Page 12 of Dalliances & Devotion (The Truitts 2)

“You have no idea what that’d sound like to a stranger listening at the door.” He used more force though. “And you’re very bossy.”

“And you don’t like being bossed?” She smoothed her petticoat and stood as he finished. She thumbed the makeshift wardrobe and grabbed the gown with the most give. The magenta striped trim and the square collar that fell below the tip of her favorite locket and didn’t cut off her air. And it had a matching hat. With a silk gardenia and the little red and blush colored bird. She tossed her bustle to David so he could tie it around her waist.

“No, I don’t. I’ve been occasionally told I don’t take orders well. Or that I argue too much. Have too many opinio

ns. A hindrance to my career.” His voice took on a hard edge.

She swiveled. His eyes mirrored his tone, though the glare was directed at...her? Whatever for? She wasn’t being that demanding. And she’d never criticized his passion. That had been one of his chief charms when they were younger, how he cared so much about all people. Which is why she needed to tuck those memories right back where they came from. Immediately.

Amalia broke the gaze and gave him her back again.

“Though I like to argue that I obey the correct orders and they should be grateful I can tell the difference.” David’s voice was still a tad sharp, but he handled the ribbons with care. “Which they must have figured out, that or else they just wised up to the fact they need me and better give me my due.” A sigh. “But I will say, I do prefer to do the bossing.” His hands were surer this time as he secured her final underthing.

“Do you?” She stepped into her skirt and forced her back straight so he could button.

He’d bent so his lips had to be the exact height of the top of her spine. “Oh yes. My English is much better than it used to be. I didn’t misspeak.” His mouth was so close. So very close.

Amalia bit down another moan and forced her mind back into the conversation. “You’re much more...confident now, I’ll give you that.”

He snorted a little and assisted with her jacket in much the same manner. He’d finished the last button and leaned forwards, whispering into her ear. “Well, as you recall, it’s been eight years since we first met. I’ve grown. In many ways.”

Flirting. He was flirting, right? Amalia frowned. Though there was still something beneath it, some vibrating note of anger which made the back of her brain prickle. Because what had she done to him, really? She’d meant nothing to him and he would’ve ended what they had himself, so what were a few slightly unfair insults?

“And I recall from our very first conversation that you were once unversed in quite a few things. In need of some tutelage, some might say. Though you made up for the lack of knowledge with enthusiasm on Rosh Hashanah, if I remember it correctly.” David’s chest grazed her back, the vibrations melting into her despite the bubbling guilt welling in her gut.

“I wouldn’t say ‘enthusiasm,’ it was more practicality,” she said, as the blood pounded in her ears. “And as for the rest, I’ve learned more than a few things in these past eight years.”

“Really?” Bemused skepticism rang in his tone. “What sort of things? Dangerous things? The sort of things that could get one into lots of trouble? Make someone very angry?”

What did he mean by—oh good lord. He was nosing about. Again. About the idiotic threats. Even if his job was just guarding her. Damned busybody. Their source was none of his business.

Ugh. Imagine the lecture she’d receive from him. He’d probably assume the fund’s financial state was her fault—that she was too “vapid” to head her own charity.

Amalia blinked. Twice. Because there was dust in her eye. And she was jumping to conclusions. After all, he did have a job to do.

“Not unless you consider teas and fashion dangerous and not ‘vacuous.’” More blinking and swallowing, because if he—She couldn’t take the criticism that day, especially as she’d have to face her parents in less than twenty-four hours. She really couldn’t. With all the fortitude she could muster, she picked his hand off her waist. “Be careful with that hand or my bustle will slip.”

“What does it matter? What is it supposed to do again, anyway?” He settled himself on the now-stripped mattress, pressed his hands down and bounced.

Moment over. Crisis averted. She twirled a little from side to side. “Gives me a larger...behind. It makes my waist appear smaller.”

“I thought the medieval torture device I had to tie did that.” He scooted back so his head was against the window and spread his legs wider.

Lord he was the king of muddled messages. At least his body was.

Amalia rolled her eyes. “Everything is supposed to do that. Gives you the right shape for the dress.”

“Well you looked perfectly lovely in just your nightdress, without any of this chazerai.” He tapped his chin. “Are you sure fashion isn’t dangerous? Because if you romped through the streets like that it could certainly cause a few horses to get tangled up.”

And there he was again. Teasing, giving her a glimpse of that humor he once had, that formerly hesitant, earnest humor he’d deploy just when she needed it most. The way he made her laugh instead of think about Simon. The way she could just exist in the moment with him.

But nothing had changed, had it? Or more everything had. Because she’d learned the truth about herself. Even if a liaison wouldn’t jeopardize her case with her parents, her heart couldn’t handle only the physical. It needed it all. Or nothing. And that was the way of it.

Amalia’s mind churned and flickered on David’s several rather angry and hurt expressions. He was tired and suspicious, that was all. He wasn’t the one with the scars, only her and—

The door slid open and her brother’s other friend Will poked his head inside. “David, Amalia, have you—” He opened his mouth and closed it as his eyes darted between the pair. At least they were both dressed. “Oh. Oh.” He glanced to the side and frowned. He knelt on the floor. “Wait, David—have you seen this?” Will held up a scrap of paper. A bloody scrap of paper.

“What is that?” David rose and snatched the thing from his friend.

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