KIT TRIES TO PAY OFF AMELIA
She surveyed the man before her. He was sinfully good-looking with brown, almost-black hair and brown eyes warm upon her. He was dressed impeccably, and the cut of his coat and pants bespoke wealth and privilege. His shoes were polished. She knew instinctively he was a man used to getting his way.

“How can I help you, Mr. …?” she sought out his name.

“Call me Christopher.”

She didn’t call him by his name. “How can I help you?”

“You can do me a great service.” As he spoke, he pulled out a small rectangular book and a fountain pen. “All you need do is name your price.”

Amelia frowned. “My price? I don’t understand.”

Kit smiled at her as he opened up the checkbook. “I know you aren’t in love. You’ve just met. And I’m sure, as a woman, you dream of finer things, jewels, and frocks. Name your price. You can have them tomorrow. But not Patrick. He’s not for you.” His eyes were as cold as stone.

“Patrick,” she breathed out, her heart sinking. She had badly misjudged him. Amelia took off her gloves and faced the man in the low gaslights. “Patrick wants me gone.”

The man frowned. “Patrick doesn’t know I’m here.”

“He doesn’t know you’re here?” She looked again at his clothes and considered his voice, so used to giving orders and being obeyed, and she knew. He was here to buy her off. She almost laughed at the thought. “Am I such a danger to him?” she whispered. “To you? And aren’t you placing the cart before the horse? Nothing has happened. One supper. What are you afraid of?”

Kit looked her up and down. “You must be very used to using your attributes as a way to make men do what you want. I’m sure you’ve had men tell you so. I’m sure you’ve been offered protection from older men. Look at it this way. In my bargain, Miss Westcott, you get the money, and you don’t have to take off a stitch of clothing.”

“How dare you.” Amelia was breathless at his degrading words. An intense rage swept through her. Taking three steps, she stood before him, her cheeks flushed and her breath coming quickly.

Kit was on his feet in an instant. He stared down into her face. “Is the truth so unpleasing to you, Miss Westcott?”

She met his eyes, and her chin notched up. “You think because you associate with a certain kind of woman, all women must be like that. Because I’ve fallen on hard times, my soul and heart can be bought for the price of a few shillings and pence.”

“Be careful.” Kit contemplated her oval-shaped face, auburn hair, and light blue eyes. “What I offer you is far more than shilling and pence. It would be more than you could make in a year.” 

“You are so used to buying and selling people?” she asked him coldly.

“I’m not separating Tristan and Iseult,” he responded. “You have fallen on hard times. I can make those hard times easier. Name your price.”

She looked away from him. “I have no price.”

“Two hundred pounds.”

Amelia gasped. An Army officer would make that amount in a year. “I care for Patrick. I do,” she confessed. “And my care for him is genuine and honest. That you chose to come here and insult me when you know nothing about me, I cannot forgive. But because I know a part of you must care greatly for him as well, I will forget this night. But know this, you have judged me wrongly and falsely. And though I am not the type of woman you think I am, you seem to be the exact kind of man I think you to be,” she threw at him.

Kit’s jaw clenched as he stared down at her. “And what kind of man is that?”

Amelia narrowed her eyes at him. “You are a master. You are a man used to being obeyed and his orders followed. But you’re a coward.” She spat the words at him. “Instead of coming to me and asking me questions in a straightforward manner about Patrick, you made false assumptions and attempted to buy me!”

Kit almost sneered. “So, you do not have it in mind to marry Patrick for position and money?”

Amelia cocked her head. “Women can do little in society. Most of our worth is in being mothers and wives, is it not? So, if I were to say I was not interested in marrying, that would be a lie. But as Patrick has neither asked me nor mentioned it, I don’t see the relevance.”

Kit was about to respond, but she interrupted.

“And how is it your duty to confront me so? You are not his brother, I know he has little family. Would he appreciate you being here now? Behind his back. Offering me money to disappear? This is hardly the behavior of a gentleman, which I know you to be,” she demanded.

