Until now.
Now she felt the loss of his gaze keenly. “You assumed what, Mr. Greenwald?”
That brought his attention back, along with a lovely little smile that warmed her all the way through. “I did not expect to be having this conversation with you, you see,” he said.
“Ah, you thought perhaps you’d be speaking to a guardian.” She brushed off her skirts, trying not to be annoyed that he’d assumed Madeline or anyone else would be more interested in her marital affairs than she was. “We are to discuss the wedding, are we not? As far as I am aware, the finer points regarding my dowry and the stipulations, etcetera, have long ago been finalized.”
His eyes widened in shock. But really, did he suppose she was so very ignorant of her own fate? He likely had not expected her to speak of it so openly, but then he was the solicitor, was he not? She furrowed her brow in confusion that matched his. “I assure you, if my father were still alive, you would be speaking to him. If my uncle were in town, he’d likely be happy to lead this discussion as well. But, as it were…” She threw her hands out wide to the empty space around them.
His gaze once more sought out Madeline and she pursed her lips in annoyance. Her cousin might have been her companion, but she was only one year older. That in no way made her more capable of speaking about her wedding and the marriage to come, now did it? And as for her great aunt, well…the thought of her making any decisions more pressing than the number of doilies on the table after the wedding was laughable. The woman was lovely but decision making was not her specialty.
Mr. Greenwald mumbled something, still looking adorably frazzled, but all she caught was, “interested parties.”
This made her laugh, admittedly a bit too loudly. She never had mastered the art of being coy or demure quite like Madeline had. More’s the pity she was not born to be a duchess. She gave a little sigh at the thought and now the poor befuddled handsome fellow was staring at her with a mix of amusement and confusion.
She laughed again, because his confusion was truly adorable. And his amusement was…well, it was compelling. Never before had she met someone who made her want to laugh so much, to speak so plainly, to act so freely.
Whatever it was about him, she’d best be careful. His effect on her was more intoxicating than sherry. Even now, she could not quite contain the truth in response to his questioning look. “Sir, if you plan to wait on the duke himself to arrive before we can hold a discussion, we might be waiting until the end of time.”
His brows shot up in surprise and she was certain a million different emotions crossed those dark eyes of his before he settled once more on amusement. “He has been rather absent of late, I suppose.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the understatement, but could not resist a dry response. “Rather.”
His eyes flickered over her face before resting just a little too long on her lips. She pressed them together, heat flaring in her belly. It was over before she could even be certain it had happened. She might have convinced herself it was a figment of her imagination if she had not felt it. Her lips tingled as though he’d touched them physically and not just with a glance.
A dizzying hope swelled up in her, so alarming, so inappropriate, so hopeless…
And then it died a quick and brutal death as his gaze once more strayed to follow her cousin across the room where she seemed to be discussing the books on display.
“Shakespeare,” Amelia said.
“Pardon?”
She forced a smile, hoping he could not see the tumult he’d caused her with a silly flicker of his gaze. So he’d looked at her lips. So what? It was not as though he was harboring some fantasy about kissing her, and even if he were…she was betrothed to another man. His employer, in fact.
To the dratted runaway duke.
Never before had she felt such anger at her cursed luck in being attached to a man who did not want her. Normally she could laugh about it. Sometimes she even enjoyed the fact that she was still in her family home with her best friend.
But at this particular moment, she resented it more than she could express, knowing that she was not wanted by her husband-to-be but was not able to be wanted by another either.
She was in love purgatory.
Mr. Greenwald was staring at her expectantly. What had she been talking about? Ah yes. Shakespeare. Her smile grew as she remembered her conversation with Madeline the day before. “How do you feel about Shakespeare, Mr. Greenwald?”
He seemed to forget all about Madeline or anything else in the world as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I adore the comedies.”
She arched a brow. “Not fond of tragedies in general or just not the bard’s?”
He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I have enough troubles to contend with without burdening my thoughts before bedtime with crazed noblemen or insanely jealous lovers.”
She blinked in surprise. “I feel the same. Life is difficult enough as it is.”
“Precisely.”
They shared a long silent look that brimmed with understanding and a bit of awe, on her part, at least, that someone else not only felt that way but was not afraid to admit it. Amelia was weary of anyone who felt the need to expound on the seriousness of literature. Those people often tended to love to hear themselves speak more than they wished to revel in a fantastical tale.
“Was there a reason we were discussing Shakespeare?” he asked, his gaze teasing.
“Does one need a reason to discuss Shakespeare?”
“Never.”
She pressed her lips together to contain a laugh at the fervor in his response. “I mentioned him because that is who my cousin and your earl are likely discussing at the moment.”
She loved the fact that he didn’t glance over again. “My earl, is he?”
She grinned at his barely restrained laughter. “Your…friend?”
“I suppose,” he admitted. “We are friends of a sort. More like brothers thanks to a lifelong friendship.”
She gestured toward Madeline. “And so it is for us!”
