CHAPTER TWELVE

  Milo escorted Amelia toward the ballroom a few nights later, the satisfaction of several days and nights of good sex lingering between them. Not even another lecture of the perils of loveless matches from his father could sour his good mood.

  He and Amelia were a good match in bed. It would be no hardship at all to give her the children she wanted. That he wanted, too.

  He glanced at her as they were announced, proud of the woman he’d married.

  She was soft in all the right ways, poised in the most trying of circumstances, and tonight she was…so beautiful his heart skipped a beat. There was a glow about her as she gazed upon the room and heard the sound of a harp being plucked. She glanced his way and smiled and he was bathed in warmth. He led her into the room, the sound of her skirts softly rustling in his ears, her fingers light on his arm and knew he had done well for himself.

  Father and the duchess were occupied on the far side of the room, and they inclined their heads to acknowledge their arrival. But did not gesture them closer.

  That suited Milo perfectly. They were at the ball to make an impression of their own, not reignite a pointless argument about love and marriage. Their marriage would do very well based on desire alone.

  They headed toward the nearest couple, and Milo made the introductions. “Mr. and Mrs. Dunstan, have you had the honor of meeting my wife?”

  “Not formally,” Mrs. Dunstan gushed.

  Amelia inclined her head. “We chanced upon each other this afternoon on the stairs, and I’m sure Mrs. Dunstan and I will become great friends one day soon,” Amelia promised.

  Mrs. Dunstan beamed. “I agree. We both adore children and had so much to talk about.”

  “I, however, am eagerly awaiting an introduction,” Mr. Dunstan announced, reaching for Amelia’s hand. Dunstan, a wealthy local landowner, raised it toward his lips.

  Dunstan kissed the back of Amelia’s glove but from where Milo stood, his glance fell to her bosom—and stayed there rather too long.

  Amelia reclaimed her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, sir,” she said politely.

  Dunstan’s smile grew sly. “And for me, too. I look forward to improving our acquaintance tonight.”

  “I believe you promised your wife two dances tonight?” she murmured. “I always look forward to seeing happily married couples take a turn about the floor together.”

  Mrs. Dunstan looked at her husband with complete surprise, though. And Mr. Dunstan’s smile grew pained as he was neatly trapped into agreeing that he would.

  Milo smothered a laugh…because his toes remembered only too well what happened when one danced with Mrs. Dunstan. She was enthusiastic, to say the least.

  “And then we will dance, Lady Chatham,” Dunstan drawled, his smirk quickly back in place.

  Amelia linked her arm through Milo’s immediately. “I’m afraid my dance card has been claimed by this handsome devil.”

  Milo was taken back by the claim, and by her description of him, too. Handsome devil? It was such an unexpected claim, that he could only nod in response.

  “Surely not every dance,” Dunstan protested.

  “Oh, leave them be, Dunstan. Can you not see they only have eyes from each other,” Mrs. Dunstan announced. She tapped her husband with her fan. “They are newlyweds, Dunstan, and obviously firmly devoted already. They don’t want anyone coming between them tonight. They will dance together and likely slip away to be alone.”

  Thanks to Amelia’s soft smile at the suggestion, he had trouble tearing his gaze away from her face. Perhaps they would leave the ball early together. He wanted to dance with Amelia but didn’t like the idea of her in another man’s arms afterward.

  Amelia’s heightened color reminded him how desperate she could be for lovemaking when they were alone.

  “Perhaps,” Milo murmured. “If you will excuse us.”

  “I’m sure we will talk again when he can bear to be parted from you, my dear.” Mrs. Dunstan wiggled her fingers in farewell as they went on their way.

  Amelia’s grip on his arm softened. “A gentleman should never flirt with a new bride right in front of his own wife, or at all. I hope she stomps on his toes more than once and very hard.”

  Milo smothered a laugh. He’d seen Amelia poised in the face of disapproval, but had never seen anyone hide disgust for a man so well.