He raised an eyebrow. “How do you know I’m a gentleman?” 

Amelia made a sound of disbelief. “Though you seem intent to make me seem like some unintelligent, money-grabbing slag, I am not. I see the cut of your clothes, the polished expensive shoes, your authoritarian voice—”

Kit surveyed her then and was struck by the beauty of her clean skin, luminous blue eyes, and mass of auburn hair that was pinned up. “I won’t apologize for protecting my friend,” he said suddenly.

She rolled her eyes. “The last thing on earth I expect from you, sir, would be a warranted apology for your bad behavior. That would mean you realize you acted poorly. We can’t have that.”

Kit took a moment to study her again and then nodded. “Very well. Perhaps I misjudged the situation. But remember this. Patrick is an educated man and has a law practice. I’m certain a music hall dancer will not fit into that lifestyle. You’ll at least admit that?” He raised an eyebrow.

“You know nothing about me, sir,” she said quietly.

 

KIT CONFESSES TO AMELIA
He felt dissatisfaction at the entire affair, and against his better judgement, he found himself traveling to her lodging. He knocked on the door twice. She opened it wearing a simple, white chemise and gasped at the sight of him.

“Oh.” She blushed pink and half closed the door in his face. When she reopened it, she was wearing a dressing gown. “I thought you were my landlady, Isidora.”

“May I come in?” He looked down the small stairs that led to her attic room.

She opened the door wider for him and then closed it behind him. “What are you doing here?” 

He looked over her form. Her hair, normally pinned up, hung down her back, and her face was clean and fresh. She looked young and vulnerable. “I understand you are to be married.”

She held out her hand with the ring on her finger. He glanced at it and then turned away.

“The date is yet to be set, but I’ve said yes,” she acknowledged.

“I won’t pretend I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think you’re suitable,” he said bluntly.

“Suitable for any man or merely Patrick?” she questioned, tired of this conversation.

His brow furrowed. “I’m sure another man would do—”

“So, it’s Patrick. You don’t want me to be his wife. If it was some fishmonger or a greengrocer, that would be fine,” she reasoned.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Why are you here?” She folded her arms across her chest. “You don’t approve, that’s not a secret. What do you want?” She looked him over. “Do you have a check ready for me? A higher amount this time. Three hundred pounds? Four hundred?”

“No checkbook.” He held up his hands.

“You hope to talk me out of it then. Scare me away?” She took a step towards him. “Just because you don’t approve, Mr. Beaumont, doesn’t mean that your word is law. Obviously, Patrick isn’t swayed by you and your opinions.”

“You give me too much credit, Miss Westcott. You called me master once, but that is far from the truth. We all have tunes to dance to,” he said strangely.

“And you have a tune?” She seemed skeptical. “To dance to?”

“I must marry as well.” He shrugged. “For my family. For the name. For duty.”

“Of course.” She nodded. “I understand.”

“But I find watching you and Patrick together, maybe I don’t need so much,” he said vaguely.

“What do you mean?” she asked, not following his train of thought.

“Maybe I don’t need breeding and hundreds of years of ancestors going back to William the Conqueror. What good is any of that, anyway?” He shook his head, studying her face. “Maybe I just need a woman who inspires me and forces me to think. Someone to challenge me.”

Amelia shook her head. “And I’m sure you’ll find her.”

“What if I found her already,” he said softly.

Amelia looked at him incredulously. “Are you speaking of me?” She pointed to herself, but he remained silent. “Let me be very clear so there’s no misunderstanding, Mr. Beaumont. I don’t like you. I find you distasteful, smug, arrogant, and irritating. And were you not Patrick’s friend, I would have nothing to do with you,” she said, her chin notched up.

But her words had a strange effect on him. He laughed, a smile on his face. “The music hall dancer deems to tell me I’m not up to her standards?”

“That’s correct. And what sort of friend are you to go behind Patrick’s back and say these things to me? Hmmm?” She met his eyes. “A very odd friend, if you ask me.”

