an Ice Queen and short of hell itself, nothing seems to warm her up...My wife has more interest in winning boons and eating cake than wanting to be intimate with me...I have no wish to further talk about the icicle I married...”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. How dare he have the audacity to speak of her in such a way? Even if he had no love for her, she was still his wife. Did that not command even a kernel of respect? Just enough not to go around and talk to his brother about the intimate side of their marriage? Shame and rage boiled inside of her. What must his family think of her that Elijah thought so little of her to say those damning remarks about her?

  She blinked back the hot tears and noticed Edwina's head was cocked to the side in interest; her dark brown eyes, studying Amelia's face. Edwina broke eye contact for just a moment, long enough to peek through the cracked door and into the library. When she met Amelia's eyes again, they were full of compassion.

  Edwina gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Come with me,” she whispered.

  Amelia allowed Edwina to lead her to a private sitting room farther down the hall.

  Once inside, Edwina was the first to take a seat and then patted the cushion next to her.

  Numbly, Amelia sat down.

  “Is my brother being beastly again?” Edwina asked without ceremony.

  Amelia sputtered with laughter. She had no idea why—perhaps it was her tone, or the blunt question that brought back memories of when Regina would catch Elijah and Henry being 'beastly' as she put it and invited her in for tea to talk about it, or mayhap it was just that her emotions were beyond her control—but for whatever reason, she couldn't help but laugh. “Yes. Yes, he is.”

  Edwina wrapped her arm around Amelia. “Would you care to talk about it?”

  How could she? There wasn't anything she could tell her without having to explain far more than she ever wanted to tell another living soul. “I can't.”

  “And if I told you a secret about me?”

  “Even then,” Amelia whispered, leaning her head against Edwina's shoulder. She knew Edwina could be trusted. She also knew Edwina wouldn't be the kind to scorn or shame her. But for some reason it didn't feel right burdening Edwina with a problem so large neither could attempt to fix it.

  “I've never seen you so upset,” Edwina commented a minute later, genuine concern lacing her voice. “How about if I speak to him about whatever it was he was talking to Henry about in the library—remind him of his manners.”

  Amelia shot up. “No, you mustn't.” She cleared her throat. “That's to say, I really don't want to get you involved.”

  “So then you're going to speak to him yourself?”

  Oh, she had plans to speak to him all right. But not about what Edwina might think. “I intend to handle the situation, yes.”

  “Not by ignoring it, I hope.”

  “No.” She'd ignored certain things for too long as it was. She had no intention of ignoring what she'd heard him say about her in the library. “Please, don't fret, Edwina. I'm not the docile creature everyone thinks me to be.”

  “I never said you were,” Edwina countered, frowning.

  “I wasn't talking about you. I was saying that more for my own sake.” She sighed. “See, as you might have already guessed, Elijah and I...well, see, er...” How did she explain the circumstances of her marriage to her sister-in-law who seemed to be convinced they'd run off to Gretna Green to marry?

  “Are just friends?” Edwina suggested softly.

  “That, too,” Amelia agreed automatically. There was no use in denying it.

  “Have an in-name-only marriage,” Edwina guessed again.

  Amelia's face flooded with heat. “That, too,” she said again. “But it's more than that. See...uh...it wasn't because of any great love either of us had for the other that we married.” That was true enough. “It was more that he was doing me a favor.”

  Edwina showed no sign of shock or pity. “I see.”

  “And it's because of that favor that I've become so...so—” she waved her hand through the air— “well, a spineless, ninny.” She dropped her hand into her lap and took a deep breath. “But not anymore. He may have done me a favor by sparing me the humiliation of being jilted and becoming a pariah, but that's no excuse for what he's done.”

  “And you plan to tell him this?”

  “No,” Amelia said, shaking her head. For the first time she could remember in the immediate past, a genuine smile took her lips. “I have other plans for him.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It took every ounce of strength Elijah possessed not to beat his head against the table. He'd been staring at the same blasted five lines for more than four hours and hadn't come close to understanding its meaning.

  “Perhaps we're thinking about it too hard,” Elijah said, spearing his fingers through his unkempt hair.

  Henry unfastened the cuff of his sleeve and rolled it up toward his elbow. “Or perhaps you've been thinking about the wrong thing.”

  Elijah sneered at his brother then turned his attention to where he'd discarded his coat and cravat more than two hours ago. “I have no desire to discuss my relationship with Amelia again.”

  “Interesting, that wasn't what I was suggesting,” Henry mused. “I was merely suggesting that you're only looking at the words that rhyme, not the whole of the riddle. But since you brought up Amelia—”

  “No,” Elijah barked, straightening in his chair. “I'm done speaking to you about her.”

