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

Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

“I’ll be back soon,” Andrew said later that day, bending to kiss Amelia’s cheek as she sat behind her writing desk. “I have business to attend to.”

She frowned. “In the evening?”

“It was the only time the person I’m meeting was available.” He couldn’t bring himself to lie and say it was a man. He was already stretching the truth to a degree he felt uncomfortable with.

“Then come home soon.” She smiled at him, but there was something dark behind her eyes. “I have plans for you.”

A shaft of guilt lanced through him. She wouldn’t tease him so sweetly if she knew he was going to visit his former mistress.

“I’ll return as fast as I’m able.” He kissed her again, closing his eyes and savoring her faint minty scent. He drew back. “You’ll be so busy writing that you won’t even notice I’m gone.”

She didn’t laugh, and for some reason, her smile continued to not quite ring true. “Be safe.”

“Always.” He swept out before he could second-guess himself. He’d made his choice, and it was time to tell his blackmailer what it was.

A plain carriage was waiting for him out the front of Longley House. He passed Boden, whose expression was etched with disapproval, and hurried down the front steps.

The sooner this was over with, the better.

He gave the driver the address and climbed in the back. While they traveled to Florence’s apartment, he considered how best to get his message across without any chance of a misunderstanding.

He’d have to be blunt.

He didn’t want to hurt her, but he also couldn’t allow her to ruin the life he was building with Amelia.

When they arrived, he asked his driver to wait around the corner, and he headed to the door and knocked. He could feel eyes on him, but whoever was watching him must be hiding, because there was no one in sight.

Nobody came to the door, so he tried the handle. It was unlocked. He gritted his teeth. That wasn’t safe when a building housed an unprotected woman. Fortunately, it worked to his advantage, but he’d have to remind her to be more careful.

He saw himself up to Florence’s apartment and knocked. Muffled noises came from inside, and then the door opened. Florence leaned against the doorframe, her wheaten hair spilling around her shoulders. She wore only a dressing gown, and her lips were unnaturally red.

“The front door was unlocked,” he informed her. “You should remind the landlord to lock it whenever they leave.”

She crossed her arms and scowled. “Did you just come here to lecture me like a child?”

“No. We need to talk.”

“Come in.” She stepped back, and her robe gaped open, revealing a long length of neck and the swell of her breasts.

He squeezed his eyes shut before his gaze sank lower. “Please cover yourself.”

“But wouldn’t you like to see me?” Her voice wrapped around him like a caress. “You’ve always enjoyed looking in the past.”

“That’s over.” He refused to open his eyes. “I’m no longer interested.”

There was a sigh, and then she said, “Everything is decent. You may look.”

Warily, he peered out between his lashes. Finding that she was telling the truth, he opened his eyes properly. “Thank you.”

She rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath. “Have you come to tell me of your decision?”

“I have.”

She reached for him, a smirk quirking the corner of her mouth, but he stepped away, and her hand fell to her side.

“You can spread whatever rumors you like,” he said. “My relationship with the countess is more important to me than my reputation. I will not be resuming our affair.”

A flicker of hurt passed over her face, but then she scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can offer you more excitement than your boring, mousey wife ever could.” She swayed closer and grabbed his tie before he could avoid her. “You don’t have to put on an act when we’re in private, darling. I know you want me.”

He grabbed her wrist and gently but firmly tugged it away from his cravat. “I never set out to hurt you, Florence. I’m sorry if that’s what I’ve done. But you must end this campaign to win me over. You won’t succeed. I’m faithful to my wife.”

Quick as a fox, she grabbed his cock through his breeches.

He choked on air, shocked stiff. When he regained control of himself, he swatted her hand away and partially closed the door, putting it between them.

“Don’t ever touch me like that again,” he growled. “It’s completely unacceptable.”

“Andrew, I—”

He cut her off. “No. I’ve been patient with you because of our history, but let me make this perfectly clear. The only woman I want touching me is my wife. You may be accustomed to using your beauty to get what you want, but you won’t have me. Never again. My heart, my body, and my soul belong to her.”

“But she’s so… so…,” she sputtered, apparently unable to find the words she was searching for.

“She’s clever,” he said, “passionate, and ambitious, and she has the biggest heart. I refuse to have anything to do with bruising it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You just think I won’t go through with it.”

He shook his head. “Do what you think is best. It won’t change my mind.”

She shut the door in his face.

His shoulders slumped, and he left, unable to help the feeling that he’d failed. He’d made the right decision—he had no doubt of that—but if Florence spread rumors about his marriage, it would hurt Amelia, and it would be his fault. There was no escaping that.

He pushed the door open, strode through, and headed around the corner to where the carriage waited. He got inside without a word and buried his face in his hands as the carriage jolted forward.

How concerned should he be? Was Florence’s desire for petty revenge really strong enough that she’d risk angering an aristocrat?

He sighed. He knew damn well that she wouldn’t fear any repercussions from him. She was the type of person to carry through on her threats.

Should he warn Amelia?

If he did, he’d have to tell her why this was happening, and the idea of that was sickening—especially after she’d already shown that she was insecure about Florence.

Damn. Why did it have to be so hard to know the right thing to do?

He arrived home, intending to retire quietly to his bedroom for a soak in the bath so he could consider his options in private, but as soon as he was through the door, Amelia rushed down the stairs toward him, grinning broadly.

“What is it?” he asked, uncertain what could have excited her so greatly when he’d only been gone for a short period of time.

She skipped over to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and stretched onto her tiptoes to kiss him. “I have another story ready to send to the publisher.”

“Congratulations!” He hugged her tightly, breathing in woman and mint. The smell of home. He kissed her. “I’m so proud of you.”

