His Jilted Bride (Historical Regency Romance) (15 page)

Her hands grew clammy under Henry's
unwavering stare. “You said you'd talk to me,” he reminded her in a
voice that brooked no argument.

She nodded numbly. Amelia remembered
him whispering for her to come see him in the yellow drawing room
when she was finished speaking with Elijah. She'd offered him a
smile and murmured an agreement, but after Elijah had grown so
angry with her and tossed her from the room, she had no desire to
speak to anyone.

“
There's no reason to fear me.” His quiet words startled
her.

“
I don't fear you. I just don't know what to expect from you
or anyone else anymore.”

“
I see.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Life is full
of uncertainty—especially when married into this family.” He shot
her a grin. “Perhaps if you will come talk to me for a few minutes,
some of your uncertainty will be made certain.”

Despite herself, a small burble of
laughter passed Amelia's lips at his ridiculous statement. “I
really shouldn't.”

“
Oh? And when has Lady Amelia ever been accused of resisting
the temptation to do something she shouldn't?”

A dull ache formed in her chest. Ever
since she'd made a horrible mistake with a masked stranger, that's
when. Since then, she hadn't done a single thing a respectable
young lady wouldn't do, except ride away from her own wedding with
Elijah, but that had been unavoidable.

“
Come,” he said again, opening the large door just to the
right of where she stood. “This will take but a few
minutes.”

She cast a quick glance over her
shoulder then went into what appeared to be Alex's study. Glass
jars with plants or insects lined the windowsill. She shuddered. On
his desk, over the top of his open account ledgers lay several
contraptions, some metal with dials, others had a strip of numbers
in the middle. She almost chuckled. Nothing about Elijah's
dark-haired, bespectacled older brother had ever
changed.

Henry left the door open a scant three
inches then walked over toward her and pulled out the chair behind
the large desk. “This one is far more comfortable than the others,”
he murmured when she hesitated to sit.

Swallowing her unease at the
possibility of being caught alone with him, she lowered herself
into the chair, clenching her hands together as he made his way
around the desk to sit across from her. She had a sudden urge to
flee the room. To run back to Elijah and make sure he knew she
hadn't done anything she shouldn't have with his brother. Bile rose
in her throat. That would be the worst of it if they were caught.
It didn't matter the scandal that might ensue, those were only
words. But if Elijah had reason to believe she'd been untrue to him
in favor of his brother, and she really was pregnant... It was
unthinkable.

She jumped to her feet with such vigor
the chair she'd been sitting in toppled backward to the floor. “I
need to go.”

“
No, you need to listen.” Henry gestured for her to sit back
down. “If we're caught, I'll speak to Elijah, if you'd like. He'll
know nothing happened between us.”

That didn't make her feel much better,
but she righted her chair and took her seat anyway. The unnerving
truth was it didn't matter what Elijah thought of her anyway
because it would never rival the feelings she had for
him.

“
Amelia,” Henry started with what sounded like a sigh borne of
frustration. “As you know, I'm a gentleman, not a lady.”

“
Yes, I can see that.”

He shook his head ruefully. “You've
certainly got the tongue of a Banks,” he muttered under his breath.
“What I meant by that is, while ladies are more eloquent with their
words and more sensitive of others' feelings, gentlemen are
not.”

She bit her lip and nodded. He was
about to say something completely blunt and tactless. Splendid. At
least he'd given her warning, she supposed. “All right.”

Henry reached his ungloved hand up to
the side of his face and idly scratched his temple for a moment.
“Gentlemen, such as Elijah, don't—” He twisted his lips and turned
his head to the side as if he were in deep concentration, now
tapping his fingers against his cheek. Suddenly he stopped, and his
eyes lit with what she presumed to be a brilliant idea. “Think of
it like this. Your skin is different from Elijah's. Yours is soft
and delicate. His is like mine, coarse and callused.” He lifted his
hands to show her. “Say, you two were to walk through a rose garden
together without gloves. You'd notice if your hand brushed against
some thorns and would likely draw attention to the scratches it put
on your skin. Gentlemen could brush up against those same
thorns—”

“
And not feel them,” Amelia cut in flatly.

Henry shook her head. “No. They still
feel them. They might not cut their hands as much because their
skin is coarse, but they'd still feel the sharp thorns when they
get scratched by them. The difference is, they won't draw attention
to them. They'd rather pretend it wasn't happening and let everyone
around them think nothing is hurting them.”

Mindlessly, Amelia wrapped a fallen
tendril of her dark hair around her fingers. “Why?”

“
Because they don't want anyone to know.”

She licked her lips. “No, I meant why
are you telling me this?”

“
Because you need to know.”

Amelia rolled her eyes up to look at
the ceiling for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “I must be
as articulate as a gentleman today. What I want to know is what
this has to do with Elijah.”

“
Everything.”

“
Everything?” she echoed.

He nodded his confirmation and drummed
his fingers along the edge of his brother's desk as if he were
contemplating just what he should tell her.

She sat quiet, waiting. She'd sit here
as long as necessary for him to decide what to tell her—and then
she'd wait a while after that in hopes he'd tell her
more.

His long, blunt-tipped fingers made
one final tap. “It's exactly as I said before. Elijah might seem
impassive or unaffected when talking to you, but he's not. He just
wants you to think he is.”

“
Why?” she blurted, heedless to whatever trite remark he might
counter with.