  “That's all right. I hadn't planned to ask you anything more about her.”

  “Then why did you say anything about her?” Elij
ah asked, exasperated.

  “I didn't. You did.”

  Elijah put his head in his hands and groaned. Marriage to Amelia was going to be the death of him. “Well, forget I said anything,” he muttered.

  “I can't now. You've already brought her name into this conversation.”

  “And I beg your apologies for doing so. Now what was it you were saying?”

  Henry put his hand over the letters that had been scratched on the parchment. “Go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Go to her, Elijah. It's becoming quite clear that you're unable to think about this until you...you...” He cleared his throat. “Just go.”

  “And do you think you can solve this while I'm away?” he scoffed. Henry might be better at making his expression unreadable and separating his feelings from his tasks, but Elijah had always been the one to find the clues and solve them. Except this time, dash it all.

  “No.” Henry snorted. “I couldn't even solve the last one.”

  Elijah nodded slowly, the words of the last missive sounding in his head: under and over the cliffs and clover. It took him all of five minutes to realize that a person of interest would be found at Lord Nigel's scandalous costume party in Dover where the party's guests could choose to engage in activities on the ground floor or in the basement. That was simple to puzzle out. This nonsense about praying and a lady fair? Not easy at all.

  “Elijah, go,” Henry urged him again.

  “And say what to her?”

  Henry's eyes narrowed on Elijah's. “I never said you had to actually tell her anything. Just go...you know.”

  A sharp bark of laugher passed Elijah's lips. “If it were that easy, don't you think I'd have done it already?”

  “As I said before, the problem must lie with you.”

  Elijah abruptly slid his chair from the table with an ear-piercing screech as the four legs scraped against the stone floor. “I cannot wait until the day you have a wife. I've no doubt your interactions with her will be quite fascinating to watch.” He shoved to his feet and scooped up his discarded coat and cravat. “Perhaps I'll finally become as interested in science as Alex seems to be and spend my days observing how the two of you get along.”

  Henry grinned. “Perhaps you ought to do just that. You might learn something.”

  “And what would that entail? How to be allusive and indifferent toward one's wife?”

  “You seem to have that particular lesson down perfectly,” Amelia said, gliding into the room through the open door.

  Elijah's gaze snapped in her direction. There was no way to mask the surprise on his face this time. Despite the blood that was draining from his face faster than Henry's prized horse Knight could run, he straightened and inclined his chin. Just what exactly had she heard? “Surely you don't find me to be a snob, do you?” Elijah said with far more grace than he felt.

  Amelia snorted and ran her gloved hand over the top of the mahogany bookcase closest to her. She looked rather fetching in one of Caroline's green morning dresses. “Actually, I do.” She adjusted her glove and dropped her hand at her side. “But my opinion is of no account, really.”

  Yes, it is. More than you might think. “And why would you say that?” he forced himself to ask.

  She shrugged. “Caroline has asked—”

  “I don't care what the blazes Caroline asked,” Elijah snapped.

  Amelia's eyes widened, but she said nothing.

  “I beg your pardon,” Elijah said in a much calmer voice. Mindlessly, he dug his toes into the bottoms of his shoes, refusing to do anything more to let her know how unsettled he was by her accusation. Did she really think he was a snob? He wouldn't argue with her thinking Henry was one, but him?

  “It's of no account. I wouldn't expect anything less from you?”

  Elijah's body tensed. “What's that to mean?”

  Amelia waved her hand through the air in an annoyed manner. “Please, forget I said anything.” Though her words were pleasant enough, Elijah sensed her meaning was not.

  “Are we even speaking of the same thing?”

  “Probably not,” Henry said helpfully.

  Elijah scowled at his grinning brother. “Amelia, what are you talking about?”

  She pursed her lips. “I'd say that was a rather rude question, but once again, I shouldn't be surprised.”

  Elijah stared at her dumbfounded. He'd never thought himself a simpleton—

  “Then perhaps you're wrong,” Henry said with a chuckle. He dropped his voice to a stage whisper, “You really need to stop mumbling under your breath when you're distressed.”

  “Indeed,” Amelia agreed, smirking.

  A small wave of relief washed over Elijah. At least Amelia was finding some sort of amusement in the situation. “Amelia, my sweet— What's that look about?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It's not nothing,” he argued. “You look—” The image before him could not possibly be put into the right words to do justice for the way she looked. Her lips were puckered—not pursed—but actually puckered, and not in a way that might suggest she was about to kiss him. Her hands were on her hips and her eyebrows were nearly to her hairline. She was a sight to behold, to be sure. “Well, I can't describe it exactly, but you have a look about you.”

