2
"I plan on it. If I am standing here with ye, pretending I am no' getting dizzy, watching these people spin in circles, then she will have to come to me. And once she does…"
She'd bring her daughter, aye.
Mother's light brogue was layered atop a crisp finishing school tone, one she shared with her oldest and dearest friend, Lady Stallings, tonight's hostess. Kip couldn't be sure, but he suspected the ball itself was a scheme concocted by the two women, not just to introduce the new Duke of Bestingbum, but to link his name to Lady Emma, youngest daughter of the Earl and his wife.
And Kip's almost-fiancée.
His engaged-to-be-engaged wife.
His mother and Lady Stallings had already arranged it, deciding Emma would be the first partner to help usher him through Society in his new role…and were just waiting on him to make it official.
And up until today, Kip would've gone along with their scheming. What difference would it make? They were all the same.
Up until today, he'd assumed his lust for his best friend's sister had finally dissipated. Then he'd discovered she was still unmarried, still living under Alistair's roof, still a beautiful lass of—what? Almost twenty, she had to be. Still just as lovely, just as impassioned, just as hoydenish as he'd remembered.
Standing there, staring down at a lass with a chicken, he'd fallen right back in love with Lady Amelia Kincaid.
"Oh look, darling, here they come! Och, try to look like ye are enjoying yerself."
He didn't want to marry Lady Emma Iverson.
But Kip also didn't want to hurt his mother, so he attempted a credible smile, and when Lady Stallings and her daughter swanned over, he made a show of fawning over them as Mother expected.
They made small talk about his time on the Continent and he tried to be as charming as possible, while all the while his gaze swept the gathered masses, looking for Alistair and his youngest sister.
Would she come?
If she didn't, what would he do?
Tonight he was expected to dance with Emma, and if they spent enough time together, the Great Gossip Machine that was the matrons of Society would start humming. Kip would be linked to Emma before he could even formally ask for her hand.
Not that he wanted to, not anymore.
After seeing Amelia today, realizing he was still completely enthralled by her zest for life, he knew he wouldn't be satisfied with the icy blonde woman who currently clutched his arm after Mother had drifted aside to chat with her friend.
Emma was pretty enough, but in a sort of porcelain doll way; it was clear she'd never scraped her knee chasing after a baby goat, or soaked her skirts while she caught frogs in the estate pond.
Of course, Alistair spent his days in London lately, so Kip assumed his sisters did as well. He'd expected refinements, an aloof air, a forgetting of who she was. But today's encounter proved Amelia was the same lass he remembered.
Just all grown up.
Very, very all grown up. And out. Perfectly out.
Just the memory of her curves made his palms itch.
"Oh, listen, Your Grace! The music is starting up again."
Emma fluttered her lashes, about as subtle as a locomotive engine.
He'd only known her a month, and already disliked the way she was used to getting what she wanted. It never occurred to her that she wouldn't, in fact.
"Oh yes, darling! Ye should dance,"
Mother urged.
When Kip glanced at her, she lowered her brows and darted a furious glance toward Emma, then back to him.
Ah, well, he could pick up on a hint. Especially when laid down with a shovel.
"Lady Emma,"
he began stiffly. "Would ye do me the honor of joining me?"
"Oh, Your Grace ,"
she tittered in mock surprise. "I would be delighted!"
And stifling yet another sigh, Kipling led her out to the dance floor.
"Are you well, Amelia?"
murmured Olivia, her new sister-in-law. "I expected Alistair to look ill at such an event, but I would've guessed you'd be excited."
The two of them stood on either side of Amelia's brother, the Duke of Effinghell. Earlier this year, he'd made quite the splash by not only contracting marriage to a completely unsuitable newspaper reporter, he'd been so disgraceful as to go and fall in love with her.
But Amelia loved Olivia, and knew her sister Amanda did as well. Olivia had drawn Alistair from the darkness he'd inhabited for so many years, and brought him back to his family.
So Amelia forced a smile. "Attending balls is still somewhat new to me."
Her brother, despite his enormous influence, had hidden from Society and contented himself with written correspondence. "This is only my third such event which Alistair did not himself host."
