The Earl’s Bluestocking Bride (Unconventional Brides #2)

Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

Joceline grabbed hold of the railing, struggling not to go overboard as droplets of water stung her face and waves buffeted the side of the ship, tossing it about like flotsam. She couldn’t help but recall a night like this many months ago, when…

Amelia’s quill froze in place as a quiet knock interrupted her stream of thought. Irritation flared. She’d secluded herself in the library and had been deep into a scene. She was reluctant to return to the real world. Unfortunately, the knock repeated, and then the door cracked open.

“Amelia?” It was her husband’s voice.

She placed the quill on its holder and angled herself toward the door. “Yes, my lord?”

His head came around the opening, and his infectious grin made it impossible for her to remain irritated. “Are you busy?”

She considered. “That depends on what you’re here for.”

She was enjoying the opportunity to write, but it was also important that she maintain a good relationship with him as much as possible, so she would humor him if she could.

He stepped inside, and she noted that he was dressed to leave the house. “There is a bookshop Ashford told me about. I wondered if you might like to visit it with me.”

“Oh yes, please!” She leapt to her feet. “Now?”

He chuckled. “If it suits.”

“It’s always a good time to shop for books. Just let me get a pelisse and put on some decent walking shoes.”

He sat on one of two green chaises. “I’ll be waiting here.”

She hurried to her bedchamber, her heart warm as the ramifications of what they were doing completely sank in. The earl didn’t have to spoil her in such a way any longer. He had her money. Yet he’d chosen to invite her somewhere she would enjoy anyway.

But then the warmth dissipated as she chose a pale blue pelisse from her wardrobe and swapped her shoes. Perhaps he wasn’t doing this to please her, but rather out of guilt.

That made more sense.

He’d married her for her father’s fortune, but he was a decent man and felt bad about it. Ergo, he was doing what he could to make it up to her.

She sighed. It was a nice gesture, but she couldn’t help wishing it came from a different place.

She met Andrew in the drawing room, and they walked arm in arm through the foyer and out to where one of the carriages bearing the Longley crest awaited. He helped her up the step into the carriage and climbed in behind her.

“Is it far?” she asked, sitting on the bench at the rear of the carriage. To her surprise, he slid onto the bench beside her rather than sitting opposite.

“I don’t think so.” He turned toward her slightly. “I haven’t been there before.”

“That’s right. You said the Duke of Ashford told you about it.” She’d forgotten that, too excited about visiting a bookshop to pay attention to the details.

For as long as she’d been alive, her father had possessed enough money to buy her all the books she wanted, but it had become increasingly difficult for her to get her hands on them in recent years because her mother considered reading an inappropriate pastime for a young lady.

Now, her new husband was not only allowing her to buy books but was supporting her in the endeavor. She smiled to herself. Whether or not the shopping expedition was a product of guilt, it meant something that he was willing to indulge her. She’d chosen well when she’d asked him to be her husband.

Amelia watched the scenery through the window. They’d entered one of the more popular shopping districts and had almost passed through it when the carriage pulled over outside a stone building with a sign attached to the roof that read “Babbington Books.”

Andrew got out first and assisted her down. She peered through the window as he led her toward the building. Rows of shelves ran from the front window deep into the shop.

“Are you sure I’m welcome here?” she asked.

Not all bookstores liked female patrons.

He grinned. “Quite. You’ll see what I mean once we’re inside.”

Intrigued, she allowed him to guide her through the doorway. A bell tinkled, and a curvaceous woman with long, dark hair appeared in front of them.

“Welcome to Babbington’s,” she said. “May I help you?”

Amelia’s jaw dropped. “Do you work here?”

The woman smoothed her hands down her dress. “This is my shop.”

“It’s wonderful,” Amelia breathed. “I can already tell I’m going to love it.”

The proprietress smiled. “I hope so.”

“I’m Mi—Lady Longley,” she corrected herself. “This is my husband, the Earl of Longley.”

The proprietress curtsied. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady. I’m Mrs. Babbington. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“I love to read,” Amelia admitted. “Tales of adventure, in particular.”

Andrew nudged her. “You do more than just read.”

Her cheeks heated, and she darted a look at him. He wasn’t suggesting she disclose her writing habit, was he? He’d implied that he wouldn’t be embarrassed by her behavior, but she hadn’t dared imagine he’d encourage her to discuss it with others.

Nibbling on her lower lip, she tried to quell the nerves rioting through her. “I’m a writer too.” The statement was almost whispered. “I recently submitted an adventure novel to a publisher. The protagonist is a woman.”

Mrs. Babbington’s face lit up, her dark eyes dancing with excitement. “How wonderful. I hope they accept it. I would love to read it.”

Amelia shifted her weight. “Really?”

Mrs. Babbington nodded. “So many adventure stories are for men. It’s about time we women had one, isn’t it?”

“Exactly my thinking!”

“Tell me more about your story.”