  His first wife had danced with Dunstan a great deal at parties such as this, and they had whispered together often, stopping when he or Mrs. Dunstan drew near. He’d found no evidence of an affair and yet he still wondered. Dunstan set his teeth on edge to this day. Amelia’s distrust of overtures of friendship from the man would serve their marriage well.

  They circulated around the room together, Milo introducing her to family friends and neighbors, mostly the men who’d been out shooting and drinking that day. To one and all, Amelia showed no particular eagerness to know them better. She was poised, polite, a little distant but agreeable. He slowly lost his concern that she would become overwhelmed or charmed by another man, the way his first wife had done.

  They separated, at the duchess’ insistence, Amelia remaining by the duchess’ side while Milo was sent away, left free to circulate unhindered among the guests.

  Once guests had him alone, his decision to take a second wife was remarked upon by the ladies in the room, and by the men considered scoundrels, they expressed regret that her temperament appeared so retiring.

  Only Milo knew the truth. When alone with him, Amelia was a surprisingly energetic and passionate woman. He kept that discovery to himself, though, and the pleasure that knowledge brought kept him warm still, and just a little distracted.

  He headed toward his father and his brother-in-law Whitfield, determined to mend the breach. “I think the evening is going very well, don’t you?”

  “Well, you’re in a good mood tonight,” Whitfield teased.

  “’Tis the smile of a newly married man,” he answered, but Father only scowled and turned away. His behavior continued to disappoint, but Milo would win his support for Amelia’s sake. He moved to stand beside Whitfield. “Did you moderate your happiness to appease Father?”

  “No, because it would never have been possible. I adore your sister more and more each day.”

  “’Tis only right to love a Westfall,” Milo reminded him, but then frowned at what he’d said. He would be the exception, never to know true love. He shook off the regret and spotted his father moving away from him. “I never thought Papa would be so stubborn about my second marriage, but he has not taken it well, has he?”

  “Your father once caught your sister and me kissing before our marriage,” Whitfield whispered. “Ghastly moment. He didn’t talk to me for weeks, except to discuss the wedding breakfast.”

  “It’s not quite the same situation,” Milo mused, rubbing his jaw.

  “No, but it is an example of how he reacts to change in the family. He does not like us to surprise him. Some things take him more time to adjust to. He took a whole year to admit his feelings for Gillian. You are his heir, and he has always had the highest expectations for your future.”

  Milo sighed as he caught sight of Amelia through the crowd. She kept glancing toward the musicians, but he thought her interest was in the harpist most of all. He felt her yearning from across the room and regretted that he had not sent for her harp.

  Tomorrow, he would send a servant to fetch it.

  Their eyes met, and she looked away first. He hoped she was blushing again, thinking of him and what they might do together later. “Do you think Papa’s opinion would change if he were informed that he had interrupted us making love the other afternoon?”

  Whitfield choked, and after a moment, he drew close to whisper, “I thought yours was to be a chaste marriage. Your father certainly seems to think it would be.”

  “No,” Milo answered with a slight smirk. “Amelia wishes for children that I am happy to provide her with.”

  “Devil take it. No wonder you cannot take your eyes off the woman tonight.”

  “Merely protecting my interests. Scoundrels abound,” he said, catching sight of Dunstan admiring Amelia from afar.

  He snatched a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and watched Dunstan, curious to see whether he would approach Amelia again and what she might do to rebuff him.

  Unfortunately, another of his sisters arrived at that moment. Thankfully, Becca came tonight on her husband’s arm, but she quickly abandoned him to speak with the duchess and seemed overjoyed to meet Amelia.

  Rafferty had been Milo’s friend for a long time and had become a brother-in-law only recently. Rafferty’s interest had been known by everyone in the family but Becca. Rafferty’s marriage to her had been another shock for the family, since Becca had openly loathed the man for years.

  He thrust out his hand to Rafferty when the man joined him and Whitfield. “It is good to see you again.”