“I’ve done nothing untoward. Yet.” He added the last word coolly.

“Yet.” She rolled her eyes. “Mr. Beaumont, let me be clear once more. Refrain from coming to my lodgings and speaking to me in this intimate way. It’s unseemly that you should do so. You make assumptions that you are wanted here, and you are certainly not.”

“I never assumed you wanted me. Quite the reverse. Your very nature of frankly speaking to me as you do and putting me in my place is quite exhilarating.” He seemed astonished as well.

“Exhilarating?” She shook her head. “So, you’re mad as well.”

“Miss Westcott”—he took her by the arm and pulled her to him—“you are beneath me in class. That is much is true. My parents would disown me if I were not the heir, and my friends would think I have gone mad, but there is something about you. Something that mystifies me. Something that intrigues me.” He said the last word in a whisper, his eyes moving over her face.

Amelia placed a hand on his chest to separate them. “Do not hold me so tightly and speak to me in this manner. Your words are offensive, and as I’ve already said, there is nothing about you that is pleasing.”

“And yet, I find you very pleasing,” he said softly, his voice turning warm to seduce. “How many men must have told you that your hair is the color of a fire as the embers die and eyes like a summer’s day in July.”

Amelia’s stomach clenched. First, he insulted her, then he used words that no one had ever said before. Scoundrel! But all the honeyed words in the world couldn’t erase his arrogant smirk and his insults. Intense anger filled her soul.

“Mr. Beaumont, it is not in my nature to be rude, but you have offended me enough for one night,” she said briskly, even though he still held her. “Please leave.”

“I think I might be mad,” he whispered. “Mad or in some strange dream where all I can see is ember-colored hair and eyes like the sky.” 

Without another word, he pulled her to him. It was so quick and unexpected that Amelia forgot to react. His mouth took hers, and his other hand touched her cheek in a caress. He released her arm and wrapped his own about her waist, deepening the kiss. 

When his arm wrapped around her waist, she recalled his words in her ears—you are beneath me—and was jolted out of the kiss. She pressed against him, and when he took a step back, she slapped his face.

“That’s the first and only time I’ve been slapped by a woman,” he said coolly.

“You amaze me,” she seethed, her breaths came in short rasps.

They stood together, staring at each other. Kit seemed to be thinking of something to say, but nothing came. No apology. No soft words to smooth his actions. Nothing. He simply stared at her. His lifetime of breeding to be a master and the women who had succumbed to his charms had not prepared him for the one woman he wanted who didn’t want him back.

He seemed to want to say something. A myriad of emotions crossed his face, and when he took a step towards her, she took a step back. 

He took a deep breath to steady himself and made a curt bow. “Madam.”

And then he was gone.

 

KIT AND AMELIA SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN AFTER OPENING NIGHT
“Hello, Amelia.”

It had been several months since she had last seen him. He looked the same, and she hated his handsome face. Kit had a way about him that spoke of privilege and an arrogance that came from being born into a family hundreds of years old. He was always in control and confident. 

Amelia nodded in his direction but had nothing to say to him. She didn’t want him to taint the fantastic evening. She was feeling too much joy, and he was an annoyance.

“No acknowledgment? Nothing to say to me?” Kit asked her.

“Nothing comes to mind.”

“Your performance was superb. It was quite enjoyable.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Pleasantly so.”

“I’m glad that you feel your coin was well spent.” She nodded and moved past him.

But as she passed by him, he grabbed her arm lightly to stop her from leaving. “How are you? Are you well? It’s been some months since we’ve met.” His voice was suddenly warm, and she steeled herself against it.

“Don’t I look well?” she countered.

“Extremely well. Lovely, in fact,” he added softly.

“Lovely?” She raised her eyebrow. “Such a compliment, Mr. Beaumont, coming from you.” She pulled from him.

“You’ve changed.”

