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B y some stroke of good luck, Amelia encountered no one on her journey back to the manor.

She entered through the rear door, navigating the servants’ corridors to her room.

She rang out her clothing and then tossed it into the fire that the servants had built up in her absence when the weather turned.

Cold summers were nothing special in England.

She would miss the gown, a lovely mauve muslin with daisies embroidered on it.

But if she had it laundered, there would be questions, and it might get back to Lillian.

It would, anyway. There was no way that the McTavishes and their lady friend would not comment on her muddy disaster. How could they not? It would probably be considered the height of entertainment to Lillian’s guests.

But she still burned the clothes. She bathed, dressed for dinner, and sat staring at the fire instead of going down. Until Miss Darrow knocked on her door.

“Are you unwell, dear? You never wear the blue.”

Amelia glanced down at her dress. Miss Darrow was right. The cerulean blue dress was her last resort. She always chose pinks, purples, and corals. She only had the dress at all because her mother had sent it for her last birthday. Amelia did not even recall putting it on.

She forced a wan smile. “Something different, I suppose. How was your day? I saw you painting.” If she got Miss Darrow talking, she would be spared the task of speaking herself. All the better to stew in her own embarrassment.

“Oh, yes! James—Mr. Barnes showed me the way of it. I will show you once it has dried. It turned out rather charming, I think. I might send it along to my niece as a gift. Or perhaps leave it for Lillian as a thank you for her kindness. I am having such a grand time!”

At least someone was. Amelia took her elderly companion’s arm as they descended the stairs.

She had mere seconds before she’d be confronted with her worst nightmare.

She clung to the other lady’s arm. Miss Darrow would not forsake her.

She would not laugh. She knew how Amelia despised being the center of attention. She had one friend here, at least.

What about Matthew? her traitorous mind asked.

Matthew would laugh with the others, Amelia was certain. He was a man made for fun. How could he not find the whole fiasco entertaining?

Amelia tried and failed to hold back her panic as she entered the drawing room where the guests gathered before supper.

The room buzzed with energy. There was Mrs. McTavish on the chaise, her husband at her shoulder, exclaiming loudly. The other guests clustered around them. Amelia’s stomach sank right down to Lillian’s thick Aubusson carpet.

“Oh, I do hope Mr. McTavish is telling one of his charming anecdotes about Scotland,” Miss Darrow said, clapping her hands. “We must plan a trip northward soon.” She disentangled her arm and floated toward the group.

Amelia would have gladly hidden behind a curtain. No one would have noticed—no one except Matthew. She felt his gaze on her like a caress. He stood at the end of the chaise, a half-step removed from the rest of the group. As if he’d been waiting for her, so he could step away and join her.

Heat rose to her cheeks for an entirely separate reason than she’d anticipated. But Mrs. McTavish’s dramatic sigh brought her right back.

“A monster! A huge, brown thing!”

“—the most awful sounds—”

“I’ve never seen such a thing in all my life, not even in the Highlands.”

Amelia blinked. A monster? They were discussing a monster? It must be from a book. One of those new novels like Mrs. Shelley’s.

Relief made a tentative foray into her chest. Could she have managed some good luck?

She took a step toward the group. Then another.

She did not even flinch when Matthew moved to join her, exactly as she’d predicted.

Maybe everything would be well. Against all odds, maybe the McTavishes and their friend had decided to keep the incident to themselves.

That was reasonable. They’d been engaged in a rather embarrassing pursuit of their own, after all.

“Good evening,” Matthew said, flashing her a smile. For once, Amelia responded to it. She’d planned to avoid him, but if he was as kind as his sister implied, perhaps that was not necessary.

“And to you, sir,” she said. “I see everyone is quite transfixed. Which novel are we discussing this evening?”

Matthew chuckled. Heavens, but that sound did something to her. She’d experienced attraction before, but never had a sound touched her soul and instantly notched down her anxiety.

