Page 89 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
You’re being ridiculous,Amelia told herself.You never asked for fidelity, so you can’t expect it. Just because you’re falling for him doesn’t mean he feels the same for you.
She should have known better than to think she could keep things businesslike with Andrew. Even when she’d first met him and had been suspicious of his motives, he had been difficult to resist.
She was asking too much of herself.
The carriage stopped outside Longley House, and she rushed to knock on the door before the footman could do it and waited for Boden to open up.
Boden’s forehead was furrowed with confusion, but he stepped back to allow Amelia to enter.
“Where are Lord Longley and Lady Drake?” he asked.
“They remained at the ball. I don’t feel well and wish to retire early.” The lie rolled off her tongue easily.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you need help getting to the bedchamber?”
“No, but I would appreciate it if you could send Margaret to assist me.”
“Of course.” Boden locked the door behind them.
Amelia made her way up the stairs, her heart heavy. She let herself into her bedchamber, went straight to the door connecting her room to Andrew’s, and locked it from her side.
Margaret arrived to help a couple of minutes later, and they barely spoke as they readied Amelia for bed. When her head hit the pillow, she hoped she’d fall asleep immediately, but she wasn’t that lucky.
Instead, she lay awake for long enough to hear Andrew moving around in his bedchamber. She listened as he approached the connecting door and tried the handle.
She held her breath as he knocked, and pretended to be asleep.
He didn’t try again.
CHAPTER 21
Andrew stoodoutside Amelia’s bedchamber door, poised to knock. Last night, he’d been willing to believe she’d slept through his knocking—especially if, as his mother had said, she was feeling unwell. However, this was the second time he’d knocked this morning, and still, all was silent within.
The fact that she was ignoring him made him fear there was more to the story than her simply coming down with a headache or some other malady. If that had been all there was to it, surely she’d have sought him out to tell him she’d like to leave the ball, yet she’d slunk off like a thief in the night.
He was afraid she’d seen him with Florence. He already knew she had questions about his former mistress, and Amelia wasn’t one to forget a face or a name. If she’d seen them together, he had no doubt she’d remembered their previous interactions and possibly even asked his mother about their relationship.
He’d never mentioned Florence to Lady Drake, but he had no doubt she knew about her. His mother knew far more of what went on in his life than he’d have liked. Thequestion was whether she’d have admitted as much to Amelia.
He should have asked last night. He hadn’t asked because he’d wanted to avoid drawing attention to Florence’s presence if his mother hadn’t already noticed her, and because he’d hoped his worries were an overreaction. Now, he was beginning to wonder if that might not be the case.
He knocked again. When there was no response, he tried the handle. This couldn’t continue. They had to discuss the matter.
But when the door swung open, the bedchamber was empty. The bed was neatly made, the desk was clear, and only the lingering scent of mint showed she’d been there recently.
Damn.
He pivoted and hurried down to the morning room, hoping he’d find her there. It was empty.
He huffed, frustrated. His mother and Kate were both still abed, so he sought out Mrs. Smythe, finding her in the kitchen, her portly form bent over the countertop.
“Have you seen the countess this morning?” he asked.
She jolted upright, and her hands flew to her chest. “My lord, you startled me.”
He winced. “My apologies, Mrs. Smythe. I thought you’d heard me approach.”
“Never mind. I must not have been paying proper attention.” She adjusted her stance and dipped her head. “You’re looking for the countess?”
