To Tame a Dragon (9 page)

He laughed and she smiled at him. He looked
at her in amusement and mentally crossed off every name on the
list.

“My dear, your schemes are just as
hare-brained as mine.”

She shook her head. “Every woman on that list
would make you an excellent wife. Though you both may need to be
persuaded about it.”

He looked at the one woman he would be
willing to persuade and said, “I shall take these names into
consideration. Shall we discuss them over dinner tonight?”

“Not tonight. I am attending a
tête-à-tête with Clarice.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

“I will see if Robin is available.”

He smiled at her subterfuge. “Of course.”

He rose, bowing to her formally, a nicety
they rarely engaged in. As he left, he folded the paper she had
given him and put it in his pocket. He appreciated her attempt
to distract him, but he had already made his own list and there
was only one name on it.
Amelia
.

Amelia had not been entirely truthful about
her plans for the evening but she quickly invited Clarice for
dinner and was happy to find her free for the evening. She did
not look too closely at her reasons for avoiding Jameson; she
had spent an inordinate amount of time thinking, planning, and
scheming for him in the last few weeks. Any woman would deserve
one night free from him.

Instead, she and Clarice compared the suitors
now clamoring for Jameson’s discarded bride. Clarice had been
surprised to find her prospects of marriage not dashed
completely, but Amelia had known only too well that there was a
class of men attracted to a scandal—especially when the woman
refused to acknowledge there was a scandal in the first place.
The unanswered question of it seemed to drive some men mad.

Of course, none of those men would make
Clarice a happy union.

“Not even Mr. Snowden?”

Amelia shook her head. “You are attracted to
the flashy ones, aren’t you?”

“He is quite handsome.”

Amelia smiled. She too had thought beauty the
be-all and end-all of a prospective husband when she’d first
come out. She’d learned quickly enough that the most beautiful
men were also the most trouble.

Of course, she’d grown up with Jameson, who’d
insisted on proving her right day after day. Perhaps that had
predisposed her to an aversion to handsome men and then
the
miscreant
had finished it off.

In any case, beauty in a man put him on a
suspect list. Add in any man who thought he could fall in love
in a week’s time and that scratched him off the list entirely.
Amelia saw no reason to think Clarice deserved any less than a
not unattractive man who was slow with his emotions.

She said, “How about Mr. Stillwell? He would
make you a fine husband.”

Clarice grimaced. “He is too solicitous.
Always wondering if I am too cold or too hot.”

“Yes, I have heard many a wife complain that
her husband cared too much for her comfort. Strike him off the
list at once.”

Clarice rolled her eyes. “And he is too old.”

“And not very handsome.”

“Well... If I am to sit across the dining
table from a man for the rest of my life, shouldn’t it be a view
I admire?”

Amelia smiled. “I can not fault the logic.
However, beauty fades, as does eye sight.”

Clarice sighed. “I will strike Mr. Snowden
from my list if you strike Mr. Stillwell.”

Amelia laughed in delight. “Excellent
suggestion, my dear. Good-bye, Mr. Snowden.”

“And good-bye, Mr. Stillwell.”

They laughed. Then Amelia said, “How about
Sir James Pickering?” and Clarice groaned.

The next night brother and sister arrived at
Jameson’s for dinner. He was at his most charming and
entertaining, and Amelia was thoroughly sick of him not even
half an hour after arriving.

“You are completely soused.”

“I assure you I am not. But I am in a rather
good mood, perhaps that is what you object to.”

Robin took a sip, enjoying their play.
“What’s put you in such a good mood then? Perhaps Amelia will
allow it if she knows what has caused it.”

He had been with Jameson all day and knew
precisely why he was bursting. Robin could scarcely wait for the
fireworks himself. It had been a long time since he and Jameson
had teased Amelia; she had become exceedingly adept at turning
their fun into a thorough tongue-lashing. He had no doubt
today’s escapade would result in the same, but he would enjoy
the fun while it lasted.

Amelia looked at her brother suspiciously.
“If you insist. However I would much rather have a nice, quiet
dinner.”

Jameson said, “I have no doubt that is true.
I don’t think you will find it quite as exciting in any case. I
simply purchased some horse flesh today.”

“Is that all? It must be a potential derby
winner to have you so excited.”

“No, but she is uncommonly spirited. She
nearly bucked me twice trying her out; I knew I simply must have
her.”

Robin snorted into his glass and Amelia
looked between them for a moment.

“I’m afraid I missed the joke.”

“Robin thinks her name quite inappropriate,
but I merely named her after the most spirited female I know. It
was meant as a compliment.”

Stillness came over her. She stared at
Jameson, unblinking. He gave her his most charming smile.

“You named a horse after... me?” She could
not keep the horror off her face and Jameson laughed.

