The Lady and the Earl (Seabrook Family Saga) (12 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

For one week now Amelia had been engaged to Yarmouth. Already her
mother was pressuring her to pick a wedding date. Yet how could she, when every
time she thought about marrying Yarmouth she became ill? Her head pounded and
her stomach flip-flopped. Was it possible to have an adverse reaction to
marriage? Nay, not marriage, per say, just marriage to Yarmouth.

How she missed the days when Emma, Bella, and she used to sit and share
their secrets. Could she trust them with her latest secret––that she never
intended to marry Yarmouth? That she planned to board a ship to America with
Olivia and her maid?

She’d spent time in America before and found it quite refreshing to
live where not everyone knew her or her family, their power, their wealth, and
their scandalous pasts.

Amelia opened her vanity drawer and pulled out the small reticule that
held the money she had saved from her time in America. She counted enough for
the passages to America and maybe even to live on for a short time if they were
frugal. But after that, what would she do? How would she make a living?

Perhaps she could find a nice gentleman to marry her and accept Olivia.
She could go on the pretense of being newly widowed.

Could she possibly trust Bella and Emma with her plans and ask them for
additional money? She flopped down on her soft bedcovers, one hand over her
eyes, the other resting on her stomach. Hopelessness descended upon her. She
knew if she didn’t scrounge more resources, she would have to marry Yarmouth
and make the best of it. All her scheming and plans were for nothing because,
deep down inside, she knew she would honor her word and marry him.

Amelia must have fallen asleep, for the next thing she knew the sun had
set and her maid was asking if she was ready to dress for that evening’s ball
at the home of the Earl and Countess of Northborough. Why they would host two
balls in the same Season perplexed Amelia.

Myles’s family was hosting a masquerade ball that evening. She’d never
attended a masquerade. As blue as she was about marrying Yarmouth, her spirits
soared at the idea of attending her first masquerade.

During the carriage ride Amelia thought about Yarmouth and how, ever
since their banns had been posted, he made it a point to call on her every day
for tea. Since she had already spent time in his company that afternoon, must
she spend time with him that evening? She hoped he would not recognize her and
she could have an evening of freedom from his attentions.

The ride with Wentworth, Emma, Sebastian, Bella, and Mama grated on her
nerves. Everyone spoke at once. Which she supposed was good because it gave
Amelia the chance to sit back, close her eyes, and envision finding William
among the throng and sneaking off with him. Of course, that was just a dream.
William was back in the country, wasting his life away. Oh, how she wished she
were with him. They could waste away the years raising a family and loving each
other every moment they were together.

But such dreams were for children, she chastised herself.

Once she entered the ballroom, Amelia breathed a sigh of relief. She
also could not ignore the excitement humming inside her at the vision before
her. The lights in the ballroom were not overly bright as every other
chandelier hanging from the ceiling had been left unlit. Not all lanterns along
the walls were lit either, giving the whole room a decadent and intimate feel.
Amelia wondered if that were because the shadows helped keep one’s identity
secret until the midnight unveiling. She hoped so, because she planned to duck
away from Yarmouth if she saw him.

For the first hour Amelia danced with several gentlemen. She could only
guess at their identities. It seemed the gentlemen hid beneath their masks as
well. Mr. Spencer, who did not try to hide his identity from her––not that he
could with his voice so akin to William’s that she knew him the moment he
spoke, asked for a waltz. She took his arm, surprised he’d asked her and not
Bella. Once on the dance floor she understood. Bella was dancing with Myles.
Amelia recognized Myles’s gestures and his movements. Mr. Spencer and Amelia
tried to figure out identities behind the masks as they danced.

“Don’t look now,” Mr. Spencer said, “but coming up on your right is old
Eastham, bent over, huffing and puffing into his partner’s face. Underneath her
mask her complexion must be pea green. I pity the poor girl. What was she
thinking accepting his offer of dancing a waltz, of all things?”

Amelia shivered in Mr. Spencer’s arms as she sympathized with the girl.
Out of the corner of her eye she spotted someone with a familiar walk stroll
into the room. “Oh, look,
is that not—
?”

“Who?” Spencer asked as they twirled around the crowded dance floor.

