“I’d be pleased to call each of you charming ladies sisters.” Now Lord Brinsley’s green eyes deepened to a mysterious gray as he gave Amelia a challenging look. He was fully aware that he didn’t arouse sister-like feelings in her.
Gwyneth clapped her hands in delight. “How wonderful since I only have Cord.” A wistful look darkened Gwyneth’s face. Although young and impetuous, Gwyneth was sensitive and had suffered in her childhood with the loss of her oldest brother.
“You only have Cord? What about me?” Ash stood up and lifted Gwyneth from the settee into his arms. “Excuse us, I’ve got to explain to Lady Gwyneth a few things about who she has in her life.”
Laughing and pretending to fight to be released, Gwyneth batted at Ash’s chest. “Put me down, you brute.” All efforts at her command were negated by her laugh.
Halfway to the door Ash turned and addressed Henrietta. “Aunt Euphemia isn’t home, is she?”
Henrietta, the most serious of the trio, giggled at the question. “You don’t have to worry. Aunt Euphemia is on her social calls.”
Gwyneth leaned back in Ash’s arms and looked up at him with a highly amused twinkle in her eyes. “You’re not afraid of criminals and spies, but you’re wary of dear Aunt Euphemia.”
“You shouldn’t insult me when you’re in such a vulnerable position.” Ash pretended to drop Gwyneth who squealed in response. “And any intelligent man would be afraid of your Aunt Euphemia.”
“Brinsley, my man, can you get the door? As you can see I have my hands full.”
The loving way Ash spoke caused a slight ache to start in Amelia’s chest. Both of her closest friends had found love. They both were radiant with joy. She felt left out of the warmth.
Henrietta watched the couple leave, then stood. “I think I’ll check on my wayward husband. Amelia, can you entertain Lord Brinsley for a few minutes while I make sure that Cord has had tea? Once he starts working, he forgets to eat.”
Her closest friends abandoned her to a man with a questionable reputation. Were they insane, or was she? She should have followed Cord’s example and found a way to stay away. Her stomach and heart fluttered in anticipation as she watched Lord Brinsley walk toward her. His black riding breeches hugged his powerful thighs. There was something very threatening in his slow meander as if he was preparing to pounce.
Why did she suddenly feel threatened? His male posture caused her stomach to flip-flop in a most nerve-racking manner. He was like her brothers—large and dominant, confident in his own power. She remembered being pressed against those thighs, the way he had pushed his leg between hers. A warmth flooded her entire being.
He sat on the settee close to her. As he seated himself beside her, the cushion tipped her closer to him. She resisted the urge to move away; she refused to allow him to believe she was afraid of him. Although her face was crimson, she wasn’t about to show any other outward reaction to the rogue’s encroaching position. He knew his potent maleness unsettled her. He was used to women fawning over him and his raw virility.
“It seems I owe you an apology.” He leaned close, too close. So close she could see flecks of gold in darkened eyes and the beginning of the dusky bristles on his angular jaw.
He spoke of apology, but the way he looked at her was neither repentant nor contrite. In fact, he looked angry. Why should he be angry?
“Lord Brinsley.” Her voice came out breathless. She reached for her cup of tea to hide her nervousness. “You do not owe me an apology. I’m not sure why you feel you do.”
“It seems Ash witnessed our little embrace and felt it was marriage-worthy.”
Amelia gasped. “What?” She froze, her cup forgotten in her surprise. Then fury erupted from deep within. Ash had the nerve to speak to Lord Brinsley? Ash wasn’t her brother. This sounded more like Gwyneth’s interference. Amelia struggled to breathe. She was mortified and beyond angry. She knew her face burned hotly as did the fire in her gut.
Lord Brinsley watched her carefully, his eyes taking in every inch of her exposed skin.
“Ash spoke to you about me…about marrying me?” She could barely get the words out.
Lord Brinsley’s voice was rough and clipped. “He made it obvious that the idea of me as a husband is distasteful to you. You can rest easy; I’m not going to ask. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”
Amelia would’ve laughed at the absurdity of the situation if she weren’t humiliated, furious, and utterly flummoxed by feelings she couldn’t identify. “I can’t believe Ash took it upon himself… I can’t believe he spoke to you about…” She couldn’t bring herself to call the episode that had left her sleepless and agitated for weeks a “little embrace.” Understanding Ash’s concern tempered her anger, but it didn’t absolve him. The insolent man next to her was another matter. His casual manner about the passionate interlude had kept her spinning in a daze for days, her emotions ricocheting.
