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

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

London,

November 1820

“How are things going in there?” Andrew called through the connecting door between his bedroom and Amelia’s.

They were due to leave for the Hertford ball shortly. He was more or less ready, but he knew women often took longer to prepare.

“I’ll be ready soon,” Amelia called back. “Are you sure Brigid doesn’t wish to join us?”

“Not this time.” His mother and wife got on startlingly well, so he could understand Amelia’s surprise, but his mother had pleaded off, citing a headache.

He tweaked his cravat and headed through the doorway, coming up short at the sight of his wife being buttoned into a dark blue gown by her maid. The silken skin on the back of her shoulders slowly disappeared from view as Margaret moved upward.

Damn, his wife was stunning. If he didn’t know how much effort went into dressing her for a ball, he’d insist on stripping every last item of clothing from her body, making love to her, and starting over. Instead, he sat on the bed and watched Margaret fuss over her.

“She looks pretty, doesn’t she?”

He flinched. He hadn’t seen his sister standing near the wall just inside the bedchamber. “She does.”

Kate’s impish smile made his cheeks heat. “Blue is an excellent color for her complexion.”

He glanced at his wife again. She often wore shades of blue, but the lacework and varying shades of this one differed from what she usually chose. “Is this your doing?”

Kate nodded, obviously proud. “I chose the fabrics, and Madam Baptiste designed the gown.”

He nudged her shoulder with his. “You have a good eye.”

She looked at the floor, but he could still make out the corners of her smile. “Thank you.”

They both returned their attention to Amelia and Margaret. It was difficult to tell because of her stern demeanor, but he suspected that Margaret quite liked getting to dress a woman who would be seen and admired by the ton. As yet, Kate wasn’t out, so dressing her didn’t carry the same weight.

Margaret stepped back. “There you are, my lady. All done.”

Amelia looked over her shoulder. “Thank you, Margaret. You may be excused.”

The maid bobbed her head and scurried out.

“I’ll leave too,” Kate murmured. “You look like you’re about to say something terribly sappy.”

He couldn’t deny that.

He waited until Kate had gone, then rose and erased the distance between him and Amelia. “This dress makes your eyes sparkle like sapphires.”

A shy smile curved her lips. “Thank you.”

With two fingers, he tilted her chin up. He wouldn’t let her hide from him. Perhaps a week of lovemaking wouldn’t convince her of her appeal, but he wouldn’t give up. They had a lifetime together, after all.

“In fact.” He pecked her lips. “I find myself quite unable to resist you.”

As he sank to his knees, her eyebrows flew up.

“Andrew?” Her voice trembled.

“Stay very still. We mustn’t crease your skirt.”

He lifted the hem and ducked underneath it. The fabric mussed his hair, but he didn’t care. He made his way beneath her petticoats until he was between her legs.

“What are you doing?” she asked, although surely by now it must be obvious.

“My wife,” he replied, unfastening her drawers to bare her to his gaze.

His mouth watered. Her pretty pinkness was right there, waiting for his attention. He leaned close and blew over her. She shivered. He nuzzled into the vee of her thighs, and she began to tremble.

“That’s it, darling.” His tongue darted out to taste her. Mm . Sweet and intoxicating. He repeated the movement more slowly, dragging his tongue along the seam of her, reveling in the soft catches of her breath.

Gently, he teased her with his lips and tongue—kissing, licking, and humming his approval against her skin. While careful not to rumple her too much, he was determined that his wife would enter the Hertford ball satisfied because of him. There would be no other men eyeing his countess.

She was his.

He made love to her with his mouth until she stiffened and her delicate muscles contracted around him; then he kissed her once and scrambled out from beneath her skirts.

She stared at him, lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. “I can’t believe you did that. ”

He kissed her forehead, then used her mirror to straighten his hair. “Didn’t you enjoy it?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “But we have a ball to get to.”

He sighed and offered her his arm. “Then I suppose we’d better go.”

“Just like that?”

He winked. “Just like that.”

As Amelia and Andrew passed through the house and out the front door, she couldn’t help but feel like everyone who saw them knew exactly what they’d been up to only minutes earlier.

She’d learned a couple of days ago that the marital act didn’t have to be confined to the bedroom, but when he’d been under her skirt just now, all she could think was that Kate had left the door ajar and anyone could happen upon them. That had simultaneously excited her and made her anxious. She wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it.

Improper?

Yes, certainly.

But also strangely decadent.

“Amelia?”

She looked around and realized that Andrew was waiting to help her into the carriage. “Sorry, I was woolgathering.”

He grinned wickedly, took her hand, and guided her inside. She got the impression he knew exactly what had been running through her mind. She supposed she should expect that. He was accustomed to dalliances. She, on the other hand, was new to all of this.

She adjusted her skirts as she sat on the carriage bench. How long would it be until he grew weary of her? Perhaps for now, he found it thrilling to introduce her to new intimate acts, but eventually they’d run out of new things to explore, and he’d want to move on to someone else. How much time did she have?

She pondered the question as they drove. Too soon, they arrived at the ball, and he escorted her inside. Through it all, Amelia felt detached, as though she were an onlooker watching her life from a distance.

She only jerked into reality when she stood opposite Andrew on the dance floor during the opening bars of a quadrille.

“Everything all right?” he asked, apparently sensing her discomposure.

“Fine,” she assured him.

It was fortunate she’d practiced the quadrille many times, because it meant she was able to follow the steps without engaging much of her brain. By the time they were finished, she desperately needed a drink.

“Champagne?” he asked, as if reading her mind.

“Yes, please.”

He escorted her to the drinks table, and she’d just picked up a glass when her mother appeared out of nowhere.

“Amelia!” She beamed. “I was wondering if I could steal your husband away for a dance?”