“Oh, I lost him.” Amelia’s heart sank. “Never mind, I must have been
mistaken.”

She could have sworn she recognized William. But it could not have been
him. He resided in Dover. Would her heart ever feel normal again?

When the waltz ended Mr. Spencer escorted her over to her mother, who
sat with all the other older ladies watching the festivities. Amelia never
understood why gentlemen, when they were of a certain age, unmarried or
widowed, could still dance and enjoy the evening when the ladies of a certain
age were expected to sit and watch. She certainly didn’t expect to sit and
watch the fun when she became Yarmouth’s wife.

She saw the tall gentleman again. Had she been right? Was it William?
The pounding of her heart made her think it was.

“Amelia, dear,” her mother’s voice said, pulling her from her
daydreaming. “Who are you staring at? Stop it right this minute before you
cause a scene.”

“Excuse me, Mother.” Amelia walked away and stood in a shadowed corner,
her heart pounding in her chest as she looked for the tall gentleman who had
caught her attention––not once tonight, but twice. And then she saw him. The
gentleman in question stood tall like Yarmouth, but all similarities ended
there. This gentleman was tall and slim, yet he possessed muscles beneath his
clothing. Muscles not belonging to a gentleman of leisure.

Before Amelia could stop herself, she followed the man in question out
onto the terrace. Instantly her mask fluttered in the cool summer night breeze,
causing the feathers to tickle her cheeks. She knew this was utter foolishness as
William resided in Dover, but something about the man intrigued her and drew
her in.

“Excuse me, my lord,” Amelia said when the man came to a stop alongside
the railing that surrounded the terrace on three sides.

“How may I be of help to you, my lady?”

“Do I know you?” Amelia asked with bravado she did not possess.

“Is not the purpose of a masquerade to give those in attendance a
certain freedom that comes with anonymity?” he replied with amusement in his
deep voice. A voice Amelia knew all too well. But she would play along, if that
was what he wanted.

“Yes, I believe it does. That is, until the stroke of midnight when all
masks are removed.” Amelia came up beside the masked man and placed her hand on
his arm causing warmth to spread through her body. “It also gives a woman
certain courage to do things she would not usually do for fear of scandal.”

“Oh, my dear lady, you must not believe that nonsense. Ladies of the
ton
are always scrutinized and watched. The
ton
enjoys nothing more than a
juicy scandal to liven up the Season.”

“Oh.” Amelia removed her hand from his warm, muscular arm and glanced
around the terrace to the several other couples milling around. Nobody paid
them any heed. “William, why are you acting strange?” she asked as her heart
pounded. “Does Spencer know you are here?”

“Only he knows. And I wish to keep it that way. Please accept my
apologizes for hiding behind my mask and pretending not to know you this
evening. I have my reasons.” Amelia left William standing on the terrace,
confused to why he didn’t want his presence known to anyone. What game was he
playing? She shivered as a sudden gust of wind sent an icy chill up her spine.  

As Amelia stepped back into the ballroom she heard her name called.
Wentworth and Emma spoke at once. “We’ve been looking for you.”

 “Where have you been?” her brother chastised her sharply.
“Yarmouth has been asking for you.”

“Is that all?” The sound of her brother inhaling and exhaling in
frustration and alarm had Amelia stammering an apology. “I’m sorry. I felt
rather warm and took a brief walk around the terrace. Have you been out there
yet? The flower pots are gorgeous, and the breeze cools one down instantly.”

“Amelia,” her brother said sharply, his tone reminding her of his
status as a duke, “I don’t care about the flowers or the cool night air. You
must pay some attention to your betrothed. Yes, I know it is a masquerade, but
surely the two of you can forgo formalities and spend time together as a newly
affianced couple should, can you not?”

 “Brother, are you serious?” Amelia knew arguing with him would be
pointless, but she felt compelled to anyway. “I would rather spend the time I
have left playing the single debutante.”

“Ahh, but you are not a single debutante.” Wentworth’s eyes narrowed.

“Fine. I see His Grace walking this way now.” Despite his mask, she
would recognize the duke anywhere.

 “Your Graces, Lady Amelia,” Yarmouth said as he bowed. “May I ask
your permission, Wentworth, to take Lady Amelia for a stroll around the
gardens? It’s such a lovely evening.”

