Chapter Six #2
Where in God’s name had that come from? Too young, too young, too young, his mind repeated.
But there was a fire in Amelia, and he didn’t doubt that she would be a sensual creature who would love every minute of bed play. Heat flared within him, and he forced the thought away.
“I don’t have to answer that,” he told her. Just because Amelia was Margaret’s sister didn’t give her the right to pry. Whether or not he had any more children was his own business, not hers.
“You want to begin a new marriage with my sister, when you don’t ever intend to be anything more than the purse strings, is that it?” She glared at him, her frustration evident.
“We’ll be friends,” he repeated. “It will be more than enough for a good marriage.”
“It could be more than that, if you’d try.”
But he didn’t want to try. She needed to abandon this line of questioning, for it would lead nowhere. David crossed the room and sat beside her. “You’re so young, Miss Andrews. You believe that love is about flowers and poetry.”
“Just because you don’t intend to fall in love again doesn’t mean it can’t happen,” she said, resting her hands in her lap.
“It won’t,” he corrected her. “When Katherine died, she took everything with her.”
“Then you don’t plan on making this a true marriage. You plan to sacrifice my sister, using her for your own means, thinking nothing of what she wants.” Amelia eyed him as if he were a monster offering for Margaret’s hand.
He stood and turned his back. No, he couldn’t feel anything again. For there was nothing left of his heart.
“I intend to give her a good marriage, and she’ll likely be happier than most of the other women of the ton. That will have to be enough.” David stood, keeping his posture stiff as he moved toward the door.
“Then I hope she says no,” Amelia replied softly. “For both of your sakes.”
Margaret stood near her mother at Lady Rumford’s ball, fanning herself lightly. The gathering of people was one of many events of the Season, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to dance or make merry.
She hadn’t given Lord Castledon an answer yet, though she was seriously considering it. His honesty was welcome, and she didn’t delude herself into thinking it would be a love match. He did possess all the qualities she wanted in a husband, and that ought to be enough for her.
Even so, she questioned whether it was the right thing to do.
She’d seen the way Amelia looked at the earl when he wasn’t aware of it.
A few days ago, when he’d issued the proposal, she’d noted her sister’s strong response.
Whether or not Amelia knew it, Margaret suspected that her sister would be a better match for Lord Castledon.
The pair of them were like oil and fire, and although the earl kept a calm demeanor around everyone else, with Amelia, he was different.
If he indeed wanted to make a match with their family, Margaret knew she wasn’t the right young woman for him. It ought to be her sister, she was certain. Perhaps she could guide them toward each other. A sad smile tugged at her mouth, for Amelia was not the only one who could be a matchmaker.
Her own options were gone. Regardless of what anyone thought, Lord Lisford had all but ruined her when he’d ended their betrothal.
Even though she’d done nothing wrong, everyone wondered why she hadn’t been good enough for him to wed.
Something was the matter with her, and no amount of good manners or deportment would change it.
There were no gentlemen here who wanted her.
Not really. Most of them wanted young, wealthy heiresses with no opinions of their own.
She knew, well enough, that this marriage proposal might be her last. A bitterness clenched her inside, for this was not the way it was meant to be. She’d obeyed the rules of the ton, learning everything a lady ought to know. And it was worth nothing at all.
Amelia was standing across the room, holding a glass of lemonade, while Lord Lisford was gazing at her with longing.
Thankfully, her sister had come to her senses and had recognized that the man was nothing more than a rake and a wastrel.
Even so, it appeared that the viscount hadn’t given up.
Amelia remained polite, but it was clear that her sister had little desire to speak with the man.
Margaret was interrupted from her musings when Lord Castledon appeared. He invited her to dance, but it was clear that he, too, had caught sight of Amelia and the viscount. “Someone needs to remind Lord Lisford that there are other women here who would suit him better.”
“Rich women who want an ornamental husband, you mean.”
Lord Castledon sent her a sardonic smile. “Rich, feather-brained women with deep pockets.”
Margaret decided that she liked the earl a great deal. Not as a husband, but more like a brother. “Just so.”
