The Earl Who Loved Me (Tales From Seldon Park: The Short Stories Book 1) Read online

  Then, David turned and smiled at Amelia and she wanted to sink into the floor, praying a hole would suddenly open up beneath her and whisk her away to parts unknown. All he had done was make things worse for her, even though he could not have known it. Lydia was not stupid and was watching the exchange with a keen eye.

  It was also clear that David expected Amelia to say something, but she was silent now, her earlier outburst draining what was left of her dwindling courage, though a flicker of her earlier rage still burned hot inside of her. Heaven forgive her if she opened her mouth and said precisely what she was thinking.

  Instead of replying, Amelia simply took the book, which David was now holding out to her, silently and nodded in thanks. She was known to be shy, after all. Such reticence was to be expected of her, which was a good thing because had she spoken, she did not know if she could keep a civil tongue in her head.

  "I am perfectly safe with you, my lord," Lydia tried again when the attention had turned away from her, but she also soon realized that the earl would not capitulate on this point. "Still, if you insist, I will go now. But I will save you a dance tomorrow night, perhaps the first waltz, and we can discuss how very, very safe I feel when I am in your presence."

  When he merely glared at her in response, Lydia sighed, knowing full well she had been thwarted in her attempt to snare the earl this night, and was in danger of angering him to the point where she would no longer be in his favor. After a brief curtsey, she meekly followed the Markham woman down the corridor, though Amelia was certain it was all an act. To Lydia's credit, however, she only glanced back once to glare at where Amelia and David still stood.

  "Well that was unpleasant," he intoned dryly when Lydia was well out of sight. "I absolutely detest that woman." Then he shivered for good measure. "She gives me the very chills just thinking about falling into her clutches." Then he peered down at Amelia who was still clutching the book he had returned to her. "But are you well, my lady? You have not said a word since your, ah, outburst earlier." The sparkle in his eyes let her know that he had been pleased that she had spoken up and was not in the least angry with her.

  Still, Amelia held her tongue, frightened of what she might say if she spoke, unwilling to allow David to see any further inside of her soul or provide him with a peek at her desires. For then he would know the awful truth, the one that would cost her his friendship forever.

  My lady. Those two words could make her very insides shiver, but he did not mean them. At least not in the manner that she wished he did. Better to play the mouse than the lioness at the moment, she decided. He was familiar with both parts of her, certainly, but if she allowed the lioness out right at this moment, she was afraid that she would come to regret it.

  "Merely a megrim," she lied softly, but it was only a little lie. Her head did hurt, though decidedly less now than it had earlier, the lack of the cloying lilac scent in the hallway helping immeasurably. Now that she had vented her anger, she discovered that had helped her head as well. "It is nothing, my lord. Honestly, I am well."

  The look on the earl's face, however, indicated that he did not believe her. "I can summon a physician, if you wish, Ame...my lady." Then he cleared his throat and looked away from her, as if that could some how hide the fact that he had almost used her Christian name, something he had not done in years. "Or rather one of my staff can." He gestured behind him, and Amelia noticed that at some point Tivens, the Weatherby family's long-time butler had appeared as if by magic. The man was so positively silent in his every move, that often times when they were children, she had wondered if he was real or merely a ghost.

  "If you are unwell, my lady, I can send for Dr. Tewksbury in the village," Tivens said solemnly, his glance flickering between the two of them and their close proximity to one another, obviously noting that David stood far closer to Amelia than was strictly proper. "He is not so fine as a London physician, perhaps, but he is good at his job none the less."

  Shaking her head, Amelia held up her hand in protest, making certain to keep her voice soft. "Really. I am fine." Then she clutched the book to her chest like a shield. "I simply do not care for parlor games. They are..." She trailed off, searching for the right word. "...tiresome," she finally finished, biting her lower lip for good measure. "Especially as I do not care for crowds or grasping fortune-hunting men who see my dowry and not me. And there are plenty of those in attendance here, unfortunately."

  Then she winced, realizing what she had just said. Apparently she could not hold her tongue tonight no matter how she tried. She wanted to blame the late hour but the truth was, whenever she was around the earl for any length of time, she found herself slipping back into old habits from childhood, including freely speaking her mind. She needed to control that urge and she well knew it. If they were in London, she would be a scandal by now.

  "The men I cannot control, unfortunately. Many of them came at my uncle's invitation, and I am so very sorry for that. Had it been up to me, I would not have invited those who are known rakes and fortune hunters. I understand what it is like to be seen for what you can offer financially rather than who you are." David did look rather contrite and he glanced away, obviously sharing Amelia's pain in that regard.

  She shook her head, not wanting him to feel any worse than he already did. "It is not your fault, and I have become rather skilled at avoiding those sorts of men." She had years of practice acquiring that skill, unfortunately.

  "Still, you should not have to do so. Not in my home." His voice was hard and laced with a touch of anger, which made her love him all the more.

  "That is the way of our world." She offered him a shrug, downplaying the hurt inside of her borne of years of being viewed as little more than a way to her father's purse strings. "There is much about it I do not care for but have learned to endure, at least in small doses. Like parlor games."

