WANTON (31 page)

“Probably—if you’re very, very nice to me.”

She pulled the door wide and gestured to the hall. “Go away.”

“No.”

“Go!”

“No.”

They engaged in a staring match she could never win. He was the most stubborn man alive. He wouldn’t leave until he was good and ready.

She was so distressed she was trembling, but she wouldn’t let him realize how he’d flustered her. She wouldn’t let him note any reaction at all.

“Fine,” she blithely retorted, and she swept over to the chair opposite. “Speak your piece, then get out.”

Without preamble, without warning, he said, “Will you marry me?”

“No.”

His cheeks flushed bright red. “May I know why not?”

“Yes, but I’m sure you won’t appreciate my opinion.”

“I’d like to hear it. I’m an adult. I’m positive I can bear up.”

“All right. From the first moment I met you, I recognized you to be a cad. Further acquaintance only underscored my initial judgment. I loathe you now more than ever.”

“Why is that exactly?”

She was trying to maintain her aplomb, but it was so difficult to exhibit any composure. He wasn’t aware that she’d been lurking on the verandah at Westwood’s ball, that she’d been spying on him like a lovesick girl. She’d never confess her spying, would never confess to having her heart broken by Mrs. Nipton. A great wave of weariness washed over her, and her desire to fight swiftly vanished.

“It doesn’t matter,” she quietly said.

“Perhaps not to you, but it certainly does to me.”

“I don’t have any idea why it would.”

“Don’t you?”

“No. Why travel all this way? What purpose is served by bothering me? You’ve embarrassed me in front of my last friend. Are you happy?”

“I’m not happy yet”—he grinned, looking reckless and dangerous—“but I will be before the afternoon is through.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I’ll change your mind.”

“Not in your wildest dreams.”

“I’m betting I can. Shall we wager over it?”

“As usual, you’re being ridiculous.”

She stood and marched into the bedroom, then the dressing room beyond.

As she could have predicted, he followed her as he used to during their illicit affair. She removed her bonnet and cloak and hung them on the hook by the wardrobe. All the while, he lurked in the doorway, watching her.

She glared over at him. “I assume there’s some reason you deem it appropriate to be in here.”

“I don’t care if it’s appropriate or not. If I’d stayed down in the main parlor, I’d never have had a chance to speak with you.”

“Precisely.”

“Besides, James won’t give two figs if I’m in your bedchamber.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“He knows me better than you. He knows I never do what anyone tells me.”

“You’ve got that right.”

She walked toward him, not inclined to linger and suffer his annoying presence. She approached until they were toe-to-toe, but he refused to budge and let her pass.

“What happened to your eye?” she asked.

“Your brother hit me.”

“Chase...hit you? Why would he?”

“He didn’t feel I’d behaved very honorably with regard to you.”

“He’s correct; you didn’t.”

“He gave me a week to marry you, or he’ll kill me.”

She scoffed. “My brother threatened to kill you? Seriously?”

“Yes, and I’d be very aggravated if he succeeded. So you see, Miss Hubbard, you have to accept my proposal so I’m not murdered by your male kin.”

“What is it to me if my brother is demanding matrimony? He’s not the one who would have to be your wife after the ceremony was over.”

“But if you don’t wed me”—he paused, a hint of desolation poking through—“how will I be able to go on living without you?”

“You...what?”

“You heard me. Don’t make me go on without you by my side.”

She scowled, trying to figure out his intentions. He’d just uttered the very words she’d once been dying to receive from him, but if he proclaimed himself for a hundred years, he’d never convince her he was sincere.

If there was one fact she knew about him with absolute certainty, it was his total and complete inability to love or bond. He was proud of it. He’d elevated detachment into a fine art, and he would never change.

“You’re being absurd,” she grumbled, “and I’ve had enough of you for ten lifetimes.”

She pushed him, and he stepped back so she could slip by. She stomped into the bedchamber, bent for the sitting room and the hall beyond, when he snapped, “Wait just a damned minute, Amelia Hubbard.”

She whipped around. “Don’t you curse at me.”

“I’ll stop cursing when you stop acting like a shrew.”

