Page 57 of The Rules of Matrimony
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he said playfully. “So you grew so bored, you tried to kill me?”
She shrugged. “That seems to be the summation of it.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot on my mind. I shouldn’t have ignored you.”
Amie looked down at her hands. “You’re busy.”
He checked the handkerchief, and when there was no blood, he removed it from his face. “Not so busy that I have permission to be rude.”
His apology eased some of the ache inside her. “You can ease your guilt by telling me about your work. What have you learned?” She was stalling. She wanted to continue to sit by his side. She didn’t care what they spoke about as long as they were talking again.
“What have I learned?” He sighed. “Not enough. Mail is slow, and I’ve read through the materials I have a dozen times or more. I’ve listed all the names of constituents whom I hope to persuade and have started penning more letters.”
“Without the help of your secretary? For shame.” She already knew the answer but couldn’t resist.
“I thought you might appreciate some space from me. I keep promising your independence, then encroaching on it.”
Independence was the last thing on her mind these days. Her hand itched from its spot on the sofa beside him. What she really wanted was for Ian to reach over and take it in his, to reassure her with his touch. She felt like a sparrow hunting for another spare crumb of his attention. Or was it hisaffectionshe was hungering for?
She purposefully moved her hand to her lap, burying her silly, indulgent thoughts as she did. “I don’t mind your presence, Ian,” she admitted, but then she hurried to reassure him that she wasn’t expecting anything from it. “But I know your work is important. I admire your efforts.”
He didn’t seem to dwell on her admission. “When lives are at stake, I do feel an urgency to act. I’m eager to get to London, but I haven’t wanted to return too early and alert my father. I don’t want to fuel his anger.”
The dreaded but inevitable talk of leaving. “When will you go?”
His mouth formed a grim line. “I planned to tell you at dinner, Amie. I plan to leave in the morning.”
She had survived his departure before, and she would do so again, but her stomach knotted all the same. “Will you write to me and tell me the outcome? As secluded as I am here, it will take time for news to reach me naturally.”
He looked like he wanted to say something else but stopped himself. “My hand is not as fine as yours, but I will write.”
A smile touched her lips. “I should like that. Thank you.”
Someone cleared their throat behind them. It was the butler.
“What is it, Mr. Hamburg?” Ian said.
“Mrs. Tyler has arrived, asking to see her daughter, Lady Reynolds.”
Amie’s gaze whipped to Ian’s. “My mother is here?”
His brow furrowed. “Did you send for her?”
“No, did you?”
“No.” He turned to the butler. “Please, show her into the drawing room.” He shoved his handkerchief into a pocket inside his jacket and stood. “Am I presentable enough for your mother?”
Amie stood too. “Your nose is a little red, but I doubt she will notice. I can’t imagine why she has come.”
“I suppose we will find out.” He held his arm out to her. “Shall we, then? We bumbled our act on one set of parents, but perhaps we can convince your mother.”
“Do they have books on the subject?” She cast her gaze to the shelves. “Perhaps we should study up.”
He yanked back his arm. “Did you forget rule number three?”
She bit back a laugh. “I did, didn’t I?” She crossed her hand over her heart. “Absolutely no studying romance.”
“That’s the spirit.” He extended his arm again. “Ready?”
