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The Kangleys’ ball was the last place Amelia wanted to be the next night. Oh, to be snuggled up in her bed, a fire blazing, warm and reading a book. Or working on her own novel. Despite being at a difficult spot in the story, writing would be a pleasant alternative to the affected friendliness of the crowd she was about to join. However, here she stood, ready to battle the gossipmongers in defense of Stephen.
Dressed in her finest gown, a deep emerald silk overlaid with silver netting, she waited at the top of the Kangleys’ elegant staircase with Peyton, her sister, and the dowager. Taviston and Victoria were just about through the receiving line behind them. Amelia had not seen James since their awkward meeting yesterday, and indeed she counted herself fortunate that no one in the family had mentioned his name. Not even Peyton. Amelia wouldn’t have been surprised if her brother-in-law offered to drive her and James to Gretna Green himself, but she’d been grateful Peyton kept his thoughts to himself. For now. No one in this family ever kept silent for long.
Except James. She could only hope he would occupy himself with spying all night long as she needed to concentrate on preserving Stephen’s good name.
The dowager duchess squeezed Amelia’s arm and Amelia braved a smile as they descended the stairs into the glittering, happy crowd. Soon now, Victoria would whisper the devastating news into a well-chosen ear and rumors of Amelia and Stephen’s break would travel around the room faster than the name of a fashionable modiste.
The family moved as one, like a gaggle of geese, off to one side of the ballroom.
“We are all agreed that Amelia should not be left alone tonight,” Tessa said, glancing around the circle for signs of confirmation from everyone.
“Certainly,” Peyton agreed. “A member of the family will always be by her side.”
Feeling a trifle suffocated Amelia said, “Please do not worry overmuch about me. This is my choice, and I will live with whatever opprobrium these people heap on me. I only want to make certain Kensworth faces no censure, and I ask for your assistance in that endeavor most of all.”
“We can achieve acceptance for you and Kensworth,” Victoria vowed. “I have not spent the past five years socializing with the ton without gaining some influence, and tonight I plan to use every ounce I have earned.” She looked to Amelia and lifted her sandy eyebrows. “Are you ready?”
Amelia nodded. “We should begin before Stephen arrives.”
The dowager duchess tilted her silver-coifed head. “Excellent notion. Your friendly greeting of him will count for much.”
Victoria linked her arm through Taviston’s. “We’re off then.”
The duke winked affectionately at Amelia as they turned away. That left Peyton, Tessa, and the dowager staring at Amelia as if waiting expectantly for her to need comforting.
She was grateful for her family’s love, but they were making her nervous. If the dowager duchess didn’t still have hold of her arm, Amelia would be wringing her hands. The diversion of a dance would be nice. Peyton, the best brother in the world, would not be offended by a broad hint, would he?
“Good evening, Mother. To you all as well, Lady Amelia, Tessa, Peyton.”
James stood beside the dowager, his blue eyes fixated on Amelia. She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat.
My, but he looked wonderful. His black evening kit fit his lean build perfectly, and Amelia couldn’t help but notice how well his silver-embroidered waistcoat matched her gown. They would make a fine pair on the dance floor. Except she was supposed to be concentrating on Kensworth and herself and guarding their respective reputations.
An unholy gleam lit James’s gaze. “I may be risking life and limb to ask this again, but would you care to dance, my lady?”
“Son, I hardly think...,” the dowager began.
James ignored her, his attention on Amelia unwavering.
It was just a dance. One dance would prove nothing about either her honor or Stephen’s. Why shouldn’t she? She wanted a distraction.
She wanted to dance with James.
“I would love to,” she replied.
His answering smile glimmered brighter than the room’s hundreds of candles, sending a warm frisson through her belly.
But, Do be careful with your wayward imagination, Amelia. It is just a dance.
Knowing he had been caught off guard once already, Amelia slid close. “James,” she whispered, “Victoria is spilling the news of my broken engagement as we speak.”
He tilted his head toward her. “Is Kensworth here?”
“Not yet. When he does arrive, we are going to make a point of showing our continued friendship.”
James nodded, and then they were on the dance floor, joining the line of a country dance.
As they faced each other and began twirling and spinning around, he smiled at her again. “You rival the most brilliant diamond this evening. Or perhaps I should compare you to an emerald,” he said with a nod at her gown.
Amelia tried to take the compliment with the regal dignity her sister would have displayed, nodding her head slightly in acknowledgment, but soon she found herself grinning like a fool. He had asked her to dance as soon as he arrived! Surely that must be a sign of his intentions.
They promenaded, skipped, and whirled across the oak floor. James’s gaze, shining as brilliantly as any sapphire, focused on her and her alone. For once Amelia freed herself to bask in his attention, even allowing herself to enjoy the tingle that raced up her arm every time he took her hand. The absence of guilt was its own aphrodisiac, and she started at the mental acknowledgment that she would gladly follow him to any darkened corner to engage in one of those passionate kisses they shared.