Andrew met Amelia’s gaze and arched an eyebrow. She nodded, and he took her mother’s arm.

“I’d be honored, Mrs. Hart. Shall we?”

Amelia sipped champagne as she watched them go. She wanted to be annoyed by her mother’s obvious inclination to use her connection to Andrew to further her social climbing, but she could hardly bear her too much ill will when the situation had worked out well for her thus far. Perhaps if she’d been married off to the Duke of Wight, she’d feel differently, but she’d been lucky enough to escape that fate.

“You did well for yourself.”

Amelia’s hand flew to her chest, and she spun toward the voice. “It’s you. ”

The woman smiled impishly. She was the redhead Amelia had encountered in the powder room at a ball several weeks ago—and to whom she’d felt a strange connection.

“Miss Helena Steele. We haven’t been officially introduced. But then, people rarely bother to meet the wallflowers.”

“I find it difficult to believe you’re a wallflower,” Amelia said, being perfectly honest. Miss Steele may not be conventionally pretty, but there was something about her that demanded attention, and she certainly did not seem shy.

Miss Steele shrugged. “I’ll admit, I’m a wallflower by choice. Most of the people you meet at these events are dreadful bores, and I can’t fathom pretending to be interested in them.”

“You seem rather jaded.”

Miss Steele snorted. “This is my seventh season. I believe I’m entitled to be. I’m just waiting for my father to realize that it’s easier for him to settle some money on me and let me go my own way rather than trying to marry me off.”

Interesting. Their situations were not so different.

“I might have tried the same, but my mother was determined I would wed an aristocrat, so it seemed practical to just choose the best of the options available.”

“An earl.” Miss Steele raised her glass. “I’m impressed, and let me tell you, that’s not an easy feat.”

No, she didn’t imagine it was.

The other woman glanced behind her. “Your husband returns. No doubt I’ll see you again.”

She slinked away seconds before Mrs. Hart and Andrew rejoined Amelia. Her mother was in raptures over their dance, giggling and fanning herself like a woman half her age. It was almost… heartening. In an unusual way.

“Countess.” Mrs. Hart practically purred as she said the word. “I’ve just been telling the earl that you simply must host a ball to officially announce your marriage to the ton. ”

Just like that, Amelia’s good cheer faded.

“Wasn’t that the purpose of the wedding?” she asked.

Mrs. Hart laughed and waved at someone passing by. “If you want to be a renowned hostess in London, then now is the time to make that clear.”

Amelia groaned. “I have no aspirations of being a popular hostess.”

Her mother blinked at her as if that simply didn’t make sense. “But don’t you want to throw the most lavish, exclusive society parties?”

How on earth could she possibly believe that? She’d known Amelia for her whole life, and she was quite certain she’d never once given anyone cause to believe she might enjoy attending parties, let alone planning them.

Socializing was not her forte.

Books were.

She was more comfortable scribbling in a library with ink-stained hands than wearing a diamond necklace at a ball.

Andrew detached himself from her mother and wrapped his arm around her. His lips brushed her ear as he said, “We probably should organize a ball, just to make sure everyone acknowledges your rightful place among us.”

She tried to glare at him, but it was difficult when he was holding her like she mattered. “Must we?”

“Only once,” he said.

She huffed. “That had better be a promise. I’m not making this an annual occurrence.”

He kissed her. “It won’t be. And don’t worry, the servants can do most of the legwork. I can even have Mrs. Smythe make the decor choices if you’d like.”

“But—” Mrs. Hart began to protest, but he cut her off with a hand gesture.

“It won’t interfere with your writing time,” he told her, proving how well he was coming to know her .

She sighed. “Fine. But, Mother, this will not be happening again.”

Mrs. Hart clapped, obviously delighted. Amelia wasn’t sure she’d even heard the warning.

“I’ll be in touch about the planning.” She whirled around. “I must find your father and let him know.”

Amelia turned to Andrew. “Now you’ve done it.”

He flashed that effortlessly charming grin that seemed to get him out of everything. “It doesn’t have to be a big fuss. One evening of your life and a few minutes to make decisions before then. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” It had better be so simple.

He chuckled and linked her arm with his. “Come. I see one of my acquaintances over there. Let me introduce you.”

Unfortunately, they hadn’t made it halfway across the room before a ruddy-cheeked gentleman with a slightly crooked cravat stepped into their path.

“Longley.” He wobbled slightly. “Congratulations, old chap. Didn’t expect you to tie yourself down this season. Lost a chunk of change to Falvey because of it. I should have known that weasel knew something I didn’t or else he wouldn’t have been making a bet in the first place.”

“Mr. White,” Andrew said stiffly, glancing at Amelia in a way that told her he’d rather not spend time with this man. “Have you met the Countess of Longley?”

Mr. White took Amelia’s hand and dropped a slobbery kiss on the back of it. After reclaiming her hand, she subtly wiped it on her skirt.

“Charmed, my lady,” he said. “You must be something special to tempt Longley here into marriage.”

Yes. Rich.

She grimaced at the thought. What would Mr. White say if he knew exactly why Andrew had married her?

Except for an initial shock at the fact the earl had been defrauded, she doubted he’d be surprised.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. White.” She looked around, wondering if they might extricate themselves from this conversation. Her gaze fell on a woman standing alone in a scandalously low-cut dress.

Recognition hit. It was the woman from the teashop. The one who’d called Andrew by his given name.

He followed her gaze and immediately paled. “Well, it was good to see you, as always, but the countess and I must be off. We are due elsewhere.”

“What?” Mr. White blustered. “But—”

Andrew tugged Amelia away from him and toward the door.

“What is happening?” she asked, but he didn’t answer.

As they made their farewells and stepped out into the cool night air, she couldn’t help but wonder: who was that woman, and why was Andrew avoiding her?