“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 noth
ing 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.
Chapter Nine
Jasper came to call on Amelia the day after the race and, because he was an imp sent by the devil, he brought The Times.
“Have you read it?” he asked.
“No.” Amelia flopped against the arm of the parlor’s sofa with distinctly un-ladylike grace.
“Why not?”
“I keep hoping if I don’t look, it won’t have happened.”
Jasper’s stare told her exactly what he thought of that foolishness. He struck a pose in the armchair and snapped the pages open. “Lady A, recently engaged to the Earl of M., scandalized the denizens of Hyde Park yesterday by engaging in a horse race along the riding track commonly referred to as Rotten Row.”
Amelia cringed.
Jasper continued reading. “Lady A.’s vulgar inclusion into this predominately male pass-time was compounded by the nature of her dress, which included men’s riding breeches, flashing her backside to all and sundry.”
“Flashing my backside!” That was more than a bit of creative license. She sat up in indignation. “I was no less dressed than any man there.”
Jasper choked a laugh. “‘The sum of money rumored to have been wagered between the riders—yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, Lady A. added gambling to her incendiary behavior—is too ludicrous to be repeated by this reporter, lest they should inspire others to likewise irresponsibility.’ How much did you wager?”
Amelia sighed. “Two hundred pounds.”
“Well done.”
“Nicholas bet a hundred, and then that awful man insulted Dio,” she mumbled.
The paper snapped back to attention. “As to the race, we should like to say very little. Unfortunately, it’s all anyone can talk about. While the racers appeared quite evenly matched, it was the moment of high drama, when two unattended children stumbled onto the track from the nearby walking path, directly in the way of the horses, that proved the winner of the day.”
Just thinking about it made Amelia stand up and start pacing the parlor. It had scared the life out of her. Seeing those little boys come spilling out of the trees, practically under Dio’s hooves—she would have nightmares for weeks.
“While her opponent’s horse reared and its rider lost his seat—an unfortunate outcome for anyone who considers themselves a horseman of merit—Lady A. sent her mount into a leap, clearing the children and finishing the race.” Jasper looked at where she was walking circles into the carpet in front of the hearth. “Truly?”
“Truly. It was awful.”
“I say again—well done.”
“It was awful. I never ever want to race again.”
It had been traumatizing. What if they hadn’t cleared the jump? What if Dio’s hooves had clipped that poor child in the head, killing or maiming him for life? Amelia was not cut out for adventure, not in the slightest.
“There’s a bit referencing the article about your getting into a women’s rights argument at Lady’s Chisholm’s salon, but that’s old news.”
“They did not print that in the paper.”
“They did,�
� Jasper assured her. “The young misses of London going rogue is quite newsworthy.”
Amelia was going to die of embarrassment. It was bad enough when she was committing the offenses, but to have them immortalized was mortifying. “If Embry was half as scandalized as the reporter of The Times, I’d be quit of this engagement already.”
“Nicholas, may I speak with you a moment?” Philip called to him through the open library door.
“Of course.” He was headed out to meet Amelia, but there wasn’t really any rush. She’d promised to send word after she spoke with Embry and she hadn’t sent it yet.
Nicholas joined his brother, where a pile of papers that looked suspiciously like the estate bills were strewn across one of the large tables. This time, though, it was Nicholas that had Philip’s full attention.
“I’ve received a note from the tailor,” his brother said, steepling his hands.
That was fast. “That should have come to me directly. I’ll reimburse you for it.”
“It wasn’t a bill. Just a note.”
A note. That didn’t bode especially well. “Oh?”
“Is there a reason you can think of that they might wish to disassociate themselves from us?”
Oh bloody hell. “Perhaps.”
Philip leaned back in his chair. “Thomas Hawkes dressed the last two King George’s, The Duke of Wellington, and, as of yesterday, apparently, no longer dresses the Lords of Wakefield.”
The only honorable thing to do was be honest. “I suspect he recognized the clothes.”
“What clothes? And why should it matter if he recognized them? What the devil is going on, Nicholas?”
“They weren’t for me.” Their father was going to kill him—at least, he would if he received the news on a day when he didn’t mistake Nicholas for one of the neighbors.
Philip waited for further explanation. When none was forthcoming he prompted Nick. “Who were they for?”
“Amelia needed my help.”
“You outfitted Amelia Bishop with clothes from our tailor.” Philip scrubbed a hand across his face. “Yes, I can see how that might offend the dignity of Hawkes and Company. Might I ask what the hell you were thinking?”
The Importance of Being Scandalous Page 13