They rode in silence while he manoeuvred the horse around a crowd into a completely deserted street beyond. Frozen mist had begun to fall, giving the alleyway an eerie, otherworldly air that made everything else apart from them seem fuzzy. Even the noisy hustle and bustle of the rest of the city was muted. It felt as if it were suddenly just the two of them. All alone.
‘I did not know that you were familiar with our capital. How long has it been since you were last here?’ His soft, deep voice encouraged her to draw closer still, perhaps because they were in such close proximity that he barely had to speak above a whisper.
‘Just over a year ago now. I grew up here.’ Amelia winced at her candour. She probably should not have told him that. Lady Worsted had been quite specific in her insistence that Amelia should not make things awkward by mentioning her past to anyone. It made his next question inevitable.
‘Where?’
Two streets away from you, in a grand house with servants. ‘From the age of twelve I lived in Cheapside with my mother.’ They had, for a very short while, while her father plotted and schemed to get his marriage to her mother annulled.
‘Does she still live there?’
‘She died a few years ago.’
‘Ah—I am sorry to hear that. I know how painful it is to lose a parent. My father died when I was fifteen. I still miss his guidance.’ That was a surprising admission from a man who was so stiff and reserved. He had feelings, then? She had wondered. ‘So that is why you became a companion? You were alone in the world?’
How did one explain her odd situation? Technically, no. I still have a father, although he is determined to forget that he has a daughter, especially now that the law says that he hasn’t. The lie he had offered her was easier than the truth. The truth was so awful it made her angry just to think about it and Amelia had long ago promised herself that she would not give Viscount Venomous the satisfaction of rousing her emotions. ‘Yes. I went to work for your aunt. She has been very good to me.’
Another intimate chuckle rumbled behind his ribcage, which played havoc with her pulse. ‘Aunt Augusta is a wonderful woman—although she can be a bit of a challenge. I think she has frightened off at least six companions since she was widowed. There has been a new one every few months. Apparently, you have proved yourself to be most resilient to have weathered almost a year. How have you managed it?’
Amelia found herself relaxing again as this topic was easier to talk about. The rhythmic motion of the horse’s trot, the warmth seeping back into her bones and the gentle timbre of his soothing, deep voice was becoming hypnotic. So hypnotic that at some point she had rested the full weight of her back against his chest so that his body could form a protective heated cocoon about her. It might be a tad improper, but it felt far too good to move just yet. ‘Lady Worsted finds me amusing. She says that I am a breath of fresh air.’
‘You are certainly nothing like any of her previous companions. They were all very straitlaced and sensible—which is probably why Aunt Augusta frightened them off. Much as I adore her, she can be difficult, outspoken, and has a tendency to be naughty whenever she gets the chance. I never quite know what she is going to do or say next.’
‘I think that is why we get on so well. I also have a tendency to be a bit unpredictable. I act first and think about it later. I am not particularly straitlaced and sometimes I am not very sensible either.’
‘Hence you were out alone, in the dark, without a chaperon. I am sure if my aunt heard about this she would be angry that you had put yourself at risk.’ There was no irritation in his voice this time; it had been replaced by a gentler chastisement that was designed to appeal to her conscience rather than a direct order.
‘I will try not to do it again,’ she said, hoping he would believe her. She had another meeting to attend tomorrow with the factory workers, if she could get away, and they were always desperately short-handed at the soup kitchen.
‘That is not the answer I was hoping for. I want to hear the words I will not do it again.’
‘Now you are splitting hairs. That is exactly what I just said.’
He laughed at her cheekiness. ‘I am a politician, Miss Mansfield. I know full well the power of words. The way something is phrased tells me a great deal about a person’s intent. Just now, for example, you specifically used the words I will try. There is a vast chasm of difference in the meaning of try and will; therefore that leads me to believe that you have no intention of listening to me at all on the matter.’
‘Perhaps...’
‘Another response that confirms your lack of commitment. Now I see why you and Aunt Augusta get along so well.’
His easy sarcasm made her giggle. ‘Are you suggesting that I am...how did you put it? Difficult, outspoken and naughty?’
Yes, he was and he quite liked those traits, bizarrely. Perhaps because she was a lady’s companion who’d grown up in Cheapside and was, therefore, completely off-limits. ‘You are certainly unconventional, Miss Mansfield; I will give you that.’
She was also playing havoc with his nerve endings, cuddled against his chest, compliant for once and nestled in his lap; those nerve endings were getting lustful ideas again. The temperature might be close to freezing, the fog creating glistening ice crystals on the brickwork they passed, but Bennett was hot.
Very hot.
All over.
‘I shall take that as a compliment. I would hate to be considered conventional.’
Her body trembled slightly with her laughter and it made him wonder if she would tremble with passion too. It had been a reckless and ill-considered decision to put her on his horse whilst he still sat on it. As a gentleman, Bennett probably should have offered the horse to her and walked home. He certainly should not have dragged her against him and shared his coat with her. What he had originally intended as an act of polite chivalry was now almost torture. Whatever had possessed him to do so when such things were simply not done, he could not fathom, aside from the fact that he had felt the most overwhelming urge to protect her. Leaving her alone with his horse had been as unacceptable as ignoring her and letting her walk.
