12. You Don’t Understand Me

YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ME

" O nly half a day's drive today," Leopold announced after walking Lady Amelia to the carriage the next morning. Once they arrived at Smuggler's Manor, he would tell her about Crossings and her father, and explain why he'd gone to the trouble of nabbing her.

As far as her father's business was concerned, she hadn't told him anything he didn't already know.

His fault, he supposed, having become entirely too distracted at dinner the night before.

"Are we going to your home?" she asked. Intuitively, he doubted she'd always been this way. Her questions might be borne from simple curiosity, but Leopold thought it more likely that they at least partially were a result of being away from her restrictive family.

And free of her stays—providing her with more air.

By God, was she skipping to keep up with him? Leopold slowed his pace.

"To my estate, yes." Despite having lived most of his life in the city, the subtle hint of salt in the air beckoned him.

"We can't be far from the sea." Either she'd been paying attention to their direction or she sensed it as well.

"We aren't." Leopold replied absently. Fitz was holding the door to the carriage open, and he performed an awkward bow when they arrived.

"Morning, m'lady," he said.

Leopold's old friend was as unfamiliar with gently bred women as Leopold was.

And today, Amelia did, in fact, look every inch a lady, wearing a maroon coat Mrs. Billings had foreseen Amelia would need, over a pink dress that peeked out from beneath the hem. She wore her hair in the same style as the night before, and in the sunlight, Leopold noticed a few hints of bronze woven amongst the golden strands.

She looked quite pleased with herself.

"Good morning, Mr. Fitz… herbert?" All that charm turned on poor old Fitz.

"Fitzgerald, actually."

Lady Amelia cast Leopold a teasing glance, and he rolled his shoulders uncomfortably.

He'd gone two nights now on little sleep, but he couldn't blame last night's tossing and turning on the quality of the mattress.

To be fair, he couldn't blame Amelia either.

His urges were his own problem. Unfortunately, even after dealing with those, sleep had been elusive.

He ought to have known better than to dwell on the past. Specifically, his past.

When his younger self cashed in on his first investment, he had imagined the money would change things—change him somehow. It was the first and only time he'd known optimism.

It hadn't lasted long.

He preferred to focus on the present, the only time that mattered.

Because he controlled his own actions, and therefore, his destiny.

He immediately felt the universe mocking him as he watched Lady Amelia climb into the carriage with Fitz's assistance.

Leopold shot his old friend a scowl. "You might as well ride ahead. We'll discuss your reports later this afternoon." Leopold would ride in the carriage.

"Sure thing, Boss." Fitz's orders to the other riders faded as Leopold closed the door behind him.

They had less than ten miles to travel this morning, which gave him only a few hours to garner useful information from her—if there was any to be had.

He needed to shake whatever mood this was and get on with business.

Once he had her safely ensconced in Smuggler's Manor, she wouldn't pose such a distraction.

He wouldn't allow it.

Leopold had a thriving business to run. If she expected him to sit for tea, take long walks along the cliffs, or pay visits to the neighbors, she'd be sorely disappointed.

God, he hated tea.

Lady Amelia peered out the window almost eagerly as the carriage rolled back onto the road.

"I do believe we might go an entire day without a single drop of rain." She glanced over her shoulder, looking far too pleased with herself.

But she was right. And although the air was crisp, there wasn't a single cloud in the sky, something almost unheard of this early in the spring.

Knowing her current disposition might loosen her tongue, Leopold's improved as well.

It had nothing to do with her smile. Or the faint scent of citrusy lavender that wafted delicately around her.

"Nothing like it in London," he said.

"There were a few days last year…" Even without the stays, she sat ramrod straight, barely touching the back of the bench. "The smog bothers me more than the rain."

"Winters are the worst." And now he'd resorted to discussing the fucking weather. What was this woman doing to him?

She turned her back to the window. When her knees bumped into his, she quickly pulled them back. "I won't be here that long, will I?"

"I can't say for certain." But they'd have to fail miserably with Crossings for her to still be with him come winter.

She seemed to accept the possibility without an abundance of distress.

"What will I do? To pass the time?" Her blue eyes widened. "Are we going to be alone? You aren't married, are you?"

"No—to both," he said. "And you can do what you like. I'm not going to keep you locked up in a tower."

"Are you sure?" If she were any other woman, he'd imagine she was flirting. But her face softened and she turned back to stare out the window. "My mother was right, though. I will never come back from this. It's too scandalous..." Was that the hint of a smile? If so, was it happy or sad?

"That's ridiculous," Leopold said. The nobility lived by an absurd set of rules, the ladies more so than the gentlemen. "People forget. You'll be fielding proposals in no time."