Unable to control the ire her brothers had labeled her “red-haired temper”, she blurted out, “I assume you’ve shared ‘little embraces’ likes ours all the time and you’re still not married.”
His jaw tightened and his green eyes turned flinty gray, his voice was a threatening growl. “I’ve never met a woman who wasn’t accommodating. Your problem is you are Lady Gwyneth and Lady Henrietta’s friend, and an innocent gentlewoman.”
The cad. How dare he refer to his “accommodating women,” and he meant more than kissing when he said “accommodating.” How ungentlemanly to say that the only reason he felt caught was because of her innocence. “Are you insinuating our embrace wouldn’t matter to a man of your experience if I weren’t friends with the wives of your associates?”
She took pleasure in watching his strong jaw clench in agitation, the tightening rippled his muscular throat.
“Ash explained to me that I would not be your choice for a husband. And that your desires lie elsewhere.”
Anxiety swelled up from her churning stomach, making her light-headed. Ash knew about Michael and had spoken to Lord Brinsley. Was nothing sacrosanct?
“My God, your face is so pale. Are you all right?” Lord Brinsley took her hands in his, rubbing them briskly; they were ice cold.
Of course she was pale—not from shock but from absolute humiliation. She was on the verge of laughing and crying simultaneously. Ash had been protecting her, acting like her brother, but he had bared her childhood infatuation with Michael to a virtual stranger. She felt violated.
Lord Brinsley’s hands were warm and his eyes filled with compassion. She wanted to lean into his comfort and strength. With both her friends moving forward with their lives, she felt left behind. But this is exactly how she had ended up in his arms in the first place—her loneliness and her need for comfort.
He leaned toward her as if he might kiss her again when the noise of the door opening alerted them both.
“Amelia, Amelia.” Edward, Henrietta’s younger brother, ran into the room with Gus, his yellow Labrador. “I’m just back and Brompton told me you were here. Did you remember to bring your breeches?”
Edward looked exactly like his older brother—his curly yellow hair, the blue eyes, and the charming and irresistible Harcourt smile. His resemblance to her childhood infatuation, Michael Harcourt, wrenched something inside Amelia and the memories and youthful fantasies she’d clung to after her world careened out of control with her mother’s death, flooded to the surface.
Amelia jumped up from the settee, wrenching her hands free. Lord Brinsley stood as she did, but instead of stepping away, he stepped protectively close.
Edward stared up at Lord Brinsley. “Wow, you’re big.” And without taking a breath, the next question rushed out of Edward’s mouth. “Do you play cricket?”
Amelia couldn’t help but chuckle. Lord Brinsley turned and gave her the most irresistible crooked smile. She felt the familiar breathlessness he created in her. It took a minute to look away from this captivating smile on the face of the man who was al
ways scowling.
Remembering herself, she scolded, “Edward, where are your manners?”
“But Amelia, this is perfect weather for us to practice. You promised.”
“Edward.” Amelia raised her voice, projecting the same commanding tone she used with all her brothers. “This is Lord Brinsley. Lord Brinsley, this ill-mannered young man is Edward, Henrietta’s younger brother, and as you can guess, a cricket fiend. And his companion, sitting there all prim and proper, is Gus.”
Edward bowed his head toward Lord Brinsley. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Lord Brinsley bowed deeply to Edward as if meeting a duke. “The pleasure is all mine. And I don’t blame you at all for wanting to be outside on such a fine day.” He knelt down on one knee and rubbed Gus’ head. “Do you fancy cricket as well, old boy?”
“Gus’ talent is stealing the ball and making us chase him to get it back.” Edward shifted his weight impatiently. “Amelia, can you practice today?”
“Miss Amelia is a cricket player?” Lord Brinsley sounded impressed.
“Amelia is an amazing wicket keeper. If she weren’t a girl, she’d be unbeatable.”
“Thank you, Master Edward.” Amelia curtsied. “Such strong praise indeed.”