Amelia launched into a recounting of the highlights. Mrs. Babbington peppered her with intelligent questions, her eyes gleaming with interest.

Before she realized it, an hour had passed, and they were still hovering in the aisle between the shelves. Andrew stood silently beside them, having uttered very little since their conversation began.

Oh dear. They’d probably bored him out of his wits.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, turning to him. “I’m afraid that time got away from me.”

Mrs. Babbington’s eyes widened as she also checked the clock. “I’ve monopolized you terribly. My apologies, Lord Longley. ”

But Andrew just shook his head, his expression completely unbothered. “I’ve enjoyed listening to you. Please don’t rush on my account.”

Mrs. Babbington’s skirts swished as she paced farther down the aisle. “Let me show you some books I think you’ll like.”

With a quick glance to make sure that her husband wasn’t upset, Amelia followed her.

Once again, it was all too easy for them to get lost in discussion of their favorite books. When she and Andrew emerged into daylight a while later, he was carrying a stack of books that were wrapped in paper for the journey, including her own brand-new illustrated world atlas, since she’d had to leave her parents’ one at their home.

They’d declined having them delivered because she simply couldn’t bear to part with them. Even though she knew her own money had bought these books, she still felt spoiled as Andrew stacked them on the bench in the carriage and rested his hand atop them to ensure they didn’t fall over during the ride.

“Can I interest you in getting a piece of cake and a cup of tea before we return home?” he asked, linking his arm with hers.

She gazed at him, noting the light spattering of freckles over his nose and the flecks of green in his eyes. “Haven’t I taken up enough of your time?”

“Not at all.” He flashed his teeth at her. “Besides, I find myself hungry for something sweet. What do you say?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “I’d like that.”

He knocked against the wall and leaned out the window to call something to their driver. When he sat back again, the tip of his nose was slightly pink from the chill outside.

“So, you adore bookshops,” he said, his knees spreading as he got comfortable. “What else do you like to do? ”

She side-eyed him. “I’m afraid I’m not complicated, my lord.”

“Andrew.”

“Andrew,” she repeated. “As I’ve said, I like to read, write, and learn. Anything that facilitates those pursuits is something I’ll enjoy.”

“Hm.”

He didn’t ask her more, and as they rode in a comfortable silence, she couldn’t help wondering what was preoccupying his mind. He never reacted as she expected, which meant he must think differently too.

Before long, they stopped outside a teahouse in one of Mayfair’s busiest streets. Through the window, she could see well-dressed ladies and gentlemen seated at the small, round tables inside. She’d been here before with her mother, and it was definitely a place to see and be seen.

Thankfully, they also made a delicious lemon cake.

Andrew escorted her inside, and a server hurried to seat them near the window. Amelia hid her smile. She was accustomed to being seated near the back. Now, as a countess, she was someone to be flashed in front of others to entice them in.

Andrew pulled out her chair and waited for her to sit. They each ordered tea and a slice of cake—lemon for her and a vanilla sponge for him.

His hand brushed hers across the table, and sparks skittered up her arm. She allowed her fingers to rest against his, although the display of affection didn’t come easily. At least, not to her. He seemed perfectly content to shower her with casual touches that left her nerves alight and eager for more.

Was it intentional?

It was impossible to know for sure, but the more closely she paid attention to him, the more she realized that he didn’t even seem to notice that he was doing it. Physical affection was simple for him. It didn’t require careful planning or consideration of the reasons why it may or may not be a good idea. It’s just how he was.

She wasn’t sure whether to like that or mistrust it. On the one hand, she couldn’t deny that his touches felt good. She liked them too much for her own peace of mind. But on the other hand, if he was comfortable casually brushing up against women, did that mean he’d done it so many times in the past that he was immune?

He had a bit of a reputation as a charming rogue—although his reputation was far from the worst among the ton. At least he’d never led any debutantes astray. But how many other women had he been intimate with?

Stop it, she scolded herself. It’s none of your business. Fidelity is not part of your agreement. You have no right to question him on such a matter.

The server returned with a gleaming silver tray, which she set in the center of the table. With steady hands, she poured tea for each of them and doctored it to their preferences; then she placed a slice of cake in front of each of them.

“Thank you,” Amelia murmured.

The server dipped her head and backed away.

Amelia used a fork to separate off a morsel of cake and popped it into her mouth. The delicious combination of sweet and tart flavors danced on her tongue, and she closed her eyes to savor them. Once she’d swallowed, she opened her eyes and found Andrew’s gaze burning into her, his eyes darker than usual.

She blinked, surprised. “I—”

“If it isn’t the Earl of Longley.”

Amelia jerked in her seat, her heart leaping. She’d been so absorbed that she hadn’t noticed the woman approach. She spun toward her so quickly, the seat squeaked against the floor.

“Miss Giles.” Andrew’s tone was uncharacteristically cold as he looked over Amelia’s shoulder. “What a surprise.”

