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“T here is no predicting love,” Tarin said from behind the wide mahogany desk.

“That is supposed to be my line,” Lillian pointed out from the chaise.

“I thought I’d gotten rights through marriage,” Tarin said without looking up from the ledger spread in front of him. “You certainly say it enough.”

“Go away, Tarin,” Lillian said over her shoulder.

“This is my office,” he pointed out.

Lillian stuck out her tongue. Matthew chuckled, basking in the warmth of love. It seemed to be all around him this past week.

Amelia .

The mere thought of her lit something in him that had first sputtered to life in the middle of the road in the village. Now it burned with a steady flame, and Matthew was not afraid to call it what it was—love.

Lillian squared her shoulders and stared her brother down.

His sister had granted her guests a rare afternoon without a planned activity.

Many had taken naps. Miss Darrow was not so quiet about her desire for a walk in the garden, even as she made for the back stairs with James not far behind.

Matthew doubted there was much walking going on.

But Amelia had wanted a nap, and Matthew had been considering one himself when his sister corralled him in the ducal office. She’d been unfazed to find it occupied.

“As my dear husband—and my grandmother well before him—said, there is no predicting love.” She fixed her blue eye on his and tried to stare right into his soul. “And is it love, Matthew?”

“That is a rather forward question, Lillian .”

Amelia deserved to be the first one to hear how he felt, not his unrelentingly nosy sister.

“One I feel entitled to ask, given the fact that Miss Darrow and Miss Wartham are here at my behest and therefore are my responsibility.” She folded her arms over her chest.

She’s protective of Amelia, he realized. Bless her.

Matthew uncrossed his knees and returned Lillian’s piercing gaze. “I have the utmost respect and regard for Amelia. This is not one of my japes.”

Not that he would give them up forever. He loved watching the effect that laughter had on Amelia, both his and her own. It transformed her, lit her from within. That same light shined in the quiet moments, when there was silence between them. Never awkward, always soft and comforting.

Lillian cleared her throat, dragging him forcefully from his reverie. “I heard you planning for your little picnic in the backwoods.”

“I appreciate your concern, Lillian. I truly do. But I will manage this on my own.” First, they must see to the problem of the lake monster. Once he’d lifted that weight from Amelia’s chest, he would address the part where he asked her to spend the rest of her life with him.

“Whatever scheme he has planned, let him at it, Lillian,” Tarin admonished, head still bent. Footsteps sounded in the hall, causing all of them to pause. But when no one appeared at the door, Matthew shrugged and dismissed it as a passing servant.

Lillian pouted out her lips. But when neither male seemed impressed, she signed dramatically. “You won’t embarrass her with some grandiose proposal in front of the entire household, will you? She just isn’t the sort. You must take care.”

Her concern for Amelia warmed him. He smiled. “I know precisely the sort of person that Amelia is,” Matthew said. “And when I ask for her hand in marriage, it will be private and perfect and I will not consult you on the matter.”

Tarin snorted from the desk. Lillian kicked off her slipper, launching it at his head. Matthew batted it away easily.

“Well, then. I surrender,” Lillian said, lifting her hands in submission. “But do promise you will let me know when congratulations are in order. I cannot wait to have a new sister-in-law.”

Matthew grinned. “That is a promise I can make.”

*

Amelia would recognize Matthew’s laughter anywhere.

In a short time, it had become her most favorite sound in the world.

She had tried to sleep, but the fitful energy in her stomach and arms and legs would not allow it.

Even when she was alone, she wanted to be with him.

It was ridiculous and wonderful. And another stroke of good luck when she heard his voice just as she turned the stairs, coming from the duke’s office tucked away in the rear of the manor.

“This is not one of my japes,” Matthew insisted from the other side of the door.

Amelia paused. There was every possibility this was a private conversation.

She ought to go wait for Matthew in the drawing room.

Or go back to her own room and take that nap.

But the sound of his voice was like a siren’s song, pulling her in.

She lifted her hand to the door to push it open, when Lillian’s voice speared through the space. “I heard you planning—” Whatever else Lillian said was lost through the door. “I appreciate your concern, Lillian. I truly do. But I will manage this on my own.”

Amelia frowned. Matthew sounded very self-assured, but then again, he always did. But what could he be speaking of? A thousand different things, you ninny. You’ve known him for less than a week, her inner voice counseled.

“Whatever scheme he has planned, let him at it, Lillian,” the duke’s dark timbre floated into the corridor.

Jape. Scheme. Planning.

Understanding snapped into place like the last piece of a puzzle. Despite her protests, Matthew had confided about the lake monster debacle to his sister. The Duke of Burnham was in there too.

Heat burned up over her bosom to her cheeks in the blink of a lid.

Her entire body was on fire with embarrassment.

Maybe it was a small thing. Maybe to a group like this, to people as comfortable in their skin as Lillian and Matthew, a little misunderstanding in the mud was trivial.

But Matthew knew what it meant to her—she’d told him.

And he’d still gone against her wishes and told his sister and brother-in-law.

You’ve known him for less than a week.

Amelia turned on her heel and hurried down the corridor.

She did not need to hear the rest. She’d received word this morning from Dominique, brought by her sister’s own driver and a perfectly road-worthy carriage.

Amelia had planned to send him away, to pen another letter assuring her sister she was well and would be along in due course.

But there was no longer any need. She scrambled up the stairs to pack her things.