A Wedding Code

by Jacki Delecki

  Miss Lyon curtsied. “My deepest apologies, I don’t mean that your marriage…”

  Jack glowered at Amelia, as if she could be intimidated by a clash between their matching violet eyes. If their positions were reversed, he would not have been able to resist baiting her, either.

  “Your brother…” Miss Abigail stopped suddenly. “I shall return to the drawing room.”

  “Coward,” Jack muttered under his breath, but loud enough to be heard.

  “Of all the nerve.” Miss Abigail’s chest puffed out in indignation.

  Jack’s focus on Miss Abigail’s face was diverted to her expanding cleavage. “Don’t spare my sister.” He stalked Miss Abigail against the wall of books. “She is not missish. Tell her the opinion that you were so willing to share but moments ago.”

  Miss Lyon looked sheepishly at Amelia. “I have apologized to your brother for my lack of refinement. I’m not sure what came over me.”

  “Jack came over you. He has that effect on many people.”

  “You’re not helping, Amelia,” Jack warned.

  Amelia moved closer to Miss Abigail. “What did Jack do this time to vex you so?”

  Amelia tried not to sound like she was gloating, but knew she failed from the way Jack’s eyes narrowed.

  “Your brother’s refusal to open his mind to the possibility of women attending university and not marrying is exasperating and illogical.”

  Miss Abigail shook her blond curls, clearly having no idea what an enticing picture she presented to Jack. Amelia knew by the way Jack watched the fiery woman’s every move that he was captivated.

  “And you consider yourself an intelligent man…” Miss Abigail shrugged in defeat, turning to Amelia. “Your brother’s inability to comprehend that there are women who might not wish to spend their futures with a husband is pitiful.”

  Amelia really needed to tidy herself and attend to her guests, but the arcing sensual tension between these two kept her too engaged to leave. She had been waiting for the right woman to give Jack his comeuppance.

  Miss Abigail stepped around Jack. “I beg your pardon, Miss Amelia. I will return to the guests. I’ve taken enough of your time. I hope your friend, Lady Rathbourne, is feeling well.”

  “Lady Henrietta regrets she won’t be able to attend the wedding ball. But I believe you would enjoy discussing your views with her. She is an inestimable scholar, who reads and writes many languages, including ancient Greek and Latin. And I believe she would have attended university if she had the opportunity.”

  “I look forward to meeting Lady Rathbourne when her confinement is finished. I’m here for the season at my father’s insistence, but I’ve been making the acquaintances of like-minded women who are more interested in serious study than the frivolities of society.”

  “I believe you offended my sister, who is known throughout society as an arbiter of fashion, one of the frivolities you speak of so scornfully,” Jack challenged.

  Amelia had to suppress the laughter boiling up inside her. Jack, every lady’s favorite, was behaving considerably very ill-mannered.

  Miss Abigail tilted her head toward Amelia, ignoring Jack. “I beg to differ. You are a talented artist. Your father has taken the time to show me your paintings in the family gallery. But, because you are a woman, you are not able to study with the masters or contemplate expressing your talent in ways considered beyond of a woman’s purview. No, I respect women who find ways to express their creative abilities despite society’s constraints.”

  Amelia laced her arm through the young woman’s and led her to the doors. “Thank you, Miss Abigail. I appreciate your insight. We must discuss this further.”

  Amelia looked over her shoulder at Jack’s thundering glare. “Jack, will you accompany Miss Abigail back to the drawing room? I must tidy myself before seeing the guests.”

  Jack offered his arm, and the gleam in his eyes was very familiar to Amelia. Poor Miss Abigail had no clue that she had just thrown down a gauntlet. And none of her brothers ever stepped away from a challenge, especially Jack.

  “Thank you, Mr. Bonnington, but I am capable of returning to the drawing room without escort.”

  Yes, Miss Abigail had no clue what a tempting dare she presented.

  “Of all the stubborn women.” He bowed as if in the presence of the king. “Miss Lyon, it would give me pleasure to accompany you to the drawing room.”

