Page 66 of War of the Wedding Wagers
Amelia felt a smile tug at her lips despite her lingering uncertainty. “Are you saying my intellectual curiosity affects you physically?”
“Powerfully.” He pressed a kiss to her palm. “When you bite your lip while puzzling over a clue, or when your eyes light up upon making a discovery…it’s intoxicating.”
“More intoxicating than Mrs. Perry’s… direct approach?”
“Infinitely more.” He drew her closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Seduction without wit is like… a meal without flavor.”
The intimate timbre of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. “I believe,” she managed, “that was a rather poetic way of saying you prefer a woman with a brain.”
“I prefer you,” he corrected. “With your questioning mind, your fierce determination to uncover truth, and yes, your occasionally maddening tendency to overthink everything.”
“I do not overthink—” She broke off as he raised an eyebrow. “Very well, perhaps I do.”
His laugh was rich and warm. “Now, shall we return to the castle before your reputation is thoroughly compromised?”
The rain had eased to a gentle patter, casting shifting patterns through the glass dome above. Amelia knew they should leave, yet she lingered, reluctant to break this fragile moment of understanding between them.
“One more question,” she said, her fingers still resting against his lapel. “When you speak of trust and discovery… does that mean you aren’t as experienced as your reputationsuggests? Have I done you a grave injustice by believing everything the gossip sheets, and the rumor mongers, say about you?”
His hand stilled where it had been tracing patterns on her palm. “My reputation,” he said carefully, “is both better and worse than reality. Yes, there have been…indiscretions. But true intimacy? The kind that comes from genuine love and trust?” He shook his head. “That I have yet to discover.”
Lightning flickered in the distance, illuminating his face as he bent to kiss her once more. This time, Amelia let herself melt into the embrace, trusting both his words and the answering warmth that bloomed within her.
When they finally parted, his voice was husky. “Now we really must return to the castle.”
“We must indeed, for we have a mystery to solve before we leave here.”
“Ah yes, our ghostly romance.” He offered his arm. “Though I must say, helping uncover Pernilla’s story has led to some rather fortunate developments.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“Sir Frederick andMiss Fairchild look like they’re smelling of April and May.”
Lady Pendleton adjusted her lorgnette as she leaned forward in her chair within the cozy alcove where she and Eugenia sat.
And Eugenia couldn’t help noticing there was a hint of disdain in her tone. As if she couldn’t abide the notion that Eugenia might just win her wager.
So for a few seconds, Eugenia worked on her response, tempering the hurt that might have risen to the surface in earlier times. Lady Pendleton seemed to become more animated if she suspected she’d hit a nerve.
“And don’t they make just the perfect couple?” Eugenia said with a smile, leaning back in satisfaction as she regarded the handsome couple on the dance floor. “See how she’s smiling up at him? And look! He’s laughing at some remark she’s just made. Doesn’t he look—” She leaned forward, frowning. For now she was not just trying to bolster her case, for what she was seeing was quite extraordinary. “Why, he looks quite smitten! Oh!” She couldn’t help it, but she actually squealed. “He touched his finger to her cheek as she laughed. Very discreetly, but so intimate! Oh, Lady Pendleton, I do believe the pair are in love.”
“Nonsense!” snapped Lady Pendleton, her mouth now downturned so that she looked as if she’d just eaten a sour apple.“It could not possibly have happened in such a short time. You’re imagining it!”
“Imagining what?”
As ever, Eugenia’s heartbeat ratcheted up just a little more as Lord Thornton joined them, offering a sardonic smile as he glanced in the direction both ladies were looking, before taking a seat.
“My, my, Eugenia, perhaps you have more of a nose for romance than I gave you credit for.” He frowned, then added, “But Sir Frederick is a renowned rake. And Miss Fairchild is clearly susceptible to flattery. She’s hardly dressed to attract attention, but it appears that she likes it. Hmm.”
Eugenia wasn’t sure how to interpret his remark. Was this grudging acknowledgement that she might be on the path to winning their wager? Or was his added caveat really throwing cold water on any premature notions of success she might be having?
“Eugenia, my dear, won’t you find Albert for me and tell him his mama wants him?” Lady Pendleton waved a languid arm in the direction of the supper table.
Eugenia blinked. Of course, she was in the habit of doing Lady Pendleton’s bidding, but this evening she felt strangely obstructionist. Perhaps it was because her old friend was clearly so reluctant to accord Eugenia any credit that she might be right for once.
What did it matter to her that Sir Frederick and Miss Fairchild might make a match? She had nothing to win or lose. Did she really hate the notion of Eugenia enjoying her wish of a flight in a hot-air balloon over London with Lord Thornton? Was she really motivated more by churlishness?
“Perhaps Pendleton is nearby and can find him,” Eugenia suggested with uncharacteristic obfuscation.