Instead, as the dance ended, he offered to fetch her a refreshment. Amelia accepted, flushing at her wayward thoughts. She was not succeeding in keeping her emotions tempered, and perhaps that would do more harm than good.
A few people eyed her critically as she waited for him to return, but no one slighted her.
He handed her a glass of champagne, and she followed him to a quieter corner of the room.
“Did you know there is to be a special performance of As You Like It next week at Covent Garden?” he asked out of the blue.
“No, I didn’t. That’s one of my favorites.”
“I remember.” Just two words, said in a low rumble. Every inch of her skin tingled.
How she would love to see it with James. “I suppose it’s to be on the anniversary of Shakespeare’s death?”
He nodded, but his demeanor had changed. His clenched jaw and thinned lips didn’t exactly declare excitement about the event. She’d thought he liked Shakespeare as much as she did.
He tipped his head down and caught her gaze. “If circumstances were different, I would have gladly escorted you. But as it stands” —he paused, and a small sigh escaped— “I must concentrate on other matters.”
His mission. Amelia searched his face, this time noting the strain pulling at the corners of his eyes. Things must not be going well.
“Are you no closer to...?” She didn’t even know what to ask. All she knew was that a peer—she still would not believe it was Kensworth—was planning something dreadful.
James shook his head and stepped even further from the crowd. When Amelia followed, he raked his hand through his hair and spoke in a barely audible whisper. “I cannot discover what Stretton was doing in Wanstead. I know he met briefly with Lord Romford, but was he plotting against the government or simply doing something private that he doesn’t want anyone to know about?”
Amelia curled her empty hand into a fist, resisting the urge to smooth the anxiety from his face. When was the last time James had done something for the pleasure of it? He’d told her he worked incessantly on the Continent to stave off loneliness. Now he’d returned to his family, but the government still had him working, apparently alone, on a dangerous plot.
“I will find out what Stretton was up to,” she volunteered. After all, she’d found out where he was. What were a few more details if she could glean them from similar sources?
“No, I didn’t mean for—”
She smiled up at him, trying to look confident and positive. “You needn’t work alone, James. I will be nothing but circumspect, and I will have your answer soon. Besides, it will be better if we separate. I am still looking out for Kensworth. You concentrate on...whatever else you need to do.”
“Amelia.” He was attempting to look stern and forbidding but was failing completely. If anything, she would say that hope had returned to those blue, blue eyes. He needed her help.
“If we solve your mystery soon enough, perhaps you can escort me to As You Like It.”
James said nothing. Looking up, she found him gazing hungrily down at her, that delicious, familiar streak of longing blazing through his eyes. Amelia was lost in the heat of his gaze. She could barely breathe, let alone think—until he suddenly focused on something across the room.
He straightened, assumed a more dispassionate air and said, “Kensworth has arrived.”
Amelia took a sip of her champagne, swallowing past the small lump of guilt which had once again situated itself in her throat. She had assigned herself a number of duties this night, and swooning at James’s feet had not been among them.
She glanced toward the ballroom entrance before turning back to James and saying, in reluctant dismissal, “Thank you for the dance.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Shall I escort you over to him?”
“Y-yes. Please.”
She’d not wanted to make the walk through the crowd alone but hadn’t wanted to impose on James. Since he offered, she slipped her hand onto his black wool sleeve, and as they delved through the crowd, Amelia took a deep breath and held her head high.
Again, she felt only the slightest bit of censure from those they passed, but she was far more concerned about Stephen. His standing in Society, while generally positive, was still tenuous.
Amelia involuntarily tightened her grip on James’s arm, and he glanced down at her. She looked straight ahead, gritting her teeth, feeling as if she had been trapped in a corner by a bear. The last thing she wanted was everyone to think she had thrown Stephen over for James, even if that might end up being the outcome. Or it might not. She just wanted to live her life in private.
Tessa was already speaking to Stephen, her eyes sparkling, and as Amelia and James drew up the two gentlemen bowed their heads to each other. Then James retreated, but not before giving Amelia’s elbow a reassuring squeeze. Oddly, the action made her toes tingle.
She held out her hands and smiled. “Kensworth, how glad I am you came!”
It was good to see him, and she would do everything to make certain he came through this situation unscathed. He was one of the very best men she knew.
***
JAMES STOOD A FAIR distance away from the ballroom’s grand staircase, but because of his height he had no trouble viewing the initial encounter between Amelia and Kensworth.
He wasn’t out of place in observing the scene; almost everyone in the room had their eyes trained on the formerly affianced couple’s greeting.
Some amongst the crowd might be scoffing at the scene, claiming it to be entirely false, but James could see that despite its staged appearance the affection between the couple remained natural.