  “Nauseated,” Henry said.

  Elijah resisted the urge to kick his annoying brother. “Pardon?”

  Henry twisted his lips. “Since when did your vocabulary—and your mental abilities—become stunted?” He shook his head and shifted in his chair. “No matter. What I was saying is she looks nauseated.”

  “Nauseated,” Elijah repeated softly, at a loss.

  “Yes, and I would be, too, if you kept calling me 'sweet',” Henry said with a grimace.

  “Would you care to leave?” Elijah asked his brother.

  Henry leaned back in his chair, bringing the front two legs off the floor a good six inches. “No. I'm rather enjoying this conversation.”

  If not for the slight twitch of Amelia's upper lip, Elijah would have used force to get his irritating brother out of the room. Instead, he ignored him and turned his attention back to Amelia. “Does it bother you when I call you sweet?” Why was he even asking that? It didn't matter one iota if she liked being called a term of endearment by him or not, the more pressing question was—

  “No, I suppose not.” She exhaled. “But it's what I've come to expect from an arrogant, pigheaded, addled gentleman such as yourself.”

  Cough, cough, cough, hack, hack, hack. “Excuse me,” Henry choked out between coughs. He used his palm and banged it against his chest.

  Elijah turned sharp eyes over to where his brother had just been overcome by a terrible coughing fit. “Leave.”

  Elijah's tone sobered Henry faster than a splash of cold water to the face. “Very well.”

  An eerie silence filled the air as Henry brought the front legs of his chair back to the floor, then stood and gathered his discarded coat, cravat and waistcoat. Even his booted steps as he retreated toward the door were muted—not by the softness of the carpet under his feet, but because Henry wanted them to be unheard. He paused briefly at the door, and whispered something to Amelia that was so soft and low Elijah couldn't have heard it no matter how hard he strained to listen.

  Amelia's eyes lowered, and Henry whispered something else—making her cheeks color.

  Elijah cursed under his breath, then opened his mouth to speak.

  But he didn't have to. Just as wordlessly as Henry had lowered his chair to the floor and gathered his belongings, he quit the room, closing the door with an almost inaudible click behind him.

  Now that he was alone with Amelia, he didn't know what to say to her. Again.

  “What did Henry say to you?” He asked for lack of anything else to say.

  Something—fire, or perhaps rage, he might never really know—flashed in her silver eyes. “Should I add jealousy to your list of unbecoming traits?”

  “U
nbecoming traits?” he asked with a scoff. “Pardon me, madam, but it seems to me that it is you who's become unbecoming as of late.”

  Amelia's gaze didn't waver as she arched one eyebrow in a silent question for him to try to explain his stupid statement.

  Unfortunately, Elijah's mind swam with words like arrogant, jealous, pigheaded, snob, becoming and unbecoming, rendering him nearly incapable to form a well thought out statement, such as the nonsense he'd said a moment before.

  “Why do you find me to be an arrogant snob?” he blurted at last.

  “Because you are one.”

  Elijah fought to keep the frown off his face. “No, I'm not,” he said as evenly as his clamped jaw would allow.

  “Perhaps you're right,” Amelia agreed, a hint of sadness in her voice that matched the same sadness that was now visible in her eyes. “Perhaps you are not a snob, but you've certainly taken to acting like one recently.”

  What the blazes was she talking about? He hadn't acted as if he had little regard for her. He'd admit he'd been a bit impatient with her and had said things that were probably best left unsaid, but he had not been a snob. An image of his father flashed in his mind, reminding him that he was a gentleman, and as such, he owed her an apology for whatever he did or didn't do that had upset her. “Amelia, if I've said or done something to make you think I was talking down to you, I apologize.”

  “I see you've allowed yourself the usual loophole you're so fond of.” Her statement was devoid of any emotion.

  Elijah's eyes bore into her. “I've apologized, Amelia. What more do you want from me?”

  “You did no such thing. You offered a hollow apology if I felt the need for one, and it was rather reluctantly given, if I might be blunt.”

  “Of course it was,” he agreed automatically. “I don't think I actually owe you one.”

  “Of course not.”

  Elijah dragged a deep breath in through his nostrils to help tame his rising temper. She was pushing him to his limit. And she knew just how to push him there. But they were not children anymore. Throwing balls of mud at one another wasn't going to solve this. So why was she pushing him? Or was she? The slight frown on her face and the way her brows were knit together were enough to make him second guess his earlier assessment. Did she truly feel he owed her an apology?