“But she is a girl.” Lord Brinsley’s gravelly voice close to her ear sent ripples of sensation down to her toes.
Despite his young age, Edward was very observant, much like his gifted older siblings. He glanced back-and-forth between Lord Brinsley and her. “Does my brother know about him?”
“What?” Amelia’s voice came out high, strangled with indignation.
“Michael won’t like him paying attention to you, even if Lord Brinsley looks like he could easily pummel him.”
“Of all the most ridiculous…”Amelia blustered. She couldn’t believe every gentleman, even the young ones, felt compelled to protect her today.
“Edward Michael Harcourt—Silence!” she shouted. Her red-haired temper flared. Drawn by her agitation, Gus came around the table and sat at her feet, placing a giant paw on one of her feet as if trying to calm her.
Edward looked crestfallen, his innocent smile now sheepish. “But…Amelia, you know you’re going to marry Michael.”
“I know no such thing. And it is not for you to discuss with anyone. It is between Michael and me.”
Lord Brinsley had gone utterly immobile. This morning was turning into a nightmare.
“But how will I get to have you as a sister if you don’t marry Michael?” Edward’s voice was wretched and sincere.
Now she felt like an incredible ogre. Tears burned behind her eyes. She stepped around the table and pulled Edward close to her. “I will always consider myself, first and foremost, your sister, no matter who I marry.”
Edward’s voice cracked. “Gosh, Amelia. You don’t have to go all sappy on me. How will I be able to play cricket if you aren’t around?”
Now, Amelia almost burst into a hysterical laugh. She covered her mouth with her hands, but she couldn’t prevent the giggles from escaping.
Lord Brinsley chuckled, a low and gruff sound.
Amelia looked up into his laughing eyes. His harsh, angular face had softened, making him look years younger.
Caught in his gaze, she struggled to pull herself together.
“Now that we’ve aired everything private about me…” Seeing his appreciative look, Amelia didn’t feel as embarrassed or exposed as she had earlier.
Edward leaned over the table to pick up the last two biscuits. “Who ate all the food? Gus and I are starved.”
“I’m the guilty party,” Lord Brinsley said.
“You must eat a lot…with your size.” Edward inspected Lord Brinsley carefully. “Are you a bowler?”
“I’ve played that position.”
“Will you play with Amelia and me today? I bet you have a wicked arm.”
“Edward, I can’t practice today. I’m here to help Gwyneth with her wedding plans.”
“How long can wedding plans take? And where is Gwyneth? Is she with Ash again?”
“Yes, she’s with Ash. And when she returns, we have to go over details.”
Edward also channeled the persistence and doggedness of the Harcourt family. “What about tomorrow? Will you join us, Lord Brinsley? I bet I can get Cord to play. That is, if Henrietta is feeling better. I wish Michael would return home. He’s the best bowler. Isn’t he, Amelia?”
Where was Michael? Henrietta had told her he was recovering from the bullet wound he sustained in Paris. “How can Michael be on a journey? He’s supposed to be at his estate resting from his wound.”
Aware of Lord Brinsley’s close presence, she heard his sharp intake of breath. Since he already knew that Michael was someone special to her, she didn’t have to pretend she wasn’t interested.
“I don’t know. Henrietta won’t tell me. She told me to stop badgering her about him. She said she’d let me know when he returned. Will you play with us tomorrow, Lord Brinsley?”
“I’d be happy to play cricket with you tomorrow, Master Edward—as long as Miss Amelia is willing to join us.” The corner of his lip, twisted into a smug smirk.
Edward jumped in place. “Stupendous. Gwyneth will play and I bet if Gwyneth plays we can get Ash to play. It is too bad that Hen can’t play, she’s an amazing fielder.”
Amelia was trapped. She couldn’t deny Edward. His enthusiasm was contagious. She tried to give Lord Brinsley what her brother’s called her wicked, mean look, but it fizzled upon seeing his roguish grin. She had no choice, but to grin back at him.
“Tomorrow should be an interesting game.” His suggestive tone caused her skin to tingle hot and cold. “Will you be wearing breeches?”
Color rose up into her face for the hundredth time today. “No, I will not. But I will plan on my team winning.”