He didn’t begrudge them their friendship. More than anything he was grateful they were just friends and nothing more. No longer betrothed. Someday, he hoped they could all be friends.
Although, he meant to be more than friends with Amelia. He’d unobtrusively begun his courtship by asking her to dance. Their intermingled families made his plan that much easier to undertake. No one could whisper about the gallantry of a brother-in-law dancing with a sister-in-law. Which was good. He wanted neither to be seen as the knave who had broken apart an engagement, nor did he wish to tarnish Amelia’s reputation or betray Kensworth. But he wanted to court her as she deserved, as he’d intended when he first returned to London, to give her the romance, the flowers, the love tokens she’d always craved. He hadn’t romanced her the first time—not that there had been time—and neither had Kensworth.
However, first things first. His duty was to prevent the prime minister’s assassination.
The crowd had begun to lose interest in the uneventful meeting of Lady Amelia and Lord Kensworth, and James wandered away, his mind straying to the conversation he’d had with her. He worried about Amelia pursuing Stretton—and yet he appreciated her help. Appreciated the feeling of proffered companionship more than she would probably ever know.
He lifted a glass of champagne off a passing tray and spotted Kensworth striding through the crowd alone, so James made his way over. When he’d heard the news yesterday, he had tempered his reaction in order to spare the viscount. What he had to say now was best done in private.
“Kensworth. It’s good to see you. Might I have a word on the terrace?”
“Lord James.” The blond Viking nodded solemnly and strode to the nearest door, leaving James to follow.
The night was chilly, and a fine mist dampened the flagstones of the small terrace. No one else had seen fit to venture outside.
Kensworth turned to James, his hands linked behind his blue coat. He quirked an eyebrow. “Yes?”
A more enthusiastic greeting might have made James’s duty easier. Nevertheless, some things must be said. “I wish to apologize. For you and Amelia to end your—”
“You are not sorry in the least to see the end of my engagement,” Kensworth said, a hint of frustration in his voice.
James sighed. “No, I’m not, but I am sorry for any pain you’ve endured. I did not set out to hurt you, and if I thought you—” He cut himself off, afraid to pour salt into Kensworth’s wound.
Kensworth spread his feet and glared. “If you thought I what? Finish your thought. Don’t spare me.”
James stared off into the rain-cloaked night, unsure how far to go. It wasn’t as if he could reasonably maintain any hope of having the viscount as a friend if he ended up marrying Kensworth’s ex-fiancée, so he blew out a foggy breath and said, “If I thought you loved her more than I do.”
Kensworth stalked a few feet and gripped the wet balustrade. “You’re right,” he mumbled, but James heard him. He turned back. “You’re right, damn you. I thought I truly loved her but if I did, I would fight for her.” He shook his head and tiny drops of water flew from the blond strands. “I wish I had it in me, but I don’t. Not for this woman. Perhaps not for any woman.”
“If you act as if your life is a Cheltenham tragedy it will surely turn into one,” James said, betting the best way to bolster Kensworth’s spirit was to not pander to his sentimental tone. “Amelia claims everyone has a True Love. You must simply search anew for yours.”
“You can afford to be a pragmatist,” the viscount replied in disgust. “You have found your woman.”
“Found her again, you mean. Do not pretend our path has been clear.” James paused. “I am not even certain how we will reach the end.”
Kensworth tilted his head. “Of course you will propose. Won’t you?”
“Eventually.” James threw back the rest of his champagne and then set the glass on the thigh-high stone wall surrounding the terrace. “I don’t want to bring a scandal down on you.” He might not, however, be able to prevent one regarding the assassination attempt.
Kensworth rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you, the way she talks about you—or won’t talk about you. Marry her and be happy. I will survive, and I will try not to begrudge the disgustingly sweet air the two of you will surely inhabit.”
How like Kensworth to want him to act impulsively and ignore the consequences.
“Shouldn’t you be demanding the name of my second, not encouraging me to offer for your former betrothed?”
Kensworth shrugged. “You were right; I must carry on. I’ve tried to dislike you from the moment I met you, but I have failed horribly. Duels are for enemies, and I do not number you among mine.”
James would like to think not, but a matter of treason still stood tentatively between them.
To Kensworth he said, “I would like nothing better than to be friends,” knowing he meant the words literally though such might not be possible. “Thank you.”
He thrust his hand toward Kensworth, and the man shook it without hesitation. Then the viscount said good-night and slipped past him into the house.
James stood in the misty darkness a moment longer, contemplating how much gossip a second dance with Amelia would cause, when farther along the terrace a large figure suddenly exited the house and crept quietly down to the garden. As James watched, the burly blond pushed against the gate in the back wall and disappeared.
Now, where was David Caldwell sneaking off to? James forced aside tantalizing thoughts of Amelia and another waltz. To free himself to pursue her, first he must catch an assassin.
Stealthily, he followed David out the garden gate.