  Miss Abigail rolled her eyes before placing her hand on Jack’s arm as if touching a snake. She batted her eyes at Jack and said in a sweet voice, “Thank you, sir. You are too kind.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Flanked by his bride and Aunt Mabel, Derrick greeted the wedding guests. Amelia’s face was turned toward her father, giving Derrick a perfect view of her slender neck and flame-red hair, which was twisted into complicated braids and curls for tonight’s ball. None of the guests would guess from the sweet smile on Amelia’s face as she greeted her guests that she was terrified for the safety of Lady Henrietta’s baby.

  He was used to subterfuge and dissembling, but the challenge for straightforward and honest Amelia was tremendous. He found himself tense and edgy, not because of tonight’s mission, but because he was unable to help Amelia, and unable to do anything to protect her from worry.

  Amelia had wanted to postpone the ball and assist Rathbourne and Ashworth. He smiled at his brilliant tactics in the face of that challenge. Instead of pointing out that he would never allow her to be involved in a dangerous mission, he tactfully explained that any change in plans would raise suspicion, thus causing the kidnappers to behave rashly.

  He had only been married a few hours, and he was already learning how to manage his headstrong wife.

  He was normally a man who barely smiled, but he couldn’t stop grinning today. Today Amelia, a warm, loving, vivacious woman, bound her life to his, never to be undone. His seemingly endless days of believing he was destined to spend his life alone, afraid that he had inherited the dark, abusive nature of his father and brother, were gone.

  Aunt Mabel poked him in the ribs to remind him to attend to the debutante who stood before him stammering and staring. Derrick smiled warmly at the shy young woman, who immediately blushed a deep shade of red that matched the dratted vest Amelia wanted him to wear tonight.

  While the girl drifted down the line, Aunt Mabel declared in her loud voice, “You might have damaged the poor gel for life. I thought she was going to have a fainting spell on the spot. Better to save all your charm for your beautiful bride, or we’ll have a room filled with women swooning at the sight of Lord Brinsley, amiable and smiling.”

  “Have you already been in the champagne?” Derrick asked.

  “If only. Standing for hours is taking a toll on my feet and back. I remain upright only because I can see we have but a few more guests to greet. Whose idea was it to invite all of London?”

  Derrick managed not to remind Aunt Mabel that it was she who expanded the guest list. She wanted all of society to acknowledger her nephew’s triumphant return to their midst, and his spectacular match.

  “You did very well, marrying Amelia. She’s got pluck, and won’t let you ride roughshod over her, since she is skillful at managing her father and brothers.”

  Derrick turned to watch Amelia take an older gentleman’s hands in hers, gracing him with her warmth. The gentleman looked besotted by her, as well he should be. She was smiling, and would periodically steal a glance at Derrick. Thanks to her charming smile, he might be the only one in the room to have noticed that her eyes were wide with anxiety. Her distress ratcheted up his uneasiness.

  Aunt Mabel dragged his thoughts away from his bride. “Your mother would have loved her. I’m sorry Lucy didn’t live to see what a fine match you’ve made.”

  Derrick also wished his mother could have met Amelia. How happy she would have been to know one of her sons had found an intelligent, socially adept wife, able to hold her own in a marriage, thus ending the brutal family
legacy.

  He still didn’t trust that he could relax into his present good fortune after the years of isolation and societal rejection. He had believed he was destined to remain alone, and the conviction still haunted him, despite evidence to the contrary.

  “I thank my lucky stars that you inherited your mother’s gentle nature, and not your father’s terrible temperament.”

  Derrick stared down at the wizened face of his aunt, her dark, beady eyes piercing into his.

  “No, don’t look at me like I’m batty.”

  Aunt Mabel was anything but batty. She was sharp and observant. But her description of him as “gentle” was not a word he would have used. Intimidating, dark, menacing were closer to the mark.

  “You were always a sweet child, wanting to protect your mother from your father’s violent outbursts. You protected Lauren, ruining your rightful place in society. Your wife knows you’re a wonderful man. I see it every time she steals a glance at you.”

