Dancing with the Viscount (Howertys Prequel Novella)

Chapter 15: Need To Talk

Preston sat alone in his library nursing a glass of brandy and feeling rather sorry for himself when the door opened behind him. Comfortable in a chair, staring out over the dark garden outside, he didn't bother turning around.

"It's all right, Giles," he said, waving a hand at the butler. "You can tell the valet to go to bed. I will sort myself out, as I don't know when I will retire for the night."

Someone cleared their throat, making him frown. That didn't sound like his butler.

"I'm afraid Giles can't deliver your message."

With his heart in his throat, he stood and turned to the interloper. "Amelia," he said, keeping his voice measured. "What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night. Have you no sense of propriety?"

She wore a large cloak covering most of her form, but he could see the ball dress from earlier in the evening underneath it. "Apparently not," she replied. "I wanted— No, I needed to speak to you. And you had already left Gowthorpe's ball."

Walking around the desk to lean back against it, he shook his head. "What could possibly be so important that you risk your reputation by visiting me alone at night?" He made a show of looking behind her. "I see you have no chaperone. How did you even get inside?"

"I left my maid at home," she admitted with a lack of concern that should frustrate him, but despite everything, he was happy to see her. Why had she come? A flicker of hope fluttered to life in his chest, no matter how hard he tried to extinguish it. "And I snuck in through the servants' entrance in the back."

He took a sip of his drink as he watched her, trying to determine her purpose for this improper visit. Setting the glass down on the desk behind him, he crossed his arms over his chest. "And why, pray tell, have you decided to visit me at this hour?"

"I... I needed to speak with you." With lightly trembling fingers, she untied the cloak and slid it off before throwing it on a chair.

He frowned. A nervous Amelia? That was not a common sight. "Yes," he said. "You mentioned that already. What was so important it couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

Instead of answering him straight away, she paced the room from side to side, not unlike the time she had come to him to request his help with capturing the interest of the Marquess of Pensington. Not sure what to expect, he remained half-sitting on his desk as he watched her continue to tread a path across the floor of his library. A few strands of hair had come loose from her intricate hairdo to caress the curves of her neck and shoulders. Pushing it back behind her ears, she let out a frustrated huff before she stopped to level him with a glare.

"You're all wrong!" she burst out.

"So you've told me," he drawled.

"I have no interest in rakes. A rake is exactly what I don't want. Shouldn't want." She took a few steps towards him, making him straighten. "But a friend pointed something out to me tonight..."

"And what's that?" He swallowed as she took the remaining steps separating them, coming to stand in front of him.

Refusing to meet his gaze, she kept her eyes trained on the buttons on his shirt where he'd removed his cravat after returning home. "She said you can't choose who you love."

His heart beat rapidly in his chest as he waited for her to elaborate.

She sighed. "I already know I'm attracted to you." A wry smile touched her lips. "We both do. But I refused to believe it was anything beyond that. Because how could I fall in love with exactly the type of man I do not want?"

"Because we don't get to choose who we love any more than we can choose who we are attracted to?" he ventured a quiet guess.

"Exactly." Her head slowly tilted until her brown eyes met his. "You may be exactly what I don't want. But you are also everything I do want. You make me laugh. You talk to me like my opinion matters. I..." She faltered, her cheeks turning pink under his intense scrutiny. "I love you, Preston."