32. The Honorable Thing

THE HONORABLE THING

" M ost likely, they'll cut their losses and run," Winterhope opined after Leopold relayed the result of his carelessness on the boat the night before.

Losing the ship, ironically, seemed insignificant today.

"You think they'll port in Southampton?" Leopold asked.

"Crossings will be waiting for them if they turn up in London, and I doubt they're looking forward to any sort of a reunion with him."

Leopold tapped his pencil on his desk, nodding. Crossings would be livid once he learned they'd lost half the tea.

But really, this issue only had half his attention. The other half was with…

"I nearly didn't recognize her," said Winterhope, apparently noticing Leopold's lack of focus. Was he truly so obvious? But Winterhope was fiddling with the lace on his sleeve now, frowning. It was a tell of his; the man must be feeling bothered about something.

Well, Leopold wasn't going to help him. Winterhope could bloody well spit it out for himself, whatever it was. Leopold remained silent, waiting.

And he was right, as he usually was with this sort of thing. The words burst out of Winterhope as if they had been held back under pressure.

"If you've compromised her in any way—if you've ruined her, you'll have to marry her, you know."

This wasn't just a warning; there was self-righteous judgement in the man's tone, which Leopold did not care for.

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped. Bloody society. She was a woman , damn it—a brave, smart, compassionate, flesh and blood human being. Not milk that could sour or some inanimate object that could be broken. But the nobility would see her sold off to the first man to get her alone, for the great crime of being sullied by the mere possibility of his touch. Leopold sneered. "Aside from the fact that the so-called ‘honor' the ton believes in is a sham at best," he went on, " I'm not actually one of you . I've never followed your rules, and I won't be starting now."

Leopold hated that he'd been caught off guard. Even more, he hated this feeling that he was running out of time.

Winterhope scoffed. Repressed as he often was, he nonetheless wasn't a man to back down easily, not when he got like this. "And what of Lady Amelia? You don't have a care for what will happen to her, then?"

Leopold turned and stared out the window. "Lady Amelia will be fine. She's the daughter of a marquess." But then he swung back around.

Winterhope shouldn't need reminding. He ought to be well aware of Amelia's sodding pedigree, having come so close to marrying her himself. "Her family has money and power, influence. What good is all that nonsense if it can't get you nobs out of a few scrapes every now and again?"

"That's not how it works." Winterhope kept his voice level but flicked his lace again. "You may not care for the rules of the ton , but you cannot simply wish them away. Lady Amelia's reputation is all she has. She depends on it to be accepted in her world—to secure a husband." Winterhope narrowed his eyes. "So tell me, have you done anything to ruin that for her?"

Leopold pressed his lips together. He hated the whole damned institution. What right did they have to dictate someone's life like this?

He would argue more, but ultimately, he refused to allow anyone to think less of her.

"She isn't ruined," he said almost grudgingly. Fucking hell .

"Good."

The sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor broke the tension in the room, and Winterhope rose from his chair. Rather than move toward the door, however, he held out his hand. "Thank you," he said. "For everything."

Leopold nodded, though some part of his insides seemed to squirm as he did.

He inhaled, but before he could say anything stupid, someone knocked on the door.

"Enter," he called.

Mr. Stubbs opened the door more tentatively than usual and then peered inside. "The trunk has been reloaded onto Lord Winterhope's travelling carriage. Her ladyship says they are prepared to depart."

Her ladyship . But which one? The pinched-up, cynical marchioness or Amelia?

By God, despite taking a few drams of whisky with Winterhope, Leopold could still taste her on his tongue. Her scent clung to his clothing.

He wouldn't be surprised if Winterhope knew the truth.

And that was messed up as hell.

Winterhope had pressed, but gone on to accept Leopold's answer.

Hell yes, he had lied! Declaring the truth would rob her of having any say in the matter. And although he'd been willing to kidnap her for a few weeks, he wasn't about to imprison her for a lifetime.

He wanted her, but not like that.

So he kept quiet as he rose from his chair, trying to ignore the aches that had taken over his entire body.

Aches from being thrashed about in the water. From kneeling on the stone floor in his cellar.

From holding her tighter than he should have, afraid to let go.

Following the marquess into the foyer, Leopold's heart skipped a beat.

How long would it take to forget a woman like Amelia? Was it even possible?

If he didn't do something, he'd have plenty of time to mull that over later.

Leopold had invited Winterhope and his party to stay the night at Smuggler's Manor. It would have given Leopold one more night. He could have basked in her light for a few more hours.

They could have talked. It would have given him time to explain. He wasn't above begging…

Winterhope had declined, however, in case they'd been followed by any of Crossings' men. No one knew exactly why Foxbourne had gone missing. Killed? Perhaps. But there was also a possibility that Foxbourne had threatened the duke with some form of retaliation and then gone underground. They couldn't discount Foxbourne's stupidity.

