Undressed by the Earl (2 page)

“I
am
Amelia’s chaperone,” she added. “Which, I suppose, gives me the right to drag her away, if she won’t listen.”

“Would you allow me to intervene?” he asked. “I may be able to assist.” Though he ought not to get involved, he understood her concern.

Margaret stopped a moment, and her eyes held relief. “Could you? She doesn’t understand that I only want to protect her.” A flush of embarrassment crossed her face, followed by the hardened determination he recognized.

David bowed and nodded. “Allow me.” He wasn’t entirely certain
how
he would distract Miss Andrews, but perhaps there was a way.

He continued toward the viscount, noting the man’s circle of female admirers. When he approached, Lisford greeted him, “Castledon! Good to see you, my friend.” Although his voice was jovial, the man’s gaze turned guarded.

David inclined his head, though he didn’t repeat the sentiment. Quite frankly, he had little respect for the viscount. Thinking fast, he said, “Forgive me for interrupting, but Miss Amelia Andrews has promised the next dancing set to me.”

Amelia turned to face him in startled shock, already shaking her head in refusal. He sent her a warning look, but she was clearly choosing to ignore him.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, my good man,” the viscount insisted. “For she already promised it to me.” He took Amelia’s hand, and from the blush on her face, she was falling hard beneath his spell. She didn’t see the reality of Lisford’s intentions, nor did she seem to care. The other women dissipated among the crowd, leaving David to feel like a fool for even trying to draw Amelia away.

She held the devil’s hand while the other couples lined up for the dancing. The excitement in her eyes revealed a young woman’s dream that the viscount would fall in love and marry her.

Nothing could be further from the truth. A man like Lisford would seduce and ruin her, nothing more.

Go and warn her
, his conscience urged.
Join the dancers and use the moment to speak to her again.

But then, David hated dancing.
Hated
it. He’d learned how as a boy and had endured it only because Katherine had enjoyed it. Now, he would sooner set himself on fire than willingly join a set.

But when he saw the viscount’s gaze linger upon Amelia’s bosom, his hand sliding down her spine, something snapped within him. This man wanted to use an innocent girl and then cast her aside. Amelia didn’t need that sort of heartache.

Margaret walked up beside him, her eyes upon the dancing. “I thought you said you were going to stop her.”

“She has a mind of her own,” David countered. “But I suppose we can try another approach.”

He offered her his arm, and Margaret hesitated. “If I dance with you, I might end up as Lisford’s partner.”

“It’s possible,” David agreed. “Likely, even.”

Her stern face held the look of a woman who hadn’t at all forgiven the man for what he’d done. “I don’t want my sister to endure what I did. I know that I’m a spinster now and likely won’t ever marry anyone. But I can’t stand aside and let him hurt her in that way.”

David agreed with Margaret on that point. “Shall we?” She put her arm in his, and they waited to join the next dance. He repressed a groan when he learned it was to be a cotillion. Though it would indeed involve switching partners frequently, it wasn’t a dance that he remembered too well. From the moment he and Margaret paired up, he spied a gleam of interest on Amelia’s face. He managed to stumble his way through the steps until he finally partnered with her.

“I see you did find someone to dance with,” she remarked. “But I don’t know what you were thinking, claiming that I promised you a dance. It was Margaret’s doing, wasn’t it?”

Not entirely, but he didn’t say so. “Your sister was worried about you.”

Annoyance tightened her expression. “Margaret should worry about finding her own husband instead of interfering with me.”

“Perhaps she’s trying to spare you from the man who broke her heart.”

Amelia sobered, just as they switched partners. He left her to mull it over and saw the guilty expression upon her face when she crossed paths with her sister. David was forced to concentrate on the steps he’d forgotten until once again he was paired with Amelia. “I don’t mean to spoil your dreams, but think of me as the older brother looking out for you.”

“You’re nothing like an older brother,” Amelia interjected. When he was about to argue with her, she continued, “An older
uncle
, perhaps.”

“I’m not that ancient, Miss Andrews.” Even so, he saw the mischief in her eyes.

“You might need a cane, soon enough. Or an ear trumpet.”

Insolent wretch. And in spite of himself, he smiled. “Stop trying to change the subject. Men like Lord Lisford, who flirt with every woman, will continue to do so even after they marry. He won’t remain faithful.” Whomever the viscount ended up marrying would no doubt be humiliated by a string of Lisford’s paramours.

“Unless he’s besotted with his wife,” Amelia pointed out. “The way you were with yours.”

They switched partners again, and her remark pushed back at the memories David didn’t want to face. He stumbled a moment, thinking of Katherine. He
had
been besotted with her, and the fog of melancholy descended once more. He spoke a little to Margaret, but there wasn’t much to say. While he agreed with her assessment of Lord Lisford, Amelia would make her own choices. When he partnered with her one last time, he squeezed her gloved hand tighter.

“Have a care, Miss Andrews. Lord Lisford is indeed a dangerous man, as you said.” He didn’t want her believing that she could reform a man who lived a bacchanalian life, seeking pleasure wherever he could find it.

From the dark look in Amelia’s green eyes, he could see that he’d offended her. She wanted to believe that Viscount Lisford would care enough about her to put aside his past. “I can take care of myself,” she pointed out. “You needn’t concern yourself with me.”

The dance ended, but the viscount did not return to Amelia. Instead, he stood across from another young woman whose name David couldn’t remember. But she wore diamonds around her throat, and that was enough to attract Lisford’s eye.

When Amelia was about to leave, David refused to release her hand, forcing her to join him for the next dance. While she didn’t appear happy about the idea, neither did she protest. He could have this dance with her and speak freely, since Lisford had been her partner earlier.

