Page 61 of Mr. Cavendish, I Presume

Was that him? Striding past the doorway? She jumped up. “Thomas? Is that—”

The gentleman stopped, turned, and then Amelia realized that it was someone else. He was of a similar height and coloring, but she had never seen him before, of that she was quite certain. He was tall, although not awkwardly so, and his hair was perhaps a shade or two darker than Thomas’s. And his cheek was bruised.

How interesting.

“I’m so sorry,” she said hastily. But she was curious, and so she stepped toward the door. If she moved in his direction, he could not continue on his way without being unforgivably rude.

“Sorry to disappoint,” the gentleman said, smiling at her in a most flirtatious fashion. Amelia felt rather pleased despite herself. She wondered if he knew who she was. Probably not. Who would dare flirt with the Duke of Wyndham’s fiancée in his own house?

“No,” she said quickly, “of course not. It was my mistake. I was just sitting back there.” She motioned behind her. “You looked rather like the duke as you walked by.”

Indeed, the two gentlemen even shared the same stride. How odd. Amelia had not realized that she could recognize Thomas’s walk, but the moment she’d seen this man, she immediately realized that they moved in the same way.

He swept into a gracious bow. “Captain Jack Audley, at your service, ma’am.”

She bobbed a polite curtsy. “Lady Amelia Willoughby.”

“Wyndham’s fiancée.”

“You know him, then? Oh, well, of course you do. You are a guest here.” Then she recalled their conversation back at the Happy Hare. “Oh, you must be his fencing partner.”

Captain Audley stepped forward. “He told you about me?”

“Not much,” she admitted, trying not to look at the bruise on his cheek. It could not be a coincidence that both he and Thomas showed signs of an altercation.

“Ah, this,” Captain Audley murmured. He looked somewhat embarrassed as he touched his fingers to his cheek. “It looks much worse than it actually is.”

She was trying to figure out the best way to ask him about it when he added, in a most conversational tone, “Tell me, Lady Amelia, what color is it today?”

“Your cheek?” she asked, surprised by his forthrightness.

“Indeed. Bruises tend to look worse as they age, have you noticed? Yesterday it was quite purple, almost regally so, with a hint of blue in it. I haven’t checked in the mirror lately.” He turned his head, offering her a better view. “Is it still as attractive?”

Amelia stared at him in awe, unsure of what to say. She had never met anyone quite so glib. It had to be a talent.

“Er, no,” she finally replied, since it made absolutely no sense to lie when he was within ten feet of a mirror. “I would not call it attractive.”

He laughed. “No mincing words for you, eh?”

“I’m afraid those blue undertones of which you were so proud have gone a bit green.” She smiled, rather pleased with her analysis.

He leaned in, smiling wickedly. “To match my eyes?”

“No,” she said, finding herself quite immune to his charms, although she did recognize them to be legion, indeed. The man probably had women falling at his feet at every turn. “Not with the purple overlaying it,” she explained. “It looks quite horrible.”

“Purple mixed with green makes…?”

“Quite a mess.”

He laughed again. “You are charming, Lady Amelia. But I am sure your fiancé tells you that on every possible occasion.”

She was not quite certain how to reply to that. Certainly not every possible occasion. But today had been different. Better.

“Do you await him here?” the captain asked.

“No, I just—” She caught herself before she said that she’d just seen Thomas. She had never been good at telling tales. “I am here to see Miss Eversleigh.”

Something intriguing flickered in his eyes, so she asked, “Have you met Miss Eversleigh?”

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