Of course, then she had been shivering with such violence that it had caused him genuine concern. Now that she was all soft, friendly and warm from the heat of his body, he knew he would be doomed to thinking about how well her rounded bottom fitted between his thighs and how her hair smelled of spring flowers for the rest of the evening—and probably most of the night too. Each time she spoke, her soft breath warmed his chest through his clothing and he wished that there were not quite so many layers of fabric between her lips and his bare skin. Or so many layers between his bare skin and hers.
He definitely needed a wife!
Bennett had never been so grateful to see Berkeley Square as he was when he rounded the corner. Even the mist cleared beneath the glow of the streetlights.
‘I should probably walk the rest of the way,’ she said, straightening and making them both suddenly self-conscious of their brief impropriety. ‘I don’t want to cause you a scandal.’
‘Indeed,’ he said, more stiffly than he intended. Whatever spell they had been under was now broken. The familiar awkwardness swamped him until he could not think of anything else to say, so he steadied her with his arm as she lowered herself to the ground. Her body was trim and small beneath his hand. But rounded and soft and achingly womanly in all of the right places. Bennett wanted to run his big, clumsy hands all over her.
‘I shall see you at dinner, Your Grace.’
And the way she said that made him want to kiss her smart, impertinent mouth.
Chapter Six
The perfect young lady never snorts or guffaws—or, heaven forbid, draws attention to herself when amused. If she finds something particularly humorous, she will always have the good grace to cover any unbecoming outb
urst with her fan...
The reading salon was an experience. That was the only way Amelia could think to describe it. The spacious drawing room was positively teeming with ladies, aside from the brave few gentlemen who had graced them with their presence. The Duke was not yet one of them. The Dowager and Lady Worsted held court in the centre of the room and the other ladies clamoured to be seated as close to them as they could, like chickens frantically pecking at freshly thrown corn and twice as noisy. There must be close to twenty people crammed into the room, which led Amelia to believe that it was not quite the ‘intimate and cosy meeting of like minds’ she had been promised.
Several extra chairs had to be brought in to accommodate everyone and, sensing that it was likely to be a very long night, Amelia commandeered one of them and positioned it in the far corner of the room, where she judged few would notice that she intended to while away her time reading something worthwhile. She had tucked a pamphlet on the horrors of child labour inside a copy of Lord Byron’s poetry, but Sir George had pulled his chair close to hers, so the factory children would have to wait.
‘Is it always this crowded?’
Sir George scanned the eager faces and then smiled. ‘To begin with no, but then Bennett began hunting for a wife and all at once we were overrun with eligible young girls who declared an overwhelming interest in the written word. This, my dear Miss Mansfield, is a gathering of a few genuine literary stalwarts, the diehard hopefuls and what is left of the Potential list.’
Now the rush to sit closest to the Duke’s mother made perfect sense. ‘Who are the lucky five still in contention?’
Sir George crossed one leg over the other and made himself comfortable. ‘Why don’t we have a bit of fun? You strike me as a very clever girl. See if you can work out who the remaining five are, and if you guess them correctly I shall tell you a bit about each lady.’
‘I do love a challenge. But if I guess them correctly I would like to be rewarded with some interesting gossip about the young lady rather than a dull biography.’
‘Agreed.’
‘All right, then, let me see...’
After reading his silly book, Amelia had a wealth of information about what the Duke would find acceptable when selecting a bride. If any one of these ladies was still on the list, then her demeanour and manners would be perfect. Good posture and a subtle sense of fashion were a prerequisite. The perfect bride would never draw unnecessary attention to herself in bold colours or showy confections. That meant that the young lady wearing the unfortunate frothy dress in a vile shade of orange was definitely just hopeful. Next to her sat a regal blonde in an understated gown that was slightly deeper than powder blue. The colour must have been specifically chosen to complement her fine eyes. Aside from the clothing, the girl also kept subtly glancing towards the doorway. She was looking out for him. ‘That one is a Potential. Two chairs left of Her Grace.’
Sir George chuckled, clearly enjoying their game. ‘Indeed she is,’ he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. ‘That is Lady Bulphan’s granddaughter Priscilla. Good breeding there, or so I am led to believe. Flawless reputation. Even-tempered.’
‘That is hardly interesting gossip. She sounds dull.’
‘Oh, she is, my dear. Dreadfully dull. There really is nothing else to say about her.’ Sir George was clearly unimpressed with Priscilla. ‘Except that her father is also a member of Liverpool’s cabinet and a valuable political ally.’
‘The lady with the reddish blonde hair next to Lady Worsted is also one from the list.’
Sir George shot her an impressed glance. ‘What gave her away?’
‘She is hanging on the Dowager’s every word like a loyal puppy, yet Her Grace is merely requesting that the footman needs to bring in more chairs.’
‘That is Lady Eugenie. She is the daughter of a marquis and very eager to please. Now that you come to mention it, with all those ringlets she does resemble a spaniel. I had never noticed it before. You are very astute, Miss Mansfield. Rumour has it that Lady Eugenie’s grandmother was a simple farmer’s daughter, although, as yet, there is no proof of such a scandalous association.’