Because those so-called gentlemen were still male. And a woman like this would be irresistible, ruined or not.

"No." She rolled her lips together. "But that's probably for the best," she said.

Amelia had woken that morning with a light heart and she refused to allow anything to weigh it down. With a little help from Sally, Amelia had dressed herself and even braided her own hair. She was determined to care for her own person. And that, she determined, was only the beginning.

She wanted to become a person with… purpose.

"Are you saying you don't want to marry?" he asked. "I thought marriage was the lifelong objective of any young lady."

"It is… Or, I thought it was." Amelia shook her head. "Actually, I think it's a mother's lifelong objective."

"And a father's?"

"That stands to reason." But then she grimaced. "I suppose my father will be more disappointed than my mother. It'll be the second agreement he's made to fall apart."

These were the sort of thoughts that could derail her newfound optimism.

"You weren't betrothed, though." Mr. Beckworth's eyes darkened. "Were you?"

"It's complicated."

Mr. Beckworth lowered his brow. "Did you actually want to marry Winterhope?"

"I wouldn't have minded." But then she added, "very much. He's mad for horses, you know. And I like horses. They are beautiful animals. But he had a tendency to run on about them. My cousin, Clementine, the woman he threw me over for, is a horsewoman as well. I think they probably make a good match."

"So, you did not, in fact, want to marry him."

Amelia met his stare. "Me marrying has nothing to do with what I want." She went on to explain that when her father's agreement with the Marquess of Winterhope fell through, he'd initiated talks with Lord Northwoods. "My father cannot abide his daughter failing on the marriage mart, especially after I declined so many offers last year. But having been jilted, and now this… Northwoods won't want me now."

And that was perfectly fine with Amelia. More than fine, actually.

"Do you want to marry this Northwoods fellow?" Mr. Beckworth seemed genuinely interested.

Lord Northwoods' countenance wavered in her mind. "I don't. I cannot picture myself as his wife."

"Well, ruined or not." Mr. Beckworth leaned into the corner of his side of the bench. "You are the daughter of a marquess. You will marry."

"That's a presumptuous thing to say. Even if you understood the workings of the ton , you don't understand me."

"Don't I?"

His questions started a buzzing in her chest, because some part of her wanted him to know her—very much so.

"Why haven't you married?" she asked, ill at ease with her thoughts—and the fact that she spoke them all too easily with this man.

"No need." He shrugged. "I'm not like the men in your world. Aside from the obvious. I've no duty or legacy to worry about." An odd not-quite smile danced on his mouth. "I'm not even sure where my name comes from. Beckworth . It sure as hell wasn't my father's."

"But you have property," Amelia pointed out. "Who will it go to after you're gone?"

"That won't really matter, will it? Seeing as I'll be… gone?" Just when she was about to concede his point, he winked at her. "I suppose there are some benefits to marriage, though…"

Amelia was suddenly aware that her knee was pressing into his again. And, the same as the night before, all the nerves around that point of contact were jumping and screaming and… sending butterflies flitting about her insides.

"Such as?" She felt unusually bold.

"The obvious one." He was being provocative.

"For the man, perhaps." She might be na?ve, but she had some understanding of men—and their sometimes-uncivilized tendencies. "It isn't the same for women."

Mr. Beckworth laughed. At her.

Again.

It wasn't as pleasant sounding today.

"It isn't," she insisted.

"How can you know that?" he taunted. Amelia's instincts screamed for her to retreat from this conversation. Ladies did not discuss these subjects. Not with other ladies and certainly not with members of the opposite sex.

"Amelia?"

He leaned forward, and she struggled for where to look—into his eyes, or at his hand, looking almost innocent as it rested on her knee.

Just a few years before, she'd hoped to find romance. She'd believed in a very special kind of love.

But since then, nearly every gentleman who'd courted her was a disappointment, She hadn't felt anything close to this spark of excitement. Ever.

An unfamiliar heaviness settled between her thighs, her breasts ached, and her spine softened.

Glancing up, she locked her gaze with his, which, if she didn't know better, was smoldering.

Was he attracted to her?

It didn't make sense. In fact, she couldn't even allow herself to entertain the thought.

Where their knees touched, he exerted a subtle pressure.

Not much, but enough to acknowledge the sensation—the connection. Enough to set her heart to pounding.

Amelia swallowed hard and then let out a long, slow breath.

There was so much more than words conveyed in this exchange.

"What if you never marry?" he asked. He didn't seem to expect her to answer.

Thrown into turmoil by what he was saying, Amelia had lost the ability to speak.

A few more seconds, and he removed his hand. Leaning back, he folded his arms across that massive chest of his. "Will you be happy with the life of a spinster?" A smug expression lurked around his mouth and then he added, "I think not."