The Ardent Lady Amelia (8 page)

Which was why she was surprised to see M. Chartier at the gathering. There was, in her mind, question enough about whether Lord Verwood would have been there if he hadn’t accompanied them. Had he actually received an invitation, or had Peter accepted the invitation for them, indicating that Verwood was Amelia’s escort? An interesting speculation, and one which Amelia might have mentally pursued if she hadn’t been so struck with M. Chartier’s presence. She was astonished that the Stratfords even knew him, let alone invited him to their ball.

For M. Chartier claimed no title, though half the Frenchmen in London seemed to do so without much cause. He was new on the scene, and not above suspicion, in Amelia’s eyes. In London one didn’t question a man’s loyalties simply because he was French, of course. The French aristocracy certainly had little good to say about Napoleon, but there were those whose attachment to their heritage made it seem beneficial for the French nation to conquer as much of the Continent as possible, Napoleon notwithstanding.

Amelia’s first exchanges with M. Chartier had convinced her it would be worthwhile to learn a little more about him. A Frenchman living on the south coast could do a great deal of damage to the English, if he had a mind to. There was also his Gallic excitability to arouse her curiosity. He spoke passionately on any subject that surfaced, from horse racing to the more curious customs of English society, such as the fact that the kissing of ladies’ hands had gone out of style here. M. Chartier considered it a travesty that such a time-honored tradition should be so callously set aside.

There were other things about him which disturbed her: his obvious attempt to ingratiate himself with gentlemen who were knowledgeable about the English position regarding the war with France; his lack of friendship with other French émigrés; his shifty eyes. This last bore no small amount of weight with her. Amelia was convinced you could tell a great deal about a person by his eyes.

After the episode on the balcony, M. Chartier had changed his attitude toward her. He had never once looked her straight in the eye. Strange, that. For the last week or so, she hadn’t seen him at all, and had rather hoped he’d disappeared from the London scene altogether. But, no, here he was with a beautiful girl in tow, a sparkling-eyed French beauty whom he identified, to Peter and Lord Verwood, as his sister, Veronique Chartier. M. Chartier seemed reluctant to introduce her to Amelia, though he had very little choice in the matter. He managed not to meet her eyes, and to mumble her name.

Amelia was surprised to hear Lord Verwood addressed with great familiarity by the Frenchman. M. Chartier was smiling and bowing and generally fawning all over the place when he got to the viscount. “This is my sister, of whom I have spoken to you, milord. You were so kind as to give me your advice concerning her introduction to London, and I’m pleased that you are one of the first gentlemen to whom I present her.”

If Amelia expected the viscount to depress this sort of pretension, she was much mistaken. He greeted Mademoiselle Chartier with more finesse than she had previously believed him capable of, and went so far as to congratulate M. Chartier on having so lovely a relative. Really, it was quite sickening. But what distressed her most of all was Peter.

At five-and-twenty, the Earl of Welsford seemed to have entirely escaped being touched by even the greatest beauties of the day. A very eligible bachelor, he had spent large amounts of time dallying with this young lady and then that one. He had a reputation for charm and wit; his looks were admired; his title and wealth were the envy of many. Amelia had known several women who would have been thrilled to elicit the kind of look Peter now gave Mademoiselle Chartier. It was compounded of frank admiration, a dreamy kind of awe, and, worst of all, just the slightest element of surprise.

“Has anyone solicited the first set with you, Mademoiselle Chartier?” he inquired.

“No, milord,” she replied, her eyes modestly downcast.

“Then I wonder if you would do me the honor.”

The biggest, bluest eyes Amelia had ever seen slowly swept up to meet his gaze. They were filled with innocence, humor, even a touch of self-mockery. “Nothing would please me more,” she sighed, and offered him her hand.

As Amelia watched them walk onto the dance floor, she felt a momentary touch of alarm and found that her own gaze automatically lifted to Lord Verwood. He let out an inaudible exclamation as he, too, watched the couple, and then turned brusquely to her to ask, “Shall we join this set, Lady Amelia?”

None of his polite phrases for her, of course. He almost made it sound as though she expected him to ask her, which she certainly did not. She was unaware that her nose twitched, but she was aware of her voice answering, “If you wish, milord.”