“
That's just how gentlemen are,” he said with a
shrug.

If the hangman's noose wasn't the
punishment for attempted murder of a titled gentlemen's brother,
Amelia might strangle the insolence right out of Henry herself.
“Are you trying to be obtuse?”

He blinked at her the way his older
brother Alex was prone to do when confused or caught unawares.
“No,” he said slowly.

“
I'm sorry,” she said. “I just don't understand.”

“
And you're calling me obtuse,” he mumbled. He ran his hand
through his hair. “What I'm trying to tell you is he's just
pretending not to be affected, but he is.”

“
And you know this because you're a gentleman,” her words were
more of a statement than a question.

“
And his twin,” he confirmed. “There's very little one can
hide from his twin.”

His words made sense. Heaven only knew
how many times she'd heard one of them finish the other's sentence
or have a conversation without uttering one word. “What is it that
he doesn't want me to know?”

“
That, my dear sister, is for you to discover.”

Chapter Fifteen

Elijah watched as the last orange
flame in the three-candle candelabra on the table in front of him
was put out by its own pool of wax, leaving the room in utter
darkness. Several hours ago a storm had rolled in, taking with it
every ounce of moonlight that might have been able to stream in
through the window.

In the darkness, he continued to sit
alone. Thoughts of his earlier conversations with Amelia played
over in his mind. Since they'd been married, they hadn't had but
one or two conversations that didn't turn sour, which was a stark
contrast to the one or two that had gone sour in all the years
they'd known each other before marrying.

How could repeating a
handful of words before the archbishop change everything they'd
had? He shook his head. He was no closer to solving this mystery
than he had been after demanding she leave following her outrageous
suggestion that he was not only capable, but intent on raping her.
His stomach knotted and a surge of bile burned his throat. How
could she even
think
him the sort who'd do that? Or was it because she thought he
already had? The bile that had burned his throat now filled his
mouth.

He grabbed one of the empty glass jars
on the edge of Alex's desk and spewed the burning liquid into it,
then used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. He had to set
things to right. But how? There wasn't any options available to him
now that wouldn't bring about more questions—questions he couldn't
answer.

He'd tried to avoid all of this just
days ago. If he'd been successful, none of the feuds between them
would have ever taken place.

Clenching his fists and closing his
eyes, he dredged up the memory of when he'd gone to see Amelia's
father...

London

Last Week

“
Mr. Banks, so good to see you,” Jacob Brice, Lord Strand
said, coming into the drawing room.

Elijah noted Lord Strand's smile
wasn't as wide as usual, and the corners of his eyes hadn't
crinkled the way they normally did when he grinned; his hands were
clenched into twin fists at his sides and the ruby cravat pin he
always wore was slightly askew. That could only mean one thing:
he'd heard. Just what he'd heard, Elijah had yet to determine. But
that was a challenge he'd gladly accept.

“
It's good to see you, too, my lord,” Elijah said, flashing
him a grin. “I was hoping to speak to you about something
important, if this is a good time for you, of course.”

“
Well...” Lord Strand threw a glance over his shoulder to the
hall, then turned back to Elijah. “Just keep it quick,” he
muttered, falling into a leather chair by the fire.

“
It's about Lady Amelia,” Elijah started uneasily. “I heard
she's to marry Lord Friar.”

“
For once the gossip mongrels got it right.”

“
Or did they?”

“
Did they what?” the older man barked.

“
Get the story right?”

Lord Strand's grey eyes narrowed on
Elijah. “What's your game, boy?”

“
I'd like to marry Amelia,” he said, lacking any sort of
finesse or moderation.

“
No.”

Elijah stared at him in shock.
“No?”

“
No,” the man affirmed. “She's promised to Lord Friar at the
end of the week. It would bring about an awful scandal if she were
to cry off now.”

Squeezing his toes together so not to
grind his teeth, Elijah ventured, “Does she and Lord Friar have
great affections for one another, then?” He wouldn't dare put voice
to the real reason he suspected Lord Strand had accepted the man's
suit, but frankly Lord Strand lacked the funds to eat more than
gruel.

Lord Strand scoffed. “I'd wager a
feline is fonder of a hound than she is of Lord Friar.” He shoved
to his feet and grabbed the fire poker. Poking at the log in the
fire, he continued, “But it matters naught. They're set to marry in
Brighton this weekend.”

“
There is still enough time to cry off,” Elijah said
softly.

A large spray of sparks flew through
the hearth. “She'll not be crying off.”

“
Even if she had a better offer?” Elijah hedged.

“
Even then.” Lord Strand wordlessly placed the poker back in
the stand and adjusted the screen, then crossing his arms, turned
around to face Elijah. “Amelia wants this match, and you'll do
nothing to stop it.”

Elijah searched the man's stoney face.
“Why?”

“
That's none of your concern, young man,” Lord Strand snapped.
“I knew your father. A more honorable sort I have yet to meet.” He
shook his head sadly. “I'm assuming it's because of him, and the
sense of honor and duty to protect those closest to you that he
instilled into you that brings you here, but it'll do you no good.
Amelia has already made her choice.”

“
And she chose
him
?”

Lord Strand hesitated a second.
“Yes.”

“
No, she didn't,” Elijah said flatly.

“
Yes. She did.”

“
You might claim she did, but I know Amelia. She would have
never agreed to such an ill-suited match.”