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T here is no predicting love. How many times had Matthew heard his grandmother utter those words?

Usually, they were about his parents, a pair so mismatched that their fifty-year marriage defied all expectations.

He’d applied it to his sister Lillian and her husband more than a few times over the years.

But although his surname was Love, Matthew had never fallen prey to his grandmother’s famous maxim.

Until today.

He could not be in love with a woman who had not yet said a single word to him, he told himself as the carriage bounced back toward his sister’s estate.

But there was something , and it was something he had never felt before. Attraction? Of course. Lust? Obviously. They were familiar friends. But despite his name, Matthew had never met love before, so was it possible that this feeling in his chest was it?

Miss Wartham. Hell, he did not even know her given name.

But he would find out.

The need for the knowledge pierced his stomach. It was just over a mile from the village back to the estate. But every yard was torturous.

What would her voice sound like?

In the brief minute of their interactions, he’d gleaned a few details.

She was quieter and less effusive than her companion, Miss Darrow.

Mysterious. Maybe it was an interest in her mystery, rather than love.

It seemed much more likely. He’d almost convinced himself that was all it was when they arrived in front of his sister’s imposing manor house.

Matthew jumped down ahead of the driver. The doors of the house opened. Tarin, his brother-in-law, and a collection of their guests appeared, eager to meet the radiant lady of the house.

“My love.” Lillian accepted her husband’s kiss on the cheek as if she’d been away for days rather than hours. “I apologize for the delay. We have acquired additional guests. Miss Amelia Wartham, Miss Agatha Darrow, may I present my husband, Tarin Blake, the Duke of Burnham?”

Amelia .

The syllables filled in the crevices in his soul he had not even realized were there.

It suited her perfectly.

And the moue of surprise on her perfectly curved pink lips? That suited her, too.

“Your Grace.” Amelia curtsied in time with her elderly companion.

“I had no notion that…” She bit down on her lower lip, exhaled delicately from her nose, and started again.

“I am honored that the duchess invited us to stay. We were en route to visit my sister in Derbyshire when our carriage went amiss and stranded us in the village. Your wife was quite persistent in her insistence that we join you here.”

Amelia had not known that Lillian was not just a lady but a duchess, Matthew realized.

She covered her surprise quickly, but she could not hide the delicate blush that colored her cheeks.

It was lovely, transforming her features from pretty to downright beautiful.

But why was Amelia embarrassed? He wondered.

Lillian often forwent sharing her title.

She found being a duchess odious at the best of times.

Tarin lifted a dark brow in his wife’s direction before offering a magnanimous smile. “I do not doubt it. Lillian is quite formidable when she chooses to be. You are most welcome to our home, Miss Wartham, Miss Darrow.”

Lillian took both of her new guests in hand, leaving Matthew no opportunity to insert himself in Amelia’s proximity.

But he found himself content to watch, to learn as much about her as he could through observation.

It was a house party, he reminded himself.

And not just any house party, but one of Lillian’s house parties.

There would be opportunities to speak to her, to dance with her, and to picnic with her.

Matthew had to actively push away his daydreams to focus on the present.

Lillian led the troupe through the door and into the arched entryway of the manor, introducing Amelia and Miss Darrow to other guests as she went. Matthew knew most of them already—or at least, the ones he cared to. But he watched Amelia’s reactions carefully.

She nodded at Lady Fortescue, a very attractive middle-aged widow, and at Mr. and Mrs. McTavish, the young Scottish couple.

Doctor Andrews, the handsome physician from Kent, got a murmured word of reverence.

So did two spinsters, a confirmed bachelor poet, and a widower-turned-artist. They were Lillian’s usual sort—free-spirited, unattached, often both.

But when Lillian steered them toward the library, Matthew moved to the front of the pack.

“Please allow me to introduce my own guest,” Matthew said, clapping the shoulder of the man rising from the wingback chair before the unlit hearth. “Miss Darrow, Miss Wartham.” He paused, savoring the taste of her surname on his tongue. “This is my partner and good friend, Mr. James Barnes.”

Amelia’s brow wrinkled. “Partner?”

Miss Darrow let out a breathy, “Charmed.”

“Partners in practice,” Matthew responded.

