The Matchmaker's Match

“Not quite,” Lord Ashwhite amended. Those adorable crinkles appeared at his eyes as he grinned. Yes, he would make quite the husband for some fortunate lady.

“I thought not.” Amelia flashed him a knowing look. “But yes, I do make my opinions known. Especially on the state of Newgate. There are prisoners who are quite literally starving to death. Others have been locked up for years over a piece of stolen bread. Children living in filth with their criminal mothers, who are treated horribly. The men have families waiting for them. They’ve very often learned their lesson, and yet they’re given few options to redeem themselves.” She knew indignation was making her voice rise and tried to lower her pitch. “Their children resort to begging while the mothers are forced into more horrific careers.”

“You sound knowledgeable about these matters.” Lord Ashwhite’s eyes held hers with regard, very serious, as though he’d absorbed everything she said and cared.

His eyes were quite a marvelous green, as bright as emeralds. How she’d love to find an oil in such a shade. She blinked. Focus on the subject at hand.Inhale. She was not a young miss prone to a fit of the vapors.

“Yes,” she breathed. “I have written numerous letters to the House of Lords on the subject.”

“Lady Amelia, do tone it down.” Harriet’s voice cut through anything she planned to say next. “I apologize for my sister-in-law’s enthusiasms. Come, tell us if you’ve seen this play before, my lord?”

He directed his attention to Lady Eversham, and Amelia all but melted into her chair. Her limbs felt as soft as wax. It was her sister-in-law’s doing, no doubt. Just being in her presence caused Amelia’s heart rate to rise. She dragged in a deep breath and willed some strength into her body.

Lydia was watching her, a curious quirk to her brows.

“What?” asked Amelia.

“Do not sound so cross. I am simply flummoxed.”

It was Amelia’s turn to raise a brow.

“I believe it was only this morning that you specifically told me to disregard politics as a conversational tool.”

“He asked me first,” Amelia pointed out. “Furthermore, I am not on the marriage mart. I have no need to curtail my tongue in those matters.”

“I see.”

“Good.” Amelia frowned. She did not like the satisfied look upon Lydia’s face. It was almost as if she was suggesting...something. Amelia did not quite know what her cousin implied, but she felt that it was threatening somehow.

While Lydia thumbed through the evening’s schedule, Amelia snuck a glance at Lord Ashwhite. His profile was exceedingly handsome. As she looked, she felt those butterflies again, and that was when the knowledge came upon her.

She was attracted to Lord Ashwhite.

An honest-to-goodness affinity for the marquis.

She pressed a palm against her stomach and looked away. Surely it could not be so. Why, she had not felt a passing interest for any man in years. Not since Lord Markham, who’d teased her and danced with her, his dimpled smile charming her into believing he held more regard for her than he really did.

She’d told him all about her dreams. Her aspirations to change society, to make life better for others, and he’d listened. He’d listened so well she thought he actually loved her.

The remembrance of his attentiveness brought a sour feeling to her stomach.

No, attraction was deceptive. True love did not involve the senses but rather actions. She nodded. She would not respond to this absurd feeling burgeoning within. Her goals for life did not include a husband.

Home involved paintings and letters and books. Not a husband. Why, did she want to end up like Eversham? A man who’d always been strong-minded and progressive? Now look at him. A poor sot chained to his wife’s side, doing her bidding, forcing his sister, his very own twin, into drastic measures just to preserve her way of life?

She thought not. And that was why she wouldn’t gawk at Lord Ashwhite, let alone engage in conversation with him. At this time her emotions could not be trusted, and she certainly did not want them to interfere with her plans.

The lights lowered, and the play began. Something about one of the actresses niggled at her memory, but she couldn’t place her. Eventually the story line pulled her in, and the night passed with laughter, temporarily relieving her from the worry that had gnawed at her since her brother’s visit.

Despite her interest in the play, she never forgot who sat beside her. His laugh was low and contagious, and she discovered that they invariably laughed at the same lines.

Finally the play ended. As they rose from their seats, she felt a tap upon her shoulder. She turned and found Lord Ashwhite studying her closely.

“My lady,” he said, voice serious, “I would have a word with you.”

“Privately?” Her gaze shifted to where Eversham was busy helping his wife.

“Yes.”

She blinked. Oh, dear, this was not going as planned. She could feel those exuberant butterflies waltzing within. Heart pounding, and despite her better judgment, she nodded.

His hand pressed gently against her back as he guided her toward the box’s exit. She shot Lydia a glance, but her cousin had become entangled in a conversation with Lady Eversham.

Slipping out, she gave Lord Ashwhite a bland look. Best to keep her voice modulated, as well. She did not want to give away her nerves in his presence. They were jangling wildly and affecting her ability to think clearly.

“How may I help you, my lord?”

He moved closer and glanced furtively about the theater before meeting her gaze square on. “I am in need of your services.”

Baffled, she couldn’t help squinting at him through her spectacles.

He chuckled. “You heard me correctly. At the present moment, I find myself in a quandary that I think only you will be able to help me out of. My lady—” his grin faded “—how much would it cost for you to find me a wife?”

* * *

Spencer repressed a smirk at the stunned expression crossing Lady Amelia’s face. Indeed, her lovely mouth rounded as if she’d forgotten those manners she seemed to pride herself on. Then she drew herself up, and her eyes flashed beneath the lowered lights of the theater.

“Sir, you are mistaken.” Her nose lifted, though she couldn’t possibly look down at him from her spectacles because he towered over her. He had the feeling she wished he would shrink. “I am not for hire.”

He allowed his lips to tilt in a mocking smile. From experience, he knew women tended to be partial to his smiles. Lady Amelia would be no exception. “Come, now, my lady, that is an untruth.”

“I beg your pardon?” She had the audacity to look shocked. The fan she’d been gripping tightly waved about her face, which was turning an attractive shade of pink.

There was something about her movements as she fanned herself, something both hurried and graceful. His gaze rested upon her fingers. Discoloration marked the tips of her nail beds. Oil paint residue? It must be costly to paint...

“I believe you heard me quite clearly and are being deliberately obtuse,” he said.

She gasped, and her fan picked up its pace.

“In fact, if I were a wagering man, which I’m not, I’d say you are most definitely for hire, but the fact you wish to conceal this is intriguing.” The purse of her lips was distracting him. Her eyes were indignant behind the spectacles, but even more, there seemed to be a spark of curiosity there.

“My lord.” Her gaze darted past him to the opening of her brother’s box. “I am not in the habit of finding wives.” She pinned him with a severe look that made him want to laugh. “I beg you to forget this conversation and leave me be.”

Noise filled the space as Eversham, Harriet and Miss Stanley joined them.

“The play was ever so lovely. Do you not agree, my lord?” Miss Stanley batted her eyelashes at him, amusement playing about the corners of her mouth.

“It was,” he said, though he found his stare returning to Lady Amelia. Said lady appeared to be communicating with her brother via glares. Tension filled the air as the group fell silent.