by Amy Quinton
Amelia launched herself onto the bed and spread her arms and legs wide. The bed was even soft and comfortable. She’d get a perfect night’s sleep here. She wanted to sleep now. And all of tomorrow. Maybe even the next day, she was so very tired.
Amelia sat up on her elbows and looked around the quaint room once more as she fought of the sadness that loomed around the edges of her mind. She would not think of MacLeod leaving. She would not.
Not at all.
All right, Amelia. Focus.
This was the prettiest room she’d seen since she landed in England some months ago. She took in the full-length mirror, the beautiful tiles surrounding the fireplace, the ornate stand for the washbasin, delicate with blue and white flowers.
Amelia bounded off the bed, almost falling to the floor when her feet tangled in the sheets, the minute she registered the note propped up in front of the washstand’s mirror.
She raced over to snatch it up.
It was addressed to her and written in a tight, unfamiliar but very precise and neat script.
Amelia walked back to the bed to lie down—or more accurately, to sprawl across the mattress—her petite frame taking up as much room as she possibly could, and held the note high above her to read by the light of the afternoon sun streaming in through the window.
Darling wife,
I had to leave…duty calls. I have paid the room fees for the next week.
Where I go, you cannot follow, so for now, we must part until such time as we can resume our wee game of “Who is Mrs. Chase?”, and this time, I will have answers.
I have no inkling of how long; it may be months.
But when I’m finished, I will find you.
Until then, I remain yours, etc.
MacLeod
Amelia held the note to her chest and smiled. She was ridiculously pleased he continued with their husband and wife charade, as bizarre as it was.
And the note was so completely MacLeod, or at least the MacLeod she was coming to know.
Months, eh?
Well, he’d better be ready. They had a reckoning coming.
C.K.
We have a new mission for you; one we know is precisely suited to your unique…abilities.
Retrieve Mrs. Chase. She is to be our guest.
X
Chapter Twelve
Three Months Later: Bloomfield Park, Bath: Lady Harriett Ross’s House
It was almost time. Finally.
Amelia Chase surveyed the very English study in which she was currently ensconced with more than a little nervous curiosity. The room was remarkable because it was so very unexpected. It had all the usual appointments, of course—a desk, shelves of books, a globe, two green overstuffed chairs in front of a roaring fire—much like many of the men’s studies she’d seen back home in both style and function. Yet, it was different, as well. She just couldn’t place her finger on why.
Perhaps it was simply the knowledge she was very much alive and here, in England. Though they spoke the same language, Amelia was coming to learn that England was quite different from America in language, custom, and particularly with regards to the rights of women.
But perhaps it was because it belonged to him, her newly discovered brother. The one she was about to officially meet in, oh—she glanced at the clock on the mantel—half an hour. (He was busy getting married at the moment.)
But also, and probably more realistically, she was anxious about seeing him again. MacLeod. For surely he would attend one of his best friends’ weddings?
She had thought of him steadily over the past three months, and a million questions to put to him burned in her mind. But most importantly, she wanted to see him and hear his deep brogue as he teased her.
Would he tease her?
She had to admit she didn’t know what to expect when they next met and wasn’t that a first? She excelled at reading people. Always. It was a skill she owned; a skill which kept her alive.
And yet she struggled to work out the puzzle that was Alaistair MacLeod, and that made her both infinitely curious and decidedly nervous.
Enter the aforementioned anxiety, which was really an odd mix of excited enthusiasm plus a healthy dollop of apprehension. It made her insides flutter and her mind unsure of whether she should jump up and down with excitement, dance with wild abandon, or jump ship and disappear. For good.
Amelia rose from her position on the desk (long story) and walked the perimeter of the room for the one hundredth time in as many minutes. Maybe it would be best to be seated by the fire when they arrived? She’d already tried standing by the window arms crossed, then arms at her side, then arms behind her back. She tried standing by the globe, sitting behind the desk, laying across the desk…ahem, erm, yeah. She hadn’t tried the floor, but even she wouldn’t go that far.
So, she might have considered, briefly, throwing herself under the desk. To hide.
But really, she wasn’t a coward. This meeting was too long in coming and far too important.
Amelia glanced at the mantel clock. Twenty-nine and a half minutes to go. Oh, the agony of a perpetually slow moving clock.
She began pacing the perimeter of the room again, muttering to herself all the while. “Come on Amelia, how should we do this? Hmmm…let’s see…’How do you do, Lord Dansbury?’ No. No good. How about…’Brother! We meet at last!’ No, no…far too informal. How about…’We meet again, Dansbury’? Hmmm…sounds a bit too flirtatious and rather shady, for that matter. Let’s see…’Oh, hello, Mr. Kelly?’ How about…’Brother mine, how do you…’”
She was so preoccupied with trying to choose how she wanted to address Dansbury, it took a moment to realize what she’d said and consciously note Kelly standing there beside her brother’s desk, but then she was nervous.
Amelia spun about. “Mr. Kelly, what a surprise! How have you been?”
