Page 87 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
“Fine. One dance. Then you leave me alone.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“No ‘perhaps’ about it. Those are my terms.”
A laugh burst from her. “You’re not in control here, Andrew. It’s high time you realized that.”
With gritted teeth, he set the glasses of champagne down and escorted her onto the dance floor. They lined up with the other partners, facing each other down like adversaries. The music began.
Fortunately, the dance was fast-paced, and he was able to keep his distance despite Florence’s repeated attempts to get close to him. As soon as the song ended, he cut a line directly back to Amelia and Lady Drake, but Florence grabbed his arm and stopped him before he could reach them.
“Tut-tut.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief in a way he might have found attractive once. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to take me back. You’ll continue making payments to me until I decide we’re done.”
He straightened his back. “And if I don’t?”
“Then all of London will find out how you foolishly lost your fortune.”
His insides turned cold. Among the ton, reputation was everything. He’d managed to cling to his, but if she whispered a few well-placed words, it would all be for naught. Not to mention how upset Amelia would be if people started gossiping about their marriage.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, at a loss. “You could easily find someone else.”
“You just don’t understand, do you?” She put a hand on her hip. “It’s the principle of the thing. Women like me don’t get a lot of choices. I chose you, and I won’t have you cast me aside for the sake of a plain little wallflower.”
He growled under his breath. “For fuck’s sake, Florence. First off, don’t speak about my wife that way. She isn’t plain, and she deserves respect. Secondly, I didn’t leave you because I was tired of you. I left you because I was broke. Surely that appeases your pride.”
She shrugged delicately. “You are no longer broke, and I’ve presented you with your options. Now, you simply have to choose.”
What on earthwas taking Andrew so long to get their drinks?
Amelia looked around impatiently, searching the crowd for him, but Lady Drake’s face appeared in her line of vision.
“What do you think of the choice of shrubbery over flowers?” she asked, shifting to remain directly in front of Amelia when she tried to look around her. “Would you prefer more of a focus on flowers? Of course, it can be difficult to source a large variety at this time of year, but I’m sure we can make arrangements if you’d like.”
“I have no preference.” Amelia looked sideways, and her heart skipped.
There he was.
Standing with the same woman who’d approached them at the teashop and whom he’d then avoided at a previous ball. The beautiful blonde clad in a scandalously red dress. She was leaning close to him, speaking rapidly.
“Who is that woman?” she asked Lady Drake.
Lady Drake glanced around without looking anywhere near her son or the woman in red. “What woman?”
“The one speaking to Andrew,” she gritted out. “In the flaming red dress. You can’t possibly miss her.”
“Oh.” Lady Drake deflated. “That is Miss Florence Giles. Daughter of the former Viscountess of Bellingham.”
Amelia tried to swallow her frustration. “I know her name, but…”
But that didn’t tell her everything she wanted to know. Why was the woman conversing with Andrew so intensely? Why did she keep turning up? And why did Andrew seem determined to avoid discussing her?
“But?” Lady Drake prompted. Something in her gaze made Amelia think she knew more than she was letting on.
Amelia sighed. “Never mind.”
Whatever she wanted to know, she was better off asking Andrew. She glanced back at the pair and considered approaching. She wanted to know the truth, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to interrupt.
She stalked to the drinks table, picked up a glass of champagne, and drained it in a few gulps, then grabbed another. This time, she sipped more leisurely.
