Chapter 12 #2
“That’s the first sign of your imminent dotage. Where do you think you first met Amelia, Chatham?” Rafferty grinned.
“It slipped my mind that you and Reynolds used to spend summers together.”
“With you and your brothers and Whitfield, too, in case you’ve forgotten.” Rafferty laughed. “I could almost claim the credit for your introduction to her.”
Milo shook his head and looked to see where Amelia had got to, so she could renew her acquaintance with Rafferty. When he spotted her, she was headed in his direction already. She nearly tripped over her own feet, though, when she noticed Rafferty at his side.
She righted herself—but her expression turned dark, angry. “You,” she hissed immediately upon arrival.
“My dear Lady Chatham. It’s been too long since we last met.”
“Not long enough for me.”
Milo blinked but Rafferty only laughed. “You’re not still holding a grudge, are you?”
Her gaze cut to Milo, a questioning look in her eyes.
“Amelia, may I present my brother-in-law, Adam Croft, Lord Rafferty. My sister Rebecca’s husband.”
Amelia’s shoulders tensed. “I hadn’t realized he was a member of your family.”
“Your family now, too, so there’s no escape from me,” Rafferty said with a teasing laugh. “You’ll have to forgive me for everything I do now.”
“I have to do nothing of the sort,” she vowed. Amelia glared daggers at Rafferty still. In fact, her hands were so tightly clenched at her waist as she looked at their brother-in-law, Milo feared she was stopping herself from slapping his smiling face.
Milo leaned toward Rafferty and whispered. “What did you do?”
“Me? Nothing?”
“Amelia seems to feel otherwise. Why is that?”
Amelia stepped closer. “He put worms in my shoes, he short-sheeted my bed, he stained my hair with India ink…”
“The pranks of an excitable child,” Rafferty exclaimed, brushing them off as if his actions were unimportant.
“Pranks played every day on the only girl at a house party that lasted a whole month,” Amelia said through gritted teeth. “They cut my hair because of what you did to me!” she hissed.
Rafferty lost a bit of color at the discovery.
Amelia’s jaw was clenched tight and she fairly vibrated with fury. Milo immediately moved to stand closer to her side, afraid she would do something rash at any moment. He was furious on her behalf, too.
Milo noticed others had started to take note of the angry exchange. “Perhaps, we should take this discussion elsewhere,” he suggested.
But Amelia suddenly affected a false smile and laughed, causing the other guests to look away, robbed of a potential scandal in the making.
Yet, Rafferty was another person who’d wronged his wife and gotten away with it in the past. Milo would not stand for it. “Rafferty, you owe my wife an apology.”
Rafferty slumped a little, head lowering. “I do indeed. I am very sorry for the harm I caused you when I was a boy. I won’t ask your forgiveness because I do not deserve it.”
Amelia inclined her head, agreeing with him, but said nothing to let him off the hook. Milo was not easily appeased, either, but during a ball was not the time to make a fuss. It would only cause another bit of gossip that society would gobble up.
“We’ll deal with you later in private,” he warned his brother-in-law, and hooked his arm through Amelia’s to lead her away from an obvious source of embarrassment for her.
He procured a glass of champagne for her on the way, but she did not take a sip immediately. Her body was stiff, and her smile had been replaced by haughtiness. It did not suit the Amelia he had come to know.
He gestured for her to walk with him outside onto the terrace. Once free of the stares of others, she exhaled and hastily set the champagne glass aside untouched. Her hand was shaking badly. “I apologize if I embarrassed you just now.”
“Embarrassed me? No, of course you did not.”
“I will have difficulty facing him again. It was a painful time in my childhood. I was thoroughly humiliated.”
He frowned, confused. He only vaguely remembered his stay at Rafferty’s. He’d gone there on so many occasions that they’d all blurred together. But Amelia had only gone the once and never returned that he could recall. “How much of your hair was stained with ink?”
“Half the length, but…”
He suddenly got a bad feeling. “But?”
“They cut it all—nearly down to my scalp.”
Milo reeled at the savagery. “But that’s ridiculous!”
“I looked like a boy, and I wanted no one to see me without a head covering for years after.” She rubbed her arms. “My little sister loved nothing more than to steal my turban and expose me to pity for my ugly appearance.”
“You could never be ugly,” he promised, but Milo cursed under his breath. Amelia’s hair was beautiful now, and he could not imagine the pain she must have suffered. “I assume your sister was not punished for that, either.”
“No, she wasn’t,” she said, her head lowering. “They were all too busy laughing with her.”
“I had no idea they were so mean to you,” he said, raising her face with gentle fingers. “How could they do that?”
“I’ve spent my entire life wondering why I was not worthy of love, too.”
“But you are,” he promised. Milo reached for his wife and drew her into his arms. Amelia remained stiff and unyielding at first, and he pressed his lips to her hair, hoping to comfort her.
Slowly, her arms rose to return his embrace, and they stood together for several moments in the dark, united in grief and sympathy. It was nice and cozy to be part of a pair again, and Milo began to feel things he should know better not to.
He held her tighter still, aching to take away the humiliation of her past from a callous and cruel family. But even as she softened into his arms, Milo knew he had to let go. Worrying about her was a slippery slope. And dangerous to his promise to keep a distance.
He gently eased Amelia out of his arms. “We must go back inside now and dance together,” he murmured. “There are people we must speak with.”
“I would prefer…”
“You can avoid Rafferty if you want,” he added quickly. “As well as Father. I’ll deal with my family from now on.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
He gestured toward the ballroom and did not offer his arm for their return indoors, but he would have to hold her if they were to dance.
Milo walked at her side around the dance floor, waiting for the musicians, utterly aware of how badly he wanted to hold her in his arms again and why it was not a good idea.