The woman smirked, her plump lips twisting in a way that unsettled Amelia. “I imagine it is. I could hardly believe my eyes when I looked up from my scone and saw you sitting mere yards away.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t notice you when we entered,” he said. “Otherwise I would have taken my wife elsewhere.”

Amelia frowned. That wasn’t very polite. “Hello. I’m Lady Longley. And you are…?”

The woman’s dark blue eyes flitted to Amelia, and her smirk deepened. “I’m Miss Florence Giles.” With one elegant hand, she brushed a strand of wheat-blond hair off her forehead. “An old friend of Andrew’s.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Amelia forced herself to smile. “Did you grow up together?”

Because despite what Miss Giles said about them being friends, Andrew obviously wasn’t pleased by her presence. In fact, she’d go as far as to say that he wished her gone. Yet Miss Giles was familiar enough to call him by his given name.

“Something like that.” Amusement shone in her eyes. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your cake.”

With that, she sashayed away.

Amelia no longer felt like eating cake. She tried another bite, but chewing was difficult, and swallowing proved almost impossible. Andrew, too, had lost his appetite. They departed soon after.

When they were alone in the carriage, she allowed the question burning in her chest to come out. “Who was that woman?”

She studied his face closely. His mouth tightened almost imperceptibly, and a slight furrow formed between his eyebrows.

“No one you need to worry yourself about.”

Andrew stewed in silent rage throughout the rest of the day. He could tell Amelia knew something was wrong and that it was connected to Florence, but she hadn’t pushed him to talk about it after her initial question.

By the time they’d finished their dinner, he’d had a very disapproving Boden obtain Florence’s new address. He was beyond ready to let her know exactly how angry he was with her.

He took a carriage to her apartment, inquired as to her floor, then marched up and rapped on her door. It took forever for her to answer, and when she did, she didn’t bother speaking. She grabbed him by the lapel, tugged him into the room, and tried to kiss him.

He dodged and extricated himself from her grasp briskly but not roughly. No matter how furious he was, he wouldn’t hurt her.

She pouted. “No kiss for me?”

He exhaled sharply. “What the hell were you thinking today? You approached me when I was out with my wife. My wife.”

“Wasn’t it fun?” she asked, a mischievous smile flitting around the corners of her mouth. “I know you enjoyed having me right under her nose.”

He felt sick. “I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that I did not enjoy it.”

She slunk toward him, and he backed away, putting a chaise between them.

Her upper lip curled. “Don’t be so miserable. It’s not as if she had any idea who I was.”

“But what if she did?” His heart squeezed. The possibility that Amelia might have guessed how he knew Florence made his stomach roil. She’d given him so much. She deserved better than having his former mistress flaunted in front of her.

She shrugged. “Aristocratic wives expect their husbands to stray.”

“Not two days after the wedding.” For the love of God, did she not see how wrong her behavior was?

She crinkled her nose. “You’re being unusually sentimental. Don’t forget, I know how the ton operates better than most. Or have you forgotten the circumstances of my birth?” Her tone was bitter. “Besides, it’s not as if it was a love match.”

Guilt sank its claws into him.

“Perhaps not,” he said stiffly. “But I care about her.”

She laughed incredulously. “That plain little mouse?”

“Watch your tongue, Florence.”

Her hips rolled as she sauntered to the end of the chaise, attempting to round it to get to him. “Surely you don’t desire her. Your timid wife can’t do the things to you that I can.”

He bit the inside of his lip to rein in the retort that immediately came to his tongue. He did desire Amelia. He may not love her, but he liked her, and once she was ready, he looked forward to bedding her.

Telling Florence that would help nothing. She was motivated by competition, not put off by it.

“Our affair is over.” His tone brooked no argument. “I made it clear that you need to seek protection elsewhere.”

Her eyes widened as if he had genuinely surprised her, but she hid it quickly. “You’re married now. You have money. We can continue as we were.”

Andrew pursed his lips. The heat of his anger had faded, although the frustration remained. He couldn’t help but feel that this was partly his fault. Perhaps he hadn’t been firm enough with her when he ended their arrangement. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, just as he didn’t want to hurt her now.

Whatever their reasons, they’d been intimate with each other, and he’d enjoyed her company. He hated the idea of causing her pain. But he had to put Amelia first.

“I won’t use my wife’s dowry to pay to keep a mistress.” He straightened his back. “It wouldn’t be right. She deserves better.”

“I deserve better,” she interjected. “You used me and cast me aside when you were done with me.”

The blade of guilt twisted. It was an accurate, if somewhat unfair, accusation.

“I’m sorry for that. But you knew from the beginning that what we had wouldn’t last. I enjoyed it, and perhaps you did, too, but it’s over now. If you need a one-off payment while you get back on your feet, I’ll consider it, but tell me now, and then don’t approach me again.”

She gritted her teeth. “You’re actually choosing her over me?”

“She’s my wife.” Surely, that should say it all.

“Keep the mouse’s money.” She turned her back on him. “You can see yourself out. But just know, you’ll regret this.”