‘Good gracious—a farmer’s daughter! I am surprised the Duke even speaks to her.’
‘Ah, but her father is the ambassador to Holland and England does a lot of trade with the Dutch East India Company.’
It was easy to spot the next two. Both were blonde, politically well connected, dressed in pastels, and both were clutching well-thumbed copies of The Discerning Gentleman’s Guide to Selecting the Perfect Bride. Amelia took an instant dislike to both ladies for grovelling. ‘Please tell me that we are not going to be subjected to passages from your nephew’s book?’
‘I dare say one or two pertinent chapters might be dissected. They usually are if Bennett makes an appearance.’ Amelia’s face must have given her away. ‘Is your disapproval for Bennett or his admirers?’
‘His admirers. Obviously.’ How on earth could a man write such narrow-minded, nearsighted drivel? Now that she knew him a little better, some of those words felt a little at odds with the author. It seemed implausible that a man who dealt in important affairs of state, and spoke so passionately about cleaning up the slums, would seek a wife who parroted his own book back at him in order to catch his eye. Surely he would prefer a clever girl? ‘It strikes me as desperate to lower oneself by grovelling for attention in such an obvious way. I dislike sycophants.’
‘Ah.’ Sir George was watching her in blatant disbelief, his eyes dancing with mischief. ‘And pompous dukes who write etiquette manuals, perhaps?’
Amelia ignored him and went back to studying the women in the room to cover her unease. Why was she so bothered that those silly girls were intent on fawning over him so pathetically? If he enjoyed that kind of attention, then it confirmed all of her worst fears about the man. Then he would be shallow and self-absorbed, even though she had seen the tiniest glimpse that he might not be, and that bothered her.
Conscious of Sir George’s scrutiny, Amelia redoubled her efforts to unmask the remaining Potential. After several minutes of surreptitious study, she was forced to admit defeat. ‘I have no idea who the fifth is.’
‘Lady Cecily is not here yet. She likes to make an entrance. She won’t arrive until the readings have started or until she has judged that Bennett might be here.’
‘That way, he will have to turn to look at her.’
‘Precisely.’ He looked very impressed. ‘It also means that she can position herself closest to him. I quite admire her industry. In fact, industry is quite a pertinent word for her. Her father is a powerful industrialist and as rich as Croesus too. Owns ships, factories, deals in stocks and bonds. He is a great supporter of Bennett’s political aspirations.’
‘Is she blonde too?’ The Duke clearly had a penchant for them. Even Lady Eugenie erred more on the side of reddish blonde than ginger. Sir George regarded Amelia thoughtfully for a moment.
‘She is.’ Of course she was. He would marry someone golden like him, and they would go about making perfect, angelic, aristocratic, golden children to match. ‘Does that bother you?’
Amelia stiffened at the suggestion. ‘Why on earth should his choice of bride bother me? I have no interest in the outcome.’ Sir George began to smirk knowingly, but fortunately further conversation was prevented by the Dowager calling the gathering to order.
‘Good evening, everyone! We have a feast of entertainment this evening and so many of us that I doubt that we shall have time to get through it all. Our first reading is from Lady Eugenie.’
The slightly ginger blonde stood up and began to read a passage about unrequited love from a novel. It was clearly intended to be a declaration of her affections to the absent duke. Once the dramatic reading ended, one or two observers asked a few polite questions and they moved on to the next. Several dreary
but heartfelt presentations followed that soon bored Amelia to tears. Certain that nobody was paying any attention to her, she quietly opened the book in her lap and began to read her pamphlet.
It was some time later when she felt a distinct shift in the atmosphere. A quick glance upwards confirmed her suspicions. The Duke of Aveley had arrived. He might well have meant to slip in quietly, but there was no mistaking the sound of rustling petticoats and creaking corsets as the unattached ladies suddenly sat up a little straighter, their eyes widened falsely to show them off to their best advantage and small secret smiles were pasted on their apparently rapt faces as they listened to the poem being read to them. One by one, they stole a glance at him, hoping to catch his eye, yet all to no avail. The only person he deigned to look at was his mother as he quietly ensconced himself against the wall closest to the door, looking every bit like a man ready to bolt at the first opportunity that presented itself. A position, Amelia noted, that was perfect for observing the Potentials, as if they were prime horseflesh and he was a buyer at Tattersalls. Dispassionate. Objective. Removed.
In case he caught her eye and assumed that she was also competing for his attention, Amelia quickly focused again on her pamphlet, risking only the occasional peek beneath her lashes at the golden Duke assessing his harem. He paid no woman particular attention, she noticed, watching them all with polite indifference. The Duke of Aveley clearly did not feel the need to woo anyone. The Potentials, on the other hand, fell over themselves to out-simper and out-primp their rivals. There was so much batting of eyes that Amelia was surprised that she did not feel a breeze from all of the exertion. Yet he took it all arrogantly in his stride as if this attention was nothing less than he was due.
DISCERNING GENTLEMAN'S GUIDE, THE Page 6