But this dance turned out to be a reel, and David despised the quicker dances. He felt awkward spinning about the dance floor. And Amelia appeared gleeful at the trap he was caught in.

“Have you finished chiding me about Viscount Lisford?” she asked, whirling alongside him.

David ignored her taunt. “Perhaps I
should form a list of suitable men for you,” he suggested, “since you’re going to do the same for me.”

“I was
not
intending to give you a list of men.” She sent him a mischievous look. “Unless that’s what you’d rather have.”

Wicked girl. He sent her a disparaging look. “No, thank you. But I could advise you on which suitors are your best marital prospects.”

“You mean the ones my father would approve of.”

“Precisely.” David kept her at his side, keeping her arm in his.

“Let me guess. They would be mature men, with good fortunes, who tell their wives what to do and expect nothing but obedience.”

He strongly suspected that obedience was not Amelia’s better qualities. “Is there any harm in that?”

She cleared her throat. “I would die of boredom within a week.”

His arm moved around her waist, and there was a sudden flush upon her cheeks. Though the gesture meant nothing, he grew conscious of her body beneath the silk. His smile faded as he imagined a woman like Amelia with her hair undone, lying upon a bed.

The image sent a dormant surge of desire bolting through him, and he let go of her waist.

“Send a list to me within the week, if you please. I’ll do the same for you.” He stepped back as the dance ended, needing to move away from her.

“Thank you, but I’ve already found the gentleman I want,” Amelia said softly. “I’ve no need for a list.”

A few days later, Amelia had gathered all her sisters together for a meeting. “We need something more daring,” she informed them, but none of them was listening. Her oldest sister, Victoria, the Duchess of Worthingstone, was too busy cuddling her newest addition, another baby boy. Juliette had her own daughter, Grace, upon her knee, while Margaret’s attention was focused on a scrap of black silk.

“Perhaps something made of black lace,” Amelia suggested. While black was usually a color for mourning, the strong contrast against a woman’s skin would draw a man’s attention to her bare flesh.

Four years ago, when their family had been nearly destitute, they’d begun a secret business designing sensual corsets and chemises out of silk and satin. Aphrodite’s Unmentionables was the name they had chosen, and it had brought in thousands of pounds to help them survive the mountain of debts their uncle had left them.

Victoria had designed and sewn the first few garments, while Juliette had kept the accounts. Their lingerie was scandalous and, thankfully, most of the wealthy ladies in London had gone to Madame Benedict’s shop demanding more of it. It had changed not only their lives, but the lives of the Scottish women who helped sew the garments.

But now that Victoria and Juliette were married with children of their own, they had less time to devote to the business. Her eldest sister was a duchess, while Juliette was married to Paul Fraser, a Scottish viscount and a physician. Juliette and her husband were visiting London during the Season because Dr. Fraser was conferring with other physicians about a treatise he was writing.

Margaret held out the black silk. “They aren’t listening to us, Amelia. They’re too busy playing with their children.”

“
I
was listening,” Juliette protested, kissing her three-year-old daughter’s hair and snuggling her close. “But we’ve done black lace before. And white and red.”

“I overheard Madame Benedict saying to her assistant that the garments are not selling as well as before,” Amelia informed them. “Some of the ladies have complained that the silk makes it too difficult to wash. Should we try cotton or linen?”

“I think we should stop selling it altogether,” Margaret interrupted. “It’s been over four years. We’ve made tens of thousands of pounds in profit. There’s more than enough for your dowry.”

“And yours,” Amelia pointed out, but Margaret’s expression remained somber, as if she didn’t believe she would ever need a dowry. Despite her debut and all the previous Seasons, Margaret had only received one offer in those four years. When her engagement to Lord Lisford had ended badly, her sister had soured toward the idea of marriage.

“We don’t need to sell anything,” Margaret insisted. “Besides that, it’s dangerous. What if someone found out that Her Grace, the Duchess of Worthingstone, was selling naughty unmentionables? It would make the duke a laughingstock.”

Amelia shrugged. “We could deny it. No one would believe it anyway.”

But her sister was already shaking her head. “It’s gone on too long. It’s too easy for someone to accidentally learn the truth.”

Juliette frowned, setting her daughter down to play. “If it only involved us, I would have stopped years ago. The problem is the crofters’ wives. This is their livelihood. Even if they return to farming and raising sheep, they wouldn’t earn nearly as much.”

Amelia knew that her sister Juliette still visited Scotland often, for their parents owned an estate nearby at Ballaloch, and Paul’s mother dwelled among the crofters. And what she’d said was true—if they ended the sewing business, the women would be reliant upon the wool profits and crops to survive the winter. None of them had forgotten the years before, when so many had been starving or freezing to death.

Victoria let out a breath of air. “Juliette is right. We should look toward letting someone else manage the business. What about Cain Sinclair?” The Highlander had helped them over the years, delivering finished garments and acting as a liaison between Madame Benedict and themselves.

Amelia thought that was a good idea, but Margaret was already shaking her head. “Mr. Sinclair couldn’t. He wouldn’t know the first thing about how to manage a business about ladies’ unmentionables.”

“I suspect he knows how to take them off,” Amelia said slyly, watching Margaret’s embarrassment grow. “He does seem to have a number of women, doesn’t he?”

“I do not wish to talk about that man.” Margaret picked up the filmy black silk again. “I don’t trust him at all.”

But the flush on her sister’s cheeks suggested there was more she wasn’t saying. Amelia felt certain that the Highlander had kissed her sister at one point, though Margaret had denied any involvement.

“We could see if any of the MacKinloch women would like to take our places,” Victoria said. “Perhaps if they manage it themselves…”