  “And you,” he answered. Rafferty drew close. “The sisters are buzzing over the news of your unexpected marriage. Congratulations. I assume we are too late for the grand announcement?”

  “They do tend to buzz, and yes, you did miss the announcement.”

  “I like your choice,” Rafferty said, nodding.

  “Well, that’s all I need then,” Milo drawled, rolling his eyes and obtaining a fresh glass from a passing footman. “Your approval has always meant the world to me, but you haven’t even met her to know what you are saying.”

  Whitfield laughed and excused himself when Jessica beckoned him to join her across the room.

  Rafferty remained by his side, surveying the guests before them. “Of course I know her.”

  Milo frowned. “Since when?”

  “Since our childhood, fool.”

  “Oh,” he murmured, puzzled. But then his confusion cleared. “Oh, yes, of course.”

  “That’s the first sign of your imminent dotage. Where do you think you first met Amelia, Chatham?” Rafferty grinned.

  “It slipped my mind that you and Reynolds used to spend summers together.”

  “With you and your brothers and Whitfield, too, in case you’ve forgotten.” Rafferty laughed. “I could almost claim the credit for your introduction to her.”

  Milo shook his head and looked to see where Amelia had got to, so she could renew her acquaintance with Rafferty. When he spotted her, she was headed in his direction already. She nearly tripped over her own feet, though, when she noticed Rafferty at his side.

  She righted herself—but her expression turned dark, angry. “You,” she hissed immediately upon arrival.

  “My dear Lady Chatham. It’s been too long since we last met.”

  “Not long enough for me.”

  Milo blinked but Rafferty only laughed. “You’re not still holding a grudge, are you?”

  Her gaze cut to Milo, a questioning look in her eyes.

  “Amelia, may I present my brother-in-law, Adam Croft, Lord Rafferty. My sister Rebecca’s husband.”

  Amelia’s shoulders tensed. “I hadn’t realized he was a member of your family.”

  “Your family now, too, so there’s no escape from me,” Rafferty said with a teasing laugh. “You’ll have to forgive me for everything I do now.”

  “I have to do nothing of the sort,” she vowed. Amelia glared daggers at Rafferty still. In fact, her hands were so tightly clenched at her waist as she looked at their brother-in-law, Milo feared she was stopping herself from slapping his smiling face.

  Milo leaned toward Rafferty and whispered. “What did you do?”

  “Me? Nothing?”

  “Amelia seems to feel otherwise. Why is that?”

  Amelia stepped closer. “He put worms in my shoes, he short-sheeted my bed, he stained my hair with India ink…”

  “The pranks of an excitable child,” Rafferty exclaimed, brushing them off as if his actions were unimportant.

  “Pranks played every day on the only girl at a house party that lasted a whole month,” Amelia said through gritted teeth. “They cut my hair because of what you did to me!” she hissed.

  Rafferty lost a bit of color at the discovery.

  Amelia’s jaw was clenched tight and she fairly vibrated with fury. Milo immediately moved to stand closer to her side, afraid she would do something rash at any moment. He was furious on her behalf, too.

  Milo noticed others had started to take note of the angry exchange. “Perhaps, we should take this discussion elsewhere,” he suggested.

  But Amelia suddenly affected a false smile and laughed, causing the other guests to look away, robbed of a potential scandal in the making.

  Yet, Rafferty was another person who’d wronged his wife and gotten away with it in the past. Milo would not stand for it. “Rafferty, you owe my wife an apology.”

  Rafferty slumped a little, head lowering. “I do indeed. I am very sorry for the harm I caused you when I was a boy. I won’t ask your forgiveness because I do not deserve it.”

  Amelia inclined her head, agreeing with him, but said nothing to let him off the hook. Milo was not easily appeased, either, but during a ball was not the time to make a fuss. It would only cause another bit of gossip that society would gobble up.

  “We’ll deal with you later in private,” he warned his brother-in-law, and hooked his arm through Amelia’s to lead her away from an obvious source of embarrassment for her.