“Ah…fine?” came the amused Irish brogue of Mr. Ciarán Kelly. All black haired, ice blue eyed, six feet—or thereabouts—of him. He still wore that knowing, roguish smile, as if he was imagining what she looked like beneath her corset and chemise. Just like last time. Honestly, it made her uncomfortable, though she’d never admit it out loud. He was meant to be a friend of her brothers.
“Excellent. Where have you been? You all but disappeared the last time I saw you…”
“Tra…”
“MacLeod was very tight lipped about it all and acting verra strange,” she interrupted with a laugh while she ignored the pang of wretchedness she felt at the memory of her last sight of MacLeod…or at least, she tried to ignore it. “Well, I suppose that’s normal, but I mean for him—wait a minute. How did you get in here? You certainly didn’t come through the door.”
Amelia crossed her arms and tapped her foot while she threw him a speaking look, then glanced passed his shoulder to the heavy drapes hanging directly behind him—drapes which should have been hanging still, not billowing before an obviously open window.
Amelia threw him a cautious look before marching over to said window and throwing wide the curtains.
She looked out to the ground below and tapped her fingers on the frame while she considered what to say. His behavior surpassed bizarre.
Amelia spun back around and pointedly nodded her head at the open window behind her as she spoke, “You climbed in the window?”
Kelly was leaning against one of the wing back chairs by the fire now, arms crossed, watching her with a smile. He shrugged his shoulders, his grin firmly in place.
“But…but there are bugs. And most assuredly snakes lying about in the shrubbery.”
Goodness what an idiotic thing to say. But it was the first thing that popped into her mind.
Amelia could have slapped her hands over her mouth at the absurdity of such a thought, but managed to keep her poise. Just.
And still, Kelly didn’t answer.
Over the last few weeks, Amelia had categorically decided she disliked uncommunicative men. Never mind she hadn’t
given him much chance to speak.
Never mind she sounded like a ninny bringing up bugs and snakes.
But really, normal people didn’t climb in through the window of their friends’ houses when there was a perfectly serviceable front door.
Never mind that she’d climbed out of quite a few windows in her day.
Then again, if you and your friends were known spies…
Amelia brushed off her wild notions and looked askance at Kelly again. “But, why?”
Kelly stood straight and walked over, his steps measured and sure. His arms were outstretched in an open, friendly manner belying the serious look about his face. “Ah, bean álainn. I truly am sorry we had to reacquaint ourselves under such circumstances.”
“And what circumstances might those be?” She suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here. Still, she was as curious as a cat with only five—make that four—lives left. (She was rather known to be a tad too adventurous even by American standards.)
“You see. I have a job to do, and I mean to see it through.”
She crossed her arms and studied his face, marking his solemnity. “Sure. Sure. But what does that have to do with me?”
“I regret I must insist that ye come with me.”
Amelia chuckled and waved him off, convinced he was making a not so very funny joke at her expense. “Don’t be absurd. I’m about to be introduced officially to my brother, and I’m nervous enough as it is. I certainly cannot leave now.”
He must be joking. He really must.
“I was afraid you’d say that. Unfortunately, you don’t have a choice in the matter, bean álainn.”
Chapter Thirteen
At the Same Time
The wedding of Lady Beatryce Beckett to Clifford Ross, 7th Marquess of Dansbury, was a small, intimate affair. Held in the drawing room of Dansbury’s beloved aunt’s country estate near Bath, the bride and groom spoke their vows in front of ten guests, two birds, several cats, three dogs, and one vicar.
To Alaistair MacLeod’s relief, the ceremony itself was short and to the point. Soon after the vicar introduced Beatryce and Cliff as husband and wife, the small wedding party filed out of the drawing room and reconvened in the massive foyer of Bloomfield Park, the ladies exclaiming how colorful and beautiful it all was: the bride, the flowers, the groom, Aunt Harriett…
He had to admit he was disappointed not to see her there. He’d convinced himself that after these three long months, this was where he and Mrs. Amelia Chase would face each other once again and resume their…thing. He didn’t even know what to call it at this point. Their feud? Argument? Game of cat and mouse? Test to see who exactly was Amelia Chase? Attraction? Unbridled lust?
MacLeod pulled one hand through his hair, agitated by the memory of their certain magnetism and concerned by the fact that he didn’t know what to expect or say when he did finally see her again.
If Amelia Chase was who she claimed: an innocent, Independent American Woman who genuinely believed that Dansbury was her long, lost brother, wouldn’t she be here of all places: her brother’s wedding? He’d not broached the subject of Amelia Chase with anyone in three months, but surely Dansbury would have said something had he known of their connection?
But she was clearly not here, which left him agitated and deeply unsatisfied. He’d been anticipating this moment for months, and her absence irritated him with a surprisingly forceful intensity.
Well, one thing was certain. Once he was free to leave, he would find her. His conviction behind that decision surprised him, nearly stopping him in his tracks.
Lady Beatryce called for everyone’s attention and turned toward her new husband. In a loud voice and in front of the entire assembly of guests, she announced, “Now, I have a surprise. A wedding gift for you, my love. One I know you will adore.”
Alaistair nearly groaned out loud. He wanted to leave and start his search now. Instead, he was swept along with the entire mob of wedding guests as they followed Lady Beatryce and Dansbury to the library, which doubled as Dansbury’s study when he was in residence.
