Waltzing With the Wallflower (8 page)

Well, let’s see. A lifetime spent looking at the mirror image of the man she truly loved. Bad? No. It sounded more like the seventh circle of Hell.

“Anthony,” she peered up at him. “I do adore you. You always make me laugh, and I can be myself around you… but I don’t think I could. I mean, you look… you would—”

“Remind you of him?”

With a sigh, she nodded.

“Hmmm… I’d wager a kiss from me would change your mind.” He winked and a hint of mischief twinkled in his eyes. “You know I am the better of the two of us… at many things.”

Her eyes widened as his words sunk in. She swatted at him again with her reticule. “Anthony! Really.” The heat crawled up her neck and into her face, spreading to her ears.

“Now
that
was a jest… sort of.” His wide grin remained as he took her hand once more. “My proposal stands, my lady. Please. Consider it.”

She would have to consider it. She had no other choice.

As he bowed over her hand to brush a light kiss on her gloved fingers, he added, “Even as simply an alternative to perpetual virginity.”

An involuntary blast of laughter forced its way through her throat, and when she tried to fight it, the result was a resounding snort. Which in turn, set them both to laughing. Cordelia fell against Anthony’s chest in hysterics. He wrapped his arms around her and shared in her amusement.

That is where they stood when Ambrose’s deep voice broke through, obliterating their momentary delight.

“I see you didn’t waste any time.”

Cordelia jolted and stepped away from Anthony. Ambrose’s eyes appeared to be on fire. His jaw clenched, and his fists tensed at his sides. He lifted his right hand and extended his finger towards his brother. Through his gritted teeth, Ambrose hissed, “Pistols. Tomorrow.” Then he spun on his heel and stormed into the darkness.

Chapter Nine

And now back to

The Duel…

“Do your worst?” Anthony repeated. Ambrose was drunk enough to realize he wasn’t quite sure on his feet. He leaned heavily on Wilde as he managed to look his brother straight in the eye.

“I believe that’s what I said, is it not Wilde?” He leaned against his friend who acted as his crutch.

“Right,” Wilde agreed, shaking his head towards the floor.

“Ah, yes. It’s settled. Shall we be off then? To the duel?” Ambrose lifted his arm in the air and took a shaky step but tripped over his feet, nearly landing him on the next table. “Apologies. It seems I’ve had too much to drink.”

“You can’t be serious. You cannot do this—look at him!” Wilde gave Ambrose a small shove, causing the lush to stumble again.

Anthony shrugged. “The way I see it, he won’t even feel the bullet as it tears through his drunken body.”

Wilde swore. “Both of you are completely mad, and I refuse to have any part of this! You started the bet, Anthony, so finish it, preferably without killing your other half.”

Ambrose took the opportunity at hand to nod his head in agreement, as it was suddenly throbbing. The profound idea he had the night before of numbing the pain through strong drink now seemed the stupidest notion he had ever entertained. Well, that and refusing to tell Cordelia how he felt.

Unfortunately, Ambrose knew himself to be the type of drunk that blurted out his feelings. He wasn’t, to his dismay, the type of man who became aggressive and fine-tuned in battle when so deep in his cups. No, instead he felt the sudden urge to march down to Cordelia’s townhome and propose marriage whilst singing love songs on her doorstep and quoting Byron.

“I love her,” he blurted, though his words slurred and his tongue felt thick and sluggish. “And because of that love I’ll defend her honor. It will be a cold day in Hell before I allow my brother to marry the one woman I can’t live without!”

“Poetic,” Anthony grumbled.

“He’s foxed,” Wilde argued.

“It was quite a nice speech for being so drunk,” the proprietor chimed in. It was then that Ambrose noticed every man in the room was privy to their conversation.

“Shall we?” He motioned towards the door, partially because he needed their aid in order to escape without falling on his face.

Anthony cursed and helped Wilde carry him out. Ambrose’s legs felt like lead, and by the time they reached the doors to the outside his head felt like it might roll right off his shoulders. Morning sunlight broke through the door as Wilde pushed it open.

Ambrose cursed, wanting nothing more than to shake his fist at the sky and pray for darkness. His headache went from bad to worse as they traveled to his townhome.