“Not fiction, I’m afraid. Or at least, not wholly.” A dimple popped on his left cheek. “The McTavishes saw some sort of lake monster down in the fog. Tarin has assured us there’s never been such a sighting, but in a group like this, a good story is worth far more than facts.”

For once, she didn’t blush. No, Amelia was certain that if she looked in the mirror, she would find that it had been drained of color completely.

“A lake monster?” she squeaked.

“Yes, some horribly slimy, brown thing with melting skin and a ferocious roar.” As Matthew spoke, the laughter faded from his face. “You aren’t afraid of monsters, are you, Miss Wartham?”

Embarrassment gave way to complete and utter horror. Mrs. McTavish’s words cut through the crowd of guests.

Terrifying! I will not be going near that lake again this week.

Miss Darrow said something. Next was her new friend, Mr. Barnes. Everyone was exclaiming, gasping. It was worse than laughter. So much worse.

Matthew said something. He reached for her arm. Amelia jerked back. Maybe she mumbled some excuse. Maybe not. Her feet carried her away, and she did not stop them.

*

The gentlemanly thing would have been to let her go. She was clearly distressed and wanted time alone to compose herself. But Matthew had not felt very gentlemanly since meeting Amelia Wartham. She was distressed, and he wanted to be the one to comfort her.

He followed her out of the drawing room, across the hall, and into the library. Someone had opened the doors to the balcony in anticipation of the guests adjourning there after supper.

The cool afternoon had given way to a pleasant evening. But Matthew noticed all of that tangentially. He focused on Amelia.

She stood at the edge of the stairs that led down into the gardens. On another night, his sister would have them illuminated for an evening of frolicking and exploration. But tonight they stretched out into darkness.

The light from the library spilled out, illuminating the rosiness of her complexion in contrast to the pale blue of her dress. It did not suit her quite as well as the pink she’d worn the past two days, but she was still achingly beautiful.

Matthew did not quiet his steps. He did not want to frighten her further. When Amelia turned to face him, her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. His heart clenched painfully.

“I did not mean to make light of your fear,” he said. It took every bit of fortitude he possessed not to reach for her again.

Amelia blinked rapidly. “I am not afraid of monsters.”

But something had caused her to flee. “Would you tell me what you are afraid of?”

She jerked her head to the side in negation.

They did not know each other well. He could accept that—for now.

“Very well,” he said. “But whatever it is, I would protect you. If you’d let me.”

There it was. As clear a statement of intention as he could make without outright professing his love. Even so, it might be too much. It might send her running again.

Matthew watched as the surprise registered in her eyes.

She glanced from side to side, her chest heaving as her breathing sped up.

He was close enough now he could see the thrumming pulse in her throat.

Such a lovely throat, he imagined dragging his mouth over that spot, feeling the beat of her heart beneath his tongue.

He reached for her hand. And by some blessed miracle, she let him take it.

She’d foregone evening gloves. It was a casual meal at an even more casual country house party.

That was surely the reason. But Matthew could not help wondering if she’d been thinking of the possibility of this very moment when she’d left her hands bare.

Was she as affected by his touch as he was by hers?

Her molten brown gaze rose to his, and he saw the answer. Whether she would admit it aloud or even in the privacy of her own mind, all of her emotions shined there in her remarkable eyes.

Without breaking her gaze, he lifted her hand to his mouth. He inhaled her scent, a delicate note of vanilla mixed with an earthy perfume. He exhaled over her skin, letting her feel the warmth of his breath a heartbeat before the warmth of his lips.

She inhaled sharply but did not pull away.

He wanted to kiss each knuckle, to suck her fingertip into his mouth, and curl her palm around his cheek. But he satisfied himself with one brief touch. Even that lit a fire in him that he knew would never be extinguished.

Amelia did not pull away. That flooded him with an entirely different kind of heat.

“Come to supper. Everything is worse on an empty stomach,” he said.

To his surprise and delight, Amelia nodded and allowed him to lead her back inside.