  He procured a glass of champagne for her on the way, but she did not take a sip immediately. Her body was stiff, and her smile had been replaced by haughtiness. It did not suit the Amelia he had come to know.

  He gestured for her to walk with him outside onto the terrace. Once free of the stares of others, she exhaled and hastily set the champagne glass aside untouched. Her hand was shaking badly. “I apologize if I embarrassed you just now.”

  “Embarrassed me? No, of course you did not.”

  “I will have difficulty facing him again. It was a painful time in my childhood. I was thoroughly humiliated.”

  He frowned, confused. He only vaguely remembered his stay at Rafferty’s. He’d gone there on so many occasions that they’d all blurred together. But Amelia had only gone the once and never returned that he could recall. “How much of your hair was stained with ink?”

  “Half the length, but…”

  He suddenly got a bad feeling. “But?”

  “They cut it all—nearly down to my scalp.”

  Milo reeled at the savagery. “But that’s ridiculous!”

  “I looked like a boy, and I wanted no one to see me without a head covering for years after.” She rubbed her arms. “My little sister loved nothing more than to steal my turban and expose me to pity for my ugly appearance.”

  “You could never be ugly,” he promised, but Milo cursed under his breath. Amelia’s hair was beautiful now, and he could not imagine the pain she must have suffered. “I assume your sister was not punished for that, either.”

  “No, she wasn’t,” she said, her head lowering. “They were all too busy laughing with her.”

  “I had no idea they were so mean to you,” he said, raising her face with gentle fingers. “How could they do that?”

  “I’ve spent my entire life wondering why I was not worthy of love, too.”

  “But you are,” he promised. Milo reached for his wife and drew her into his arms. Amelia remained stiff and unyielding at first, and he pressed his lips to her hair, hoping to comfort her.

  Slowly, her arms rose to return his embrace, and they stood together for several moments in the dark, united in grief and sympathy. It was nice and cozy to be part of a pair again, and Milo began to feel things he should know better not to.

  He held her tighter still, aching to take away the humiliation of her past from a callous and cruel family. But even as she softened into his arms, Milo knew he had to let go. Worrying about her was a slippery slope. And dangerous to his promise to keep a distance.

  He gently eased Amelia out of his arms. “We must go back inside now and dance together,” he murmured. “There are people we must speak with.”

  “I would prefer…”

  “You can avoid Rafferty if you want,” he added quickly. “As well as Father. I’ll deal with my family from now on.”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  He gestured toward the ballroom and did not offer his arm for their return indoors, but he would have to hold her if they were to dance. Milo walked at her side around the dance floor, waiting for the musicians, utterly aware of how badly he wanted to hold her in his arms again and why it was not a good idea.

  When the music began, he went through the motions automatically, noticing they were again perfectly matched despite never having danced together.

  Amelia made no comment, her mind clearly elsewhere, and he allowed her the distraction. But as soon as the dance ended, he escorted her back to the duchess and the company of his sisters.

  He excused himself from her and found a drink.

  “Good evening, brother.”

  He spun about to find Samuel at his side, dressed appropriately at last, his long hair tied back in a queue.

  Milo thumped his brother’s shoulder, pleased their talk had brought him back to the fold, tonight of all nights. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “I wasn’t,” Samuel replied. “But then I considered that your wife could use all the support she could get.”

  “She will be happy to see you, I’m sure,” Milo promised.

  Samuel eased closer. “Why does she look so cold tonight? What have you done?”

  “Me, nothing.” Milo quickly told him what Rafferty had done to her as a girl, and of Father’s continued disapproval.

  “I’m not surprised she dislikes him still. Rafferty’s sense of humor leaves a lot to be desired.”

  “I agree,” Milo murmured. “I will deal with him another day. For now, we appreciate your support.”

  They stood together for several moments, watching another set form, and his gaze was drawn back to his wife as she stood flanked by Jessica and Becca, chatting with other guests. For now, she seemed content not to dance, and he did not move to claim her.