Chapter Twenty-Five A Bargain is Struck

The following morning, in the breakfast parlor at Weston Hall

Deep in thought as he made his way to the sideboard, Alfred barely noticed what he dished onto his plate for that morning's breakfast. From the time Violet had left him the night before, he had been thinking of her.

More than thinking of her.

He had imagined she was still with him when he had made his way to his bedchamber. He had dismissed his valet in favor of imagining her undoing his buttons and removing his clothing. Imagined helping her with the fastenings of the gorgeous pale blue gown she had worn. Imagined pulling the silk flower and pins from her hair. Imagined watching her blonde hair fall past her bare shoulders as he pushed her gown down her body.

By the time he had settled onto his bed, his body had become so heated, his manhood so hard, he had welcomed the cool bed linens.

He had imagined kissing her as they had been doing in the gardens. Kissing her entire body. Taking his member in hand, he had imagined making love to her, at first slowly. When her soft cries had her begging for more, he had quickened his movements and experienced a release he had not allowed himself in a very long time.

Awakening with a grin on his face, his morning tumescence had him doing it all over again—which was probably why he felt lighter than he had in a very long time. Lighter and, dare he admit, happy?

"Are you going to eat all of those eggs?"

Alfred gave a start at hearing his sister's query. "Uh..." He glanced down at his plate to discover he had dished out seven coddled eggs and most of the rashers of bacon. "No. Of course not," he said, scooping several back into the serving dish. He was glad the plate hid the silhouette of his hardened manhood.

"Are you all right?"

He moved to take a seat at the table, but before he did so, he pulled out a chair for Amelia and waited for her to sit.

She stared at him, her eyes round. "Have you gone mad?"

"What?"

Scoffing, Amelia said, "You never hold my chair for me," she said, her gaze darting to the footman who usually did.

"About time I did so, though, don't you think?" he countered, tucking into his meal. When the footman set a cup of coffee before him, he said, "Thank you."

Amelia stared at him. "Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?" she asked. When he glanced up at her with a look of confusion, she added. "Never mind. I prefer you over him. You can stay."

Alfred quirked his lip. "Did you enjoy the ball?"

She displayed a look of suspicion before saying, "Most of it. And you? You hardly said a word in the coach on the way home."

He lifted a forkful of egg to his lips. "I was thinking."

"About?"

He screwed up his face in a grimace, not sure he wanted to share his thoughts with Amelia. He had wanted to speak with their mother, but her early exit from the ball and apparent absence from Weston Hall—she hadn't greeted them upon their arrival—had him thinking the Marquess of Fenwick had taken her to his house.

For some reason, the thought of her with Fenwick didn't bother him as much this morning as it had the night before.

"Courtship," he finally stated, his attention on his plate.

Amelia inhaled softly. "Mine or... or yours?"

Alfred glanced up. "Does someone wish to court you?"

She angled her head to one side and scoffed. "You needn't make it sound as if you're surprised someone wants to... to marry me," she scolded.

"I didn't mean to," he countered. "I just... I hadn't thought you were... old enough, I suppose," he stuttered.

"Alfred," she said as she rolled her eyes. "This is my second Season—"

"You hardly had one last year."

"—and there is someone who I would very much like to marry. That is, if you would give your permission for him to court me."

His fork was halfway to his mouth when he paused and stared at her. He set it on his plate and sat back. "If I give you permission to marry who you wish to marry, then you must help me," he said.

Amelia blinked, not expecting him to bargain with her. "Help you with what?"

"With whom I wish to... to court," he stammered, changing the word from ‘marry' at the last second.

Blinking several times, Amelia slumped back in her chair. "You say that as if you think I know whoever it is you wish to court."

"Well, that's because you do."

Amelia's dark brows rose with her surprise. "Go on."

"Lady Violet. I wish to court Lady Violet."

Staring at him as if he'd grown another head, Amelia shook hers. "My friend, Violet?"

