Chapter 7 Desperate for Attention
Desperate for Attention
Amelia could feel the stares as she made her way down the portrait-lined hallway of Brooks where she entered on business.
Highly irregular for a non-decorative woman to enter such an establishment, but she had gained access through the Duke of Lancaster’s influence who had promised to introduce her to the members.
Several wealthy members were potential advertisers for the Review, and she was determined to earn their patronage tonight.
The Review’s subscription numbers may be increasing but the main profit was still to be had from advertising.
The sound of familiar laughter interrupted her thoughts and drew her attention to an open door.
Inside, Lord Hereford was pressing himself against the Duchess of Rutland in what he probably imagined was a seductive instructional pose. He’d shed his coat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing surprisingly muscular forearms. Not that she was noticing such things.
“The key, Your Grace,” he was saying in a voice like warm honey, “is to imagine the foil as an extension of your arm. One must cradle it just so…” His hands slid down the duchess’ arm to adjust her grip. “Like a lover’s caress.”
The duchess tittered, her blonde curls bouncing. “Oh, Lord Hereford, you are positively wicked. What would my late duke say?”
“That you have excellent taste in instructors, I should hope,” he grinned, then caught sight of Amelia in the doorway. His expression shifted to one of exaggerated scandal as he straightened his posture. “Miss Thornton! This is hardly—”
The duchess, startled by his sudden shift in tone, whirled around with more enthusiasm than grace.
Her foil, still extended, caught the fine fabric of his trousers with a telltale ripping sound.
The tear started at his upper thigh and traveled upward in a way that made propriety impossible to maintain.
“Oh dear,” the duchess said, pressing her free hand to her mouth in a gesture that did nothing to hide her smile.
Her eyes traveled appreciatively over the exposed flesh.
“How terribly clumsy of me. Though I must say, Lord Hereford, you do keep yourself in fine condition. All those fencing lessons must be quite strenuous.”
Hereford’s attempt to maintain his dignity while discreetly trying to hold the tear closed only succeeded in making it worse.
A flash of tanned skin revealed that his lordship apparently swam or rode his horse in…
Amelia started at her own imagination. She focused her attention back to the marquess’ face, whose countenance revealed a rare moment of embarrassment.
Amelia decided she would enjoy his discomfort. “One imagines all that running from angry husbands provides excellent exercise.” She paused deliberately. “Though perhaps more practice with defensive maneuvers would be beneficial. Your form appears somewhat… exposed.”
The duchess let out an unladylike snort of laughter, while Hereford’s ears turned a fascinating shade of pink. He attempted to angle himself to preserve what remained of his dignity, but the movement only caused the tear to creep higher.
“I assure you, Miss Thornton,” he managed, his usual smooth charm deserting him, “this is not at all what it—” He shifted again, and there was another distinct ripping sound. “Oh, blast it all.”
“Such language!” The duchess openly giggled. “Shall I fetch you a blanket, my lord? Or perhaps you’d prefer to continue the lesson? I find I’m suddenly quite motivated to improve my technique.”
Hereford’s eyes narrowed and voice lowered. “Deirdre, be a dear and fetch me that blanket you were kind enough to offer.”
“Why, of course. And perhaps I could help you out of your torn trousers after?” With a wink and a wave, the duchess hurried out of the room.
Amelia watched the lady’s expensive gown ripple as she hurried down the corridor.
“What on earth are you doing here?” Hereford barked.
“I’m here on business. I have obtained permission to be here.”
He took a few steps toward her, then stopped, the effort to keep his disintegrating trousers in one piece becoming too taxing. “What could be so important that you would venture into a gentleman’s club unchaperoned?”
She met his gaze steadily. “I hope you’re not expecting a response, my lord, as I don’t owe you an explanation.”
She started when the marquess abandoned all effort to keep his bare thigh hidden and approached her slowly, his arms crossed over his chest. Her eyes widened as they swept over the gaping hole of his trousers, revealing the long sinews and powerful bulges.
Hereford stopped a foot away from her, forcing her to crank her neck to look at him.
His voice growled softly when he spoke, his eyes half hooded as he gazed down at her haughtily. “This is no place for an unwed woman.”
“That is an interesting opinion, my lord, considering I arrived with a dozen unwed women in scandalous clothing. Would you be more receptive to my presence had I been prepared to entertain the gentlemen?”