Three hours later, he was feeling much more sober thanks to Wilde’s special concoction, which had Ambrose never wanting to see another tomato again.

“I believe he’s ready,” Wilde announced, pouncing into his bedroom and opening the curtains.

“I despise you.” Ambrose threw the blankets over his head.

“I saved your good-for-nothing life!” Wilde yelled.

Anthony strolled in. “So, is the drunk alive?”

“Barely,” Ambrose groaned. His brain slowly came into focus—the drinking all night, the finally wanting his fate to be sealed with his brother ending his life, and his misery of losing Cordelia.

“Cordelia,” he said. “I have to see her.”

“That’s the spirit.” Anthony laughed. “Shall I ring for your valet?”

“Brilliant. But perhaps you can ring
outside
the door.”

It was exactly four hours, thirty minutes, and twenty-eight seconds later that Ambrose found himself on the front steps of Cordelia’s townhome.

His palms hadn’t sweated this much since his first kiss with the servant girl on his family estates. He was one and four at that time, and his voice squeaked when the kiss ended.

“Bloody, bloody, hel—lo!” he finished, saving himself from cursing in front of the butler, who was now staring him down with an impassive eye.

“Lord Hawthorne to see Lady Cordelia.” He handed over his card and waited. The butler allowed him entry. His mouth went dry as his brain ran over all the possible things that could go horribly wrong.

Suffice it to say, he was not at all confident when Cordelia strolled into the room with a grip on her dress like a vice. He wondered if she envisioned strangling him like she was her dress.

“Cordelia.” It felt good to say her name, but stringing words into complete sentences didn’t seem possible at the moment. He could do nothing but stare, allowing his gaze to fully appreciate the woman in front of him.

“My lord. You aren’t dead.” Was it him, or did she sound disappointed?

“Are you terribly upset that I still live and breathe?”

Cordelia looked away, her lower lip quivering. “That’s a horrid thing to say, and you know it.”

“It seems I’ve been saying lots of horrid things lately.”

She swallowed, still looking away. Her silence hung on him like a millstone around his neck, and he struggled to continue. “I came to speak with you about something of great importance.”

“Oh?” Cordelia looked at him. “And what is that, Ambrose?”

He sighed. “There is the matter of my heart.”

Cordelia looked away again. “Well?”

Apparently she wanted him to get on with it. “You see. My heart, it seems, is lost.”

“I’m sure you can locate it if you search hard enough, my lord.”

Ouch.

“Therein lies the problem, Cordelia. One cannot go in search of something one never truly had in the first place.” He knelt in front of her and took a delicate hand into his possession. “I believe you can help me. You were the first to hold it, as well as the last. However, I am not here to retrieve it, but to offer you a humble apology for being so careless with yours.”

“Mine?” her voice shook. Her gaze captured his.

“Yes. You see, I practically threw my heart at you, asking—nay,
begging
for yours in return, and when you gave me your most precious possession, I spurned it at the first opportunity. And for that I will always be sorry. So I ask you keep my heart for the pain I’ve caused yours. I love you, Cordelia. I wish that were enough to keep you, but I see you for the woman you are. A woman who deserves a man who will nurture and provide for her, who will protect her when people slander her, a man who will—”

“Oh, stop already!” Cordelia pulled Ambrose to his feet and before he could protest, kissed him full on the mouth. “I love you… I love you.” She kissed his lips and neck, and Ambrose found he wasn’t quite in the mood to control himself either. And considering he had such a close brush with death earlier in the day, it wasn’t quite fair to point fingers. Frankly, his sluggish mind conjured up the idea that he was still somewhat foxed.

Never one to turn down an opportunity, he picked her up in his arms and laid her across the couch, covering her body with his own. Drinking in the taste of the woman he didn’t think would ever forgive him for his stupidity.

“We will be discovered,” Cordelia said between kisses and sighs.

“Oh, I hope so.” He bit her lower lip and opened her mouth, tangling his tongue with hers.

“Heavens!” Lady Trowbridge gasped at the spectacle in front of her. Ambrose could only smile smugly as Cordelia blushed to the roots of her hair.

“Yes,” Ambrose helped himself off the girl he was accosting and nodded. “We shall be married immediately.”