His expression was blank for a second too long and she felt rather silly for her excited response. Why could she never seem to master the art of subtlety? She did her best to temper her smile to something more enigmatic and duchess-like. “Back to the matter at hand,” she started.
His brows arched. “Shakespeare?”
“Weddings,” she corrected.
“Ah.” He seemed almost disappointed. Because she was marrying another? Her heart raced despite her best intentions. What did she care if he was happy, sad, or ready to jump off a cliff at the thought of her marrying another? She did not care. It made no difference how he felt. Still…if he were just a little bit saddened that she was ineligible she would be quite all right with that.
“Did he send you?” she asked. It was, perhaps, the very first question she’d wanted to ask from the moment he’d introduced himself. She had not, however, because she’d been afraid of this.
His blank stare.
No. No, of course the duke had not sent his solicitor to discuss their upcoming nuptials or the logistics of their living arrangements. These were things that she fretted about, whereas she was entirely certain thoughts of her rarely troubled the runaway duke.
The handsome solicitor’s expression went from blank to puzzled. “Pardon?”
She cleared her throat and pasted on the smile she’d perfected. The one that said, isn’t it so amusing that my future husband has fled the country to avoid marrying me? Tra la la la.
That was how she imagined she’d laugh gaily were she ever to say that phrase aloud rather than in her head. This was the smile that had fooled the ton for years into thinking that she was…what did they call her?
A good sport.
Yes, that was it. She was the ‘good sport’ of a lady who calmly and blithely awaited the return of her errant fiancé.
Pitied but admired, that was her, and all because she�
�d learned how to smile through her humiliation, her pain, her frustration, and her hurt.
That was the smile she wore now, but to her surprise…it did not seem to be working.
The solicitor was peering at her as though he could see straight past the smile, into her eyes, and directly into her very soul.
Rubbish.
Perhaps Madeline was right. She did read too many fantastical romances if she could even think such a thing.
“The duke, you mean?” he asked.
She nodded. Of course, the duke. Who else could they be speaking of.
His lips quirked up and his eyes warmed her with their tenderness. “He did, in fact. He’s quite anxious to meet his bride.”
She...snorted. There was no other word for it, as embarrassing as that might be. Years worth of irony and bitterness came out as an exhale through her nose. She clapped a hand over her mouth but then he smothered a laugh and then she smothered her laugh and then, before she knew it, they were both doubled over with laughter that had the earl and her cousin peering over at them with nearly identical looks of tolerant amusement.
“I’m sorry,” she managed through her hysterics.
“As am I,” he said, still chuckling but managing to rein in his laughter. “I must admit, I am not even quite sure what set us off.”
“You,” she said before erupting in an embarrassingly girlish giggle. She clamped her mouth shut, swallowed, and tried again. “You said that the duke was anxious to meet me.”
His smile still hovered but was starting to fade with confusion. “I said…I said...”
She nodded, still finding the humor in that statement. “My apologies, I know you did not mean it to be in jest, but it just sounded so very outlandish.”
“I said…” he said again, sounding more than a bit like her friend Julie’s pet parrot as he stared at her with the most bizarre look on his face. “I said he was anxious to meet his bride.”
“Yes, I know,” she said, swiping at a tear that had managed to escape during her laughing episode. “You were no doubt attempting to be kind. And I do appreciate it, really I do.”
He stared at her blankly, his face a shade of white as though he’d seen a ghost. Oh dear. Had she offended him with her outburst? She scrambled to come up with a good excuse that did not openly mock his superior or put him in an uncomfortable position.
“It is only that you do not need to embellish to spare my feelings,” she said, rather proud of herself for saying something so diplomatic when what she really meant was, there’s no need to lie.
“Your feelings…”
She bit her lip as she studied the handsome young man who was so clearly thrown by her behavior. Oh dear. She had made a mess of this. She’d found him so very comfortable to be around, to talk to, to laugh with, she’d forgotten herself entirely.
Placing her hands demurely in her lap, she gave him her most charming smile—the one that said she was a pleasant lady, no drama to be found here. “I did not wish to sound mean,” she said. “Of course the duke is a busy man with many duties, to be sure.”
His gaze met hers and it happened again. He seemed to see right through her and before she knew what she was doing, she added softly, “Duties that require him to gallivant around the continent, no doubt.”
She made herself laugh softly with that. She did not doubt that she’d scandalized the lovely, handsome, gallant young solicitor with that comment. No doubt he’d never heard anyone even hint at criticizing the great almighty duke. More’s the pity. She sometimes wished the duke would get wind of the fact that he’d become a laughingstock in London society. Then perhaps it would make it easier to bear that he’d made her a laughingstock along with him. It hardly seemed fair that she bore the brunt of the humiliation when he was the one to blame.
Perhaps it was that simmering anger that had her leaning forward and dropping her voice to a low murmur as the solicitor watched her with wide eyes. “Did you know that they call him the runaway duke?”
His brows arched. “They do?” Just as quickly as they’d arched, his brows furrowed into a glare that startled her silent. Now it was he who leaned forward and he made no attempt to lower his voice. “Who dares to call him that?”
