Page 20 of Wicked with Him

If not for her horrible brother, they might have danced, come to know each other better.

But he’d only been given one chance, and that was to ruin her. He might be disgusted with himself if the lady had not been the one to extend the invitation. He knew he’d done her bidding, a service, been chosen for his skills as a lover and also for his unavailable heart and deep pockets that didn’t need refilling. And for weeks, he’d told himself repeatedly that Amity was better off not being associated with him at all, should she ever return to London. Her scandal had died from the lips of the gossips already. They had forgotten to wonder about her disappearance in the wake of all the other juicy scandals continually taking place in society.

But he couldn’t do that—forget her.

Amity ought to be back in society, where she belonged.

He scratched his head. Somehow, ruining a sweet lady had changed his mind about where his loyalties ought to lie, too. He’d had a lot of time to think while away from London. Revenge was all well and good, but eventually it no longer provided Roman with sufficient satisfaction. Melody was married, and her husband, if he’d not suffered a seizure yet after all Roman’s machinations and schemes to destroy his peace, seemed to be in continuing perfect health. Roman couldn’t even claim to be heartbroken.

He was finally free of the past and ought to give more thought to the future.

Roman was certain that if he wanted to consider himself a gentleman and a good man, he should take this one last chance to know Amity better before it was too late. There was no one here to get in his way, as there would have been in London.

There was no better proof of his change of heart about the women in his life than the fact he hadn’t taken a lover since Amity, too. He’d had plenty of offers and sly invitations from wives, widows and even a debutant or two. But none had compared, or tempted him away from thinking of his missing lover.

It was Amity he wanted to make love to.

If she’d ever have him without dire need forcing her hand, that was. If the circumstances were right and he could protect her reputation, Roman would be more than happy to be hers again.

She exited the house she’d just entered after a brief visit, and he admired the way she moved, shifting her emptier basket on her delicate hip. Rather than follow too closely and cause alarm, he merely watched her from a distance as she walked down a lane and entered another small cottage and didn’t come out again.

A desire he’d never expected to feel so keenly after Melody beset him as he considered knocking on Amity’s door just to see her face again.

To distract himself from doing so, he purchased a pair of oranges to eat as he enjoyed the summer day. He studied the house Amity had disappeared into and saw a curtain twitch at an upper window. Was that her new home?

He turned to the fruit seller with a question. “Is there much to see down that way?”

The fellow looked him up and down. “Traveler from London, are you?”

“Indeed, I am. I am in search of a property to purchase if I can find the right one.” He pointed past the last row of houses. “Unfortunately, I don’t know the area all that well, but it seems a pretty place. Could you tell me which estates are down that way?”

“Lord Barnes has an estate a bit farther along that’s for sale, and until recently he owned most of the cottages on the other side of the roadway, too,” the man confided, pointing to the last cottage Amity had disappeared inside of.

“Ah,” Roman said, nodding. The last pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. Fairbridge must have made the purchase of the cottages from Barnes and had whisked Amity quickly out of London to live in quiet obscurity.

Roman did not agree with that decision at all.

Roman asked more particulars about the area. He learned that a Lord Barnes’ had an estate that was sorely in need of repair. Lord Barnes’ wife was rumored to be Fairbridge’s mistress which might explain why Fairbridge owned property here, too.

He asked if there were other properties of similar size about the area, just as another man turned up at Roman’s side. They eyed each other. Given the quality of his clothing was very good and his bearing proud, he was perhaps the richest man in the village. The fruit seller introduced him as Fletcher.

“A few,” the Fletcher drawled, butting in. “There be a good view of the district from atop that hill. It’s not long till sunset though. You can see for miles and miles to get the lay of the land. The innkeeper can arrange an appointment with any of the stewards of absent landowners for you.”

“Ah, excellent. Thank you.”

A sudden idea struck. He’d like to take in the view and watch the sunrise with someone by his side. He couldn’t ever have asked a spinster to take an evening walk with him without a chaperone present. But to everyone in this village, Amity was known as a wife.

If anyone saw them together then, they wouldn’t care as much as they might had her real identity and circumstances been known.

But there was another way that guaranteed her reputation wouldn’t be harmed.

“I say, do you know if there is a Mrs. Standish living somewhere in these parts?”

“I couldn’t say,” the fruit seller replied, glancing at the other man with a frown.

The man’s face became closed off. Almost hostile. “I don’t believe I caught your name?”

Roman held out his hand. “Standish.”