Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

N othing would discourage Amelia tonight. She chanted those words over and over again, reassuring herself as best she could as the carriage pulled into the driveway of Castle Stanhope. But for some reason, when she laid eyes on the towering manor, she lost some of her nerve.

Barbara and Nadine squealed and chatted to each other as if she did not exist, practically thrumming with excitement – while Amelia battled with the fierce determination and the intense uncertainty warring within her. It wasn't lost on her that her last ditch attempt at finding a husband was being made at the grandest ball of the year.

That too at the end of the Season.

She did not want to come off as desperate to any gentleman she might meet tonight, but she also had no idea how best to express her interest in them—enough to not only come away with a courtship, but a chance at marriage.

The moment they were out of the carriage, Nadine and Barbara linked arms and walked away, leaving Amelia to follow behind. Her arms were stiff by her side, heart pounding loudly in her chest as she followed the other arriving guests and the escorting footmen into the manor. She couldn't help admiring the other ladies in attendance—and feeling drab and out of place with her out-of-fashion dark green dress.

I shouldn't let that bother me , she reminded herself, steeling her resolve. This is all for Dorothy.

Her small encouragement served to push aside some of her nervousness, but it came rushing back like a tidal wave the moment they arrived at the entrance of the grand hall.

All too soon, the magnificent double doors swung open. To their credit, Nadine and Barbara maintained their composure as the footman announced them to the sea of guests already filling the massive, glistening ballroom. Amelia hardly heard her own introduction as she stepped inside, suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people.

The ballroom they stepped into was the epitome of opulence, an elaborate spectacle designed to take anyone's breath away. Ornate crystal chandeliers hung like stars from a sky-painted ceiling, casting their shimmering light onto the polished, ebony parquet floor. Stately Corinthian columns, carved from pure Italian marble, lined the room, supporting a delicate balcony, from which clusters of nobles surveyed the scene below.

All of London must be here , she thought in awe.

Even as she did, she dismissed it. She knew very well that the Duke of Stanhope did not invite just anyone to his balls. Which made her all the more excited that she'd gotten to attend. Apparently, her uncle and the late Duke of Stanhope had been business partners, which was enough to secure them as guests at this evening's ball.

Without a backward glance, Barbara whisked Nadine away to speak with a few of the other ladies. Amelia stared after them, knowing better than to follow. They didn't want to be near her. Which she supposed was fine because she didn't want to be near them either.

But it left her alone to navigate this spacious and crowded ballroom all by herself.

Thankfully, the dancing was yet to start. If she could get a few names on her dance card, she might be able to get off on the right foot.

For Dorothy , she reminded herself, dispelling the trepidation that clung to her like sweat. It worked, a little.

For now, she needed something in her hand, to make her seem a little less out-of-place and a little more comfortable. She made a beeline for the refreshments table and then reached for the ladle to pour herself a glass of orgeat lemonade, but another hand got there first.

"Oh, forgive me," she said quickly. "Go ahead."

"No, please, allow me to pour one for you first, my lady," came a deep voice. Amelia's heart skipped a beat when she realized that a tall gentleman stood next to her. She could hardly dare herself to glance at his face, but he had dark brown hair done Brutus-style and wore dark clothes that fit his strapping physique quite well.

"Thank you," she murmured shyly. Now was her chance, she thought. But what should she say next? Amelia had very little experience with gentlemen and hadn't the faintest clue on how to entertain a conversation with one.

"Shall I take a guess at who you are, my lady?" the gentleman asked, to her utter relief.

"Rather bold of you to assume that you know everyone in attendance, my lord," she responded.

He chuckled. "Perhaps I do. Perhaps I am the duke himself. Then it would make sense for me to know who is here, wouldn't it?"

"Are you the duke?" she asked curiously. Amelia had never seen the Duke of Stanhope, nor had many members of the ton. Apparently, he was a nigh-on impossible man to get a hold of, making the balls he hosted all the more grander affairs.

The gentleman only sipped his lemonade before saying, "We shall find out soon enough, won't we?"

There was something about the way he said those words that made her think she was not speaking to the Duke of Stanhope. And why any gentleman would pretend to be the duke was beyond her. Still, she had no intention of pointing out the oddity.

For now, for the sake of her plan, she would play along. "Then, Your Grace , how are you enjoying the ball so far?"

"It has only just begun. There are more people to see, dances to be danced. But I do believe it will be quite the spectacle."

"I must agree. I, myself, am hoping to share my first dance with a handsome and kind gentleman."

"Ah, is that so?"

Amelia flushed. She'd been a little bold just now but there was a sudden boredom to his tone that made her feel embarrassed. A small silence settled over them and she racked her brain for some way to be rid of it.

"So, Your Grace, are you here with your fam—"

"Forgive me, my lady, but you must excuse me," the gentleman cut in, suddenly distracted. "It was lovely to meet you."

Without waiting for a response, he walked away. Amelia watched as he approached a blond-haired lady, who gave him a broad smile and a deep curtsy. Mortified at how quickly she had been dismissed, Amelia put aside her untouched lemonade and walked away. For the first time since the night began, she was happy that hardly anyone paid any heed to her. As if they did, being ignored like this with such little afterthought would've only been all the more humiliating.

