“Truthfully,” she countered with a hint of sarcasm, “I see no reason to rush. We only met yesterday, Lucas. A short courtship is generally considered six months, and a long one a year or two.”
Her remote tone chilled him. Did she mean to keep him dangling after her for weeks while she made him dance to her tune? “If you think I’ll extend my stay in England until—”
“No, of course not.” She stuck out her chin with a sudden imperious expression. “But surely it wouldn’t hurt to spend a few days getting better acquainted with each other before we let others know your intentions.”
Determined to rattle her, he let his gaze trail slowly, covetously down the body he’d been caressing only minutes ago. “I thought we’d gotten pretty well acquainted already, darlin’.”
Instead of the blush he’d hoped to provoke, she shot him a look of such fury that it gave him pause. She wasn’t as calm or aloof as she pretended. Strangely enough, that pleased him.
“I’m talking about a different kind of acquaintance, Major Winter.”
“So we’re back to ‘Major Winter’ and ‘Lady Amelia,’ are we?” he taunted her. “That’s the kind of formal acquaintance you mean?”
“Yes, the proper kind, where people converse instead of—”
“Driving each other crazy with desire?” He lowered his voice to a husky murmur. “Arousing each other for their mutual enjoyment?”
She searched his face. “The kind where people reveal more to each other than just their bodies. Where they share their fears—like why they become immobilized with terror at the sight of an open hatchway leading belowdecks.”
The words hit him like a poleax to the gut. Damn her and all her curiosity.
“When we can share that sort of connection,” she added softly, “when you can be honest and truthful with me, then, and only then, will you meet my parents.” Whirling on her heel, she marched out from beneath the quarterdeck.
* * *
For the entire journey home in the carriage, Amelia regretted her hasty words. It wasn’t just the gut-wrenching horror of his expression after she’d said them. Or the fact that he’d barely spoken two words to her during their exit from the xebec or their tense ride in the dinghy.
It was the sinking feeling that she’d gone too far. Whatever demons had made Lucas react so powerfully to an open hatchway couldn’t be easy ones, and a man with his pride would hate having them noticed, much less discussed.
What if her cruelty drove him to act rashly—to haul Dolly off to America with him? Since he hadn’t yet, did that mean he didn’t really suspect Dolly of anything criminal? Or just that there were laws preventing it? Even if there were, clearly Lucas was sufficiently on edge to act out of wounded pride.
But drat it, she had pride, too. And every time he mentioned their “courtship” as if he truly wished to marry her, she wanted to slap him. He was merely trying to press her into bringing him to meet Dolly. Sly scoundrel. Two-faced devil. She would keep him chomping at the bit until she was sure he couldn’t hurt her stepmother.
“You are both very quiet,” Mrs. Harris said from beside her. “Was the ship not to your liking?”
Certain parts of it disturbed Major Winter enormously,she nearly said, but one look at his rigid expression killed the words in her throat. “It was fine.”
“Lady Amelia found it…dirty.” Lucas taunted her with a glance, curse him.
“I can’t imagine that a little dirt would bother Amelia,” Mrs. Harris said.
“You see, Major?” she shot back. “You should have let me go belowdecks as I asked, instead of protesting how dirty it would be.”
When he glowered at her, Mrs. Harris jumped in. “In such a situation, caution was appropriate. I’m sure there were rats. And though Amelia might not care about dirt, she would care quite a bit about having rats nibble her toes.”
That didn’t seem to mollify Lucas. “I’ll remember that when choosing our next outing. Maybe we should do something more tame—visit a museum or go for a ride in the park.”
“A ride in the park sounds wonderful,” Amelia said in a sugary voice. “I’m sure Mrs. Harris would enjoy it, too.”
“Tomorrow then?” he countered, though the icy glint in his eyes showed he didn’t like being trapped into including the widow.
“Certainly,” Amelia said, glaring back at him.
“No, dear, not tomorrow.” Mrs. Harris turned to Amelia. “Have you forgotten the meeting of the London Ladies Society? Miss North is counting on you to support her new cause, and you promised her you’d go.”