  "You know my feelings on parlor games," David sighed as he offered her his arm, which she had no choice but to take or else risk looking like an ungrateful guest. "However, when your guests, or rather one guest in particular, wishes to play them, as host, you have no choice but to participate. Though really, I would much prefer doing the estate accounts and you know how much I loathe those."

  That made her laugh, the pain in her head easing further, and David smiled at her. "Ah. There is my old friend, Lady Amelia. I knew you were in there somewhere."

  "I just... That is to say... I only..." Amelia struggled for the right and proper words, but what could she say? That she truly believed that Lady Lydia was evil? That she wished the woman to perdition? That she was tired of being pursued by rakes and fortune hunters? That she wanted David to kiss her? More over that she wanted to see him naked?

  "Shhh." He placed a finger to her lips, shocking her with his boldness. "I understand. Truly, I do. And you know me better than anyone else. Do you honestly think I would be so foolish as to fall for that woman's ploys? I know she means to trap me into marriage. I am no fool." Then he grinned. "Besides, I would rather put out my eyes than be married to that chit."

  This time, Amelia could not help herself. She laughed, a dry and hollow sound that came from years of disuse. For she was far too serious to laugh at much and had not done so in years. In fact, the last time she could remember laughing was with David over something ridiculous he had said.

  "There's my girl," he teased, his green-brown eyes dancing merrily and Amelia felt her heart being swept away, foolish thing that she was. "Now, do you really have a megrim or will you walk with me for a bit?"

  She should say yes - to the first question anyway. She should tell him that her head ached horribly and that she wished to rest. Instead, for once her heart silenced her brain and Amelia smiled at the earl, allowing her true self to show through. "My head is better, my lord. Being in the clearer air, I suppose. I would be delighted to walk with you."

  That was a bigger lie than the one she had told earlier. Delighted did not even begin to describe how she felt ab
out strolling the corridors of Weatherby Hall with David at her side.

  Together they set off down the hall and away from the staircase leading to the upper floors. Away from the ballroom and the party and the parlor games. Away from the other guests into the currently unoccupied part of the hall.

  Amelia knew she should protest or, at the very least, say that she had changed her mind and no longer wished to walk. She should also insist that Tivens accompany them on this little stroll. But she did not. Instead, she allowed the Earl of Weatherby to lead her where he wished, never uttering a single protest, his faithful butler disappearing into the darkness as silently as he had appeared. For she was enjoying her time with David far too much to complain, and these moments would come to an abrupt end when he married - which was likely to be far sooner than she had anticipated, at least if the rumors were true. Which they likely were.

  All she had to do now was remember to keep her true feelings to herself. That should not be so difficult. Should it?

  Chapter Two

  David Rutledge, the infamous Earl of Weatherby, was in somewhat of a quandary. Specifically, he had no idea how to capture the heart of the one woman of the ton who did not seem to want him. Or was at least pretending not to want him. For a man who had made dodging the matchmaking mamas of Society something of an art, that was a concept he was entirely unfamiliar with.

  Most of the women he encountered seemed to want him, some to the point of distraction, and he didn't think he was boasting. They wanted him as a lover, a protector, a debaucher, a seducer, or a husband, depending on the woman.

  Yet this particular woman, the only one he himself had ever wanted, did not seem to want him. It was peculiar, it was maddening, and, deuce take it, it was annoying as hell.

  He had known Amelia Banbrook since the time they were children. She had been both a friend an annoyance over the years, but never had he considered her marriageable material. She was a fine woman and they rubbed along well enough, but, well, he simply did not desire her as a man should desire his wife. She was simply there. Always. A part of his life that he could somehow not live without, yet did not desire to have to wife.

  David did not remember much about his parents' marriage but from the stories his Uncle James had told him, theirs had been a true love match. That kind of marriage was what David wanted for himself, though he held out little hope of finding such a rare gift when the eligible young debutantes who flocked to him saw little more than his title, his estates, and his bank accounts - all of which were considerable. The only woman who did not see him as a prize to be won on the marriage mart was Amelia, and he hadn't even the slightest notion of marrying her. They very idea was preposterous, really.

  Then, one lovely evening several months ago, all of that had changed when David had found himself at the wedding celebration of one Lord Gibson Blackwell and his lovely bride, Lady Amy Cheltenham. It had been the wedding of the season and the revelry had gone on for hours, making him far more relaxed in society than he normally was. And far less vigilant with his heart and his body.

  After some alcoholic refreshment, he had returned to the ballroom, only to see his old friend Amelia being passed over yet again by the men of the ton, her seat among the wallflowers the same one she had occupied all evening. The entire, damnable evening.

  What was wrong with them, he had wondered as he had asked Lady Amelia to dance, more out of consideration for an old friend than anything else. Did they not see that she was a fine woman who would make some man a wonderful wife? Did they not see that she had a keen intellect and a generous soul? Did they not notice that, while not conventionally beautiful, she was still very pretty and had lush curves that any man would desire?

  Then, David had touched her as they prepared to waltz and something inside of him had shifted in an instant. It was monumental, and yet Amelia seemed to be completely unaware of how her simple, delicate touch had titled his entire world off its axis. A world that he suspected would never be quite right ever again.