Amelia sighed, finding a corner she could linger in. She skimmed her gaze through the guests but no one seemed as out of place as she did. As a matter of fact, everyone seemed to know someone, bodies drifting back and forth as they greeted their peers. Amelia shifted awkwardly, not knowing what to do with herself. Now and again, she thought a gentleman was approaching her but was met with bitter disappointment when he headed elsewhere. It was as if she was not even present.

She didn't know how much time had passed, though she supposed it was probably an hour or so. She had a long night ahead of her and it was already off to a bad start. Perhaps if she cleared her head, it would help a little.

Grazing past the sides of the ballroom, she searched for a door that would take her away from this place and offer her that needed speck of respite. A few moments alone to get herself together before throwing herself back into the fray.

With that as her new temporary goal, she continued her stroll, letting her mind wander. Even though she usually preferred going for walks outdoors, it calmed her a bit now. Without even realizing it, she drifted out of the ballroom through an adjoining door, landing her in a parlor that was already filling up with gentlemen. As the men began to claim seats for their card game, she hastily retreated.

Exiting through a separate door, she found herself in an empty hallway. She headed down it, taking slow, deep breaths to calm her nerves and steel her resolve. When she returned to the ballroom, she would try to be a little more outgoing, she promised herself. She couldn't let another ball pass with her remaining unnoticed the entire time.

If she found her way back, she thought, when she realized that she might be a little lost. Still determined, she kept pushing forward, and soon enough, she found a set of double doors that she hoped would lead her to the gardens. When she stepped through, however, she found herself on an outdoor balcony instead.

This will do , she thought, closing the door behind her. The muffled sounds of the ballroom could be forgotten now that she was alone.

The balcony was quite vast, she noticed, though she supposed it wasn't all too surprising if any other chamber of this castle was anything to go by. An ornately carved balustrade stood before her and another set of doors stood to her left.

Amelia made her way over to the balcony's railing and leaned against it, letting out a sigh. She would have leaned further over it for better reprieve and the nice view below, but she didn't want to risk the breeze ruining her hair.

"Welcome to Castle Stanhope, my lady."

Amelia gasped, whirling at the voice. Directly behind her stood a gentleman in all black except for his gold-buttoned tailcoat, with the shadows from the moon cloaking his features. He seemed to have come through the door to the left and as he approached, swaths of moonlight illuminated his black, curly hair. It was the first thing Amelia noticed about him—other than his height.

The gentleman wore an easy smile as he came closer still. Each step sent Amelia's heart skittering through her chest, her words failing on her tongue. Deep hazel eyes stared through to her soul, which sat atop a high, pointed nose. He had a faint stubble stretching across his jaws. Even though most of his features were shadowed by the moonlight still, Amelia had no doubt that this gentleman was unbelievably handsome.

And they were alone. On a balcony. Her father must be rolling in his grave.

"Thank you," she murmured, finally finding her words.

His lips twitched into a wider smile. He stopped just a few feet away from her. "I take it, it was not too much trouble finding this spot?"

"No more trouble than it would be for anyone else," Amelia answered, a little confused. "…Unless you are lost?"

That made him chuckle, the deep sound reverberating against her body. "I think I am quite fine, but I appreciate your misplaced concern."

He came closer still, until he was directly beside her. His scent was one of sandalwood with a hint of citrus, so intoxicating that Amelia was hit with a foolish urge—to lean into him.

"How was your trip, my lady?" the gentleman asked.

Amelia thought on the question for a moment. Perhaps he thought she was one of the guests who had come from outside of London to attend this evening's ball. "It was not very difficult. I am not very far from here, you see."

"Ah, then that will make it quite easy for us, don't you think? Forgive me, my lady. I had not stopped to ask where you were residing before you came to London." He took her hand. Amelia nearly jumped out of her skin. How bold! "But we have many days ahead of us, so there is so much more to be shared between us."

"You are kind, my lord," she answered stiffly, uncertain of what to do in this situation. As gently as she could, she pulled her hand from him and was alarmed by how cold she suddenly felt. Afraid that she might have just chased away the one gentleman willing to talk to her tonight, she quickly asked, "Are you enjoying the ball, my lord?"

He said nothing at first and Amelia gripped the railing tightly, afraid to look at him. Afraid to see that she had once again bored someone else.

But then he chuckled. "It wouldn't do if I wasn't, now would it?"

Her confusion deepened at that, but it was slightly overshadowed by her relief that he was still talking to her.

"And you, mademoiselle? Are you enjoying yourself?"

Mademoiselle? Did he think her French? Was he French?

Before she could ask the question, he put his hand atop hers once more. Amelia looked sharply at him but felt her resolve melt away under his gentle gaze. Her throat suddenly felt dry, all her lessons in modesty vanishing. "I…I am," she managed and he smiled.

"That's good. Then I consider this evening a job well done."

Amelia could not fathom what he was talking about. She didn't even care. All she could focus on was the hand on top of hers, the thumb stroking her knuckles.