Amelia met his thunderous gaze without flinching, though her heart hammered against her ribs. When he spoke, his voice dropped to a whisper that dripped with condescension.
“You may be either arrogant or ignorant enough to be here, but you do not comprehend the risk. Your brother,” his gaze flickered meaningfully to her leg, “should know better than to send you unchaperoned. Leave before the evening’s entertainment begins.”
Amelia arched an eyebrow, deliberately casual. “Why, Lord Hereford, one might almost mistake that for concern.”
“I have a responsibility to protect innocent women who stray into my domain.” He adjusted his torn trousers with as much dignity as he could muster.
“Duly noted. Now I do not wish to cut into your time with pretty widows.” She allowed her gaze to drift purposefully over his exposed thigh even as color flooded her cheeks.
“Why does my reputation matter so much to you, Miss Thornton?”
The question stopped her retreat. She turned around, taking in the full picture he made.
Impossibly blue eyes, even more striking against his tanned skin, contrasted sharply with his stark white shirt.
That perfectly tied emerald cravat accentuated his aristocratic features, while dark hair fell in artfully tousled waves. Every inch the pampered aristocrat.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Most of Society barely gives my behavior a second thought,” he said, studying her with genuine curiosity. “Yet you seem to take particular interest in cataloging my failings. I wonder why.”
Amelia’s fingers tightened around the handle of her reticule. The unexpected perceptiveness of his question caught her off guard. Her leg throbbed suddenly, as if to remind her of the price she had paid because of men who did nothing.
“Perhaps because men like you could make so much more of a difference,” she replied, her throat closing from tension.
“Yes, you fund orphanages—commendable work—but you have wealth, influence, connections that could do so much more. Instead, you seem to treat your charitable ventures as side projects while spending most of your energy on frivolities.”
Something flickered in his gaze—a brief shadow that might have been hurt.
“While children toil in factories until their fingers bleed,” she continued, unable to stop herself.
“While families lose loved ones to unsafe conditions for mere pennies of profit. Your orphanages treat the symptoms, my lord, but what of the disease? What of the systems that create orphans in the first place?”
“You speak as if this is personal,” he said quietly. “As if my supposed indifference has harmed you directly.”
Amelia stiffened, conscious of how close he’d come to an uncomfortable truth. “It harms us all when those with the power to enact change remain willfully blind to suffering.”
“Oh my. This is better entertainment than the theater.” The Duchess of Rutland’s delighted voice shattered their battle of wills. Her Grace stood in the doorway, eyes sparkling with barely suppressed mirth.
Amelia then realized more doors had opened as other members investigated the commotion. The Duke of Lancaster appeared, taking in the scene before him. Hereford with his torn trousers, the duchess clutching her foil and a pair of trousers, and Amelia’s expression of arctic disdain.
“I don’t want to know,” he said, breaking the tension, “but I could guess. Miss Thornton was educating Hereford on the value of keeping his falls secured when the duchess chanced upon them and illustrated how best to expedite freeing the said falls.”
Hereford did not turn his gaze but said with his serious expression barely flickering, “Back to your important activities, gentlemen. There’s nothing to observe here. Miss Thornton here is a spy for the Metropolitan Review, and I was just informing her how she could find her way back.”
Amelia allowed a little satisfied smile. “Gentlemen, contrary to his lordship’s claim, I’m here to find men eager to see their names in print for advertisement.” She gestured to Hereford. “So that you may not become this desperate for attention.”
The duke laughed and other men followed suit. “And I was worried Miss Thornton would not be able to resist your boyish charms, Hereford.”
“No danger there, Lancaster. The lady is positively repulsed by my charms,” Hereford replied, finally taking his eyes off Amelia. “In fact, she tried most ungallantly to have me killed two weeks ago.”
“Good,” the duke said. “Someone should.” He turned back to Amelia. “My darling wife asked me to accompany you in your endeavor tonight. Something about withdrawing her affection should any harm come to you.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. The duchess is most kind.”
“I believe you should retire for the night before you hurt someone, Hereford,” the duke said while offering his arm to Amelia. “I believe your fencing skills are becoming rusty.”
Amelia smiled slyly as she took Lancaster’s arm.