His intent, she soon found, was to place them next to Peter and the lovely Veronique.

Chapter 6

Mlle. Chartier’s English was perfect, with only the faintest trace of an accent. Oh, but that trace was delicious. It even appeared, somehow, in her laughter, which was warm and spontaneous. Without the least observable effort to do so, she had all the gentlemen in the set hanging on her every word. Her excitement about being at the ball, about being in London, about meeting all these fascinating people, was more than evident—but not in a naive gushing of childish phrases. No, it showed in her eyes, which glowed with the thrill of it all. Her healthy pink cheeks radiated it and her voice echoed with its undercurrent.

Not that she put herself forward in any way by speaking out of turn, or by speaking at all unless spoken to. But Peter questioned her, gently probing into her background and her interests. Verwood, too, though it was none of his duty, addressed remarks to her. Which of course meant that his undivided attention wasn’t aimed at Amelia, who couldn’t have cared less. She was not, however, quite used to being ignored by her partner and had an insane desire to flirt with one of the other gentlemen in the set, except that such a course of action would have discomposed some other lady.

And she was curious to hear what the French girl had to say for herself. Amelia was convinced that M. Chartier was up to no good, and this introduction of his sister (was she really?) into society merely made her more suspicious. True, there was some similarity between the brother and sister, the same brown hair and blue eyes, a resemblance even in the delicate molding of the faces. On the other hand, her eyes weren’t the least shifty. Her gaze met that of each gentleman who addressed her with a becoming shyness which managed still to be open and friendly.

Peter was at his most adroit, a blend of sophistication and charming wit. Yet Amelia could see real interest in his eyes as he asked, “Have you lived near Bournemouth long, Mlle. Chartier?”

“Almost four years. My cousins are English and their family has lived there for hundreds of years.” Her cheeks dimpled as she smiled at him. “I thought at first the place must be haunted, with all the strange noises at night, but it proved to be only the sea.”

“Is the property right on the coast, then?” Verwood asked with a great show of indifference.

“Oh, yes. I can look out my bedroom window and see the water.”

“How delightful,” Amelia contributed. “There are only a few rooms at Margrave where the water can be seen, and none of them are the major bedchambers. But we can hear the sound. I find it immensely soothing.”

“Margrave is in Sussex,” Peter explained.

Mlle. Chartier nodded her understanding. “I believe Sussex is quite lovely.”

“Have you never been there?” Verwood asked.

“Oh, no. I’ve scarcely been out of Hampshire since I came to England.”

The dance separated the two couples and Amelia studied Verwood’s face for some sign of his reason for questioning Mlle. Chartier. He had adopted a rather peculiar expression, one Amelia assumed was meant to convey to any interested observer that he was rather taken with the young girl. But he had it all wrong. Probably, Amelia felt, because he had no idea what it was like to feel smitten by anyone.

“I had no idea you were so intimately acquainted with M. Chartier that he would seek your advice on his sister’s introduction to London,” she remarked.

He gave her a sharp glance but said nothing, so she continued. “I find it rather odd that he would consult you. After all, what could you know of a young lady’s introduction to London society? You’ve only come here recently yourself and presumably know nothing of such matters as a debutante’s dress or the proper way for her to conduct herself. If you gave sufficient thought to the matter, I suppose you could tell him which invitations were best to accept,” she suggested, sounding markedly skeptical. “On the other hand, I rather doubt he has a great number of invitations from which to choose. In fact, I was astonished to find him here this evening.”

“Why?”

His bluntness was a wonderful goad. “Because, my dear Lord Verwood, he is new in town, the other French émigrés don’t recognize him, and his fortune isn’t known. That would ordinarily make him rather suspect amongst the ton, and especially by the Stratfords. Perhaps you spoke for him to them?”

“I barely know them myself,” he murmured as he turned away from her to link arms with the woman to his left.