“Have I?” She scoffed. “I’m sure I’m the same. In all that matters.”

“In all that matters perhaps. But you appear to be more poised. Less timid.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “I’m certain that we must all strive to control ourselves, else life controls us.”

He frowned, and she gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to confide in him. She didn’t want anything from him.

“You’ve changed lodgings,” he stated.

She walked back to the fire but turned at his words. “How do you know that?”

“I went to visit you. After our last… But you were no longer there.” He shrugged.

Amelia felt a strange sensation that he should seek her out and then pushed the emotion away. “I’m in a townhouse. It’s not as posh as Mayfair, but it will do for now. I don’t own it, but soon I hope to.”

“Townhouse,” he murmured.

“Yes.”

“You live alone?” he wondered.

“I have a cook and a maid, but apart from them, I live alone.” She was curious about his questions. “Why?”

“Is that proper?”

“Proper?” Amelia smiled then. “When we first met, I wasn’t even good enough to know your friend. Now you worry that I live alone? Why would that concern you?”

“People will talk.”

“People always talk.” She shrugged.

“They’ll talk of you. Gossip about you,” he pointed out.

“You forget, Mr. Beaumont, I’m not a high-society lady. I’m a music hall actress. Your rules don’t apply to me,” she said dismissively.

“What rules?” He came to stand before her.

“Your rules. The protection, the smothering you inflict on your ladies. They don’t apply to me. I’m free. I can do as I like. I confess, it’s very liberating to take tea with whom I like, have visitors as I like. See whom I like.” She shrugged.

“See whom you like.” He repeated the words slowly. “You mean male admirers.”

“Certainly I have male admirers. Men can be so generous.” A smile played on her face, but she turned away from him again.

He looked over her. “What exactly do you do to make them so generous?”

“What do you think I do?” she asked in a low purr.

He was quiet as he looked down at her and then shook his head. “I wonder what Patrick would make of you now.”

Amelia would not allow his words to affect her. She had locked Patrick away in her heart, and he would not resurrect him. “What has Patrick to do with any of this?”

“So, you’re an actress by day and a whore by night?” he said coolly.

Amelia glanced at him and then gave a light laugh and looked away. “Your assumptions and words don’t hurt me, Mr. Beaumont. And I find it very interesting to hear you call me such a name when your exploits with actresses and mistresses are quite well-known in London. So, except that you are a man and I a woman, you behave no different than me,” she said, her eyebrow raised at him.

“I don’t take money to sleep with women,” he stated.

“I don’t sleep with men for money,” she returned.

“You sleep with them for what? Pleasure?”

“Isn’t that the reason most men and women see each other? For pleasure?” She was enjoying this. Taunting him.

“Not that I would blame any of your admirers, Miss Westcott,” he said, eyeing her. “If your gowns are all cut as this one is, I can well see how men will give their soul to have you.”

Amelia’s heart jumped at his words. “Sell their soul to have me?” Her eyes widened at his words. “What a poet we have here!”

He said nothing.

“And would you?” She would play the seductress now. She would make him sorry.

“Would I…” He let the words fall.

“Sell your soul to have me?”

He contemplated her for a long moment. “I might.”

“Suddenly so indecisive?” she asked.

“What would I get in return?”

“What would you want in return?” She pressed against him.

His eyes moved slowly over her form. “What wouldn’t I want,” he murmured lowly.

Amelia touched a hand to his chest, let it linger, moved her hand lower to his belly, and then removed her hand, stepping away from him.

“And you?” he wondered. “Miss Westcott. What would you want in return? Jewels, furs.” He ticked off the items.

“Jewels and furs,” she said almost disdainfully. “No. Those things don’t interest me.”

“No?” he repeated.

“You forgot what I told you that morning in Patrick’s house. The last time I saw you?” she reminded him.

“What was that?”

“I want nothing from you, Mr. Beaumont.” She said the words lowly and with all the venom she felt for him. “Not then, not now. Nothing.”