Louisa North was a viscount’s daughter who’d served as lady-in-waiting to the late Princess Charlotte. To escape her grief after the princess’s untimely death a year ago, Louisa had kept busy by helping prepare Mrs. Harris’s girls for their presentations at court.
But recently she’d turned her efforts to prison reform, the subject of the scheduled meeting. After everything Louisa had done for the school, Amelia had happily agreed to attend. She couldn’t go back on her word now. “Yes, I’m afraid I had forgotten,” Amelia said. “I must go.”
“And the day after tomorrow is the graduates’ tea,” Mrs. Harris said. “You can hardly miss that, since it’s being held at your house.”
Amelia sighed. Annoyed as she was at Lucas, she still needed to spend time with him to learn more about his plans. But if she started canceling her plans with friends to please him, Mrs. Harris might decide things were already progressing to the point where she should write Papa or Dolly about it. Amelia dared not risk their rushing back to London prematurely.
“Perhaps an evening event, then,” Lucas said tersely.
“Tomorrow night I already have an obligation,” she said, adding as he frowned, “but I have no engagement for the following evening, after the tea.”
He eyed her assessingly. “Then I’ll see what play we can attend.”
“Oh, the theaters aren’t open on that night,” Mrs. Harris put in.
Lucas settled back against the squabs, leveling a frown on both of them. “You ladies make it darned hard for a man to court a woman.”
A stunned silence fell over the carriage. He’d as much as made a formal declaration of his intentions—after Amelia had requested that he wait to do so.
She struggled to restrain her temper. He was exacting his revenge for her comments about the hatchway and her seeming refusal to see him. He was also forcing her hand, which created problems for her.
That was evident from Mrs. Harris’s response. “Well! You Americans are blunt, aren’t you?”
“And presumptuous,” Amelia added. She’d have to convince Mrs. Harris there was no reason to write Papa and Dolly about her “courtship” just yet.
“We discussed this,” he retorted. “You didn’t say no.”
Amelia felt the widow’s gaze on her. “I didn’t say yes, either. I said you could court me, and we’d see how it went.” Her eyes narrowed. “As I recall, I also asked you to keep the matter private until we were more sure of…each other.”
His gaze bore into hers. “I’m sure of you.”
Liar! You don’t even want me!
“Major Winter.” Mrs. Harris laid a calming hand on Amelia’s arm. “You Americans may be aggressive in achieving your aims, but we English tend to be cautious. We do not leap willy-nilly into important decisions concerning our futures.”
“I don’t have time for caution, ma’am,” he drawled. “At this rate, I’ll see Amelia once a week, and that’s not enough. I’ll be moving on soon, you see.”
“Oh?” Amelia retorted. Let him be the one uncomfortable for a change. “And what pressing business do you have to deal with next? You’re consulting on a treaty. Won’t your government allow you all the time you need?”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “I’m waiting to hear about the possibility of an impending appointment as a consul. Since certain personal difficulties prevent my continuing in the Marine Guard, I would hate to be unable to pu
rsue it.”
If he could be blunt, so could she. “What sort of personal difficulties?”
“Amelia, that’s rude,” Mrs. Harris said in a low voice.
Lucas’s gaze locked with hers. “The sort that make it difficult for me to live on board a ship for months on end.”
Then it hit her: he couldn’t or wouldn’t go belowdecks. That would certainly create difficulties for a marine.
As he jerked his gaze to the window, staring grimly at the docks, a surge of sympathy made her regret her hasty words. Poor, proud Lucas. How she wished she could reach over and kiss away the harsh lines of his rigid expression.
No wonder he took his mission to find Dorothy Frier so seriously. He could no longer protect his ship as a marine was supposed to, so he was serving his country another way. Though he was surely misinformed about Dolly and certainly shouldn’t be pretending to court Amelia to further his aims, at least she understood the fierceness of his intent.