Why ask her brother? Why not ask her permission? She most certainly did
not want to be alone with him.

“You have my permission,” Wentworth replied, “but stay where it is well
lit.”

Minutes later, they were arm in arm as they walked through the well-lit
gardens. The jasmine smelled beautiful, and the nighttime insects buzzed. She
knew she should feel lighthearted and giddy instead of stifled and
breathless––as though her life were over—yet she could not help herself.

“Amelia.” Yarmouth stopped, pulled her behind some tall bushes, and
enveloped her in his strong arms, startling her. He rested his chin on the top
of her head. “I have wanted to hold you for so long. You make me yearn for our
wedding night. For the time I can finally make you mine. When I can teach you all
the ways you can please me.”

He slid his hands down to her bottom and pulled her up against his
erection. “Feel what you do to me.”

Until this moment she had thought his actions innocent. Now that she
knew they were not her heart pounded inside her chest. He quickly tore the mask
from her face, then crushed her mouth with his. It took all her strength to
keep her knees from buckling. She felt neither pleasure nor lust but rather
revulsion.

His kiss was wet, rough, and demanding. His mouth tasted sour as though
he’d never heard of tooth powder. Amelia gagged.

Yarmouth pulled down the front of her gown and pawed and squeezed her
breasts with his harsh grip, causing her to cry out. As she struggled to break
away from him Yarmouth grabbed her hands painfully. His teeth scraped against
her nipples, biting down hard on one until she cried out again. He ignored her
discomfort. Dear God, did he like to inflict pain?

“Please let me go. You’re hurting me,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Not until I have you right here in this garden. I promise you will enjoy
it. After all, you are no virgin. This is how you should be taken. Rough and
quick like the whore you are.”

So he lied to her brother when he was told about Olivia. When Yarmouth
said it did not matter. Suddenly Amelia found her hands free while he used his
to lift her skirts. Something surged inside her body and she found courage she
never knew she had. With her newfound strength she placed both palms on
Yarmouth’s chest and shoved him as hard as she could. He lost his footing and
landed on his backside––with a thud. His expression chilled her blood.

“How dare you,” he accused.

“How dare you,” she spat. “Nobody touches me.”

With record speed and murder in his eyes, Yarmouth jumped up and threw
her on the ground. The pain had barely registered before he pinned her hands
above her head with one of his and ground his hips into her. “I have every
right to touch you. We are betrothed. You are mine. And what is mine I am
entitled to take.” His free hand pulled up her skirts and he dug his nails into
her thighs searching for the opening to her pantaloons. The sound of cloth
being torn reverberated throughout the empty garden.

“Let me go.” She demanded as she twisted and turned her hips trying to
evade him.

“How dare you touch her!” To her shock, William, unmasked, came out of
the dark, yanked the duke off her, and punched him in the jaw, making a
sickening cracking sound as he did. Yarmouth went down and stayed down.

“Bastard,” William spat. “I knew he seemed too good to be true. Saw
something in his eyes I didn’t care for. Now I know.”

Amelia, in shock from Yarmouth’s attack, was mortified that William saw
her this way. She ducked behind the bushes, righted her gown, and smoothed her
hair as best she could. After taking several deep breaths she thanked God for
sending William to her rescue.

Amelia realized she had almost been raped. She shivered, and not
because of the temperature of the evening air. “ThThThank you,” she stuttered.

Bridgeton looked her over from head to toe, then hugged her. “Thank God
you’re not hurt. Please accept my apologies for acting strange earlier. I
wanted to secretly watch Yarmouth. I had to make sure you would be in good
hands when you married. Now I know my instincts were correct. Something seemed
not right with him. I’m going to find Wentworth so he can take you home.”

“Thank you.” Within seconds her heart went from panic and fear to
excitement at seeing William again. At touching him again and knowing after
what had just transpired with Yarmouth, Wentworth would never make her marry him.
“Please, I don’t want Wentworth to make a scene. Find Sebastian. He can take me
home. There’s time enough later to tell Wentworth,” Amelia said, her body back
to shaking from head to toe from her close encounter with violation.