Page 72 of Real Earls Break the Rules

Amelia followed Caroline’s gaze to the top of the ballroom stairs where Brandon’s tall, commanding figure stood. He looked strikingly handsome in simple black and white evening attire. There was a firm strength about him, an attitude of self-command and studied relaxation that proclaimed to everyone present that he was the Earl of Vale and the master of his own realm. Young ladies and their mothers whispered behind fluttering fans.

As soon as Brandon came down the stairs he was flagged by a group of men. He grinned at acquaintances, shook hands, and Huntingdon slapped his back in greeting.

“My brother is stubborn, but determined when he wants something,” Caroline whispered in her ear.

Amelia bit her lip until it throbbed like her pulse. “You’re wrong about the way he looks at me.”

Caroline gave her a sidelong glance that said she didn’t believe a word Amelia said. “I don’t think so. I’ve known my brother all my life, remember?”

Amelia wanted to argue further, but stopped herself. Brandon didn’t want his sisters or grandmother to learn of his troubles. Amelia may not agree with his decision to keep secrets from the women in his family, but she would respect it.

Besides, none of it mattered now.

She stole a glimpse at Brandon. He appeared in deep conversation with a middle-aged man with a head of sandy hair. Brandon grinned at something the man said and the simple smile made him appear even more handsome. The pain in her heart became a fiery gnawing.

She doubted her wisdom in attending tonight. What had she been thinking? She took a deep breath and her gown felt too snug against her ribs. She wanted to flee to her room until the night was over. How on earth could she be present when he knelt down on his knee to another woman?

Amelia eyed the doors leading out of the ballroom. Only Caroline and her sisters would notice her departure. She could feign a headache and slip away.

She stole another glimpse at Brandon, then gasped. He’d been watching her. A heartbeat passed as his gaze raked her figure then returned to capture her own. Admiration flickered across his features along with another emotion.

Something fierce and possessive.

Amelia sucked in a breath, and her knees weakened.

She tore her gaze away. Thankfully, Caroline hadn’t noticed the exchange. She was focused on another man who was fast approaching. Amelia was slow to realize it was Lord Weston until he stopped before them and bowed.

“Good evening ladies.” He briefly glanced at Caroline before his gaze turned to Amelia and his face beamed in approval. Candlelight from the chandeliers reflected off of his spectacles, and he smiled warmly.

“If you will both excuse me,” Caroline said with a knowing smile, “my grandmother awaits across the room.”

Amelia found herself alone with Lord Weston. “You look exceptionally lovely this evening.” He extended his hand toward Amelia. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”

The music changed and the dancers began a gavotte. Amelia had been contemplating leaving the ballroom, not dancing. Her emotions were volatile and erratic. One minute she felt like sobbing, and the next she wanted to stomp her ballroom slipper in rage. Struggling for resolve, she straightened her spine. She’d heard of stories of girls who’d cried over heartbreak, and she had always thought them foolish. She was not the type of lady to burst into tears. She was strong. Life had molded her and her sisters that way.

It took great effort, but she managed to smile at Weston. He’d been nothing but kind to her during the house party, and she considered him a friend.

“Of course.” She placed her hand on his arm, and he led her to the dance floor.

…

She looked like a temptress. The sapphire gown clung to Amelia’s curves and displayed her generous breasts and long legs. It took every ounce of Brandon’s willpower not to stride to her side and claim her as his.

She was dancing with Lord Weston. Jealousy pounded in his veins, thick and fierce. He’d never been the possessive type until he’d met Amelia. He’d never cared if his past lovers had moved on. Gossip at the gentlemen clubs of his prior mistresses, who were now under the protection of other men, had never bothered him.

But she wasn’t just any lover; she was his Amelia.

Weston gazed down at her with a look of infatuation and lust. The man stole glimpses at her magnificent breasts that were barely covered by the blue silk. Jesus, if the woman took a deep breath he’d swear she’d spill out of the tight bodice. What the hell was she thinking?

He had difficulty concentrating on his conversation with Duncan Turnover, a neighboring Hampshire landowner.

“Have you seen the lady in blue?” Turner asked Brandon.

Brandon stiffened and pretended to notice Amelia for the first time.

“She’s a pretty piece,” Turner said, oblivious to the tenseness that had enveloped Brandon. By the look of Turner’s bloodshot eyes, it was clear he had been drinking heavily before he’d arrived at the ball. “I’ve always been fond of that color hair,” Turner slurred. “More reddish than brown. I’d like to let her hair down to cover those pale breasts that are spilling out of that gown. I wonder if she’d be as fiery in bed as they say about redheads.”

Brandon’s heart hammered. He wanted to punch Duncan Turner, then usher Amelia out of the ballroom with haste. He’d be damned if any other man, intoxicated or sober, lusted after what was his.