“Me! A shrew!” Her temper flared. “Of all the dirty, rotten, conniving, despicable—”

His temper was flaring too, and he stormed over and stuck an angry finger in her face. “You are the most thick-headed, insensitive, unfeeling—”

“Be silent, you wretch!”

“You ride your mighty high horse, and you’re so bloody righteous. You presume you know everything.”

“Not everything. I simply know some things about
you
that I’d rather not.”

“Like what? Like maybe you’re upset about my relationship with Nan Nipton?”

“Mrs. Nipton? You think this is about Mrs. Nipton?”

“It
is
about her. Don’t deny it.”

“You’re mad. What is it to me if you shame yourself with a doxy?”

“You’re not jealous of her? You’re not green with envy?”

“I’d have to care about you to be jealous,” she spat.

He reached into his coat and withdrew a letter. He shoved it under her nose and held it there until she snatched it out of his hand.

“It’s for you,” he sneered.

“From who?”

“Read it, and you’ll see for yourself.”

He sauntered by her and into the sitting room. Through the open door, she watched as he poured himself a glass of wine, as he sat in the chair again. They glowered, his expression mocking and assured, as if he’d bested her in a game she hadn’t known they were playing.

She was on the verge of marching out, of calling for a footman to help her dispatch an unwanted guest, but as she looked at her name penned on the front of the letter, she was too intrigued by the tidy, feminine script. Almost against her will, she flicked at the seal, being shocked to discover that it was from Mrs. Nipton.

Her initial impulse was to crumple it into a ball and toss it in the fire—how dare the trollop write to Amelia!—but curiosity overcame her indignation.

“My dear Miss Hubbard,” Amelia snottily read aloud, “I draft this apology at Lucas’s behest in order to clear up a severe misunderstanding that arose due to my low and very cruel...conduct...toward you...”

With each word, Amelia’s voice slowed and her confusion grew. Mrs. Nipton went on to describe a scheme with Claudia Cummings where Mrs. Nipton had tried to hurt Amelia and chase her from London so Amelia and Mr. Drake wouldn’t marry.

But in the end
, Mrs. Nipton concluded,
Lucas has always been a great friend to me. I only want him to be happy, and I know he will be happy with you. His sins were caused by me, but they weren’t sins at all. Please forgive him
.

“Please forgive him,” Amelia muttered to herself.

She glanced up, and he was assessing her with a visible amount of affection.

“Yes, please forgive me,” he murmured.

“Why should I?”

“Because I said some horrid things about you, but I didn’t mean them.”

“You absolutely meant them.”

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I didn’t misbehave with her that night. I thought about it—I admit it!—but I left her house and returned to the party to find you. You were already gone.”

“A likely story.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t believe her.”

“I can’t decide what I believe.”

“If you had any idea how difficult it was to get her to write to you, you might feel a tad sorry for me.”

“Sorry? For you? Never.”

He grinned his devil’s grin. “I almost brought her with me to make her confess to your face.”

She gasped. “You wouldn’t have.”

“I
would
have, but I figured it might have been a bit over the top.”

She couldn’t abide how he was so intensely focused on her, so she studied the letter again. She was shaking so hard she could barely keep from dropping it.

“Has it ever occurred to you,” he said, “that I do very stupid things?”

“Yes.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that I say some very stupid things?”

“All the time.”

She heard him push himself to his feet, heard him walking toward her.

“Would it surprise you to learn that I’m an idiot?”

“Not at all.”

“Would it surprise you to learn that I’ve been searching for you everywhere?”

“You probably only searched because you were afraid my brother would kill you if you didn’t.”

“No, Amelia, I’m not afraid of your brother. I searched because I was dying to locate you.”

“Why?”

He’d finally reached her, the toes of his boots close enough to slip under the hem of her skirt. He hovered just there, so she’d be inundated by his heat, his smell, his presence. She never was able to stand so near to him and be unaffected and, apparently, neither time nor distance had dampened her reaction.

“Look at me, Amelia,” he said.

“No.”

“Look.”

He put a finger on her chin and forced her gaze to his.

