Page 40 of Royally Wed
Amelia turned around and froze. ItwasHolden. He was there, now,striding toward her from the other end of the lobby.
Of course it’s him. Who else would be calling you by your first name?
“Amelia.” Holden bent and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. It was only then that Amelia registered Lady Wentworth’s presence beside him.
Holden took a step back and gave Amelia a questioning glance. “What are you doing here, darling?”
Whatwasshe doing there?
Ameliawasn’t quite sure. She just knew that having Asher in the room right next door to hers, yet not setting eyes on him for two days was slowly driving her crazy.
There’d been no reason to pop into his room. No morecorgi disasters. No calls for help. Either Willow had somehow become a model of obedient canine behavior, or Asher had decided to avoid contact with her. Knowing Willow as well as shedid, Amelia settled on the latter. And she didn’t like it. Not in the slightest.
They’d had something, hadn’t they? He’dkissedher. He’d lied for her. To the queen of England. That at least made them friends, didn’t it? Partners in crime, if not more? It seemed that way at the time. And then...
Nothing.
She didn’t quite understand it. Granted, she’d been avoiding him, too. With good reason.
She liked him quite a lot. He was handsome and charming. And somewhere beneath his tortured musician exterior, he was kind. Kind in a way she hadn’t experienced before.
Most people she met were so enamored by the whole royal thing, they fawned all over her. Asher was the opposite. He somehow left her with the impression that he liked her in spite of her royal status rather than because of it.It was a refreshing change.
Still, she knew her place. She was getting married. She really shouldn’t pursue any kind of relationship with him. Not even friendship... not when she’d somehow developed the annoying habit of going breathless when they were in the same room together. So she’d gotten ahold of herself and given him up.
She’d just never expected him to do the same.
“Amelia? Is somethingwrong?” Holden’s voice brokethrough the fog in her head.
She nodded, pasted on a smile, and glanced back and forth between him and Lady Wentworth. “Not at all. I had an opening in my diary, so I thought it’d be a nice idea to visit the orchestra, especially since so many of the musicians are from other countries.”
Like America.
She swallowed. Was she making any sense? For all she knew, Asherwas the only non-Brit in the entire building.
Lady Wentworth nodded and said something about one of the violinists being from Italy. Amelia had forgotten she was a patron for the orchestra. That explained her presence at the rehearsal, but now that she’d had a moment to recover from the shock of running into Holden, she realized she didn’t know why he was there either.
“And you?” Amelia asked.
He smiled, but took a moment to answer. “Same as you, darling.”
“I see.” She tried to force a similar endearment out of her mouth, but nothing happened. “I’ll let you get on with it, then. It was a lovely surprise running into you both.”
Amelia moved to hug Lady Wentworth. She was ready to get back to the palace. This little escape had suddenly become the epitome of awkward, and it was all herfault. She should have known better than to come here.
She’d just wanted to watch Asher play. She still heard him sometimes at night. Even through the thick Buckingham walls, if she listened very hard she could hear the plaintive strains of his cello. Sometimes she recognized the tune fromthe list of songs on the wedding repertoire. But more often than not, it was the song he’d played for herin the Abbey. She liked that one best of all.
Hearing wasn’t the same as seeing, though. She liked the look of furious concentration on his face when he played. She liked to watch the muscles in his shoulders and upper arms ripple beneath his suit jacket, moving in time with the strokes of his bow. There was a beauty to his melody that had nothing whatsoever to do with sound.
“We should be gettinginside. Mr. March is expecting us.” Holden’s gaze darted toward the auditorium.
“Mr. March?” Amelia said absently. She wanted to leave so very, very badly that half of what Holden said was flying right over her head.
“He’s the conductor,” Lady Wentworth said. “Surely you met him during your introductions to the orchestra?”
“Right. Of course.” Amelia’s face went hot. “Silly me.”
Would thisconversation ever end?