“I’ll leave the night of the tea free for you, Major,” she said softly. “When you decide on our plans, you may send me a note to inform me.”
His gaze met hers, dark and vulnerable. “Thank you,” he said gruffly.
They rode a while in silence, with only the creak of the carriage and the clopping of the horse’s hooves on cobblestone making any sound. They were now approaching St. James’s Square.
To her chagrin, she found herself loath to say good-bye. Granted, the next two days would give Cousin Michael time to find out more about Lucas’s mission, and that could only help her. But she would miss Lucas.Him , the most infuriating, secretive, arrogant fellow she’d ever met!
And the only one who’d ever sent her pulse racing, the only one who’d ever made her feel desirable. If he proved to be a true scoundrel when this was done, how would she ever endure it?
Mrs. Harris suddenly went rigid beside her. “Oh, dear,” she muttered. “You were right, Amelia—that man is indeed a pest.”
Confused, Amelia looked over to find the widow staring out the window, then saw what she meant. A carriage sporting a marquess’s coronet on its crest was situated two doors down from her town house.
Just what she needed to make her day complete. Lord Pomeroy.
Chapter Eleven
Dear Cousin,
Thank you, kind sir! I do my best to “inoculate” my ladies, as you put it so drolly. No disease is more dangerous than a bad husband, for if a woman catchesthat pox, she’ll languish from it her entire life.
Your friend,
Charlotte
Please, Lucas, leave the man be,” Amelia said a short time later, heartily wishing Mrs. Harris hadn’t noticed Lord Pomeroy’s carriage in the street. She explained to Lucas what it meant.
They now stood in the stables, since Amelia had insisted that the coachman carry them back here to disembark. The last thing she needed was Lord Pomeroy seeing the major with them.
She blocked Lucas’s path as he headed toward the stable door. “Lord Pomeroy doesn’t concern you.”
He glared down at her. “Like hell he doesn’t. Mrs. Harris has just been telling me that the man used to sit in his carriage outside your house to intimidate your suitors. And you expect me to leave him be?”
Though his unexpected protectiveness was rather endearing, his interference would only worsen matters. “He stopped hanging about after Papa refused to contemplate any marriage between us. Today he probably tried to call on me, was told I wasn’t home, and decided to wait. That’s all.”
“Or,” Mrs. Harris interjected, “with your father gone to the country, Lord Pomeroy has returned to his old tricks. Especially after seeing the major’s marked attentions to you last night.”
Amelia shot Mrs. Harris a frustrated glance. The woman was not helping.
Lucas looked fit to be tied. “Then somebody should remind Pomeroy his attentions aren’t welcome. And not just in words, either.” Reaching inside his breeches pocket, he pulled out his sheathed dagger.
“Dear Lord,” Mrs. Harris muttered.
“You told me you didn’t have it with you!” Amelia exclaimed.
“I lied.” He calmly removed the dagger from its sheath. “No decent soldier leaves his quarters unarmed.”
Amelia glanced around to find the grooms casting surreptitious, wide-eyed glances at Lucas’s dagger as they unhitched the horses and began rubbing them down. “I won’t let you use that.”
Lucas’s gaze met hers, glittering with anger. “A military man like Pomeroy only understands one thing. And it takes another man to explain it to him.”
“He’s a former general—do you think he’ll simply roll over and play dead?”
“When the choice is to be dead, he will.”
“It’ll only make him more determined to plague me with his suit. He’ll see it as ‘saving’ me from you.” When Lucas merely tucked his dagger into the front of his breeches, prominently displayed, she added, “If you threaten a lord, you’ll be arrested, no matter the reason. And how will that help me?”
Lucas’s jaw tightened. “Then tell me what to do. Because I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’ll be all right.”
“We’ll be fine, really. Lord Pompous is nothing but bluster. He wouldn’t dare do more than scowl at suitors from his carriage.”
“Some men will do anything to get money,” Lucas bit out.
His fierce conviction gave her pause. Was he talking about himself? Or someone else? Because surely it wasn’t just Lord Pompous that had him agitated.
