Page 33 of War of the Wedding Wagers
“Sir Frederick!” Shocked that she’d been here all this time without realizing that the baronet sat in a deep armchair just a few feet from her, Amelia nearly dropped the book before she said, with some indignation, “And who are you to tell me what I should or shouldn’t read?”
“I wouldn’t dream of stopping you if you should decide to ignore my advice.” He smiled. “I am just suggesting that the power of the written word is immense and what is read cannot be unread.”
Amelia frowned down at the book in her hand and then at Sir Frederick. “You have read this?” she asked.
“Actually, I have not,” he replied. “I have not read anything of the Marquis de Sade given his reputation as a libertine and sadist.”
“A sadist?’ Amelia frowned further. “I’ve not heard the term.”
Sir Frederick, who had risen from his armchair, closed his eyes briefly as if he was in pain, then said, “Nor should you. Libertine is sufficient. In fact, I would suggest you don’t even mention the man’s name, for he is reviled here and across the world for his heinous acts.”
“Oh!” Amelia closed the book as if stung, then placed it carefully back on the shelf. “Strange, that it is so…accessible,” she remarked.
“Indeed. But I imagine the library of this remote castle is not often consulted. Now, what have you found for I heard you utter an exclamation a short time ago?”
“You’ve been spying on me all this time?” Amelia didn’t hide her indignation.
“To be honest, I was sleeping until you woke me with your cry of surprise. After that, I thought it perhaps more seemly for me to wait until you’d finished your midnight perusals and so be none the wiser as to my presence here.”
“But then you felt the need to protect me from my worst impulses.”
“Curiosity? No, curiosity is a wonderful impulse.”
“For both men and women?” Amelia was testing him. Surely he didn’t think that? Most men didn’t.
“Absolutely. But I wanted to protect you from reading what you might regret reading as I certainly have no desire to read the words of a man as depraved as the Marquis de Sade.”
Amelia bit her lip then said suddenly, “I found a letter from William to Lady Pernilla!” She pulled it out of her pocket and flourished it before him, but his enthusiasm didn’t match hers. In fact, disappointingly, he just smiled as if he were indulging her and said, “You know that Lady Pendleton made it all up.”
“Lady Pernilla is real! We’ve seen her portrait, and she died here. And some of the letters are real. Lady Pendleton did admit that.”
“She admitted that she found a letter, yes, and that she based the treasure hunt around it, forging all the other letters.”
“I’ve had another look at all the letters we found, and I believe that more than one of them is real.”
“So, you’re here in the library in the middle of the night because you’re investigating the matter?”
Amelia didn’t like his slightly condescending manner. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I would follow a sense I had thatthere was more to this being real. And now that I have three that are definitely real, I can show Lady Pendleton that Lady Pernilla was being courted by a young man called William who was not a lowly groom but whose family was simply not sufficiently monied for her father to accept his in place of a suitor whom he forced upon her.” She stopped. “Are you all right, Sir Frederick? Perhaps you should sit down?”
For there seemed to be a pained look on his face and he’d closed his eyes briefly, as if he were wincing.
In all likelihood, he’d probably imbibed too much brandy with the gentlemen after the ladies had gone to bed and had fallen asleep in the library, though he was wearing a banyan, of course, she noted on reflection.
He eased himself back into the armchair and stretched his leg out in front of him, as if it were the cause of his pain.
So she asked, “Have you hurt your leg, or is it just your head?”
“My head? Why should my head hurt?”
“From the brandy, I assume.”
“You assume I’m the worse for drink?”
“No need to take umbrage,” Amelia responded quickly. “Most men do when the ladies retire. And you seem in some discomfort.”
“My head is perfectly clear but you are right, my leg is hurting like the devil.”
“An injury?” asked Amelia. “I’m sorry to hear it, Sir Frederick. And my apologies for being presumptuous.” She really did feel embarrassed now, for he’d clearly not liked her insinuation. “Were you injured on the Continent? What’s the nature of your injury? Would you like me to go to the kitchens for some soothing broth or…ointment if there’s a kitchen maid I can rouse. I’m sure something can be found to relieve your discomfort.”
