Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“ G oodness!” Amelia cried, startling Lionel.

“What is it?” he asked. “Is something the matter?”

They had ended their dance well, though he had not risked asking her for another, in case he stepped on her gown again and ripped more than he had already. She seemed to be dealing with the tear well enough, though, her demeanor more relaxed than it had been before the dance.

Indeed, the entire ballroom seemed to have moved onto other things, no longer interested in the Earl and Countess of Westyork.

“My friend is here!” Amelia replied with a radiant grin that had a peculiar effect upon Lionel.

He had seen her smile and laugh, but always with an air of shyness, or a fear that if she was too expressive she would somehow be punished for it. So, to see her smile without any worry at all, with such confidence and brightness, was an astonishing thing. He felt privileged to behold it.

“Your friend?” Lionel asked, schooling his voice into a casual tone.

Amelia pulled him by the arm toward a young lady, surprisingly familiar. She was the same young lady who had been with Amelia at the Assembly Rooms, who had done her best to defend Amelia from Martin’s sharp tongue.

“Valery!” Amelia gasped. “What are you doing here?”

Valery beamed from ear to ear, pulling Amelia away from Lionel and into a fierce embrace. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? You are supposed to be in the midst of your blissful honeymoon, are you not?” She cast a sly look at Lionel. “This must be your dear husband. Please, introduce me, as I had no opportunity to meet him at your wedding.”

Lionel straightened up, bristling at the woman’s veiled accusation.

But Amelia spoke before he could, coming to his defense. “Oh, that was no fault of his, dearest Valery. That was all my brother’s doing. Indeed, Lionel was as surprised as I was that I had no one there but my father and brother.”

“It is true,” Lionel said. “It was a pity she had no friends there to witness the occasion.”

Valery raised a curious eyebrow, the stern glint in her eyes mellowing somewhat. “Well then, I am even more pleased to meet you at last.” She released Amelia from her tight embrace. “I am Valeria Maxwell, but you may call me ‘Valery,’ as everyone does.”

“I could not do that,” Lionel replied stiffly. “Who is your father? What is his title? I must address you properly.”

Valery waved a dismissive hand. “I believe that being referred to by my name is being addressed properly. It is my name, is it not? It should not matter who my father is.”

A frown creased Lionel’s brow as he assessed Amelia’s friend. Of course, he was well accustomed to being around unusual women of the kind that polite society might deem eccentric or outlandish, but he did not know what to make of Valery.

“You did not tell me what brings you here,” Amelia interjected with some urgency, as if she could sense that trouble might be brewing.

Valery smiled affably at her friend. “I was forced into it. Now that you and Isolde are married, my family are getting notions.” She chuckled. “I hate to disappoint them, but I expect that I shall.”

Lionel noticed that she still would not mention who her family were, certain that it was deliberate in order to prevent him from addressing her correctly. Still, one look at Amelia’s joyful face, and the ease that had swept over her, and he could not be too annoyed with her friend.

As such, he took a step back from the conversation, allowing his wife time and relative privacy to speak to Valery as she pleased. Meanwhile, he observed, his attention flitting between his wife and the rest of the ballroom.

He marveled at Amelia’s rich laughter and her bright smiles, reminded once again that she was rather remarkable… and not at all shy, as she had claimed to be. It was merely the company she kept that brought her out of her shell, and he found himself envious, wishing that he could be the recipient of her comfortable candor and contentment.

But I must be cold and distant. I must keep her at arm’s length, when I should like nothing more than to pull her to me, holding her close. It stuck in his throat like a fishbone, and as he continued to watch the rest of the room, his irritation swelled into something altogether angrier.

There was not a single gentleman in attendance who was not staring in Amelia’s direction, and none-too-subtly either. Lionel saw their hungry eyes roving over her, noted their whispers to one another, saw the smirks and smiles, and imagined the wretched things they were thinking about his wife.

Glancing back at Amelia, his stomach twisted into knots as he noticed that her sleeve had slipped halfway down her upper arm, exposing her bare shoulder. It was the sort of oblivious reveal that artists would give everything they owned to paint, her face and manner so innocent, her gown veering into provocative.

Of course the gentlemen in the room were staring at her so ravenously.

And it is my fault. The tear he had caused had prompted the sleeve to gape, and, in her delight to see her friend, she had forgotten to clamp her arm at her side to hold it in place.

Lionel stepped forward, right between the two women, his fingertips skimming up his wife’s arm. He caught the sleeve and ran it slowly up to her shoulder, his throat tightening at the sensation of touching her warm, smooth skin.

“We should return home,” he said thickly, holding the sleeve where it was supposed to be.

Amelia peered up at him, her eyes filled with disappointment. “Now? Why must we?”

He leaned in close to her ear, whispering, “Because if we do not, I shall forget my manners and start fighting every single man who is staring at you as if they mean to steal my bride away.”

It was already taking all the willpower he possessed not to say something to those leering gentlemen, just as it was taking all of his willpower to not dip his head a little more and kiss the curve where her neck met her shoulder. That fragrance of hers had crept into his senses once more, threatening to smother his propriety.

“I… do not understand,” she said breathily.

He released the captured sleeve and let it drop again, just for a moment, to demonstrate the problem. A second later, he pushed it back up to her shoulder, but his hand continued on, his fingertips brushing against her neck and up to her face. He cradled her cheek, stroking his thumb across her pinkened cheek as she seemed to realize what was wrong.

I must kiss you. I will not be able to bear it if I do not. I must let every man here know that you are mine. His teeth grazed his lower lip as he gazed down at her, fighting hard against that overwhelming impulse to throw all caution to the wind and press his lips to hers.

Her eyes widened slightly, as though she knew what he was thinking. It was as if they were back in the moment when he had given her his mother’s necklace, but he was finding it even harder to resist kissing her.

You are in public, you fool! he scolded himself, the thought violent enough to make him step back.

He hurried to shuffle off his tailcoat, draping it around her to conceal the slipping sleeve and anything it might reveal again.

“Come. We are leaving,” he said gruffly. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Maxwell.”

He did not know if that was the appropriate address, but he no longer cared. He needed to get his wife out of there before he did something that they would both regret, when the scandal sheets gossiped voraciously about them.

“And you,” Valery replied, a thoughtful expression upon her face.

With that, Lionel steered Amelia through the ballroom and out into the hallway, guiding her in and out of the throng of guests who mingled there.

“You are not leaving, are you?” Duncan’s voice called, as the couple reached the entrance hall. “You have only just arrived.”

Lionel shot his friend a pointed look. “I need to get my wife home.”

“Well then,” Duncan replied, raising an amused eyebrow, “do not let me stop you.”

Lionel pressed on with Amelia, helping her into the waiting carriage before realizing that Caroline and Rebecca were still inside. He cursed under his breath, offering out his hand.

“We shall have to ride,” he said.

Amelia gasped. “ Ride ?”

“Yes. At once.”

“But… it is so cold, and as you keep telling me, I will not be appropriately attired,” she protested.

He clenched his jaw. “I shall ensure that you stay warm, but you will be just as cold if I leave you here in the carriage while I go and get my mother and sister. And they will argue about it for an age, meaning you get even colder as you wait.”

She hesitated, and Lionel had a feeling she was about to refuse outright, so it was a pleasant surprise when she took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the stables.

Although, as he helped her up into the saddle and climbed up behind her, he began to wonder if it would have been better to fetch his mother and sister instead.

Nothing good could come of being so close to the woman who was, quite against his will, beginning to enchant him.