He was vaguely aware of James at his side, but he focused on Amelia.

How would she react to his profession? She was a ‘miss,’ not a ‘lady.’ Perhaps she would not find his lack of a title off-putting.

Not that he’d ever found it much of a barrier to getting what he wanted.

“He took me on as his apprentice after only one very brief interview. I thought I’d gotten lucky, but he just wanted to give me all of the work so he could run off to weeklong house parties. ”

James guffawed next to him. “Says the chap that dragged me out of the office for this weekend against my will.”

Amelia opened and closed her mouth. Whatever words she was contemplating in her lovely head, she kept them inside.

“We are most lucky that he did.” Miss Darrow smiled broadly at James. “I was beginning to worry that I would be the only one of wise years among all of these wild youths.”

“I cannot promise much wisdom, but I’ll happily keep you company, Miss Darrow.”

The conversation continued, but Matthew let it fade around him as the other guests filtered into the library.

Matthew watched as the color in Amelia’s face slowly began to fade. She appeared relieved that Miss Darrow had filled the space and taken up the conversation. Matthew tucked that observation away. His Amelia did not like to be the center of attention.

She stepped back, letting the conversation continue without her.

Despite her mishap on the road, she was still neat and composed.

Her pale pink muslin gown peeked out from beneath a matching pink spencer with silver epaulets on the shoulders.

Her bonnet was in her hand, revealing the full splendor of her rich brown hair.

Wispy waves framed her face, drawing him into her eyes—

Which watched him. Watching her.

Matthew’s cheeks did not color, but Amelia’s did.

“I apologize for staring,” he said quickly, stepping into the conversational space between them. “I could not help noticing how lovely you look despite your day’s adventures.”

“Misadventures.” She sighed. But she didn’t try to step back into the background. A thrill of victory shot through Matthew’s veins.

Matthew did not check the smile that curved his mouth. “For you, perhaps,” he said. “But I consider us fortunate, for otherwise you would not be here.”

Amelia caught her lower lip between her teeth. Her face was difficult to read. Not because she masked her emotions, but because there were so many of them in conflict at once on her lovely face.

She glanced toward her companion, now in animated conversation with James and Lillian. Her mouth softened into a smile. “There are worse places to be.”

Yes, there certainly were.

A troop of housemaids, led by the butler, entered the library bearing the accoutrements for tea. Amelia watched but did not advance on the offerings with the other guests.

She preferred to watch from the sidelines.

Interesting, considering the amount of shining jewelry she wore.

Bright diamonds complemented gleaming pearls at her ears.

She twirled a golden bangle bracelet around her wrist. With the bonnet removed, he spotted jeweled pins in the shape of daisies tucked into her hair.

A woman of dichotomy. Shy but radiant. Quietly magnetic.

He could not have stepped out of her pull if he’d wanted to.

“The duchess has assembled an eclectic group of guests,” Amelia said softly.

Matthew laughed. Amelia’s honey-brown eyes widened at the unrestrained sound. No one in the eclectic group seemed to notice.

“Lillian adores a good conversation above all else,” Matthew said. “She befriends without impudence, unlike most ladies of her station.”

Amelia tilted her head to the side, considering that. The smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of her mouth. Another window into her soul opened to Matthew. She was serious, but not cold or judgmental.

“I hope she doesn’t find me lacking,” she said. “Or perhaps Miss Darrow shall do for the both of us.”

Because Amelia was a woman of few words, and Miss Darrow had not stopped talking since they’d exited the carriage. But Amelia did not appear worried by the fact. Her shoulders were relaxed and she smiled fondly in her companion’s direction.

Matthew stepped closer, unable to resist the pull to know her more. To open more windows, to understand just what brewed beneath the surface she showed the world. The glimpses he’d seen worked on his senses like strong wine, dragging him further under with each sip.

“That would be impossible,” he said without thinking.

Amelia’s gaze snapped to him.

He’d been too forward. She was going to run. Her lips opened again in that familiar ‘o’ of surprise from before. Hell and damnation.

He had to apologize. “I—”

“That is very kind,” she chuckled, even as her cheeks flushed again. Damn if he didn’t love being the one to bring those lovely blushes to her cheeks.