Regency Christmas Proposals: Christmas at Mulberry Hall / The Soldier's Christmas Miracle / Snowbound and Seduced

Gray gave an exasperated snort. ‘I made no mention of being rid of you—’

‘You have made it perfectly clear that is your intention.’ She swept her gown to one side.

‘Damn it, Amelia—’

‘If you will excuse me, My Lord?’ She eyed him coldly. ‘I believe I would prefer to spend the time before dinner upstairs in my bedchamber.’

As far away from him as she could possibly be whilst still remaining in the same house, Gray acknowledged impatiently. ‘I have not finished talking to you yet, Amelia—’

‘But I have finished talking with you!’ she assured him, giving him one last scathing glance before walking from the room with her head held disdainfully high.

Leaving Gray no choice but to stare after her in complete frustration. Alice Wycliffe had assured him earlier that any young lady of nineteen years would be thrilled at the prospect of going to London and being introduced into Society. That she would be ecstatic at the suggestion of a new wardrobe. Of attending balls and parties and meeting all the handsome rakes with whom she might dance and behave the flirt.

Obviously when Alice had made this observation she’d had no personal knowledge of the stubborn and self-willed Amelia Ashford!

Chapter Seven

‘You look as if you wish that your aim had been truer than it was yesterday evening!’

Amelia looked down the length of the dining table at Gideon Grayson, very aware of Watkins, the butler, standing silently near the door. ‘Nothing so violent, I assure you, My Lord.’

‘No?’ He quirked a dark and disbelieving brow, looking very handsome in his black evening clothes.

It was true that when Amelia had reached her bedchamber earlier she had been so angry she had not known whether to throw something or simply to sit down and cry. In the end she had done neither of those things, but had instead paced her bedchamber as she tried to understand why it was she was feeling those contradictory emotions.

A Season in London, being introduced into Society and attending balls and parties in beautiful new gowns was surely every young woman’s dream? It had certainly been one of Amelia’s fantasies when she was growing up in Devonshire and had heard of the balls and pleasures to be had in London. But it was something as the daughter of a mere soldier and the disinherited daughter of a squire Amelia had known would only ever be that to her. A fantasy.

Amelia knew she should have been thrilled at Lord Grayson’s suggestion of taking her to London in the spring—aquiver with joy at the thought of buying new gowns in which to attend all those balls and parties, meeting and flirting with the ridiculously handsome men of the ton.

Instead Amelia felt angry. Disappointed. Hurt.

It was that latter emotion that troubled Amelia the most. And as to the reason why she felt so hurt at Gideon Grayson’s obvious effort to do what he believed was best for her …?

One look at his arrogantly handsome face before dinner, at how elegant he looked in his dark evening clothes, and Amelia had realised exactly why it was she felt the way she did. A London Season held no interest for her because she was already more than halfway in love with a ridiculously handsome man of the ton—with Gideon Grayson himself!

‘No,’ she assured him huskily now. ‘I may be a soldier’s daughter, My Lord, but I do not believe I have any real tendency towards violence.’

Gray eyed her sceptically. ‘Indeed? Then perhaps you made me the exception!’

A delicate blush heightened her cheeks, but her gaze remained very direct as she answered him. ‘Undoubtedly.’

Gray could not help but chuckle at the complete lack of apology in her tone. In truth, he was relieved that Amelia was at least talking to him once again; the first two courses of their dinner had been eaten in complete and awkward silence. ‘No matter what you may choose to believe, Amelia, you obviously have the makings of a bloodthirsty little baggage!’ He raised his wine glass in a toast to her before taking an appreciative sip.

An excellent wine, served to him by an attentive butler. And Watkins and two footmen had also served the delicious meal prepared for them this evening by Mrs Burdock. In fact, Gray noted with satisfaction, the household had been returned to at least a manageable state in just one day.

Now if only he could persuade Amelia into being as amenable …!

She looked very beautiful, in a gown of cream silk that left her throat and the swell of her breasts bare above an overlay of cream lace, making her skin appear the colour of ivory, her eyes bluer, and her mouth a perfect red bow. Her hair was dressed more elaborately this evening, too. A cascade of blonde curls was swept back from her face to fall enticingly against her nape and about the delicate shells of her ears and her temples.

Indeed, looking at her now from between narrowed lids, Gray could not help but appreciate how utterly and deliciously desirable Amelia appeared as she faced him down the length of the dining table …

‘I have not enquired concerning your—injury this evening, My Lord.’ Amelia had noticed, however, that his left arm appeared to be a little stiffer than the right. ‘It is healing well, I hope?’

His mouth firmed. ‘No doubt it will.’

Her brows rose at what she was certain was an evasive reply. ‘But you do not know …?’

He scowled darkly. ‘I said it would, Amelia!’

‘Has the dressing been changed since yesterday evening?’ she persisted.

‘I assure you that I am perfectly well, Amelia.’ He gaze was a frosty warning against pursuing the subject.

A warning Amelia chose to ignore. ‘You do not appear so to me, My Lord. You are pale, and your left arm seems to be a little …uncomfortable.’

He gave a dismissive shake of his head. ‘If my arm aches a little this evening then it is probably because I overtaxed it by riding for so long today.’

‘Perhaps I should see for myself—’

Those grey eyes glittered. ‘Amelia—’

‘Did you allow your valet to at least redress it today?’

‘Damn it, Amelia—’

‘Would you leave us, please, Watkins?’ Amelia turned to smile graciously at the butler. Having only secured his return a few hours ago, she did not think Gideon would appreciate having the butler leave again because he had taken offence at her tone! Besides, it was Gideon she was cross with, not Watkins. ‘I will ring when you are needed again,’ she assured the older man warmly, waiting as he had vacated the room and closed the door softly behind him before she placed her napkin upon the table and stood up.

‘Amelia—’

‘My Lord?’ She deliberately held Gideon Grayson’s gaze with her own as she walked slowly down the length of the room.

A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw as he watched her approach through narrowed lids. ‘I swear, Amelia, if you do not stop “My Lording” me in that superior tone—’

‘Shall I return to calling you Gideon, then?’ she murmured throatily as she halted beside him.

Gideon would not do, either!

Gray wished that Amelia were not standing quite so close beside his chair. So close, in fact, that he was once again assailed with that perfume that was uniquely Amelia: elusively floral and utterly feminine! So close that he could see the rapidly beating pulse at the base of her throat. So close that the ivory swell of her breasts was on a level only inches away from his narrowed gaze.

So close that just her proximity caused his body to stir!

‘You will need to once again remove your jacket, waistcoat and shirt, Gideon,’ she prompted.

Dear Lord …!

How much was a man expected to stand? Gray wondered achingly. To resist? And he must surely resist where Amelia of all women was concerned …!

‘I have absolutely no intention—What do you think you are doing?’ He turned to look at Amelia as she moved to the back of his chair and placed her hands upon the collar of his jacket.