Lady Trowbridge opened her mouth to speak, but before anything was uttered, her eyes rolled back, and she hit the floor. Ambrose did have half a mind to catch her but was too stunned and amused, and as he realized earlier, still somewhat drunk.

“Will you?” he whispered, kissing Cordelia’s cheek.

“It appears I have no choice.” She giggled.

Ambrose grinned. “Yes, well, compromising you was plan B, just so you know. I’m not as heroic as I seem.”

“And plan C?” she asked.

“Kidnap you, of course, and if that didn’t work, I had half a mind to paint my body green in hopes that you’d think me a potted plant and stand next to me at the upcoming ball this night.”

“Ambrose!” She laughed. “Then I would have been your wallflower!”

“You still are…
my
wallflower. Nobody else’s.” His hungry gaze fell to her lips again. Both of them forgetting that someone lay unconscious on the floor.

“I do love foliage.” She breathed against his neck.

“Care to show me what else you love, Cordelia?” He led her back into the room and shut the door, this time locking it against intruders.

Epilogue

History Repeats Itself

“Dance with her!” Cordelia ordered her brother-in-law, poking him square in the chest with her gloved hand.

“Cordelia, you’re making a scene!” Anthony cursed and then blushed a beautiful shade of red all the way down his neck.

“I swore I would revere the day I saw my brother blush!” Ambrose applauded his wife. “Well done, my dear. Anthony looks quite put out.”

“I assure you, I am fine.” Anthony cleared his throat.

Just then Wilde approached the group. “Has he gotten the nerve yet, or are we still pressuring him to approach her?”

“Still pressuring,” Ambrose and Cordelia answered in unison. Ambrose gave his wife a wink and pulled her as close as he could without causing scandal.

As he watched Anthony look towards the girl again, a plan formed in his mind. “Say, Anthony?”

“What?” His eyes still trained on the girl by the plants.

“Would you agree that every Season, you are approached by several women for little dalliances?”

“Yes.”

“Would you also agree that you’re one of the most sought after bachelors in the ton?”

Wilde cursed. “I’ll answer that for you. Just this morning in the park a girl cried when he picked up her fallen hat.”

“Perfect.” Ambrose smiled. “Do you believe you could make any woman fall in love with you then, Anthony? Or have you lost your touch?”

“Not that it matters, but yes I do believe that.” Anthony smoothed out his jacket.

“Any girl?”

“To be certain.” Anthony still wasn’t paying much attention, but the rest of the group had caught on, including Wilde who appeared to be mumbling a prayer heavenward.

“And you’re willing to wager you could accomplish this in say… four weeks?”

“Yes.” Anthony nodded his attention back on the girl. Ah, his twin’s issue with agreeing without listening made this almost too easy.

“Shake my hand, Anthony,” Ambrose ordered.

Anthony reached out and shook his hand. Then froze. “Blast.”

Ambrose grinned. “What was that?”

“Did I just agree to a bet?”

“Yes, and guess who I’m choosing.”

Anthony closed his eyes. “I don’t want to guess. I want to go back in time and slap myself before I accepted the terms.”

“Not possible. Do you see that girl over there? The one you’ve been salivating over for the past ten minutes while you handed over your life to me on a silver platter?”

Anthony cursed in response.

“You haven’t called me that in ages!” Ambrose slapped his back. “Her. You must make her fall in love with you in four weeks’ time. Good luck!”

“Why do I feel like this is going to go terribly wrong?” Wilde muttered.

“Or,” Cordelia kissed Ambrose on the cheek. “It could go terribly right.”

“Yes… yes, it could.” Ambrose leaned down and kissed his wife full on the mouth. “After all, it’s just a bet.”

Cordelia slapped him with her reticule and giggled. “Who knows where it will lead?”

“Probably somewhere near the potted plants.” He pointed as the girl in question tried to hide behind the large plant, failing miserably.

“Saving wallflowers everywhere?” Cordelia quirked her brow.

“One plant at a time, my love.”

About Rachel Van Dyken:

Rachel Van Dyken
loves to read almost as much as she loves to write. She resides in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and her dog Sir Winston Churchhill. Although she loves to write contemporary romance, her heart will always be with historical and regency romances. Glittering balls and dangerous rakes hold her captivated like chocolate and Starbucks. You can follow Rachel’s adventures on her blog, Twitter, or Facebook.