When the music began, he went through the motions automatically, noticing they were again perfectly matched despite never having danced together.
Amelia made no comment, her mind clearly elsewhere, and he allowed her the distraction. But as soon as the dance ended, he escorted her back to the duchess and the company of his sisters.
He excused himself from her and found a drink.
“Good evening, brother.”
He spun about to find Samuel at his side, dressed appropriately at last, his long hair tied back in a queue.
Milo thumped his brother’s shoulder, pleased their talk had brought him back to the fold, tonight of all nights. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
“I wasn’t,” Samuel replied. “But then I considered that your wife could use all the support she could get.”
“She will be happy to see you, I’m sure,” Milo promised.
Samuel eased closer. “Why does she look so cold tonight? What have you done?”
“Me, nothing.” Milo quickly told him what Rafferty had done to her as a girl, and of Father’s continued disapproval.
“I’m not surprised she dislikes him still. Rafferty’s sense of humor leaves a lot to be desired.”
“I agree,” Milo murmured. “I will deal with him another day. For now, we appreciate your support.”
They stood together for several moments, watching another set form, and his gaze was drawn back to his wife as she stood flanked by Jessica and Becca, chatting with other guests. For now, she seemed content not to dance, and he did not move to claim her.
“She was born for this,” Samuel murmured after a moment.
“Who?”
“Your wife. Look at her. Charming all she meets. She presumes nothing and gains approval, one introduction at a time.”
Milo didn’t answer but continued to study his wife from afar while he sipped more champagne. She appeared to have no difficulty speaking with anyone she met. But he was keenly aware he wasn’t the only gentleman watching her.
He set his drink aside and began to circulate again, Samuel close by his side. Milo kept a distance and an eye on who Amelia spoke with.
He didn’t want to admit Samuel might be right, but he was. This was what he’d hoped for all along. Amelia was made for this life. His first wife had seemed to be, too. She’d charmed and flirted her way into many a gentleman’s arms and beds.
Milo studied Amelia’s interactions carefully…and wondered at what point he’d lose her, too. He looked away, more troubled than he should be over that possibility.
“She really hasn’t changed,” Samuel noted. “Confident and yet vulnerable, too. You should go to her.”
“No.”
He’d hovered about his first wife and that had not done any good for their marriage.
Samuel glanced his way, frowning. “She’ll find her feet faster with you by her side.”
Milo collected another glass of champagne and downed it immediately. “I watched over my first wife, and it did me no favors,” he reminded Samuel.
“That was not your fault,” he promised. “Amelia would never betray you.”
As he watched his wife, he noticed the hounds of society drawing closer, some who’d played a part in breaking his first marriage. Usually, he avoided them. Tonight, he considered warning them off. It hadn’t done any good last time.
He wanted to believe Amelia would be different. But he had once believed in love and that had nearly ruined him.
“If she craves more than me…” He left the rest unsaid. “Well, there are no guarantees in a marriage, are there.”
“No,” Samuel agreed after a moment. Then Rafferty joined them, bringing a round of drinks more suited to his taste to their corner of the room, and the discussion about going to his wife ended.
Yet Milo’s head full of dread for the uncertain future ahead. He wanted to believe in Amelia and the vows she’d spoken, but tonight, too much reminded him of how his first marriage had begun.
Soon other gentlemen joined them and his new marriage was toasted again and again, until the hours seemed to blur together.
Eventually, Father joined the group, but only to bid them all a good night.
Milo refused to acknowledge him, as the duke had done to Amelia all night.
When the crowds parted, he spotted Amelia standing alone with Dunstan and listening intently to something he said. Dunstan put his hand on her arm—and Milo was moving before he realized it.
Amelia seemed so surprised by his arrival that he felt compelled to prove who she belonged to. He jerked her into his arms while he glared daggers at Dunstan. “I suggest you find your own wife and leave mine to me.”
“Mine has gone to bed,” Dunstan complained
Milo raised a brow. “Then I suggest you join her there.”
“But it would be impolite to leave someone so beautiful alone.”
Amelia struggled to be free of his arms. “He was telling me of my new home.”
“He’s never been there,” Milo told her.
“Well, that is not exactly true. The late Lady Chatham sheltered me many a night on my way through Devon. Such a generous hostess.”
Milo’s hands curled into fists at his sides.
Dunstan’s smile grew smug and then he reached for Amelia’s hand. “Well, my dear, I’m afraid I must leave you in your husband’s capable hands tonight. I look forward to meeting you some other time.”
Milo ground his teeth as Amelia wished him good night. He was too angry for speech. Dunstan had been another of his wife’s lovers, and right under his very nose, too. And now it seemed he’d set his wicked sights on Amelia.
Dunstan strode off, but not upstairs.
Amelia faced him. “Chatham, I am so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Stay away from him,” he growled. “He’s but one thing on his mind. Just like the rest.”
“Well, obviously I will. He’s a man.”
Milo grasped her arm. “I will not allow my wife to betray me again.”
Amelia stared at him. “Do you think I would? With him?”
He pulled her closer. “It’s happened before.”
“Not by me,” she whispered, trying to free herself. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“Chatham, release me,” she hissed. “I’ve done nothing wrong and you are causing people to stare at us.”
“Let them look and see my hands on my own wife,” he growled. “I have the right to touch you.”
She sniffed the air between them and wrinkled her nose. “Not like this. This isn’t you.”
Suddenly, Jessica stood beside them, and Samuel, too. Samuel peeled Milo’s hands off Amelia’s arm and drew him away. “You need some air, brother.”
“Yes, do take him outside for air,” she murmured. “Perhaps once his head clears, he will remember how to be a good husband.”