And with that challenge, she lifted her chin and marched out of the room in search of Gwyneth.
Chapter Three
Amelia followed Madame De Puis into the large storage room in the back of the modiste’s shop to view the newly arrived smuggled treasure.
With England and France at war, the fabulous silks and lace essential for dressmaking couldn’t be obtained from France. The contraband bolts of silks, lace, and velvet stretched across the polished wooden worktable.
A singular joy filled Amelia as she took in the rainbow of colors and textures on display. She reverently stroked a supple, pale pink silk with a hue as delicate as the gossamer wings of fairies.
Amelia turned to her friend. “Helene, this feels like Christmas all over again.”
Ladies never questioned where the fabrics come from or how they were obtained, but Amelia’s frequent visits to the shop and her close relationship with the modiste revealed the full details. Smugglers were the suppliers.
“Yes, Maurice has done well with this shipment.” Helene, known to the ton’s ladies as Madame de Puis, was the finest modiste in London.
Amelia was surprised by the mention of a name of the smuggler. Helene had always been most discrete.
“The timing of this shipment is perfect for Lady Gwyneth’s wedding.” Amelia walked around the table. “I want the dress to be in the red palette for the perfect Valentine wedding.”
Helene unrolled a bolt of a soft, rose-colored Peau de Soie. “Un tissu q’elle adore, oui?” When excited, Helene forgot herself and spoke in French.
Amelia leaned closer to inspect the material called skin of silk or Duchess Satin. “It’s the perfect hue for Lady Gwyneth’s wedding ball gown.” Amelia was designing yet another gown for another close friend’s wedding. She tried not to give in to the melancholy that she wasn’t a bride and didn’t see becoming one in the near future—she was resigned to designing the wedding dresses, never wearing one.
Helene unrolled the fabric. “The Peau de Soie has just the right stiff drape for the design you’ve drawn, don’t you agree?”
Amelia arranged the material over her
arm, testing the weight and fold.
“I couldn’t be more pleased. Lady Gwyneth will look beautiful in this.” Amelia pictured her friend’s dramatic black eyes and ebony hair contrasting with the pink-toned dress. Lady Gwyneth was going to make a gorgeous bride.
Amelia’s lonely life stretched out in front of her. Soon she’d be designing wedding dresses for Gwyneth’s and Henrietta’s daughters.
She shook her head. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t usually one to dwell on unhappiness. She knew exactly where to lay the blame for her conundrum—Lord Derrick Jeremy Randolph Brinsley’s ardent, vehement kiss. Now she understood why her friends always had a silly smile on their faces—passion.
Amelia pulled out the pastel pink chiffon silk that she had first found. “This would be delightful. This chiffon silk is supple and will make a beautiful drape for the veil.”
“And what about your dress? We must have you look as beautiful as the bride.” Helene’s eyes and voice had softened as if she had read the proper reason for Amelia’s melancholy.
Amelia attempted a smile. “As only the designer, I can’t outshine the bride.” But in her heart, she wanted to shock and tantalize a certain gentleman out of his complacency—Michael Harcourt, the Earl of Kendal, her childhood obsession. She expected him to attend the wedding ball. But why was she having difficulty remembering what he looked like? And why did her mind keep circling around to the ardent embrace with Lord Brinsley and his dazzling smile yesterday at tea?
She had planned to use her dress designs to entice Michael Harcourt in the same manner she had helped Gwyneth capture Ash’s attention.
“I want to wear red,” Amelia said. She sorted through the pile, looking for the right shade of reddish-purple. As a redhead, she had to be very careful in her selection of reds.
Helene widened her eyes and raised her eyebrows. “Rouge?”
“Not deep red.” Amelia did fantasize arriving at the ball in a ruby red dress with a revealing décolletage. It obviously worked for Gwyneth, and there wasn’t any reason it couldn’t work for her. Except Gwyneth had a voluptuous figure and dramatic looks. Unlike her friend, Amelia was tall and thin with very little cleavage. Her mother had called her “willowy,” but her brothers, less tactful, called her “beanpole.” She did have womanly curves, just not the kind that gentleman found irresistible.
A Code of the Heart (The Code Breakers Series Book 3) Page 3