She honestly did not know whether to be shocked by his silence or to laugh at his personal affront on his employer’s behalf. Laughter won out and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, I am sorry,” she said when he stared at her in…what? Shock? Horror? It was difficult to say; she was too busy trying to quiet her laughter. Without thinking she reached out and touched a hand to his arm. “I promise, I was not laughing at you. It does you credit that you are so loyal to His Grace.”
“Pardon me,” he said with a shake of his head. “But I believe I need to clarify that—”
“No need,” she said quickly. Guilt at having put him in an uncomfortable position had her smiling gently as she removed her hand from his arm. Even through her gloves and his coat, she could feel his heat and that unexpected intimacy unnerved her more than she could have expected. It almost made her sober, even in the face of his comical surprise.
“Do forgive me,” she said in a far more subdued tone. “It is not that I am displeased with my fiancé. It is only that I…” Despise the man. She licked her lips and tried for tact. “I wish us to be plain with one another.”
“And you are—”
“Prepared to go through with the wedding, of course. I would not dream of trying to undo the arrangement our parents put in place so many years ago.”
“But—”
“I did not mean to make you uncomfortable, Mr. Greenwald. Please rest assured that despite my teasing, I have every intention of being a dutiful and loyal bride.” She tried to stop there, she truly did. But those warm brown eyes met hers and she could not resist. “If he should ever decide to marry me.” It came out as a murmur, and while it was perhaps a bit of a dig at the duke, whom she’d just agreed to obey, she could be proud that she stopped herself before she could add before I die of old age. That was something, was it not?
Yet, he still looked stricken, and Amelia felt a stab of disappointment that he had not laughed. His laughter, she’d discovered, warmed her in a place she had not even realized had grown cold.
His mouth opened and shut once. Twice. And then he blurted out, “And you are—”
“Lady Amelia.” The earl’s voice cut off Mr. Greenwald as he strode toward them with a smile that seemed part smirk, part gallant charm.
She was startled by the loudness with which he’d called out her name, as if greeting her across the park and not her own drawing room.
“Yes, Lord Tolston?” She rose to meet him and Madeline, who was trailing behind him looking equally perplexed by the sudden increase in volume from the taciturn earl.
His voice softened, but that wicked glint in his eyes was still there as he looked from her to Mr. Greenwald. His air was unbearably knowing…so much so that she found herself fidgeting before him, restless with the knowledge that there was something going on here. Something she did not understand.
Secrets.
She narrowed her eyes as the men exchanged a look she could not fathom. Secrets or lies. Whatever it was, there was something afoot and that put her senses on alert. She hated being left out, but more than that, she loved to ferret out a good mystery. Getting to the bottom of furtive glances and hushed whispers were the only true form of entertainment for a lady whom society had all but placed on the shelf.
“We really must be going,” the earl said.
She and Madeline exchanged a look at the sudden need to depart. “Shall we see you tomorrow evening then?”
The earl gave a gallant bow, though poor Mr. Greenwald still looked a bit rattled, no doubt he too was startled by this abrupt departure.
“Of course, Lady Amelia.” The earl seemed to draw out her name, making something inside her stir with unease. She’d been the surreptitious target of a joke too many times not to recognize that tone
. The earl’s smile broadened as he turned to his friend. “We wouldn’t dream of missing the entertainment. Isn’t that right, Mr. Greenwald?”
Poor Mr. Greenwald still looked rattled.
Chapter 6
The carriage ride back to Alec’s townhouse was fraught with tension as Royce’s best friend tried and failed not to laugh at him.
He did not last long. They’d only just turned the corner off of Lady Amelia’s street when Alec was bent over in his seat, silent laughter shaking his form. “You should have seen your face when you finally pieced it together.”
Royce glowered at his friend. “You knew.”
“Of course I knew,” he said. “You would have too if you hadn’t been standing there mooning over….” Alec’s voice choked on a low rumble of a laugh. “Over your own fiancée.”
Royce’s head dropped back against the seat with a groan. He felt…well, he had no idea how he felt. His mind was spinning, his heart was racing, his gut was churning. He was not sure whether he felt ill or elated.
This was by far the most confused he’d ever been in his life. “I just assumed…” he started to explain.
“I know.”
Likely his friend did know. He’d had this tow-headed image in his head, and when he’d spotted the tall elegant blonde he’d been so sure. And when the introductions were made…. “Her great aunt hardly made it clear to whom she was referring.”
Alec’s lips twitched with barely contained mirth. “Yes. Let’s blame the elderly lady, shall we?”
Royce let out a harsh exhale in self-disgust. “I cannot believe I was so…wrong.”
“Mmm, so very hard to fathom.”
He glared at his friend. “I’m in no mood for your wit.”
“No, I expect not.” Alec’s normally stoic visage was alight with laughter. This had to be the most animated Royce had ever seen his old friend. “I cannot imagine my humor would be welcome right now. Not when you just spent so much time with a lady who made you so very merry.”
Charming the Runaway Duke Page 3