He was taken aback at her words, but before he could react, she was gone from the room.

 

SPARRING IN THE HALLWAY
He could do nothing, and it irked him so. And she hated him. That had never been in doubt. And who could blame her? But the firebrand was delightful to watch. Even when she was not on stage, the eye was drawn to her rich auburn hair and cornflower-blue eyes.

Just as he was about to turn back to the dining room, he saw her returning. The hallway was darkly lit, and she probably didn’t see him yet, but he saw her. She had been drinking at the table and seemed tipsy. Amelia hadn’t learned yet to hold her liquor.

“Miss Westcott,” he greeted her as she came into view.

She looked up with a smile on her face and then saw him. “Mr. Beaumont.”

“I saw you speaking with young Eccton,” he said easily.

“Delightful man. So charming.”

“I’m sure,” he said as she passed by him.

“Oh,” she said, coming to stand before him. “I’m to congratulate you apparently. I understand there is some poor woman in London who’s going to marry you.”

She giggled and bumped against him as he steadied her with his hands upon her shoulders. She didn’t pull away from him.

“So, you were speaking of me with Eccton?” he said softly. The thought pleased him.

She seemed to sense what he was saying. “Merely gossiping.”

“Of course.”

“He said your intended is quite pretty,” she relayed to him.

Kit thought fleetingly of Rosalind. Pretty was an accurate description. “She is.”

“But he said compared to me, she pales.” Her voice was low as she leaned into him.

Kit felt her body press against him. “Are you sure he wasn’t telling you what you want to hear? After all, you’ve never met Miss Lyon.”

“Telling me what I want to hear,” she asked. “Because why? Praise will turn my head? A mere compliment of my beauty and what? I’ll go to bed with him?”

Kit imagined Amelia in a sea of white bed sheets, her auburn hair fanned about her. He imagined her lying naked in Eccton’s arms, and he felt a strange sensation of irritation and then white-hot jealousy.

“No smart retort?” She smiled up at him.

“I’ll reserve my retort for another time. I hate to see a woman unable to hold her liquor,” he whispered. “So undignified.”

He didn’t care at all about the liquor. But he knew his words would anger her. And they did.

“Unable to hold my liquor?” she repeated angrily. “I’m sure all the ladies you associate with hold their liquor so well. After all, they must drink copious amounts to handle all the men they must see in one night.”

“Come now, Miss Westcott. Let’s remain on friendly terms,” he said, steadying her. “After all, you stumbled into my arms, and I was but assisting you.”

Amelia realized he was holding her, and she stepped away from him. “Friendly terms,” she said lowly in a growl. “How can one be friendly with the very devil himself?”

 

AMELIA GOES TO KIT’S ROOM
When the house had settled for the night and the clock chimed eleven, Amelie tied the apricot silk wrapper tightly about her waist and left her room. She’d had several glasses of champagne to steel her nerves and knew this was not the right thing to do. 

Kit’s room was at the end of the hall. She took a deep breath and opened the door, the knob turning easily in her hand. When she closed the door behind her, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Kit was sleeping in his bed, and the fire was still burning brightly. As she took several steps towards the bed, she hesitated and looked back behind her at the door.

“Don’t stop now” came the cool words.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “This isn’t at all what you think it is.”

“No?” he wondered, sitting up.

“Your fiancée thinks we’re lovers.”

“Does she?” He cocked an eyebrow at her and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“She does,” she told him warily.

“Are you here to prove her right?” he asked.

 Amelia bit back a sharp retort. “What happened last night?”

“Weren’t you there? Don’t you remember? Or did you have too much to drink and can’t recall?” he asked, taunting her.

“I fell asleep next to you on the couch.” She stood staring at him. “That’s what I recall.”

“Then you would be correct,” he said simply.

“But your fiancée saw first you, then me exit the gardens at a very early time in the morning.”

“No.” He shook his head.

She frowned. “No?” 

“She’s not my fiancée.”

