Scandalous Endeavors (Ladies and Scoundrels Book 1) (10 page)

The Marquess and Marchioness of Havenshire entered the townhouse, followed by Lady Sarah and Lord Roseington. Several other fashionable lords and ladies filed in behind the Marquess’s family. She could not help thinking she must appear positively frightful to them clad in her mourning garb, like an apparition here to suck all the life from the party. Forcing a weak smile back onto her face, she curtsied, greeting the guests one by one, but her heart was not in it.

With all of the guests properly received, Grace and the duke joined them in the parlor. Amelia desired to get away from his grace and the other guests so she could regain her focus. She could not afford to be distracted tonight. The plan must be her top priority. With Grace’s permission, she returned to her room with a feigned headache. She needed to regroup before mealtime.

Headache indeed, more like body ache. She had to find a way to avoid the duke. How could her body want a man whom her mind despised? It made no sense at all. Perhaps she was fooling herself. What if she did fancy him? It mattered not--he was from Scotland, and she was in need of an English husband. Besides, he made it clear he did not care for her. Not in a romantic way. If he did, he would not have cast her aside so easily. He would not have left her wanting more without so much as a word spoken from his rakish mouth.

Lying back on her bed, she closed her eyes.
Lord please let everything work out.
Soon, it would be time to rejoin the party, and shortly thereafter she would again attempt to compromise herself with Lord Roseington.

She got out of bed and sauntered to the vanity. The soft carpet padded her steps. Sitting down, Amelia studied her reflection. She had become ghastly pale and strands of hair dangled out of her chignon. Masterfully, she tucked the tresses back into place and pinched some color into her cheeks.

If not for the dreadful mourning garb, she would be attractive. Perhaps the drab gowns were what sent the duke running from her? She moved her hand to her chest and danced her fingers across the crape lining her collar. The dress would be more bearable to wear without the depressing embellishment. With a tight grasp she pulled until it ripped free from the gown. Her door opened and she jumped from the seat, dropping the crape in the process.

“My Lady, her grace sent me to retrieve you for meal time,” Edna said, eyeing her in a suspicious way. “What folly have you engaged in?”

“Nothing is amiss, Edna. I simply fixed my hair after taking a little rest. I am ready now.”

“Good heavens child, what happened to your gown?”

Amelia drew her brows together as she studied her ladies maid. “I have removed the crape is all. It’s time I go without it.”

“You will do no such thing. It is not proper. You have not been in mourning long enough to remove it.” Edna pulled a fresh gown from her wardrobe. “Come, let’s get you changed.”

Amelia’s face flushed. “I will do no such thing.” She fled the room, leaving Edna to stare after her. She did not care what anyone thought. Another crape-trimmed gown would not grace her body for as long as she lived. It proved to be as uncomfortable as it was hideous, and made everyone gaze at her with expectant stares. They all waited for her to come apart and make a spectacle. Just as they had at Papa’s funeral. She would stand for it no longer. Her grief belonged to her, not the ton.

She sailed into the dining hall without pause, and took her seat to the right of Grace. Exhaling a deep breath, her gaze caught the dukes. Of course, he would be seated across from her on Grace’s left; she should have foreseen it. Could this night get any more difficult? She forced a mask of delight onto her face and nodded a greeting. He winked, sending her body into turmoil. Heat crept across her face as she tore her eyes from his. Why did he keep doing such salacious things when he clearly did not want her?

“Have you recovered, dear?” Grace asked.

“Indeed I have, thank you, Duchess.” Amelia smiled at her. “It is a small blessing as I would have detested missing such a sumptuous meal.”

A chorus of laughter filled the room as servers set out the first course. She hadn’t embellished. The food did appear splendid. Unfortunately, she could hardly stomach a bite. If the duke’s scandalous staring were not unsettling enough, she also had the knowledge and all that came with it of what she would soon be doing.

The meal passed by, and despite her discomfort, she managed to find some enjoyment in small talk. All the same, she took delight in seeing it end. She wished to get on with her plan. Failure was not an option. She needed to get Lord Roseington alone and place herself within his arms for the guests to see.

Amelia went with the ladies into the drawing room while the duke took the men to the smoking room for drinks and cigars. She had no desire to waste precious time listening to the ladies exchange gossip. Alas, she plastered on a fake smile and nodded politely as the conversation ensued.

“Amelia, you look positively exhausted.” Lady Sarah smirked mischievously.

“I am afraid the party has been a mite too exciting for me.” She glanced at the ladies near them. “Perhaps I should bid my adieu.”

“Indeed you should. The last thing any of us wants is to have you fall ill from exhaustion.”

Lady Beatrice added, “You poor dear, it is no wonder you would be worn down. Why just to think about what you have been through these last months. It is a wonder you are holding up so well.”

“It has been a trial. Please excuse me, ladies.” Amelia curtsied before she took her leave.

* * * *

Crouching behind an ornate hand-carved bench in the entryway, Amelia watched for Lord Roseington to exit the smoking room. She had to steer him into a vacant room, throw herself into his arms, and make a great racket.

What if he did not come out alone? She had not considered the possibility. Her heart rate soared. She was running out of time. Failing again was not an option.

Raised voices attracted her scrutiny. They carried to her from the smoking room, but she could not make out what was being said. Then the door swung open and Lord Roseington exited the room. Alone.