Her large, mostly silent brother, harumphed slightly. But when she peeked up at him, his lips twitched.
He hated Society events as she herself loved them. Or at least, she had thought she loved them; she had little experience. But years of tutoring and lessons had prepared her for this, at least.
"Well, I promised Alistair I wouldn't nag him into dancing with me,"
Olivia murmured, pretending interest in the crowd. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't dance."
"Do you think I might convince Alistair to dance with me ?"
As Olivia swallowed her giggle, Alistair turned a horrified expression on Amelia, who also had to press her lips together to keep from laughing.
Of course Alistair wouldn't dance with her. It was hard enough for him to be here, surrounded by people who were neither friends nor family. At least when he hosted an event, he could be certain none of his guests would mock his voice, or the fact he preferred not to speak at all.
Here, his only chance was to hope no one would talk to them.
"Alistair, thank Christ ye came!"
It was apparently a vain hope.
Amelia's heart started to beat double-time before she even saw Kipling; just his delicious-sounding voice could do that to her.
But as her brother's lips curled into a wry grin—he was tall enough to see over the heads of everyone around them—Amelia turned to see a distinctly hunted-looking Kipling slide through the crowds.
"Quick, pretend I'm saying something fascinating,"
the new Duke of Bestingbum commanded, stationing himself with his back to the room. "So nae one interrupts us."
"Not enjoying yourself, Your Grace?"
Olivia asked, laughter not far from her tone.
Kipling groaned and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. "No' ye too! I need someone here who willnae suck up to me."
"I dinnae…suck,"
croaked Alistair, who looked as if he was trying not to laugh as well.
"Well, no' in a long time."
Kipling winked. "Do ye remember the time ye bought that barrel of ale, and we couldnae fit it through the window? But we had the tubing—"
Alistair shook his head. "That was ye."
Amelia couldn't help smiling, for several reasons:
Despite his raspy voice, it was obvious her brother was delighted to be reunited with his best friend. After all, that was the only reason he'd agreed to attend this ball tonight, in order to support Kipling.
She'd heard there would be chocolate for dessert.
Becky had laid another perfect egg only that afternoon.
Kipling Mancheste was standing in front of her, looking divine, sounding divine, and yes, even smelling divine.
And he was sneaking peeks at her. Peeks! At her!
Why wouldn't she be smiling?
"So, Kip ,"
Olivia teased, "You are hiding? There's some nice curtains over there."
"I cannae hide in the curtains. My mother and Lady Stallings planned this whole thing so I can be seen, which I dinnae love."
"Liar,"
croaked Alistair.
"I dinnae love being seen as the Duke of Bestingbum,"
Kip quickly corrected. "I was never supposed to become a duke ."
Blue eyes flicked toward Amelia, then away again. "I wish there was a manual."
He sounded strangely…vulnerable. And Amelia felt for him.
"I am certain you will do wonderful things, Your Grace."
When he turned his full attention to her, a touch of hurt in the cant of his brows, she winced. "Apologies. Kipling ."
The tension around his eyes eased slowly as he studied her. Just as it had earlier that day, his gaze made her… Not uncomfortable, but…breathless?
Yes. Breathless. That was a good way to describe this feeling. The way her heart pounded in her chest, matching the throbbing between her thighs.
"Lady Amelia,"
he said finally. "Would ye be willing to help me hide from the masses?"
Her answer was immediate. Certain. "Of course. What do you need?"
The Grin flashed. "That promised dance?"
he asked as he held out his hand.
She didn't even stop to think before she put her hand in his.
Only then did something like worry flash across Kip's visage, and he flicked a glance toward Alistair. "That is, assuming ye dinnae mind?"
Amelia turned her attention to her brother as well, and realized she was holding her breath. Alistair studied the two of them—his gaze lingering where her gloved hand rested in Kipling's—before his lips twitched and he shook his head.
When she exhaled, she heard Kipling echo it.
Which was strange in itself. Why would he also be nervous around Alistair?
And it wasn't quite nerves flickering in her chest…Amelia was just worried about what her brother would think if he ever realized her feelings for one of his oldest friends.