  He shook his head.

  Aunt Mabel cackled. “Don’t worry, my boy, your secret is safe. I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation as a big, bad, bully boy.”

  Amelia turned at the sound of Aunt Mabel’s laughter. “I believe we are finished with the receiving line. I’m sorry you had to stand for so long, Aunt Mabel.”

  Derrick looked through the open doors. The line that had snaked down the long, marble hallway for hours had vanished.

  “You are not expecting any additional guests? What about Gabby’s brother, the dead marquis who was to make his reappearance at your wedding? I was looking forward to the drama.”

  “Gabby is disappointed that her brother didn’t return from France in time to attend,” Amelia said.

  What Amelia didn’t add was that she and Derrick were both grateful for no further intrigue. The kidnapping of an innocent was problematic enough, without a missing spy. But at the moment, there was nothing to be done but enjoy their wedding. And he was going to do everything in his power to ensure Amelia had wonderful memories of the evening she had been planning for months.

  “Fiddlesticks, I wanted to see Emily Billingsworth’s face when Valmont made his grand entrance.” Aunt Mabel lifted her lorgnette to scan the ballroom. “It looks like your ball will still be the talk of the ton. It’s a grand squeeze.”

  “Excuse us, Aunt Mabel. I wish a moment with my wife.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Aunt Mabel winked. “Take your time, and I’ll distract the crowd. And why is that annoying French designer still lurking in our vicinity?”

  Derrick followed Aunt Mabel’s look to where Pisspot stood half-concealed by the red- and purple- and gold-draped column. Amelia had shared that mixing the bold colors was quite daring, and not normally considered fitting for a wedding. He assumed his wife’s talent for bold had been successful, since he heard many compliments from the guests.

  “I’m sure he is checking on the ballroom to make sure everything is running smoothly, Aunt Mabel. He’s very fastidious about details.”

  Derrick had the wisdom not to comment on Pisspot or his affectations.

  “I don’t trust that Frenchie. Something about him ain’t right. And I don’t mean his manners. Something else.”

  Derrick agreed, but since Amelia held Pierpont in high esteem, he said nothing. He tucked Amelia’s arm into his and led her away from the ballroom into a nook he spotted earlier, planning to steal a kiss from his luscious wife before the next round of socializing and dancing began.

  “This is the first chance I’ve had alone with my wife. And I’m going to take a moment to enjoy my newly wedded bliss.” He liked how the sound of “wife” made his possessive male heart beat wildly.

  Tucked into the tiny space, he ran his finger along the sensitive spot on the inside of her elbow above her long evening glove, moving closer, wanting to kiss her pale shoulders. “You are the most beautiful bride.”

  Amelia looked up at him, her face radiant. “You’re not upset by my dress?” She lightly ran her hand down the length of the deep purple dress clinging to every curve, so tight that it looked like it might be hard for her to breathe.

  Derrick chose not to mention that when she descended the stairwell, his first reaction was the urge to rush up the stairs and drag her to the bedroom, and then his next urge was to shout out that she change into a modest dress that would hide her stunning body to all but his eyes.

  What had stopped him was the way Amelia chewed on her lower lip while she carefully descended the stairs, her eyes open and vulnerable, waiting for his approval. She might be the fashion expert in terms of color and design, but as a man, a lusty man who loved her, he understood that her dress was meant as a seduction for him, and only him. What a lucky devil he was. What more could a husband ask?

  “You look…” He felt like the big lummox that he was, unable to express what he was feeling. He could only tell her the truth. “I can’t think of any pretty words to describe how beautiful you are, and how grateful I am that you belong to me. And only me.”

  “Lord Derrick Brinsley, I will never forget that you have said such lovely things to me on our wedding night. I’ll be old and gray and still telling the grandchildren how dashing and romantic you are.”

  With the mention of grandchildren, Amelia’s smile vanished. “How can I be celebrating when Cord and Ash are searching for someone who is plotting to harm tiny Charles?”

