Desperate for Attention
Amelia could feelthe stares as she made her way down the portrait-lined hallway of Brooks where she entered on business. Highly irregular for a non-decorative woman to enter such an establishment, but she had gained access through the Duke of Lancaster’s influence who had promised to introduce her to the members. Several wealthy members were potential advertisers for theReview, and she was determined to earn their patronage tonight. TheReview’ssubscription numbers may be increasing but the main profit was still to be had from advertising.
The sound of familiar laughter interrupted her thoughts and drew her attention to an open door.
Inside, Lord Hereford was pressing himself against the Duchess of Rutland in what he probably imagined was a seductive instructional pose. He’d shed his coat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing surprisingly muscular forearms. Not that she was noticing such things.
“The key, Your Grace,” he was saying in a voice like warm honey, “is to imagine the foil as an extension of your arm. One must cradle it just so…” His hands slid down the duchess’ arm to adjust her grip. “Like a lover’s caress.”
The duchess tittered, her blonde curls bouncing. “Oh, Lord Hereford, you are positively wicked. What would my late duke say?”
“That you have excellent taste in instructors, I should hope,” he grinned, then caught sight of Amelia in the doorway. His expressionshifted to one of exaggerated scandal as he straightened his posture. “Miss Thornton! This is hardly—”
The duchess, startled by his sudden shift in tone, whirled around with more enthusiasm than grace. Her foil, still extended, caught the fine fabric of his trousers with a telltale ripping sound. The tear started at his upper thigh and traveled upward in a way that made propriety impossible to maintain.
“Oh dear,” the duchess said, pressing her free hand to her mouth in a gesture that did nothing to hide her smile. Her eyes traveled appreciatively over the exposed flesh. “How terribly clumsy of me. Though I must say, Lord Hereford, you do keep yourself in fine condition. All those fencing lessons must be quite strenuous.”
Hereford’s attempt to maintain his dignity while discreetly trying to hold the tear closed only succeeded in making it worse. A flash of tanned skin revealed that his lordship apparently swam or rode his horse in… Amelia started at her own imagination. She focused her attention back to the marquess’ face, whose countenance revealed a rare moment of embarrassment.
Amelia decided she would enjoy his discomfort. “One imagines all that running from angry husbands provides excellent exercise.” She paused deliberately. “Though perhaps more practice with defensive maneuvers would be beneficial. Your form appears somewhat… exposed.”
The duchess let out an unladylike snort of laughter, while Hereford’s ears turned a fascinating shade of pink. He attempted to angle himself to preserve what remained of his dignity, but the movement only caused the tear to creep higher.
“I assure you, Miss Thornton,” he managed, his usual smooth charm deserting him, “this is not at all what it—” He shifted again, and there was another distinct ripping sound. “Oh, blast it all.”
“Such language!” The duchess openly giggled. “Shall I fetch you a blanket, my lord? Or perhaps you’d prefer to continue the lesson? Ifind I’m suddenly quite motivated to improve my technique.”
Hereford’s eyes narrowed and voice lowered. “Deirdre, be a dear and fetch me that blanket you were kind enough to offer.”
“Why, of course. And perhaps I could help you out of your torn trousers after?” With a wink and a wave, the duchess hurried out of the room.
Amelia watched the lady’s expensive gown ripple as she hurried down the corridor.
“What on earth are you doing here?” Hereford barked.
“I’m here on business. I have obtained permission to be here.”
He took a few steps toward her, then stopped, the effort to keep his disintegrating trousers in one piece becoming too taxing. “What could be so important that you would venture into a gentleman’s club unchaperoned?”
She met his gaze steadily. “I hope you’re not expecting a response, my lord, as I don’t owe you an explanation.”
She started when the marquess abandoned all effort to keep his bare thigh hidden and approached her slowly, his arms crossed over his chest. Her eyes widened as they swept over the gaping hole of his trousers, revealing the long sinews and powerful bulges. Hereford stopped a foot away from her, forcing her to crank her neck to look at him.
His voice growled softly when he spoke, his eyes half hooded as he gazed down at her haughtily. “This is no place for an unwed woman.”
“That is an interesting opinion, my lord, considering I arrived with a dozen unwed women in scandalous clothing. Would you be more receptive to my presence had I been prepared to entertain the gentlemen?”
Amelia met his thunderous gaze without flinching, though her heart hammered against her ribs. When he spoke, his voice dropped to a whisper that dripped with condescension.
“You may be either arrogant or ignorant enough to be here, butyou do not comprehend the risk. Your brother,” his gaze flickered meaningfully to her leg, “should know better than to send you unchaperoned. Leave before the evening’s entertainment begins.”
Amelia arched an eyebrow, deliberately casual. “Why, Lord Hereford, one might almost mistake that for concern.”
“I have a responsibility to protect innocent women who stray into my domain.” He adjusted his torn trousers with as much dignity as he could muster.
“Duly noted. Now I do not wish to cut into your time with pretty widows.” She allowed her gaze to drift purposefully over his exposed thigh even as color flooded her cheeks.
“Why does my reputation matter so much to you, Miss Thornton?”