  She had been lovely that night in a light lavender gown that had set her cheeks to glowing, her blonde hair, more champagne-colored that the preferred golden blonde of the moment, swept up into an elegant knot and a necklace with a single pearl at her throat. Then he had placed his hands on her and something akin to lightning had shot through him, making his heart speed up and his head become all muddled.

  In the space of a single second, it seemed, Amelia Banbrook had gone from merely his acquaintance to a woman he desired - rather a lot. A woman he found beautiful and spirited and charming. A woman he wanted in his bed. And there was no logical reason for it to have happened. Moreover, it terrified him beyond all rational thought.

  In fact, David had spent the remainder of the season fighting his attraction to his lovely neighbor but in the end, Cupid's arrow seemed to have hit him soundly over the head. He was in love with Amelia. He wanted to marry her. However, she gave no indication that she would have him or that she was even interested.

  Instead, she went about as she always had - meek and mild, save for the rare occasion when her temper flared and she allowed a flash of her true self to shine though, just as it had tonight. It was more than enough to keep him interested in the enigma that was his long-time friend.

  His infatuation with her had persisted all through the Little Season as well, and he was quickly despairing of ever winning her heart. After all, she thought he was merely being a considerate, if not overly solicitous, friend. He, however, knew that he had never wanted to strip away the gown from one his friends the way he wanted to remove Amelia's.

  One night at a ball a week or so before the elite of London were set to decamp for the country, however, David had seen a crack in Amelia's seemingly indifferent façade. He had asked her to dance - again - and this time, there was a tremor in her hands that had not been there before and a quickness in her breath that she could not hide. Or perhaps they had been and he was too mutton-headed - or at the very least distracted by wanting her - to have noticed them.

  That night, however, she was clearly well aware of him as a man. And not just a man but a virile man who desired her. Her pulse beat rapidly in her throat. Her breath hitched in her chest. She was nervous and flighty and all of the things that, in general, Amelia was not. And she looked at him as if she wanted to see exactly what was under his waistcoat. Which was perfect because he desired to see what lay beneath her corset and chemise.

  In that moment, he knew that he was not alone in his feelings, but he also knew that Amelia, having been overlooked for so long and chased after merely for her dowry was beyond skittish, not to mention distrustful of men in general. She wouldn't believe him to be after her dowry, of course. She knew him too well for that. But she would think that he was proposing marriage to her out of pity or some sense of misguided friendship, given her age and his desire for an heir, something he had perhaps spoken about with far too much frequency in recent months.

  Knowing Amelia as he did, she would believe that he was doing them both a favor, that he wanted her for her bloodlines, which were almost bluer than Prinny's, and not much else. She valued herself so little that she could not imagine a man like David wanting her for herself or being in love with her.

  But he was.

  He also knew that he could go directly to her father and beg for Amelia's hand, but then, that would not solve the problem either. She would still feel as if he was pitying her or offering for her simply because no one else ever would - which might be true but not in David's case. Instead, he had to convince her that his feelings were real and true, that he genuinely cared for her. Cared enough that he had procured a special license before he had departed London for the country. Yet he saw no way to go about it that would not frighten her. Or worse, make her despise him.

  On the carriage ride to Weatherby Hall, however, inspiration struck. He would throw a house party for Twelfth Night, which was Amelia's favorite time of the year. Once beneath his roof for the duration of the
season, he would woo her, seduce her and, in general, win her heart. He would prove his love to her and there would be no question in her mind when he proposed marriage. She would know he truly cared for her.

  His plan would have worked splendidly, if not for two very important things. One was his Uncle James who, eager to see his nephew wed, had invited Lady Lydia and her family, not realizing that the clawing chit was only after David's title and fortune and that David had already rejected her advances over the course of the Season. The other was that Amelia, the one woman he wished to seduce, had done everything in her power to avoid him. Not that his constant dodging of Lydia had helped matters any.

  Tonight he had noticed Amelia slip out of the ballroom, as silent as the mouse she often pretended to be, never taking her eyes from where Lady Lydia's hand rested on his arm. That was when he saw it, the single emotion burning brightly inside of Amelia's china blue eyes that gave him hope.

  She was jealous. It was plainly written all over her face and his heart had cheered at the idea. Then, his head had gotten the brilliant idea to follow her and he had, excusing himself from Lydia's grasping touch. He, however, had taken a circuitous route in seeking out Amelia, not wanting to incite gossip. Lydia, once she realized that she no longer had David's complete attention - and not that she ever truly had it for he found her extremely dull - had taken the more direct approach, somehow knowing precisely where he was going. Unfortunately, she had beaten him to his destination and was bent on wreaking as much havoc as possible, knowing she was unlikely to get her way where his affections were concerned.

  When he had heard Lydia berating Amelia and flinging those awful accusations at the woman he cared for, he had sent Tivens in search of Miss Markham who currently served as governess to Uncle James' young daughter. The governess had arrived posthaste, but not before Lydia had been unspeakably rude. When she had gone so far as to knock the book out of Amelia's hands, David knew he had to intervene.