“The next morning after Westwood’s ball, I visited my father and informed him I planned to propose.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. Then I spent the day dressing and barbering, so I’d look magnificent. I went to Mrs. Middleton’s to speak with you, but you’d left London by then.”

“Why would you go there? Why would you propose? I don’t understand any of this.”

“It was that bloody waltz, Amelia. Something strange happened during it.”

“What happened?” she mumbled like an idiot, for she was still undone by the experience.

“I don’t know how to explain it. You tell me.”

“I don’t know either.”

“It seemed as if the universe was yelling at me to open my eyes and see what was right in front of me.”

“What was that?”

“You, you silly fool!”

“You expect me to believe you’re suddenly smitten?”

“No, not suddenly. It took weeks and weeks, but you finally wore me down.”

“I didn’t.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t have. You don’t even
like
me.”

“Now that, my darling Amelia, is where you’re wrong.”

To her amazement, he dropped to one knee and clasped her hand, and it dawned on her that she was terrified to hear what he was about to say.

“Please get up,” she begged.

“No.”

“Please? Whatever you’re about to confide, I’m positive you shouldn’t.”

“How can you be so certain? Besides, I never listen to women. The more you harangue, the more I’ll ignore you.”

“If you’re reminding me of your obstinate nature, you must assume it will somehow endear you. However, you’re gravely mistaken.”

“I’m not here to remind you of my low traits.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’d like to point out the new ones I’ve acquired since I met you.”

“You couldn’t possibly have acquired new traits. You’re more set in your ways than anyone who ever lived.”

“I thought I was, but there’s been a change you haven’t noticed.”

“What is that?”

“I crossed paths with you.”

She snorted with disgust. “I repeat: You’re being ridiculous, and I really, really wish you’d go.”

“I can’t oblige you, Amelia, so be silent and let me talk.”

She sighed. “If you imagine a bit of soul-searching will move me, you’re mad.”

“If I’m mad, you drove me there.”

“You were at that spot long before I arrived.”

“No, my lunacy occurred because I can’t stop thinking about you, worrying about you, fretting over you. You’ve flustered me so completely that I can’t eat or sleep or carry on with my daily routines.”

“That can’t be true.”

“It is, though I’m not sure why I’m so enamored. There’s magic happening that I can’t explain or describe.”

She scowled, unnerved by his sincere gaze, his humbled demeanor. “What are you saying?”

“I love you.”

“You do not!”

She tried to yank her hand away, but he simply clasped it tighter.

“Don’t tell me what I mean and what I don’t,” he scolded.

“But you’re spewing nonsense, and it wounds me when you do.”

“How am I wounding you?”

She studied him, wondering how such a smart man could be so dense. “Because I want it to be true, you thick oaf.”

“It is true, Amelia. I swear.”

“You swear? Is that supposed to make me feel better? You’re a renowned liar, remember?”

Leaving him kneeling on the floor, she jerked away and went into the sitting room to stare across the park. The day was waning, the colors deepening to soothing shades of emerald, orange, and violet. She pressed her palm to the glass, wishing she could float through it, that she could be out in the grass and running away.

He overwhelmed her and always had. Every detail—from his good looks to his self-deprecation to his droll remarks—riveted her in ways they shouldn’t. When she was with him, she couldn’t stay strong, couldn’t remain aloof. She was eager to return to being the woman she’d been in London. Every minuscule pore in her body was urging her to fall into their old rhythm of seduction and scandal.

She’d been too alone in her life, and despite how he’d acted or how he treated her, she was desperate to be loved, desperate to believe every absurd, ludicrous thing he said.

She should have marched downstairs and asked Rose to send him away—for clearly, Amelia had no ability to send him away herself. With his intentions voiced, she was enticed against her will, and while she’d accused him of being mad, obviously,
she
was the one who was insane.

He came up behind her and snuggled himself to her back, and she groaned with dismay.

Why was she so weak? Why was she so bewildered about him? There was no reason to listen to his drivel, but she was like a thirsty plant in the desert, and he was watering her with his comments. She soaked them in, flowering under his sweet attention.