She held his gloved hand while turning, and found that she was enjoying herself in the dancing set. Were it not for her sister’s interest, she might have said yes to the earl’s proposal. He was a good man and a kind one. They could get on well enough.
But when she thought of kissing him, her mind turned back to Cain Sinclair.
Reckless and wild, the Highlander was a man she could never be with.
But his kiss made her blood rise, and he made her feel alive in a way she’d never felt with any other man.
He was her stolen secret, a forbidden attraction that she could never indulge.
Thankfully, the earl hadn’t pressed her for an answer to his suit. He’d offered for her and had her parents’ approval. All that remained was her response.
They danced the remainder of the set, and Margaret was nearly out of breath at the end.
She glanced back to where Amelia had been standing, but there was no sign of her sister.
Likely she had gone to speak with other friends.
But as she turned slowly to study the ballroom, she couldn’t see Amelia anywhere.
A dark thread of worry pulled tightly within her. “Lord Castledon, would you mind helping me search for my sister? I don’t trust the viscount, and I don’t see either of them. I would feel better, knowing where she is.”
The earl’s face transformed into seriousness, understanding her concern. “You search the ballroom while I go outside.”
“If he’s dared to lay a hand on her—” Margaret began.
“He won’t have a hand when I’ve finished with him.” The earl crossed the room, and she had no doubt at all that if Amelia were in any danger at all, Lord Castledon would protect her.
In the meantime, she had to search the rest of the ballroom. It’s likely nothing at all, she told herself. Amelia could be in the ladies’ retiring room.
But after searching there and speaking with several other women, it became clear that no one had seen Amelia in several minutes.
When the minutes turned into half an hour, her sense of panic heightened. A few years ago, her older sister Victoria had been kidnapped. The viscount wouldn’t do the same thing, would he?
If Amelia had gone home, she would have said something to them. Margaret didn’t want to cause her mother unnecessary alarm if it turned out to be nothing. But when Lord Castledon returned, his expression was grim.
“She’s gone, and so is Lisford.”
Dear God, no. Not him. Margaret’s stomach sank, for she was afraid of what might have happened. “She never would have gone with him willingly.”
“Someone thought she wasn’t feeling well. Supposedly, Lisford was escorting her back to your mother.”
“Does anyone know where she might be?” Margaret demanded.
“I don’t know, but rest assured, I’ll find her.”
Margaret leaned against the wall, dreading the prospect of telling Mother. The earl was already striding across the room, and she felt slightly better that he was there to help. Even so, she thought of another man whom she could rely on to track down her sister: Cain Sinclair.
Time was of the essence. No longer did she care about propriety or what other people would think. This was about protecting Amelia.
She stopped briefly near her mother. “I can’t find Amelia. I’m going home to see if she’s there. I think someone said she had a headache.” The lie flowed easily, and though Beatrice appeared concerned, her mother gave no protest. “I’ll give our apologies to our hostess and join you.”
No, that wouldn’t do at all. She needed time to speak with Mr. Sinclair.
“It’s all right,” Margaret assured her mother. “She should have told us where she was going, but I imagine she’s fine. I’ll look after her.”
Her mother didn’t appear convinced, and Margaret signaled to her maid to accompany her. She had to move quickly, regardless of her mother’s intentions.
When she reached her carriage, she saw Castledon outside. “Have you heard anything?”
His face was hard, like frosted ice. “According to another driver, the viscount took a coach, and he’d packed baggage. I think he may have taken Amelia somewhere.”
“We have to stop him.”
“He won’t get far,” Castledon agreed. “I promise you that.” There was a steely resolve in his tone, as if he would not stop until she was found. But although she trusted him, she trusted Cain more. The Highlander could find Amelia, no matter where Lisford had taken her.
“I’m going to get someone else to help us,” Margaret insisted. “Someone who knows London well and can help track them down.”
“Sinclair?” the earl guessed.
Her face flushed, but she offered no denial. “Go after her, and Sinclair will follow. He is a good friend of our family’s.”
The earl studied her a moment. “You were never going to agree to my proposal, were you?”
Margaret hesitated, wondering whether to reveal the truth. But then, it hardly mattered now. She faced him and admitted, “Not while Amelia is in love with you.”