Alfred displayed a look of confusion for a moment. "Is there more than one?" he countered. "Of course, your friend. I only know of the one Violet."

"Are you mad? You're playing me for a fool, aren't you?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Making a funny?"

"I am not," he insisted, his breakfast forgotten.

"Describe her," she ordered, lifting her chin as if she were daring him.

Alfred scoffed. "Blonde hair, blue eyes. She wore the palest of blue gowns at the ball last night, and she had a silk flower in her hair, like the one you wore." He pointed to one of his collar bones. "She has a beauty mark here," he added. "And one here." He pointed to his upper chest.

Amelia's eyes rounded. "That's rather specific."

He directed his gaze to the side. "And a little dimple right here when she smiles," he said, pushing his index finger into the base of his cheek. "Makes her look rather adorable."

Her mouth dropping open in shock, Amelia stared at Alfred for a moment before she said, "I cannot believe you even notice such details on a woman."

He shrugged. "How could I not?" he countered. "I find her captivating and rather clever."

Amelia blinked again as her gaze dropped to her breakfast plate. Hands on her hips, she asked again, "Where is my brother, and what have you done with him?"

It was Alfred's turn to roll his eyes. "If you're not going to help me, then we won't have a bargain," he warned.

Inhaling sharply, Amelia dropped her arms to her sides. "I'm supposed to... to what? Talk her into agreeing to be courted by you?"

"Exactly."

"But... why is it you even think she might be interested in courtship with you?"

Alfred couldn't help the look of hurt that crossed his face. "We spent time together at the soirée. We rode horses in the park. We danced together. We would have danced both waltzes last night had her aunt not taken ill," he ticked off on his fingers. "And I... I may have stolen a kiss or two in the gardens."

Amelia gasped and then angled her head first to the left and then to the right, examining his cheeks for telltales signs of a strike. "She didn't slap you?" she asked in disbelief.

"Amelia," he huffed. "She... she returned the kiss, in fact. Even slipped her fingers through my hair." The way his head seemed to quiver suggested he was experiencing the same sensations he had felt at the time he was kissed.

"Eww," his sister replied with a grimace, a hand going to cover her mouth. "I cannot believe Lady Violet would do such a thing," she whispered.

"Because you don't think her capable? Or because you don't think she would do it with me?"

The sound of annoyance in his voice had Amelia realizing she had to agree to his terms or lose her chance at gaining permission for her own betrothal. "Because I didn't realize she was speaking of you when she said she had developed a tendré for someone of our acquaintance."

Alfred's eyes widened. "She said that?"

Amelia nodded. "Oh, Alfred. She didn't say your name, so I didn't know." Her eyes once again rounded as she forced a smile. "Do you realize what this means?"

A look of suspicion crossed his features. "What?"

"If you end up married to Lady Violet, she'll be my sister," she said, her grin becoming more real. She stood from her chair and hurried to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him on the cheek. "Oh, Alfred. You have my support," she said.

"Thank you," he said. "Truly."

Amelia nodded. "I still want to know what you've done with my brother, though," she murmured.

He gave her a quelling glance. "You should be more concerned about our mother," he said, waving toward the door. "I fear Fenwick may have whisked her off to who-knows-where last night. We may never see her again."

"Her Grace is in her apartments, Your Grace," Pritchard said, the butler having entered the breakfast parlor from the butler's pantry at the very moment Alfred mentioned the duchess. "Breakfast and chocolate were delivered to her room earlier this morning."

Alfred regarded the servant with a look of surprise. "Oh. Well. That is a relief, I suppose."

For a moment, Amelia displayed a look of disappointment, and her brother noticed. "What is it?"

"Would it have been so bad if Fenwick had taken her home?" Amelia asked. "Anyone with two eyes can see they're desperately in love with one another."

Although his first reaction would have been to argue her claim, Alfred quelled it. After his discussion with Violet the night before, he had come to realize there was little to no chance Michael, Marquess of Fenwick, was his father. As for how she knew so much about the man, he didn't know.

But he was determined to find out.