Eight
A HEADACHE POUNDED on Christopher’s skull the next morning, and it wasn’t because of the brandy he’d shared with Cowasj the previous night.
Since he’d bloody agreed to have the bloody ball, Benedict had never stopped listing things that needed to be done, and in a surprisingly efficient way, he’d hired a small army of maids, footmen, landscapers, and painters in no time.
Standing in the veranda in the garden, Christopher narrowed his gaze on the gardeners chopping and pulling brambles and stinging nettles.
Next to him, Benedict nodded, like a general observing the work of his soldiers.
“You’ve had this planned for a while, haven’t you?” Christopher asked, fiddling with his tie.
The smile on Benedict’s face didn’t falter. “I hired these people weeks ago and asked them to wait for my word.” He let out a whistle. “Not cheap, believe me, but between my fine intellect and Cowasj’s influence, we did a nice job.”
There. He knew the speed with which Benedict had found these people was suspicious. “You bastard.”
A loud laugh erupted from his friend. Christopher managed to intimidate everyone, except Benedict. Still, a grin tugged at his lips.
Amelia and Julia strolled in the garden, twirling their parasols. A few workers cast glances in their direction, and Christopher couldn’t blame them. Amelia’s pink dress matched her cheeks and lips, and Julia’s green gown showed off her curves.
Amelia turned towards him and waved a gloved hand. He waved back, enjoying the fluttery sensation in his chest.
Benedict poked him in the ribs. “How is it going with the delectable Miss Amelia?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He rubbed the fingers Amelia had touched last night.
The way her eyes had widened and her breath had hitched when they’d touched sent a shot of pleasure to his groin. He probably shouldn’t have rubbed her inner wrist, but the temptation had been too strong. Hell, her skin was as soft as a rose petal.
“You don’t fool me, Chris.” Benedict shook his head. “The way you two steal glances at each other means there’s attraction.”
A wheelbarrows’ wheels rattled on the cobbles of the path as the gardeners carried away piles of weeds and grass.
Christopher winced as another squad started scrubbing the walls, the ruckus ripping the air. “Amelia is here only because her parents wish to arrange a marriage between us. She wouldn’t have come otherwise.” Or if Cowasj hadn’t been here.
“Do you want my opinion?”
He shrugged. “Do I have a choice?”
“No, I was asking only to be polite.” Benedict lowered his voice. “I believe she’s hiding something.”
A nagging feeling tugged at the back of his neck, the same he had when Amelia had shown up in the garden the other morning. He glanced at her promenading with her pretty parasol. “What do you think she’s hiding?”
“I’m not sure. Women have secrets, you know. Things we poor men can hardly imagine. I guess that after the whole affair with the apple went wrong for Eve, women learned to keep things from us, but I’m sure of one thing.” Benedict poked Christopher again, causing a wave of frustration to surge inside him. “She likes you. It’s obvious from the way she looks at you.”
“It’s not obvious to me.” Despite Christopher’s word, the image of Amelia drawing in a deep breath flashed unbidden in his mind.
“It’ll be obvious even to someone as sensitive as a stone like you, and when the moment arrives, you’ll thank me.”
He was about to reply he doubted that when the sound of someone clearing his throat came. Mrs Armstrong stood behind him, gloomy and dark like a storm cloud.
A spark of annoyance flicked inside him at how she’d treated Amelia. “Yes?” he croaked and then added, “Ma’am?”
Her gaze darted to Benedict before she took a dip. “I was wondering if I could have a word with you in private.”
Christopher clasped his hands behind his back. “Don’t feel intimidated by my friend. You can speak freely in front of him.”
“It’s a rather delicate matter.”
“But Benedict isn’t delicate at all.” Christopher ignored his friend’s arched brow.
