Page 30 of Real Earls Break the Rules

“She’s also an accomplished singer,” the duchess continued. “And her embroidery is to be admired.”

What was the woman prattling on about? Singing embroidery? Brandon’s eye caught a glimpse of emerald silk and auburn hair at the far end of the table.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” his grandmother said, glaring at him.

Brandon stiffened and turned to the dowager. “Yes, of course.”

“She can play for you sometime,” the duchess offered. “Or even sing.”

Minerva said little but gazed at Brandon with a hopeful expression. It made him want to escape through the French doors and ride hell for leather through the country.

The meal dragged on as he stole glimpses of Amelia. Not only was Emmett engaging her in conversation, but his brother, Weston, was as well. Weston said something to her that made her laugh and gift him with a genuine smile.

Damnation. Brandon’s fist clenched the stem of his wineglass. He was beginning to regret inviting Newchester’s entire family to the house party. But how could he celebrate Helen’s betrothal to the marquess without inviting the man’s two unmarried brothers?

By the end of the sixth course, Brandon had drunk far too much. He ignored the dowager’s disapproving glare and motioned for a footman to top off his wineglass. He was restless in the dining room surrounded by people he wanted to escape.

All he could think of was the evening. Amelia would slip through the passageway and into his study, and he’d have her to himself at last.

He couldn’t wait until tonight.

…

The meal was lasting forever. Amelia had lost count of all the courses. Her eyes kept straying to the head of the table where Brandon sat. He was an unwelcome distraction.

She’d become accustomed to formal dinners since Eliza had married Huntingdon, but this meal at the house party was different. She struggled to remember which utensil to use for each course. So many watchful eyes from the newly arrived guests, not to mention the footmen stationed behind the chairs.

Thank goodness for Caroline and Huntingdon’s sister, Sara, nearby. They helped put her at ease, whereas the bachelors seated closest to her were a different matter. Amelia wasn’t sure what to make of the marquess’s two brothers, Lord Weston and Lord Emmett.

Emmett was the younger of the two with his dark hair and twinkling blue eyes. He was quick with a smile and a joke, and he was clearly comfortable around the women. He was also fond of the wine in Vale’s cellar from the way he repeatedly motioned for the closest footman to refill his glass.

Weston, on the other hand, had similar coloring, but sharp blue eyes behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. He was more serious than his younger brother, but decidedly more intelligent. He was also less soused.

“I’m thrilled that Vale has invited such lovely guests,” Emmett said at her elbow.

“Chloe and I are Lord Huntingdon’s sisters-in-law,” Amelia said.

“Huntington is fortunate. And Vale is more so since he and Huntingdon own adjoining country estates.” Emmett leaned forward, brushing his sleeve against her bare arm for the second time that evening. “If I lived this close to you, I’d find any excuse to visit.” He winked. “A country walk. A ride. Even afternoon tea.”

Amelia was annoyed by his forwardness. Did he always behave this way with women he’d just met? Or was it because he was clearly foxed? Either way, she knew men like him needed to be put in their place. “From what I’ve heard, you prefer London life,” she said.

One dark eyebrow shot upward. “Who told you that?”

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord.”

His mouth quirked with humor. “Pray tell me, what are the rumors?”

Amelia smoothed the napkin on her lap. “That you are a regular at the gentlemen’s clubs and enjoy placing outrageous wagers in White’s betting book.”

He blinked, and she feared she had gravely insulted him, but then he threw back his head and laughed loudly, drawing attention from the guests near the head of the table. “I cannot deny any of it, and your truthfulness is a refreshing change.”

She glanced up and caught Brandon’s gaze. For a brief instant, his eyes darkened and his jaw tensed. He looked angry. A frisson of unease skittered down her spine, and she turned away. Was he upset with her, or Lord Emmett?

Lady Minerva stared at her quizzically while the duchess looked at her as if she had dripped sauce on her bodice.

Amelia wanted to push back her chair and flee from the room. Surprisingly, it was Weston who came to her rescue. “Ignore my brother,” Weston said, shooting Emmett a warning look. “He gets carried away by fine food and spirits and often forgets his manners.”

For the first time that evening, Emmet was silent as he sipped from his wineglass with an expression that could only be described as brooding.