Fine. Let the hotheaded idiot attack Lord Pompous. He’d probably injure the man, get himself arrested, and eliminate both her problems. Lord Pompous would leave her be, and Lucas would be safely in jail away from Dolly.
Except that she couldn’t bear to think of Lucas in jail. Not after seeing his ashen face as he’d stared into that hatchway. And certainly not after he’d touched her so intimately.
For better or worse, their battle must stay between them. So she had to calm his fears. She summoned a blithe smile. “Really, Lucas, I’m sure he’ll tire of this tactic when he sees it isn’t working.”
Lucas clenched his fist. “He’s not one of your soft-skinned lords. If this doesn’t work, he’ll take more drastic steps.”
“Like what? Anything else would create a scandal, and he wouldn’t want his reputation as a war hero besmirched. Besides, he knows I won’t marry him under any circumstances. And since he has to have my consent for a wedding, and my father’s consent in order to access my fortune—”
“But if he knows that,” Lucas said, clearly frustrated, “why is he lurking outside your town house instead of wooing a more malleable heiress?”
“Because it’s not just Amelia’s money that interests him,” Mrs. Harris put in, “no matter what she says.”
Amelia frowned at her.
“It’s true, and you know it, dear. When you first went into society, you were so eager to hear his tales of war and he was so flattered by your interest that he decided you were the only young lady for him.”
“Yes,” she protested, “but I long ago realized my error, and I’ve made it clear to him a thousand times that my interest was merely academic. He thinks that since I’m in my second season already, my lack of offers will eventually make me accept his suit. In time, he’ll realize he’s wrong.”
Lucas turned his skeptical gaze on Mrs. Harris. “What do you think?”
“I agree with Amelia. Though his avid interest is troublesome, I doubt he’ll act on it beyond what he’s doing now. He wouldn’t risk the scandal.”
“Lord Pompous may be a general,” Amelia added, “but he’s also a marquess and very conscious of his own importance.”
“Right,” he said with disgust. “I keep forgetting how highly you English regard titles.” But at least he’d sheathed his dagger and returned it to his pocket.
“Besides,” she went on, “do you honestly believe that my father would leave me alone in London if he thought I was in any
danger?”
His gaze locked with hers. “I’m not sure what your father might do.”
He was referring to Dolly somehow—she was sure of it, but she couldn’t figure out what he meant. “He would never let me be hurt, I promise you. So you might as well return to the Kirkwoods’.” She took his arm and added more firmly, “Come, I shall walk you to the gate.”
“I’ll meet you inside,” Mrs. Harris murmured.
Amelia cast her a grateful smile, glad for the chance to tell Lucas a private good-bye. She had things to say to him that couldn’t be said before an audience.
They left the stables, but Lucas stopped short just outside, a calculating gleam flickering in his eyes. “I must get my sword from your breakfast room.”
When he turned as if to follow Mrs. Harris, she tugged him in the other direction. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she said, laughing. “You’re just hoping to run into Lord Pomeroy.” She cast him a coy smile. “Besides, you can’t have your sword back until I do my rubbing of it.”
His eyes darkened. “Teasing wench. That’s the real reason Pomeroy haunts your door. He wants you to do a rubbing of his sword.”
She blushed. “Balderdash. He merely wants my fortune.” They’d reached the gate. “And you, sir, are going to let him be, and return to the Kirkwoods’ by the back way so he doesn’t see you.”
“Actually, I think a friendly word soldier to soldier might be in order.”
“Drat it, Lucas—” she began.
“No weapons, I promise.”
“Not good enough.” She glared at him. “Promise me you won’t speak to Lord Pomeroy.”
A half smile played over his lips. “And why would I be fool enough to promise that?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll refuse to see you again.” She pushed against his chest lightly with her gloved hand. “Now go on with you.”
He caught her hand against his chest before she could withdraw it. “I’ll promise not to speak to Pomeroy if you’ll promise that if the man keeps annoying you, you’ll let me handle matters my own way.”
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