It was painfully evident they were all meant to witness her ‘gift’. Personally, he’d rather be in his room reading, or even in the stables mucking out the stalls for that matter, than see this. Never mind his sudden, impatient need to hunt down Amelia Chase right at that very moment.
Sure, there were only a handful of guests, and he knew most of them, but it was still a handful too many to suit his tastes this morning, Amelia Chase’s absence notwithstanding.
Which honestly was no different than any other time. He always felt as if he were wearing his skin two sizes two small when out and about in social situations. Even with friends.
Worse, he loathed small talk.
Lady Beatryce paused with her back to the double doors of the study and looked up at her husband. Her eyes softened with emotion. It was clear that she cared about Dansbury. She cared very much.
“You are the world to me, Cliff. My heart. My love…”
Sigh. MacLeod had the sudden urge to sprint down the hall and out the front door, or at the very least, roll his eyes and voice his displeasure with a growl. In his current mood, hearing the newly married couple espouse their feelings brought forth a myriad of emotions, none of them good: resentment and bitterness were foremost present. And perhaps a touch of arrogance as well. For he knew better than them all, happily-ever-afters did not exist. Not in his eyes.
Not anymore.
Lovers could betray you without remorse.
He tried to tune out Lady Beatryce’s monologue as he imagined backing out the front door. He wasn’t entirely successful, Lady Beatryce was difficult to ignore at the best of times, even whilst being sappy.
Honestly, he preferred the bitchier version. At least, at the moment.
And with his ginger hair, broad shoulders, and six-foot six-inch soaring height, he would hardly be inconspicuous trying to maneuver out from amidst the tightly assembled guests.
“Darling D, I have found your sister…”
But that remark got his attention. Her announcement caused a buzz of murmuring amongst the guests. MacLeod zeroed in on those closed library doors, his senses acutely focused. The perpetual darkness that seemed to hover at the edges of his consciousness these days brightened a tad with awareness.
Every one of the other members of the party were as intent, curiosity writ plainly across each face.
His heart started up an unsteady race in his chest and his hands turned clammy. He wiped them upon his kilt and licked his lips as his mouth turned dry.
She would be there.
It had to be her, the very woman he’d tried to put out of his mind for the last several months while he attempted to do his job. And yet despite his efforts, she remained stubbornly entrenched in his thoughts.
He would see her again, at last. They would have their reckoning. Their situation resolved.
With a grin as wide as the Cheshire plains, Lady Beatryce pushed open both doors and hurried out of Dansbury’s way before he ran her over in his haste to finally meet his long lost sister. MacLeod could appreciate the desire. He had to hold himself in check to keep from tossing everyone to the side, including Dansbury, to barrel through and reach her first. Instead, he strained his neck as he attempted to see passed Dansbury’s shoulders to the room beyond.
It only took one quick glimpse to know that Amelia Chase wasn’t there. Though in reality he needn’t even see the empty room to know that truth; they would have heard her if she were in there, the woman did tend to talk. Often and loudly.
He rubbed his chest at the sudden disappointment he so clearly felt, bizarre though his feelings were for holding to such a sentiment.
Almost immediately, the crowd began talking excitedly all at once. The noise like the buzz of angry bees to his sensitive ears.
Without examining his reasons for volunteering, he abruptly announced. “I’ll find her.”
One might have heard a pin drop to the ma
rble floor, the sudden silence was so complete and immediate.
Well, he wanted the opportunity to be away from the chaos and uproar of house, however briefly. They should all know that by now.
And it was as good excuse as any.
Slowly, the others began talking again, the volume growing louder by small increments.
He best not waste time. MacLeod turned to leave.
Before he had taken four steps toward the front door, Aunt Harriett called out, “Try the stables. She loves the animals.”
Well, that is a point in her favor, to be sure, but how inconsiderate to wander off at a time like this? Would the woman never stay where she was supposed to?
He only paused a moment to consider Aunt Harriett’s remarks and his subsequent thoughts before he continued toward his purpose. He was comfortably ready to embrace anger rather than allow disappointment to fester.
MacLeod stepped outside with more than a small amount of relief, thrilled to be away from the others. Contrary to the pandemonium going on inside, he was convinced Amelia Chase had simply wandered off, and though he was both anxious to see her—he would admit to that, at least—and quite angry at her apparent flighty behavior, he stalled for time to calm his thoughts.
Aye, he was quite irritated by the idea that she had wandered off, which proved a convenient tool. It allowed him to ignore the little bastard voice inside his head that taunted him with the rebuke: She’s Dansbury’s sister after all, no’ a spy… You were wrong. So verra wrong.
Instead, MacLeod placed his arms on his hips and arched his back while he took in a deep breath, savoring the purity of the crisp country air as it filled his lungs and restored some of his humor—the little he maintained, at any rate. He could smell a touch of rain on the air. Dark clouds lingered overhead with only a few breaks in their heavy canopy to allow the sunshine to reach the earth. The effect was quite dramatic. And was the perfect backdrop to this growing anticipation.
He would see her again.