Amelia sighed. “Can you please focus on the matter at hand?”

“Which is?” He took several steps to her.

“Miss Lyon seems to be under a false impression.”

“That you and I are lovers,” he supplied lowly.

Amelia bristled at the way he spoke the words, though he was correct.

“You didn’t mind when the world thought you were the new lover of the Prince of Wales,” he pointed out, looking her over coolly.

“That’s different,” she said, meeting his eyes.

“Why? Because he’s powerful and wealthy?”

“Because it wasn’t true with him and it’s not true with you,” she reminded him.

“I see.” Kit nodded. “It’s me you mind. You don’t want to be connected to me.”

Amelia smiled, remembering when she had said the same words to him, only it had been Amelia he minded and with his friend. “You don’t seem to understand. I’m not interested in being connected to any man, Mr. Beaumont,” she said hotly.

“You will never be connected to any man ever?” he said in disbelief, watching her eyes in the dark.

“You think because every woman you know must rely on a man, but that’s not me. I won’t ever be beholden to a man. It’s the reason I’m on stage. To make my way in the world. On my own,” she said passionately, her cheeks flushed.

“So, your reason for coming to my room in the dead of night…is to tell me this?” he said, disbelief in his voice.

Amelia shook her head. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Beaumont. There has never been anything between us.”

“Except a night spent in my arms,” he recalled, looking absently up at the ceiling and then back at her.

“I did not!” she said hotly. “Don’t make it sound like that.”

He arched an eyebrow at her outburst. “Imagine waking up to such a gorgeous woman beside me,” he said, drawing a finger along her arm.

Amelia’s heartbeat quickened, and she took a step from him. “Nothing happened. As we both know.”

“Then why are you here?”

“You need to set Miss Lyon straight. Tell her the truth.” She flung a hand out as she spoke.

“The truth.” He pondered the words. “And what is that?”

Amelia was growing irritated with him. “Nothing happened. That we have Patrick in common. End of the story.”

“So, this is why you interrupt my sleep? Why you come to my room half-naked?” He looked over her form clad only in a nightgown and a wrapper.

She tightened the belt of her wrapper. “You make it seem indecent. I’ve done nothing to be ashamed.”

“No. You’ve not, Miss Westcott.”

“Then will you tell her?” Amelia pressed. 

“I might,” he said, evading the question.

“Either you will or you won’t.”

He frowned. “Why does it matter so much? When half of London was speaking about you and the prince not so long ago.” 

“Because Miss Lyon saw something. She could think it matters when it doesn’t. She could make people believe. And she—” Amelia wet her lips and then plunged ahead. “She spoke to me.”

Kit frowned. “She spoke to you?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“This evening. That’s why I’m here. Not for some prearranged assignation!”

Kit smiled then. “I would never take you for an assignation type, Miss Westcott.”

“Then will you speak to her?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “What did she say? I’m curious. Miss Lyon is so demure and meek. I hardly imagine her confronting a woman she deems is her intended’s lover.”

Amelia stifled a laugh. “That’s because you men are absolutely clueless when it comes to women.”

“Clueless?” He seemed offended.

“Entirely.” 

His face turned serious. “And why would that be?”

“For all the reasons you’ve just said.” She turned away from him, shaking her head. “You think Miss Lyon meek and demure, but in fact, she’s like a tiny rabid tiger with claws when it comes to you. And she deems me in her way. As if I was—” She looked back at him, but he was silent. Amelia sighed. “She told me in so many words that I was a light skirt and that she knew I was your mistress.”

“I see.”

“I explained I was most certainly not, but she didn’t believe me.” Amelia sighed again, looking about the dark room and then back to him. “Then she mentioned seeing us both come from the woods, you looking disheveled, and your bed unslept. I must say she seems like quite the detective. I asked her why it bothered her. After all, many men in your station keep mistresses. Even the prince does.”

“Interesting that you chose that avenue rather than deny it,” he wondered coolly.

