“Nothing.” Hereford signaled for another brandy. “It’s purely a business arrangement.”
“Of course,” Lancaster said mildly. “Though you might want to inform your face of that. You’ve been staring into space with longing.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” But Hereford couldn’t quite stop his mind from wandering to thoughts of Amelia, wondering what she was doing at this moment. Writing another scathing editorial about him,perhaps? “I simply want to ensure she’s prepared for her new position.”
“Naturally.” Patrick’s voice dripped skepticism. “And I’m sure your sudden interest in newspaper circulation numbers is purely professional as well?”
Hereford didn’t bother responding. He was too busy wondering why the mere thought of Amelia made his chest feel tight.
Three days. In three days, she would be his wife. The thought should have filled him with dread. But it felt instead like standing on the edge of something both terrifying and thrilling.
*
The sharp rapat her door startled Amelia from her work. She glanced at the clock—past midnight. Steven wouldn’t call this late, and Elisha was dining with the Carlisles. She looked through the peephole which Steven had insisted on.
Surprised, she opened the door to find Lord Hereford on her doorstep, his evening clothes immaculate despite the late hour. His eyes swept past her to take in the empty parlor behind.
“You’re alone?” His voice held barely contained outrage. “At this hour? Where is your servant?”
“Mrs. Pierce retires early.” Amelia closed the door and returned to her desk, determined not to reveal how much his unexpected presence frazzled her. “Did you need something, my lord?”
He followed her inside, his tall frame making her modest parlor feel suddenly cramped. “This is completely inappropriate. Any man could call on you. There’s not even a footman—”
“Men like you, you mean?” She shuffled papers with deliberate casualness. “Other than my brother and now you, no one else calls on me. Pray tell. Was there a purpose to your visit, or did you simply come to criticize my living arrangements?”
“Your brother allows this?”
“My brother doesn’t ‘allow’ anything. I’m of age to make my own decisions.” She finally looked up, meeting his thunderous expression. “Just as I’m not yet yours, my lord. Until our wedding, my arrangements are none of your concern.”
“They become my concern when my future wife puts herself at risk.” He paced the small room, his agitation evident in every movement. “What if some drunk decided to call? Or a thief? How would you defend yourself?”
“The same way I’ve defended myself for the past five years.” She gestured to the door. “By not opening it. Though I doubt you came here at this hour to discuss my security measures. What do you want, Lord Hereford?”
He stopped pacing, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I came to discuss the marriage contract. Certain provisions regarding your newspaper—”
“Which could have waited until tomorrow.” She studied him carefully. “Why are you really here?”
“Because I couldn’t sleep!” The words burst from him with force. “Because I keep thinking about this madness we’re about to embark upon, about how you’ll be legally bound to a man you clearly despise—”
“I don’t despise you,” she said quietly.
“No?” His laugh held no humor. “You merely think me an idle aristocrat who contributes nothing of value to Society. Who treats life as a game and women as playthings. Have I missed any of your published opinions about my character?”
“You’ve read my editorials?”
“Every damn one.” He moved closer, looming over her desk. “Tell me, do you truly believe everything you’ve written about me? Or do you simply enjoy proving your cleverness at my expense?”
Amelia stood, refusing to be intimidated by his proximity. “I believe what I observe. A man who spends his days in pleasure while others suffer. Who uses his privilege as a shield rather than a tool forchange.”
“You see what you wish to see,” he said, his voice dropping dangerously low. “Just as you’ve already decided what kind of husband I’ll be.”
“Haven’t you done the same?” She lifted her chin. “Already determined I’ll be an unsuitable marchioness? A poor breeder for your precious line? Not to mention being uninspiring.”
Color touched his cheekbones. “How did you hear that?”
“Servants. They hear everything.” She softened her tone, seeing real discomfort in his expression. “I don’t blame you. You spoke honestly, just as I do in my editorials. I respect that, at least.” She moved around the desk, needing distance from his unsettling presence. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to finish.”
“Of course.” His voice turned to ice. “Far be it from me to interrupt your important task of cataloging my many faults. Though surely a writer of your talent could find worthier subjects?”