Until they knew Crossings wasn't a threat to the marquess's wife and daughter, Winterhope wanted to get them as far from London as possible. His own personal desires aside, Leopold couldn't help but agree.

So instead, Leopold had suggested they spend the night at his inn, The Goat's Tail. "They're discreet and will take good care of you." And, for one more night, anyway, Amelia would remain under Leopold's protection.

Even if he wasn't there.

Unless… he swallowed hard.

Leopold could ask her to stay—offer her a choice. She'd told him she was not unhappy here.

What if, contrary to everyone's assumption, she didn't want to leave with her mother? What if she didn't want to return to society? Not two hours earlier, he'd allowed himself to entertain the possibility. An offer had been on the tip of his tongue…

He could spend the rest of his life making her happy.

When he stepped out of his study and saw her, however, he realized how out of reach that possibility truly was.

It was that moment at Winterhope Downs all over again. There she was, the Diamond of the Season. With her golden locks pinned in an elaborate updo, she stood tall, chin held high, looking serene and beautiful. Untouchable.

Assaulted by the shock of seeing her looking so pristine and noble again, he paused, willing her to stay back while the rest of Winterhope's party filed through the door.

She caught his gaze, but before he could read anything into that look, she was swept away by her mother and the woman he'd been told was her maid. Leopold had no choice but to follow them outside.

Three elegant coaches, each pulled by no less than six horses, had parked in Leopold's drive where they awaited their lofty passengers. Manservants held the doors, and steps had been pulled down.

In the waning sunlight, he watched Foxbourne's wife—widow?—climb into the front vehicle with the assistance of two outriders. Leopold couldn't help but remember how Amelia had thrown herself out of his own coach, and if he hadn't felt so desperate, he might have laughed. Instead, he fisted both hands.

She was more courageous than any of her people would ever know.

And she was leaving. Only… he wasn't ready for her to leave. Something broke loose and he took one step toward her.

"Amelia!" he nearly shouted. This wasn't the way he would have planned this conversation, but he had indeed run out of time. He needed to talk to her.

He needed to know…

Lengthening his strides, he cut the distance between them in half. She seemed to be having a few words with her cousin and then nodded before turning to acknowledge him. When she crossed to where he waited, Leopold's heart lifted.

He'd called out her name. Not Lady Amelia , just… Amelia.

Waiting, she memorized his features. His inky hair, that was a little too long, his mouth, that she knew intimately, and those eyes…

"Thank you." Amelia kept her voice low, not allowing herself to get too close to him. She kept her head up and her eyes cool, knowing her mother was watching. She'd excused herself, explaining that she needed to thank Mr. Beckworth. Her mother had reluctantly allowed it.

"You don't have to thank me." His ebony eyes searched hers, and for one hopeful second, Amelia thought he might reach for her hand. He stiffened, however, and then cleared his throat. "You must be pleased to be reunited with your family."

Was that a question?

Amelia shook her head a little. She'd found Clementine again, and they'd at last managed to clear the air between them. For that, she'd be forever grateful. "Yes," she said.

He flicked his gaze down and then back up her body. "And your wardrobe."

Was he mocking her? He hadn't sounded like this since that first day…

The day he'd whisked her away from her father.

"You must be happy as well," she said. "To have successfully completed your mission."

Was that all she had been to him? A mission? A task?

"Right," he said.

To keep from throwing herself into his arms, to keep herself from begging him to ask her to stay, she clasped her hands at her waist.

You must come to me . It had been rule number one. His rule.

But she had one foot in his world and one foot in hers, muddying the rules on both sides.

She could hear footsteps and knew it would be one of the outriders, sent over by her mother.

Amelia was running out of time.

The thread between them was unwinding, and she didn't know how to stop it. All she could do was plead with her eyes. Mr. Beckworth was a combination of scars and hard edges, all pieced together to make him into this beautiful, perfect man.

Perfect for her.

Their time together hadn't been by choice, but he'd treated her with more respect than anyone else ever had.

He hadn't been born into the aristocracy, but his treatment of others showed more dignity, more strength of character than all the titled men of England put together.

They called him the King…

He wasn't a member of the ton , but he was the truest of gentlemen.

With her heart ready to burst, she very deliberately dipped into her best curtsey. "I'll never forget you." The words left her lips just as the outrider arrived.

"Your mother grows impatient, my lady."

"Thank you. I'll not be much longer," Amelia answered automatically, keeping her gaze fixed on the only person that mattered.

Kidnap me now! Throw me over your shoulder and carry me away now! She silently begged him with her eyes.

Love me , her soul cried out.

But he didn't even blink.

"Goodbye, Mr. Beckworth," she said.

"My lady."

And two minutes later, she was seated beside her mother. Uncomfortable. Unhappy. And worst of all. Unloved .