She held her breath as she watched to make sure no one followed him. After a moment confidence swelled within her and she emerged from her hiding place. She straightened to her full height, and stretched her stiff muscles. With a shudder of anxiety she stepped out into the hall, and crept stealthily after Lord Roseington.

Near enough to touch him, she reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him into the library.

“What are you doing, Amelia?”

Good question. How should she answer it?
Think, think, think!

“I simply must talk to you, Lord Roseington.” She bowed her head and hoped the correct words would come to her.

“Well, you have my attention, please go on.” He gazed at her encouragingly.

She turned, walking toward the hearth, trying to find her words. The fire dancing within it sparked an idea. She turned back to him with forced tears in her eyes.

“It is just...”

Frowning, he moved closer to her. She lowered her head, focusing on sad things--visions flooded her mind, causing the tears to flow more freely. Lord Roseington reached out, placing his hand under her chin and guided her head up. They stared into each other’s eyes. She found herself wishing she gazed into the Duke of Goldstone’s sapphire ones instead.

“My dear, Lady Amelia, please do not cry. I have little idea what to do with a weeping woman.” The corner of his lips tilted up in a lopsided grin.

She directed her gaze toward the floor and wept more loudly. “I am so lonely and scared. I do not know what to do anymore. I feel so lost. How will I go on without Papa? What will become of me? I have no one.” She got the words out in between sobs. The honesty behind them increased her sobs and a lump formed in her throat.

“Surely it is not as bad as all that. You have your uncle, the duchess, and Lady Sarah, as well as countless other friends.” He smiled and removed his hand from under her chin. “Let me go fetch the duchess or Lady Sarah for you. It is not proper for me to be alone with you, and I truly am not equipped to assist you.”

She panicked as he turned to leave and did the only thing that came to mind, backing close enough to the fireplace for the flames to catch her skirts. “I am on fire!” she yelled as she spun around.

Lord Roseington rushed to her side, grabbing a pillow from the chaise as he ran past it. He dropped to his knees, and began swatting at the flames as she feigned panic in hopes of drawing a crowd. When she saw the last bit of flame disappear, she crumpled, landing solidly on his bent knees, sending them both to the floor. She flung her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck. “You saved me. I was so frightened. Thank you.” She enunciated every word in as loud a tone as she could muster.

Lord Roseington wrapped his arms around her and stood up, setting her on her feet. “Everything is okay now.” He reached up and removed her arms from around him, then took a step back. “We must stop winding up in these situations before we cause a scandal.”

She looked at him through hooded eyes. “It is a wonder we have not already.”

A man cleared his voice behind her, causing her heart to skip a bet. The duke! “Your Grace, you must not trouble yourself with keeping our secret.”

“What she means to say is there is no secret to be kept. She carelessly got close enough to the hearth to catch her skirts ablaze. I could not very well let her burn.”

“No, Roseington, you were obliged to help. I am glad to know you were not taking advantage of our dear Lady Amelia.” He glanced at her and flashed a rakish smirk. “Indeed, you are a hero. Let us go share the story while she changes her charred gown.”

She peered at him as she fought the urge to strike him. His grin only deepened, increasing her ire. “Don’t you dare tell a soul. I would most definitely perish from the embarrassment.” Amelia spat the words out with anger and annoyance. How dare he ruin everything for a second time, and then jest about sharing her humiliation. If he were not Scottish, she would trap him instead. That would teach him a lesson.

“Do not worry your head over it, Lady Amelia. We will not breathe a word of this little mishap. Right, Goldstone?” Lord Roseington said.

“Of course not. All of your secrets are safe with me.” The duke winked.

She blushed at what he implied. “Thank you. Now that it is settled I am going to retire for the evening. Enjoy the rest of the party. Lord Roseington, Your Grace.” She inclined her head to them before speeding from the room. The duke’s laughter chased her down the hall as she fled.
So glad to have amused you, Your Grace!

* * * *

After leaving Roseington in the gaming room, Richard sought out his aunt. He failed to find her in the parlor, or anywhere else that guests roamed. She must have gone to check on Lady Amelia. He turned toward the stairs leading to the bedchambers above.

The idea of Lady Amelia and Roseington being lovers nagged at the back of his mind as he climbed them, his hand skimming the banister. Her reaction to him in the library played through his thoughts. She had behaved like an experienced woman, but her gaze held the look of an innocent.

Perhaps if she were involved in a romantic assignation with Roseington he could get her off his mind. The last thing he desired was the complications brought by a woman. All the same he longed to make her his. Her behavior intrigued him as much as her beautiful face. One moment she was offering herself up to him, and the next ordering him away or peering at him in anger. He still believed her to be playing some sort of game. She had to be, nothing else made sense. But what was it and why? He had to know.

Before he could announce his presence outside of Lady Amelia’s room her sweet voice drifted into the hall.

“He ruined my plan again. What am I to do now?”

“There is nothing for it but to try again or give into your uncle’s wishes.” Aunt Grace answered her.

“I will never go to America. I cannot.”

His gut knotted. He had heard enough to know she was attempting to snare Roseington. He fought the urge to enter her room as he listed to the ladies.

“Perhaps the plan keeps failing because you are meant for another.”

Disdain dripped from Lady Amelia’s voice. “I would never marry an American. Only an English lord will do for me.”

He left the way he had come with a new found heaviness to his heart. Lady Amelia was no better than all those husband hunting mamas and scheming debutante’s back in Scotland. It was for the best he found out. Now he could be done with her for he would never become involved with another lady like Ophelia.