“She reminded me so of you. Quite determined
to lead me her own way. I could really name her nothing else.”

She regained her composure. “Well, I hope you
were subtle enough that I do not have to worry that one and all
know I am her namesake. I suppose I could be flattered, depending
on what you call her.”

“I call her Amelia.”

Her mouth fell open. “Amelia! No subtlety, no
allusion! Simply Amelia?”

“It suits her.”

“Jameson! You can not name a horse Amelia!
You’ll be riding in company and suddenly ‘Whoa, Amelia’ will pop
out.”

Robin snorted.

Jameson kept his face calm. “I am more
worried that ‘Whoa, Amelia’ will pop out when I’m speaking to
you. That would be quite a bit more embarrassing. For you, I
would imagine. I can’t see the horse being all that upset at the
confusion.”

Robin lost all control and sat there
laughing, his breath wheezing in and out. Amelia transferred her
horror to him. If her own brother thought this was hilarious,
what would everyone else think? Amelia did not consider herself
overly concerned with society’s opinion; she would have faltered
a long time ago if she cared overmuch what anyone privately
thought of her. But this! This was too much, even for Jameson.

She paused, thinking it through. It
was
too much. Even Jameson himself couldn’t name a horse after a
woman. She held a hand to her chest and relief whooshed out of
her in a long breath. “Oh, this is a joke. Ha ha. Yes, you had
me going there.”

She eyed her brother, who now sat slumped
gasping for air, and pursed her lips. She looked at Jameson.
“What did you really name her then?”

His eyes twinkled and he smiled. “Amelia.”

Robin had been correct. The rest of the
evening was filled with long-winded lectures and harsh
criticisms of both men’s parentage and mental capacities. Yet
neither could quite get the laugh off their face and thought the
evening well worth the price.

Another night, another ball. Amelia had lost
count of the events she had been forced to attend this season;
not even her first year had been quite so much work. Last night
she had attended a smallish dinner party with Clarice, where the
girl had endeavored to convince both Misters Snowden and
Stillwell that their efforts were better spent elsewhere. And
she had done it with grace and tact, something Amelia had
watched with surprised interest. The more time she spent with
Clarice the more she thought the girl would indeed make someone
a very fine wife. As long as the gentleman was of the refined
sort and had some power to back up Clarice’s grace and tact.
Both Misters Snowden and Stillwell had seemed inclined to ignore
Clarice’s rebuffs until Amelia let them know their intentions
were now unwelcome.

Grace and tact were all well and good, but
Amelia had always preferred to get the job done quickly when the
time for play was done.

The most
unrefined
gentleman still in
the good graces of the
ton
made his way to her side,
offering a drink.

“I’m not speaking with you.”

“Come, don’t be a spoilsport. You tried your
damnedest last night to get me to change the name. You know I won’t. I
enjoy steering you, or at least your namesake, around for once.”

“It is improper!”

His eyes twinkled and he whispered, “Oh, I do
know that.”

“You are the most... I can not fathom...”

Words failed her and she let out a small
growl. He simply smiled wider and once again offered her the
drink.

“Drink up, my dear. It seems your throat is a
little parched.”

“That is not punch.”

He looked down, as if in surprise. “Hmm? Oh,
you looked a little tired. Thought you might need something a
little stronger.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Jameson?”

He held an offended hand to his chest. “Get
you drunk? My dear Amelia, you simply looked thirsty.”

“You’re making me very nervous. Please go
away and bother someone else.”

He leaned toward her, pressing the glass into
her hand. “I’m glad I’m making you nervous.”

She watched him walk away and shook her head.
How many more months of this was she to bear? Perhaps if she got
Clarice married off before the end of the season she could
escape to the country early. She was in desperate need of some
peace and quiet.

The reason she was in such desperate need of
peace and quiet left her alone for scarcely half an hour before
he was back bothering her again.

He bowed, his hand held out to her. “I
believe this dance is mine.”

She sighed and placed her hand in his,
allowing him to lead her onto the floor. “Did you have to choose
a waltz?”

“I believe I did. My hope is to one day
complete a whole dance without a tug-of-war ensuing. I think it
unlikely, but I’m willing to keep trying.”

“Perhaps the fault lies not with me but with
my partners.”

Jameson nodded, looking thoughtful. “What
you’re saying is none of your dance partners has mastered the
art well enough and you are simply trying to instruct.”

“Something of the sort. Should I be expected
to follow someone’s lead in a dance, no matter his
rhythm or technique?”

“Of course not, my dear, although I would
assert that most women
do
.”

She sniffed. “I can not help it if my sex has
lower standards than I.”

“I would also assert that the point of the
dance is not always mastery but enjoyment, social interaction, even
seduction.”