"I must say, my lady," he went on, "that your dialect is quite outstanding. One would believe that you were English."

"That is because I am?" Amelia managed, confused. She knew she should pull away from him. She should not even be alone with him right now. But his touch was making all her sensible thoughts flee her mind.

Again, he chuckled. And again, it made her toes curl, heat tinging her cheeks. "Yes, let us go with that then. Tonight, we can be anyone we wish to be, can't we?"

"…You may be right about that."

"What is the matter, my lady?" Suddenly, he gripped her hand, pulling her around to face him fully. They were too close, her bosom almost brushing his chest. "Are you nervous?"

"Would it be bad?" Amelia breathed. She gave her words no prior thought. They simply flew from her tongue, acting on impulse since every fiber of her being was currently on fire.

A devilish grin stretched across his face. "It intrigues me, my lady. You were quite bold in your correspondences and yet you flush when I touch you like this."

He slid an arm around her waist, pulling her against him. All the warning bells in her mind went silent. Nothing but pure need took its place, her legs suddenly weak now that she was being held.

"Your fragrance is glorious," he murmured, dipping his head closer to her.

"…And yours…is one of sin," she murmured without thought, closing her eyes as she felt his breath on her neck.

"You make me want to sin," he confessed in a low tone. One arm remained wrapped around her while his other hand kept control of her free wrist, his thumb making slow circles on her pulse. His lips brushed the side of her neck as if he was continuing to savor her scent and Amelia, to her complete surprise, tilted her head away to give him better access.

She was utterly mad. This was completely insane!

But she could not stop herself. This man was intoxicating, instilling within her something she'd never felt before.

The hand on the small of her back began to drift downward, brushing her rump. Amelia knew she should push him away, but she leaned in instead, thinking herself to be utterly insane. No matter how handsome this man was, it made no sense for a stranger to have this effect on her. Yet, when he gently grasped her rear and allowed his other hand to teasingly brush past her breasts over her gown, Amelia lost her mind.

She was panting, her body on fire. Her knees buckled a little and he chuckled as he caught her, twisting to press her firmly against the balustrade. He didn't kiss her outright, simply skimming his fingers over her collarbone in light motions that threatened to drive her insane. Amelia didn't know what to do with her hands, so she gripped the railing behind her again, trying to remember what the best thing was to do in this moment.

Ah, yes, she had to stop this.

But then his lips brushed her jaw and Amelia instinctively turned towards him, realizing she had not yet even taken a good look at this stranger. "Who are you? Let me see you," she murmured against his forehead. She hadn't a clue where these bold words came from but her mind was far too muddled to think twice about them.

He smiled. Without a word, he took a step back. "As you so desire, my lady. I have another face if that fancies you more," he purred.

Amelia was too taken by his handsomeness to even formulate a response. It was just as she'd suspected—the shadows had done very little to hide how striking he was. His sharp features, hazel eyes, pointed chin. But she was wholly unprepared for just how devilishly good-looking he would truly be.

She was so absorbed by her study of him that she didn't realize he had pulled out a mask—possibly hidden away within his coat—until he held it up to her.

Shock sliced through the heady passion that had been consuming her senses. She would recognize that mask anywhere and it sent a sliver of panic coursing through her.

The…"Masked Rogue?" she muttered.

"At your service." He swept an exaggerated bow.

Amelia hardly had any time to process what she was seeing, hardly got a chance to come to terms with just who she had allowed to embrace her.

Too many emotions swirled through her at once. Her horror grappled to overthrow her lingering need, her anger and frustration making her head grow hot. She gaped at him, finding herself utterly speechless. But what could she say? How dare you seduce me when you killed my father and ruined my life?

The door to the balcony began to open, Amelia realized. People had started arriving. And the Masked Rogue didn't notice that as of yet.

Her mind whirred as an insane plan occurred to her. All her problems—all of Dorothy's problems—were because of the man before her. She recalled her earlier thoughts, on how if she managed to find this man, she would spend her entire life bringing him to ruin.

Amelia had no hope tonight. If she was found here, any chance she had at finding a husband would be reduced to zero, while the Masked Rogue walked off free and unscathed yet again. She couldn't allow that to happen. She couldn't allow him to steal her last chance at saving Dorothy. She couldn't allow him to get away unscathed. And what better way to gain control over him, bring him to ruin, than becoming…

Her dull mind snapped back into action and the moment the door opened, the moment the first few lords and ladies stepped through, Amelia wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.

He didn't know what was happening at first. He gave in to the kiss, pressing her against the balustrade, moaning softly into her mouth. For a brief moment, Amelia forgot how insanely she'd just acted and thought only of how perfect his lips felt against hers. It was her first kiss and it was utterly, sickeningly amazing.

But then, she heard the first gasp. Then the gentleman stiffened, realizing what was happening. They had an audience.

He pulled away, staring at her in disbelief. Amelia met his eyes, not bothering to hide the fact that she'd done it on purpose. She'd wanted the guests to see them kissing, had known the damage it would do to her reputation.

But she was a desperate lady, and in that desperation, she'd taken her best chance at securing a marriage.