Page 11 of Black Widow

“I’m fine,” Amelia assured him, pushing his hand away and readjusting the sleeve of her gown so the marks would not bevisible.

“Amelia, the bastard threatenedyou.”

“And I threatened him.” She sniffed, trying to pass herself off as unaffected by her recent encounter with her former guardian, but Crispin saw right throughher.

He tsked. “Darling, you couldn’t deliver a threat if your life depended on it.” She scowled at him, and his mouth compressed. “I’m sorry, that was a poor choice of words. But you know I’m right. Sir Clarence won’t stop pushing you into another marriage. Not if it can benefit him in someway.”

She knew where this conversation was leading. It took Crispin another few minutes of hedging before he finally came to thepoint.

“Amelia, you know Martin wanted me to watch over you in case anything happened to him. I think we should revisit our discussion about that. Sir Clarence can’t force you to marry anyone if you are already wed toanother.”

She sighed and shook her head. “Crispin, I can’t marryyou.”

“Why not? It’s the most reasonable solution. We’re close friends, and we understand each other’sneeds.”

“I’m aware of all this. But…I don’t want to live inEngland.”

He snorted softly. “And yet, you’re stillhere.”

“What does that mean?” she asked inannoyance.

“Just last week I was actively dissuading you from traveling abroad. But now you seem ensconced in town. And something tells me it has little do with my scintillating company or the perils of travelabroad.”

He appeared about to say something else when the coach stopped. In another moment, the coachman had opened the door. “We’ll finish this discussion later. We’rehere.”

Here was the Ashton’s bash. Though smaller gatherings often proceeded it, this annual event was considered the official start of the ton’s socialseason.

“Are you sure I should even be here?” Amelia asked. “I wasn’tinvited.”

The Duke of Ashton was part of the old guard, a paragon of propriety and social decorum. His party was attended by everyone and, to date, Amelia had avoided large crowds, particularly when she was unsure of herreception.

“Well, I was invited. By now, everyone knows I am your escort to all the ton’s functions. Everyone expects you to be on my arm, so have no fear. Just stay close to me. No more private conferences with dashing earls or despotic former guardians,” he said exiting the carriage and turning to hand her down. “By the way, you never mentioned how Sir Clarence lured you to the maze, only that he used some form oftrickery.”

She took his arm and leaned into him. “He had Mrs. Spencer write me a note. Sir Clarence caught me by surprise. I did not expect him to attend such a function,” she replied, omitting one salientdetail.

Come to think of it, I really should not have expected Gideon there either.She had beenfoolish.

Crispin hummed, continuing to eye her suspiciously before resuming his assurances that all would be well. In the same breath, he warned her against straying from his sight. “Don’t worry. We’re making a fashionable entrance—the receiving line should be long over. We will simply slip inside and blend in with thecrush.”

Amelia took his warnings to heart once they were circulating through the crowd inside. She had no desire to leave the shelter of hisside.

La belle mondewasgathered in all their finery, their sly glances and little barbs as polished as any weapon. Amelia smiled stiffly and tried to ignore the attention they were garnering, but the whispering started almost immediately. A few of the less discreet women of the ton pointed at her from behind the safety of their fans. Men looked down their noses at her. A few stared at her so lasciviously she felt exposed even though her gown’s neckline was far more modest than most others in theroom.

Feigning gaiety as best she could, she ate, drank champagne, and conversed with those polite enough to give her and her champion a civil greeting. Eventually, she forgot the crowd as the novelty of her appearance wore off, allowing her to feel the tedium of suchevents.

Despite Crispin’s enthusiasm for them, Amelia detested balls. The conversations were all superficial, pointless discussions on fashion or theweather.

At one point, Crispin was compelled to dance by a particularly aggressive young miss in her second season, Cecily Chisholm, the daughter of an impoverished baron, who nevertheless had impeccable familyconnections.

“Go,” she ordered, accepting the glass of punch he had just fetched her. She rather liked Cecily, who was refreshingly forthright. “I will not stir from this spot, Ipromise.”

“Very well,” he relented, offering his arm to Cecily with a charming, if somewhat forced,smile.

Amelia hovered at the edge of the dance floor, her eyes fixed on the whirling figures. Looking neither right nor left, she studiously avoided making eye contact with anyone. However, her refusal to engage only prodded her detractors to action. A figure swathed in lilac satin barreled intoher.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” the smug-looking matron who had spilled the contents of her wine glass on her exclaimed loudly. Several heads turned in theirdirection.

Amelia’s lips parted as she stared down at the stain spreading across the front of her dark blue skirts. Clamping her teeth together, she schooled her expression into one of bored serenity. She racked her brain for the woman’sname.

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