The question stopped her retreat. She turned around, taking in the full picture he made. Impossibly blue eyes, even more striking against his tanned skin, contrasted sharply with his stark white shirt. That perfectly tied emerald cravat accentuated his aristocratic features, while dark hair fell in artfully tousled waves. Every inch the pampered aristocrat.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Most of Society barely gives my behavior a second thought,” he said, studying her with genuine curiosity. “Yet you seem to take particular interest in cataloging my failings. I wonder why.”
Amelia’s fingers tightened around the handle of her reticule. The unexpected perceptiveness of his question caught her off guard. Her leg throbbed suddenly, as if to remind her of the price she had paid because of men who did nothing.
“Perhaps because men like you could make so much more of a difference,” she replied, her throat closing from tension. “Yes, you fund orphanages—commendable work—but you have wealth, influence, connections that could do so much more. Instead, you seem to treat your charitable ventures as side projects while spending mostof your energy on frivolities.”
Something flickered in his gaze—a brief shadow that might have been hurt.
“While children toil in factories until their fingers bleed,” she continued, unable to stop herself. “While families lose loved ones to unsafe conditions for mere pennies of profit. Your orphanages treat the symptoms, my lord, but what of the disease? What of the systems that create orphans in the first place?”
“You speak as if this is personal,” he said quietly. “As if my supposed indifference has harmed you directly.”
Amelia stiffened, conscious of how close he’d come to an uncomfortable truth. “It harms us all when those with the power to enact change remain willfully blind to suffering.”
“Oh my. This is better entertainment than the theater.” The Duchess of Rutland’s delighted voice shattered their battle of wills. Her Grace stood in the doorway, eyes sparkling with barely suppressed mirth.
Amelia then realized more doors had opened as other members investigated the commotion. The Duke of Lancaster appeared, taking in the scene before him. Hereford with his torn trousers, the duchess clutching her foil and a pair of trousers, and Amelia’s expression of arctic disdain.
“I don’t want to know,” he said, breaking the tension, “but I could guess. Miss Thornton was educating Hereford on the value of keeping his falls secured when the duchess chanced upon them and illustrated how best to expedite freeing the said falls.”
Hereford did not turn his gaze but said with his serious expression barely flickering, “Back to your important activities, gentlemen. There’s nothing to observe here. Miss Thornton here is a spy for theMetropolitan Review, and I was just informing her how she could find her way back.”
Amelia allowed a little satisfied smile. “Gentlemen, contrary to hislordship’s claim, I’m here to find men eager to see their names in print for advertisement.” She gestured to Hereford. “So that you may not become this desperate for attention.”
The duke laughed and other men followed suit. “And I was worried Miss Thornton would not be able to resist your boyish charms, Hereford.”
“No danger there, Lancaster. The lady is positively repulsed by my charms,” Hereford replied, finally taking his eyes off Amelia. “In fact, she tried most ungallantly to have me killed two weeks ago.”
“Good,” the duke said. “Someone should.” He turned back to Amelia. “My darling wife asked me to accompany you in your endeavor tonight. Something about withdrawing her affection should any harm come to you.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. The duchess is most kind.”
“I believe you should retire for the night before you hurt someone, Hereford,” the duke said while offering his arm to Amelia. “I believe your fencing skills are becoming rusty.”
Amelia smiled slyly as she took Lancaster’s arm.
The Duchess of Rutland patted Hereford’s arm consolingly. “Don’t fret, my dear. Not everyone can be talented at everything. You have other qualities.”
Amelia heard Hereford clear his throat. She looked over her shoulder to find the Duchess of Rutland openly admiring the Duke of Lancaster’s backside. Hereford met Amelia’s eyes as he said, “Come now, Your Grace, we have more to review.”
Amelia turned to stare straight ahead, puzzled by jealousy rising from her chest at the thought of the marquess’ intimate touch on the duchess. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself to focus her attention on the business at hand.
“Lord Symon,” she heard the duke say to a portly gentleman languishing against a doorframe. “Your lovely wife shared with me about Lady Francine’s impending nuptials. Wouldn’t it be grand to announce it in theMetropolitan Review?”
*
Hereford stood inthe empty room alone after dismissing the duchess, his torn trousers draped over a chair. His blood still boiled.Side projects, she had said about the orphanages he visited religiously even in snowstorms, even the day after he had been tossed from his horse.Frivolous, she had said about his life. As if she had any right to judge him, wandering about London in the dark, brandishing only that sharp tongue of hers as a weapon.
He paced the length of the room, his boots striking the wooden floor with more force than necessary. The nerve of the woman. A commoner, no less, acting as though she had any right to speak to a marquess with such brazen insolence. And she didn’t even try to conceal that contempt in her eyes whenever she looked at him.
He stopped short, his reflection in the wall mirror catching his attention. There was something raw in his expression that made him uncomfortable.
Of course, he cared about any lady’s safety… didn’t wish for anyone to be manipulated by ill-meaning scoundrels… not just Miss Thornton. Perhaps it was because he had no siblings, but the protective nature he didn’t know he possessed surfaced.
“Ridiculous,” he muttered, running a hand through his long dark hair. “Utterly ridiculous.”