Which merely confirmed her suspicion that Lord Verwood had come on her own invitation as her escort. Really, it was too bad of Peter to do that without getting her approval. She wouldn’t have given it. Lord Verwood was not at all her idea of a comfortable escort. When he paid attention to her at all, it was with a barely concealed disapproval. It seemed quite conceivable to her that there was something not altogether aboveboard about the viscount, despite his friendship with Peter. He was also on friendly terms with the Frenchman, after all. But since he’d managed to get himself there with them, she decided it was as good an opportunity as any to see if she could uncover something significant about him. So when they were rejoined by the dance, she offered him her most charming smile.

“I imagine you have some ideas on the prosecution of the war that are a little different from the Cabinet’s,” she said. “Are you in agreement with Sir John Moore?”

“Yes. I think he’s the most knowledgeable man around. But it was wise of the new government to send Cower and Paget off. Unfortunately, they’re probably too late, and there’s not a large enough contingent on the Continent to help the summer campaign.”

“Do you think the Russians are doomed, then?”

“Almost of a certainty. And if they are, Napoleon will make the most of their defeat, to exclude England from trading on the Continent.”

“Would that be disastrous for us?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

“It would make things very difficult,” he said, looking pointedly at the crown of her head.

“Who would be the ones to profit?”

He shrugged. “Smugglers, unscrupulous men in trade who weren’t too particular about their loyalties. England needs her continental trade.”

“I suppose the money-lenders would be cheated of their investments abroad.”

“Probably.”

The dance came to a vigorous conclusion. Amelia fanned her face ostentatiously and said, “My, it’s warm in here. I should just like to step out on the balcony for a moment, if you wouldn’t mind continuing our discussion there.”

He stared at her for a moment, then took her elbow and steered her toward the open glass doors at the far end of the room. Amelia was surprised by the strength of his grip. She felt more like his prisoner than a woman luring a man to a tête-à-tête. His heavy black brows were lowered so incredibly far down that they looked in danger of obscuring his vision. For a moment she felt a touch of panic and looked around to see where Trudy was, or even Peter, but neither of them was in view. Lord Verwood gave her a little nudge when she hesitated at the threshold of the balcony.

It was not warm outside, though the chill night air was not what made Amelia shiver. Lord Verwood came close to her, too close, backing her into the darkest corner of the ivy-hung space. He blocked her view of the ballroom with the bulk of his body, making her feel shut off from any means of escape. Nonsense, she tried to tell herself. There was no need to escape from him. He was a friend of her brother’s, a gentleman. He wouldn’t dare put into practice any of those things his eyes were blazing with—would he?

“It’s colder out than I thought,” she murmured, turning her head aside from his gaze. “I think perhaps I’ll go back in.”

He didn’t move to make way for her. “I thought you wished to continue our discussion.”

“Some other time, perhaps. Really, Lord Verwood. it’s quite cold here.”

“Nonsense. I can keep you warm,” he said. And moved to put his arm around her shoulders.

Amelia gave a tiny squeak of dismay and slipped out from under the looming limb, only to find herself pressed up against the wall with him not five inches from her. “Sir! I beg to remind you who I am,” she protested. “I’m not in the habit of letting gentlemen put their arms around me.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Of course not!” She cast a glance over the balcony and decided it was too far to jump over. “My aunt will be worried about me.”

“You should have thought of that before you suggested one of your ‘intrigues.’”

His face was as implacable as ever, the dark eyes glittering in the moonlight. Amelia jabbed a finger at his chest, declaring, “I’m going in.”

“You must do as you wish, of course.” He caught her hands in his large, roughened ones and bent to claim her lips with an unnervingly brief ardency. Amelia turned her head aside and yanked back her hands. In a quavering voice she insisted, “Please step aside, Lord Verwood.”

“Why, certainly,” he said, sounding surprised. “Wasn’t there room for you to pass? I do beg your pardon, Lady Amelia.”

The whole episode was ludicrous. She could see now that he was mocking her, that he’d never had any intention of doing more than frightening her for bringing him out on the balcony. Well, what could he possibly have done out there with dozens of people in calling distance? He had used the occasion to make her feel foolish, and she had stepped right into his trap. Amelia was not used to having people behave so outrageously toward her and she lifted her brows as she wedged herself past his body (which he’d moved only slightly).