“It’s not for the reason you think.” She turned her cool eyes to his.

“What reason do I think?”

Amelia ignored his comment. “She seemed irritated that we, she and I, were at the same house party and asked for discretion. I then asked her why she didn’t speak to you about the matter.”

Kit grinned lightly.

Amelia narrowed her eyes. “What?” 

“Only you would ask that.”

“Meaning what, exactly?” She came to stand before him again, her cheeks flushed.

“Wives and women of upper classes dismiss such actions in their men, and they certainly don’t speak of them,” he said quietly.

“Of course!” Amelia said heatedly. “You take a woman who is not your wife to bed and your wife must look the other way. Meanwhile, the wife remains chaste her entire married life.”

Kit seemed amused again, and Amelia was irritated at his smug look. “I don’t make the rules, Miss Westcott.”

“Yes. The rules that apply to both you and me,” she said coldly. “The rules that allow you to do whatever you wish, and I must abide or else.”

“Don’t tell me you’re turning yourself into a victim?” His eyes filled with mirth. “Many terms come to mind when I think of you, but that isn’t one of them.”

Amelia met his eyes boldly. “I’m not a victim, Mr. Beaumont. But it does seem that our society is very much in favor of men. Women are a mere afterthought.”

“You could never be an afterthought,” he said lowly, and suddenly she knew this was dangerous.

She should not be here in his bedroom. She should not be speaking to him like this dressed in a nightgown and a wrapper. She was losing her mind! 

She regained herself and shook her head, taking a step from him. “Miss Lyon seemed flustered when I asked her why she didn’t approach you and the conversation ended. She mentioned discretion again.”

“Discretion.” Kit said the word slowly. “I’m usually very discreet where my mistresses are concerned.”

“No doubt,” Amelia said, and she couldn’t care less.

“And I’m certain that most men who travel to the country with their mistress would absolutely not invite their wife or possible intended along,” he said, a smile on his face.

“Yes.” Amelia cocked her head. “That would get so messy, wouldn’t it? Jumping from bed to bed.”

The humor left his face, and his eyes were on her again. “It would be. That’s why I would only invite you. So, I wouldn’t have to leave our bed.”

Amelia gasped, and her eyes widened at his words.

“What?” Kit responded in false surprise. “You started it, Miss Westcott.”

Amelia fought the urge to call him a vulgar name and stemmed her irritation. “Will you speak to her?”

“I will. Miss Lyon should know the truth,” he admitted.

“Thank you.”

“And I would like to give you some advice.”

“I require no advice from you,” she spoke bluntly.

“Nevertheless, I shall give you some. You seem intent on living life as a woman who wants to make her way in the world. However, you fight the societal rules that are put upon us and then are angry when they come back to bite you.” He shook his head. “You can’t have it both ways.”

“Are you referring to—”

“The cottage was innocent enough. We both were caught in the rain. Easily explained.” He wiped it away. “This is not,” he said, pointing a finger at the ground.

“I needed to talk to you—” she began to explain.

“Would any other man think that?” He shook his head, his eyes tracing the lines of her face. “No. Any other man would assume you had come into his room to be made love to.”

“I didn’t,” she said breathlessly.

“I know that. I know well your thoughts of me.”

“And yours of me,” she reminded him. “Remember, I was the woman not good enough for your friend.”

Kit paused. “That seems like a long time ago.”

Amelia felt a moment of sadness. “Not so long ago.”

A muscle in his jaw clenched and unclenched. He seemed to be holding himself in check and looked irritated. No, angry.

“I should go,” she said, stepping away from him.

“You should,” he agreed.

Because she had so often been at odds with Kit, she often overlooked his masculine beauty and his self-assured attitude that came across as conceited. But here in his room, in the dark, standing before him in her gown and wrapper, she realized how vulnerable she was.

She hadn’t realized until now how unwise it had been to come to him, and she felt stupid. He was right. She must be careful and not be seen to flout societal norms. 

Without another word, she left the room.