One Night with a Regency Lord: Reprobate Lord, Runaway Lady / The Return of Lord Conistone

Amelie had managed to put on a brave face during this interchange, but her heart plummeted at these words. She was sure they carried an implicit threat and, glancing up at his thin, white face, she saw the wolfish eyes staring out at her from behind the social mask. Her grandmother, though, seemed to sense nothing amiss and, with another bow in Glyde’s direction, moved towards her group of friends.

Glyde turned swiftly on his heel and left the Pump Room. Now that he was gone, she found her limbs were trembling and she had to fight to calm her breathing. His trite commonplaces had cloaked his true intent, she was sure. He had not given up his intention to marry her, whatever platitudes he mouthed to her grandmother. And Brielle appeared to have been completely taken in. With a sickening jolt Amelie realised that the sanctuary she’d sought and found with so much difficulty might now prove as dangerous as her London home. She could see Glyde’s strategy clearly. He would make sure that he was constantly in her grandmother’s company, presenting himself as a loyal and dependable friend. Gradually he would chip away at her grandmother’s suspicion until Brielle began to wonder why her granddaughter had taken such a dislike to him. There would be nowhere else for her to run and little by little she would be coerced into an appalling marriage.

Her grandmother was already deep in conversation with the Major, and she saw with dismay that Perry Latham had begun to walk towards her. Unable to face him immediately, she fled towards the entrance hall, intending to stand in the cool, fresh air until she regained her composure. Looking straight ahead, she moved swiftly towards her goal, barely noticing the figure standing in the shadow of the large palm trees that graced either side of the doorway.

In an instant Gareth Wendover stood before her. She had a fleeting glimpse of his muscular figure, clothed now in a perfectly fitting coat of blue superfine, his shapely legs encased in skin-tight pantaloons of the palest fawn. Hardly had she absorbed his new image, when he advanced menacingly towards her and grabbed her by the wrist.

‘You’ve evidently managed to acquire a very liberal employer since we met last,’ he snarled. ‘Such elegance, Amelie, such a taking coiffeure, but hardly fitting for a maidservant.’ He thundered out the last word, his lip curling with disdain.

‘Or a doxy, I imagine.’ Her retort was swift and equally angry.

His face shadowed and he let go of her arm. He should apologise, but he was damned if he would. She had utterly deceived him. The girl he saw before him, so beautiful he could devour her on the spot, was thoroughly false. She had lied and lied again to him.

‘May I enquire exactly who or what you are?’ His tone was scathing.

She replied with as much dignity as she could, ‘My name is Amelie Silverdale. My father is Lord Silverdale.’

‘Well, well, a poor little rich girl. Wasn’t being Miss Silverdale exciting enough for you? Did you get some shabby thrill from dressing up as your maid?’

‘There was no thrill. Disguising myself as a maid was the safest way to travel, or at least it would have been if I’d not been unlucky enough to meet you.’

‘Not that unlucky, as I recall. You might still be dangling on the end of a rope if it were not for me. Or were you hoping your friend Glyde would happen by and execute a magnificent rescue? Was it a stunt to reel in a reluctant suitor?’

‘How can you be so stupid! I was escaping from Rufus Glyde.’

‘Another fantasy? I’ve just seen with my own eyes on what familiar terms you stand with the man.’

‘Then your eyes tell you false. Sir Rufus has designs of his own. He wishes to ingratiate himself with my grandmother.’

‘For what purpose?’ he asked impatiently, pushing back the dark hair that had fallen across his brow.

‘I don’t see that it’s any business of yours.’

‘Really? You don’t consider your constant lies give me any reason to demand the truth from you?’

She bowed her head slightly and said in a voice he could hardly hear, ‘He wishes to marry me.’

‘And.?’

‘He hopes my grandmother will persuade me to agree.’

‘How much persuasion will that take, I wonder?’

‘I detest him,’ she burst out. ‘He’s a vicious and depraved man. He’s followed me here when I thought I was safe and is plotting against me still.’

‘He’s certainly vicious,’ Gareth said measuringly, ‘but why are you running from him? You’ve only to tell your father that he’s plaguing you and you’ll be free of his demands.’

‘I wish that were true, but my father has decided that Sir Rufus is the suitor he wishes me to accept.’

‘The last time I looked we were living in the nineteenth century. Forced marriages no longer happen. You must have given your consent or at least appeared to do so.’

‘I did not. I tell you I hate the man, but my father is adamant. I cannot speak of my family’s difficulties, but Glyde wields considerable power over us.’

Gareth considered this for a moment, his athletic figure reclining lazily against a carved pillar.

‘So you were the mistress who was being forced to marry for money? And your maid’s defiant independence a mere charade, I imagine.’

Amelie flushed, but said nothing.

‘And why go to so much trouble to deceive me? Why couldn’t you have told me the truth and asked for help? Didn’t you trust me?’

She swallowed uncomfortably. ‘I was worried you might react unthinkingly. You might have chased after him and caused an even greater scandal than there was already.’

‘Chased after him? With an injured ankle? You can do better than that.’ His tone hardened. ‘Wasn’t it rather that you thought I might use the situation to my own benefit?’

She blushed. That was precisely what she had thought, imagining if only in fancy that he might be capable of blackmail or kidnap.