  The hell with propriety and the guests in the hallway, Derrick pulled Amelia against him. “Because you are supposed to be thinking of your wedding, not a French threat. It is what Rathbourne and Ashworth want. And you must trust them to do their job. They are well trained and skillful, as are the men accompanying them.”

  Amelia melted against him and spoke against his chest. “It was hard not to be able to reassure Cord when he came through the receiving line. He looked stressed and alone. It would have broken Hen’s heart to see him in that moment.”

  Rathbourne made an appearance early in the evening to maintain the ruse. After the evening’s work, he planned to return to his wife and baby. Ashworth planned to bring the news once the men were captured.

  “I saw Aunt Euphemia whispering to you. Did she give you any more information?”

  “She told me not to worry. All is under control. I admire her. She is with the men, helping them to stop the villain.”

  “She certainly is something different.” Derrick preferred Amelia to admire Aunt Euphemia from afar. “Cord shared that it was his aunt who was able to convince Lisette to play her part by wrapping the receiving blanket around clothes rolled together to be the same size as the baby.”

  “The poor girl must be terrified. She is barely sixteen, and has been imprisoned and threatened with her mother’s death. I can’t imagine what it must be like for her.”

  “She and her brother did the right thing in coming forward. Rathbourne will make sure her mother is not taken by Fouche, and Adrien will leave with Talley at first light to move his mother beyond Fouche’s reach.”

  A footman approached Derrick. “My Lord, I am sorry to interrupt, but he insisted it was important.”

  “Who insisted?”

  “A French man, Adrien, who said you will know who he is. He says it was vital he speak with you.”

  Derrick’s calm vanished. His muscles clenched and his breath quickened. “Where is he?” Derrick searched the long hallway filled with wandering guests.

  Nothing made sense about Adrien’s appearance at the ball, nothing except that something had gone wrong, very wrong.

  “He is waiting in the garden below the stairs.” The footman nodded toward the open French doors across the ballroom leading to the terrace.

  “Derrick, what’s happened?” Amelia’s voice quavered. “Why does he want to see you? Isn’t Ash supposed to arrive soon?”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing. Ashworth probably sent him ahead, since it will take him longer to return to his estate and change clothes. I’ll only be a minute. You return to ou
r guests. Promise me you won’t worry.”

  Amelia searched his face, as if she suspected that he wasn’t telling her the whole truth. It made no sense for Adrien, a stable hand, to search for him amongst the wedding guests. He hoped Amelia wouldn’t catch on.

  “Something is wrong. Adrien wouldn’t summon you at your ball.”

  This was the problem with having an intelligent wife. “We can’t both leave the ball. Remember, we’re not to draw attention. You must take up your role as the new bride.” Derrick couldn’t stop the sense of dread raising the little hairs on the back of his neck. “I saw your brother Jack talking with Miss Lyon. Will you go be with your brother until I return?”

  “You believe something is wrong, too. Otherwise you wouldn’t want me to be with Jack.” Amelia tightened the hold on his arm.

  “I’m a spy. I always believe something is wrong. It’s my nature. Most likely it is exactly as I said, Ashworth will arrive later, and wants to notify us of their success.”

  Amelia dropped his arm and pulled her shoulders back. “I’ll return to the ball, but I choose to worry until I hear that nothing has gone awry and the villains have been apprehended.”

  He pressed a kiss to her warm lips in quick reassurance for both of them. “I won’t be long. And I can’t wait for tonight, when I get to unwrap the perfect purple present you created for your husband.”

  Amelia flushed while she bit her lower lip. At least he had succeeded in distracting her, but he didn’t like the way his gut was twitching. He’d learned from years of experience to trust his instincts. Something was wrong, brutally wrong, by the way his body and heartbeat ratcheted into battle mode.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Derrick hurried along the side of the crowded ballroom, trying to avoid conversations with his guests. No one approached him. Most likely his explosive scowl warned them off.

  He rushed down the steps into the formal garden lit with lanterns for the balmy fall night, and next turned off the pathway to the right, as the footman instructed.