She started to smile, but then she sniffed, and a groove formed between her eyebrows. “Are you using a new cologne?”

His heart skipped and his blood turned cold. Fuck. Florence must have left a trace of her floral perfume on him when she grabbed his cravat—or his crotch.

“Yes,” he said so quickly, his tongue almost tripped over the word. “I’m trying it out. What do you think?”

She sniffed again and frowned. “It’s rather feminine, but it’s nice, so if you like it, then I like it too.”

He grimaced. Now he felt like an utter cad. His wife was prepared to like the scent of another woman’s perfume on him just because she thought it was something he’d worn to please himself.

“Have you prepared a copy of the story for submission?” he asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Yes.” She let him go and gestured up the stairs. “It’s in my bedchamber. I’ve been preparing extra copies of each section as I write them so it would be ready as soon as I was finished.”

“Excellent.” His wife was brilliant. “Boden!”

The butler materialized from nowhere, but his judgmental expression told Andrew that he’d heard their exchange regarding the perfume. “My lord?”

“Please arrange to have the countess’s story delivered to the publisher first thing in the morning. She’ll show you where it is.”

Boden bowed to Amelia. “It would be my honor, my lady.”

With a dirty look at Andrew, Boden followed Amelia up the stairs. Andrew wondered whether he ought to be bothered by the butler’s apparent defection, but all he could feel was pleased that his people cared about Amelia.

He loped up the stairs after them and ducked into his bedchamber to anoint himself with his own cologne to cover any trace Florence had left on him before going to Amelia’s room via the corridor.

Ever since he’d tried the door between their chambers and found it locked, he hadn’t been brave enough to try again. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to know whether or not she’d deemed him worthy of having immediate access to her. Perhaps it was cowardly, but he preferred to live in ignorant bliss.

As he entered her bedchamber, Boden was already leaving, a sheaf of papers in hand. He muttered, “My lord,” as they passed each other but sounded strangely sarcastic.

Amelia sat on the edge of the bed, her legs crossed.

“What would you like to do tonight to celebrate?” he asked, hovering in the doorway, ready to leave in the event she said she’d rather read a book or have time to herself than be with him.

She patted the bed. “It just occurred to me as I was writing the final scene, where Joceline arrives at her new home, that I know very little about your home in Suffolk. Won’t you come and tell me about it?”

He relaxed. That, he could do.

He sat on the edge of the bed and bent to unlace his shoes and remove them. “May I lie down?”

She cocked her head, obviously surprised, but nodded. “Of course.”

He lay back and lifted his feet onto the bed. “Lie with me.”

She removed her slippers and lay alongside him. He placed his hand on her hip, urging her to snuggle up against him. She rested her cheek over his heart and pressed herself along the length of him.

He kissed her forehead, idly stroking her hip. “I spent much of my childhood in Suffolk. It was our primary residence when I was young.”

“What does it look like?”

He closed his eyes, picturing it. “The design was inspired by Gothic architecture from the Continent. It’s rather… dramatic.”

“How so?”

“It has turrets and an impressive facade. The gardens are beautiful, too—although I say that reluctantly, as the man who designed them was French. He married an Englishwoman, so perhaps that renders him more English than French? Anyway, there’s a pond with a fountain, and thousands of flowers bloom each year.”

“It sounds lovely.” Her tone was wistful.

“It is. There are beautiful bursts of yellow, red, and purple everywhere you look. I used to love spending time in the garden, although I got lonely. I was the type of boy who liked to be around others.”

She laughed softly. “I imagine you were.”

“Once I started attending school, I often brought friends home to stay during the breaks. Especially Ashford.” Vaughan had always been grateful for the opportunity to escape his parents for a while. “The things we used to get up to….”

Amelia tilted her chin to look up at him, her beautiful blue eyes bright in the candlelight. “I don’t believe for a second that the duke got up to mischief unless it was at your behest.”

“You’ve got me there,” he admitted. “Any trouble we created was usually my idea, but Ashford isn’t quite as straightlaced as he’d like people to believe.”

“I look forward to getting to know him better. Him and his wife.”

“Perhaps we can visit them at Christmas.” He rather liked the idea of spending Christmas with his family and Ashford’s, exchanging gifts, drinking mulled wine, and singing carols.

“I’d like that.” She closed her eyes. “Tell me what kind of trouble you and the duke got yourselves into.”

He kissed the top of her head and began to talk. The stories spilled from him easily, and by the time he finished, she was asleep in his embrace. He smiled to himself. He could grow accustomed to holding his wife while she fell asleep.

Moving carefully, he extricated himself from her, then propped a pillow beneath her head and pulled a blanket over her. He’d return soon, but first, he had to speak with his mother.

He took a candle from the nightstand and used it to light the way down the corridor to his mother’s chamber. He knocked quietly and waited. When the door opened, she stood before him in a warm robe with her hair loose, but her eyes were sharp, not hazy with sleepiness as he might have expected.

She drew herself up to her full height and crossed her arms. “I heard where you went earlier.”

He winced. “Who told you?”

She arched an eyebrow. “A better question is, why would you visit that woman when you are clearly besotted with Amelia?”

He sighed and rubbed his temples. “She’s blackmailing me.”

Her mouth fell open. “Blackmailing?”

“Yes, and I failed to meet her terms. That’s why I’m here. I need to warn you.” He ought to warn Amelia, too, but that would be a more difficult conversation. Broaching the subject with Lady Drake first would ease the path.

“Warn me about what?” she demanded.

“I believe Miss Giles may intend to smear our good name.”

His mother stepped aside. “You’d best come in and tell me everything.”