Page 65 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
“I’m afraid I didn’t notice you when we entered,” he said. “Otherwise I would have taken my wife elsewhere.”
Amelia frowned. That wasn’t very polite. “Hello. I’m Lady Longley. And you are…?”
The woman’s dark blue eyes flitted to Amelia, and her smirk deepened. “I’m Miss Florence Giles.” With one elegant hand, she brushed a strand of wheat-blond hair off her forehead. “An old friend of Andrew’s.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Amelia forced herself to smile. “Did you grow up together?”
Because despite what Miss Giles said about them being friends, Andrew obviously wasn’t pleased by her presence. In fact, she’d go as far as to say that he wished her gone. Yet Miss Giles was familiar enough to call him by his given name.
“Something like that.” Amusement shone in her eyes. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your cake.”
With that, she sashayed away.
Amelia no longer felt like eating cake. She tried another bite, but chewing was difficult, and swallowing proved almost impossible. Andrew, too, had lost his appetite. They departed soon after.
When they were alone in the carriage, she allowed the question burning in her chest to come out. “Who was that woman?”
She studied his face closely. His mouth tightened almost imperceptibly, and a slight furrow formed between his eyebrows.
“No one you need to worry yourself about.”
Andrew stewedin silent rage throughout the rest of the day. He could tell Amelia knew something was wrong and that it was connected to Florence, but she hadn’t pushed him to talk about it after her initial question.
By the time they’d finished their dinner, he’d had a very disapproving Boden obtain Florence’s new address. He was beyond ready to let her know exactly how angry he was with her.
He took a carriage to her apartment, inquired as to her floor, then marched up and rapped on her door. It took forever for her to answer, and when she did, she didn’t bother speaking. She grabbed him by the lapel, tugged him into the room, and tried to kiss him.
He dodged and extricated himself from her grasp briskly but not roughly. No matter how furious he was, he wouldn’t hurt her.
She pouted. “No kiss for me?”
He exhaled sharply. “What the hell were you thinking today? You approached me when I was out with my wife. My wife.”
“Wasn’t it fun?” she asked, a mischievous smile flitting around the corners of her mouth. “I know you enjoyed having me right under her nose.”
He felt sick. “I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that I did not enjoy it.”
She slunk toward him, and he backed away, putting a chaise between them.
Her upper lip curled. “Don’t be so miserable. It’s not as if she had any idea who I was.”
“But what if she did?” His heart squeezed. The possibility that Amelia might have guessed how he knew Florence made his stomach roil. She’d given him so much. She deservedbetter than having his former mistress flaunted in front of her.
She shrugged. “Aristocratic wives expect their husbands to stray.”
“Not two days after the wedding.” For the love of God, did she not see how wrong her behavior was?
She crinkled her nose. “You’re being unusually sentimental. Don’t forget, I know how the ton operates better than most. Or have you forgotten the circumstances of my birth?” Her tone was bitter. “Besides, it’s not as if it was a love match.”
Guilt sank its claws into him.
“Perhaps not,” he said stiffly. “But I care about her.”
She laughed incredulously. “That plain little mouse?”
“Watch your tongue, Florence.”
Her hips rolled as she sauntered to the end of the chaise, attempting to round it to get to him. “Surely you don’t desire her. Your timid wife can’t do the things to you that I can.”