She'd grown up with Kipling coming to the estate and later to their townhouse to visit Alistair, since he rarely left home, even back then. Amelia was so much younger than her brother, she hadn't paid attention to his company when the young men had returned from university. But as she'd grown…
She'd gone from a gangly, awkward girl to an even more gangly, even more awkward young lady. And all the while, she was watching Kipling Mancheste laugh and charm. But it wasn't until he'd seemed genuinely interested in her interests that she lost her heart.
And even after two years away, he still seemed…interested.
He'd asked her to dance . Not just out of politeness, but out of a genuine desire to do so? Even now, he was sweeping her onto the dance floor, positioning her among the other couples.
He was taking her hand in his.
He was placing his gloved hand on her back.
He was enfolding her in his hold.
He was overwhelming her, with his scent and his charm and his perfection.
I swear, if you faint right now and cause us to miss this, I will never forgive you .
Right. She couldn't faint, not if she wanted to remember this dance for the rest of her life. Because she was certain she would.
"Thank ye,"
murmured Kipling, as the music began and they launched into movement.
It was likely a waltz, but it could've been a jig, or a hula for all the attention Amelia was paying. Years of dancing lessons at Mother's insistence, and it all flew right out the window the moment Kipling Mancheste held her?
"I-My pleasure."
Make polite conversation, any conversation, you ninny . "It is certainly warm in here, is it not?"
"Oh?"
Kip had been studying her the whole time, seeming able to dance without looking at his own feet or those around him; clearly a miracle worker. "Should I take ye over to the window for some air?"
And give him an excuse to cease the incredible experience of being in his arms ? Amelia would sooner eat red meat. "No! I mean, no, thank you, I am perfectly content."
He watched her a moment longer, as if not certain he believed her. Then, "Ye've left Becky at home?"
He remembered her chicken's name? Le Sigh.
Focus. Focus!
"I know enough about Society to know they would frown upon my—my pets. My family teases me, but they also indulge me. When we have company, I have learned to hide my little friends."
"That's a shame,"
Kip murmured as he swept her through a turn. "They are important to ye."
"Yes, but they are not important to others. At tonight's dinner, for example, I will likely not eat the main meat dish, and I will be mocked if anyone notices."
Was it her imagination, or did his hold on her tighten momentarily, as if he was reacting to that pronouncement? Eventually, however, Kip offered a relaxed, "Ye should no' be mocked for what ye believe in. After meeting Becky today, I ken I'll have to think twice before eating chicken again. They might be a relative."
Amelia caught her breath, staring up at him. It was…
"No one has ever said that—I mean, felt that way."
She swallowed, blinking rapidly as she dropped her gaze to his chin. "Thank you."
He was silent another few turns, then cleared his throat. "Ye said ye raised her from an egg?"
"Yes."
Amelia's lips twitched at the memory. "My mother has a cockatoo named Hamish who once belonged to my grandfather. He is a brilliant old bird, although he is a bit vulgar."
An understatement. "I wanted to try to raise a similar bird, training him or her from infancy, to understand the process. So I procured a dozen eggs and incubated them."
"Really? How?"
He seemed genuinely interested.
"I had a device which reflected heat. But I learned that my own body heat was most effective. I was hoping the eggs would turn out to be peacocks or parrots, I was promised exotic birds, but instead I got Becky and Charles."
"Chickens,"
he chuckled. "Albeit lovely chickens."
Before she could correct him, he asked, "So ye what? Stuck the eggs in yer pocket for the time it took for them to incubate?"
She felt her cheeks heating. Well. Not exactly her pocket. Amelia glanced down at her chest, where her breasts were pushed over the edge of her lovely pink gown, remembering the feel of the eggs nestled snug in there.
"Something like that,"
she managed.
When she glanced up, Kipling's gaze was locked on her bosoms.
The blush, which had climbed up her cheekbones, now turned around and took a direct dive back down to her chest. She felt it crawling across her skin, simultaneously hot and cold. Or at least, she told herself that's why she was shivering.
Or perhaps it is because he is starting at your breasts.
Yes. Well. That too.
"Are ye well?"
Kip's tone was raspy, not at all its usual smooth self.