Preston Caldwell, Viscount Leighton, has only ever loved one woman, but she is not for him. She's the belle of the ball, the incomparable of the season, the daughter of a duke... The list goes on. She is also his best friend's sister, and she's in l...
Maybe she ought to stop running away from Preston whenever she didn't want to continue a conversation. Amelia considered this possibility as she forced a pleasant smile as she danced with Viscount Gowthorpe. Her blond dance partner was charming, but she managed little more than a few nods and smiles as Preston's words preoccupied her mind.
'Because I love you.'
Nonsense! He didn't love her. He couldn't love her. She frowned. Could he? They had only shared a few kisses. He'd admitted to being attracted to her, but love? If he had harboured feelings for her, he had certainly hid it well. She had never considered the possibility that he thought of her as anything other than his friend's annoying little sister. An annoying little sister he was attracted to. Could he truly be hiding more than his attraction? Had she truly been so blind?
"Lady Amelia?" Lord Gowthorpe's soft question brought her back to the present, and she gave him an apologetic smile. She was lucky to know the steps of the dance so well she could do it in her sleep, or she might have stepped on his toes by now.
"My apologies, Lord Gowthorpe. I fear I was concentrating too much on my dancing," she lied.
The shadow of a smile crossed his lips as he looked down at her, and she couldn't help but wonder if his good friend the Marquess of Pensington had told him about meeting her after she had obviously been thoroughly kissed by someone. She rather hoped not. The viscount was known to be something of a rake, and she had no desire to fend off any advances if he thought she was open to that sort of thing.
"Not to worry," he said. "I have to focus at times myself. It is far too easy to let your mind wander."
Deciding to change the subject, she nodded towards a group of men hovering around two young ladies. "It would appear your sister's coming-out-ball is going well."
The viscount's face clouded as he followed the direction of her nod. "Yes," he muttered. "If I'm honest, I don't know whether to be pleased for her or worried about having to fight any undesirable suitors off with a stick."
Amelia laughed quietly, and unable to stop herself, she gave him a mischievous smile. "It must be quite difficult to be on the other side of the experience."
It took a moment before he caught her meaning, and for a moment she wondered if she had overstepped, but then he laughed. "True. I should appreciate the plight of fathers and brothers everywhere more."
"Perhaps you should." She winked, earning her a wolfish grin.
Once the dance finished, the viscount led her off the floor and after a polite bow, he disappeared to check on his sister. Noting that Aunt Ruth was busy chatting to some other matrons, Amelia fetched herself a glass of punch and slipped out onto the terrace before any of her suitors could find her. With new prey for them to admire, there seemed to be a few less than usual. Something she did not mind as it could get quite tiring having a group of men hover around her, vying for her attention. Especially knowing that they cared little for her as a person, and cared more for her family connections and dowry.
The warm spring evening made the terrace a welcome respite, with several others also seeking to cool down from the warm ballroom. A few couples walked along the lit paths in the garden below, but Amelia felt content to remain on the terrace tonight. Moonlit gardens had not been good for her composure lately, so she was probably better off staying away. Leaning her hip against the terrace railing, she took a sip of her punch and closed her eyes. A light breeze played with the loose curls at her temples, lulling her into a moment of peace.
"Amelia."
She groaned. Opening her eyes, she looked at Preston as he came to stand next to her at the railing. He was handsome in his evening attire. Black tailcoat and trousers, matched with a grey waistcoat, white shirt and cravat. His dark hair looked a little more unkempt than usual, as if he'd dragged his hand through it one time too many. Leaning his back against the railing, he crossed his arms over his chest as he stared down at her.
"You ran away from me," he said. "Again."
She made a face. "I'm sorry."
He sighed, and after a quick glance to make sure no one was near enough to hear them, he leaned a little closer. "Am I to believe that you did not appreciate my declaration?"
"More... I didn't expect it."
A dark eyebrow rose at her reply. "And that warranted your swift exit?"
"I wasn't sure how to handle the situation."
"So leaving was the obvious option?"
"Apparently."
He chuckled. A pleasant sound that trickled over her like warm honey. He shook his head. "What am I to do with you, Amelia?"
Feeling unusually brave—possibly because they were around others—she met his eyes. "What would you like to do with me?"
His mouth opened as he stared at her, and for a moment she saw his arms relax before he tightened them across his chest again. When his gaze dropped to her mouth, she automatically wet them with her tongue. His eyes came back to hers, the look in them darker than usual.
"Amelia," he said quietly. "I think you know exactly what I want to do with you."
A spear of excitement shot straight down her spine and set off a fluttering of tiny butterflies in her abdomen. This was a dangerous game they were playing. And yet she did not want to stop.
"Tell me," she whispered.
Preston watched her quietly for a moment, making the fluttering inside her intensify until she thought she might burst. Finally, he leaned closer, his breath fanning her temple.
"I want to kiss you so thoroughly that you forget your own name," he murmured, causing gooseflesh to spread across her skin as his lips grazed the shell of her ear. "And then I want to slowly strip you of every piece of clothing and worship your body. Show you exactly how I feel about you. I—"
"What the hell?"
Preston straightened and Amelia pulled back slightly as they both turned to find her brother standing a few feet away, staring at them. His brown eyes—so alike her own—burned with indignant anger.
"Adrian," she said, forcing a light tone. "It's good to see you again. When did you return to London?"
Her brother ignored her, his attention focused on Preston. "Leighton? What the hell are you doing? When Richmond said you were hanging around Amelia, I didn't believe him. Or at the most, I thought you might simply be courteous by keeping her company in my absence. Then I see you out here like this?"
A few other guests cast glances in their direction, so Amelia walked up to her brother and took his hand. "Welcome home, brother," she said pointedly. "Let's not make a scene in public."
He made a sound low in his throat that wasn't entirely unlike a growl but nodded. "Fine," he said tersely. Then, with another glare in Preston's direction, he added, "This discussion is not finished."
"I suspected as much," Preston muttered, earning him another glare.
"Gowthorpe's library," Adrian said. "Ten minutes."
Preston nodded. Amelia gave him an apologetic smile over her shoulder as her brother escorted her back into the ballroom. She groaned inwardly. Could Adrian have chosen a worse moment to appear? Perhaps... If he'd have seen them the other night... Kissing. She didn't want to consider what his reaction might have been to that.
Glancing up at her brother's tense profile, she wondered what he planned to tell Preston in the library.
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