Page 19 of Pretending to Love a Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

A melia wanted to be brave and nonchalant about her meeting in the park yesterday morning, but in truth, she was scared. She’d spent the day locked away in Sam’s room. He’d taken broth from a spoon for her twice, but as she watched him, a cold ache began to grow in her chest, a chill she couldn’t rid from her skin, no matter how many cups of hot tea she drank or thick blankets she draped over herself. By the evening, she couldn’t take it anymore, and she’d had Fran fill a tub of scalding hot water. She sank into the steaming water, hissing as her skin adjusted to the heat. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was blue eyes looking back at her and those charming dimples. What a pretty predator he made, Mr. Tristan Chase.

Now that a new dawn had broken, she wanted to know more, but there was uncertainty in her heart. How had she not realized that the gilded cage she lived in was of her own design? She longed for freedom, so she thought, but if she’d learned anything these past few days, she’d learned that she was woefully unprepared to face the world on her own. She understood it too little.

Graham knew it. He knew the snares she’d stumble into because he was older and wiser. And what had she done? Ignored most of his advice and made things worse—or at least more complicated. So what could she do? How could she make up for her mistakes and still protect her brother’s estate, his recovery, and her inheritance? She needed help. And she had to begin to truly change her petulant attitude and listen before she acted—if only for Sam’s sake.

This wasn’t going to be easy for her, but something had to change. She had to play the part of a proper young lady and be so boring that no one would think to look twice at her.

First change? No more daring gowns. She could wear white, but perhaps that was too drastic a shift. Pastels—yes, a few pastels. She’d walk with a parasol and only with an escort—a footman and her maid. Graham would drive her around the park, where they could be seen by society but not heard.

Those were decent ideas, now that she thought about it.

And for the next two days she played the part of a demure young lady. She attempted needlework but stabbed herself too frequently. Reading was always a favorite pastime, but thoughts about her brother and Blakewood made concentration difficult. She tried writing in her journal and drawing next, but again grew bored. She was a woman of action, archery, hunting, riding. She didn’t have the ability to be still and docile for long periods of time. It wasn’t part of her makeup.

During these fruitless ladylike pursuits Graham had been exceedingly busy and absent from the house and Sam’s bedside. They had no events demanding their attention for those two days, but then that evening was one of the first significant balls of the season, and it could not be missed.

Dressed in a buttery yellow that frankly wasn’t the best for her complexion, Amelia paired it with a pale-blue shawl that matched her eyes. The dash of color, though light, helped tremendously. Graham was not yet ready when she came downstairs, but he was home according to Mrs. Keen. Amelia waited in the drawing room. Before he entered, she heard the clip of his shoes on the tile.

He looked underfed and unrested, as evidenced by the grayish half-moons under his eyes, but still as elegant as a statue. A David dressed in evening attire, if David had had the shoulders of a blacksmith.

“Ready?” Amelia asked.

“Who is our host tonight?”

“The Duchess of Lumond. She has three daughters all out for the season. Tonight’s theme is the birth of spring.” She paused at his side, and he was frowning at her dress. Her modest yellow dress reached nearly to her throat. He couldn’t possibly find fault with it.

“Is this a new dress?” he asked.

“A gift from my aunt last year. Won’t she be pleased that I’m wearing it?”

“Will she be in attendance?” He continued his unwavering inspection of her gown.

“No.” Amelia spun in a circle so he could finish his appraisal. “She is not acquainted with the duchess.”

“But you and your brother are?” he asked as he waved for her to proceed with him into the hall.

“Of course. Sam is a titled bachelor. He’s invited to everything and, therefore, so am I,” she spoke over her shoulder.

Graham chuckled as they entered the front hall. “I’ve never been swarmed by the marriage-minded mamas, and for that I am thankful. Must be my lack of title, and fortune born from hard work.”

Amelia stopped before the mirror to check her hair one last time. Fran had formed her plaited hair into a crown and pinned it in place with blue topaz combs.

“And you’re especially safe now that you belong to me,” Amelia said. He suddenly stilled behind her, and his gaze sought hers in the mirror. There was something devastatingly honest in his eyes. A startled realization of the truth in her words, and then, heat. A memory of that kiss came flooding back to her, and warmth rushed up her throat.

Blast it, she only meant to tease him. Not provoke this. But this was what he and Fran had meant, wasn’t it? A knowledge. A look. There was something about him that reminded her of their kiss. Did she look the same? Would others be able to decipher her expressions and know what they had shared?

He broke eye contact and accepted his greatcoat from the butler. Amelia waited for the maid to secure her cloak.

She hated how suddenly aware she was of Graham. She was captivated by his walk, the sway of his shoulders, and the memory of the silky feel of his hair between her fingers. The groom held open the carriage door, and Graham waited, offering his hand as usual. Amelia took it, reminding herself not to be contrary any longer. She needed him. Sam needed him. She tucked her hand in his, and the warmth shocked her as it soaked through her glove. Taking her seat, he followed, sitting across from her.

“You look enchanting tonight,” he said.

She almost smiled. “Enchanting?”

“Is that not appropriate?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not sure. This gown is not something I’d consider flattering for me. I’ve worn much prettier gowns, and you’ve said nothing.”

“Would you have accepted a compliment from me if I had?”

“Probably not. But enchanting ?” This time, she did smile.

His lips twitched, and he rolled his eyes. “Fine. You look like a doll my sister Daisy would have set around the nursery table and served tea to.”

Amelia laughed, and he grinned.

“That I believe,” she said.

Something tight in her belly loosened, but there was still an awkwardness. What did they really have to say to each other if they weren’t arguing or talking about Sam?

The carriage ride passed in silence, Graham’s profile highlighted by the lamp through the window. What was he looking at? What was he thinking? she wondered. She tugged at the fingers of her gloves, more anxious about tonight than she’d ever been about an evening event. Not even at her come-out ball had she felt this fluttering in her chest, like if she leapt high enough, whatever was inside her would carry her into the sky.

Now that she recalled it, her come-out ball was the first and only time she and Graham had shared a dance. He’d told her Sam had requested he dance with her, not that she was wanting for partners. But she couldn’t refuse him. He’d looked at her differently that night, watching her from across the ballroom. She had taken far too many peeks at him, his chiseled jaw and those captivating green eyes had her well on her way to succumbing to an infatuation that night with her brother’s new friend. He was older than Sam’s other friends. A mature man. Someone steady and knowledgeable. Someone she could rely on and trust. She’d thought they would at least become friends themselves, if not more.

But something had happened that night, and those magical feelings had vanished. Was it him? Or was it her? She couldn’t remember anymore exactly what had spoiled everything between them.

But tonight he would dance with her again, likely more than once. Time would tell if he could tolerate it or if she could. Amelia couldn’t tell what would happen next, though it did seem that their kiss had shifted something between them. Would they continue to dislike each other? Would they become friends after all? Something more? No, she wouldn’t even think about it. That was absurd. Even a lasting friendship was highly unlikely. But a lifetime together?

She snorted, and he briefly glanced at her.

To share a lifetime with him would be torture. Whatever her first feelings had been, whatever that kiss had momentarily awakened, he now simply made her feel inadequate almost without fail. To feel so undeserving—so unloved—for the rest of her life would drive her mad. Then he’d lock her away in Bedlam.

Although, she could see he did have his reasons for his past criticisms, even if she thought he should have been kinder. These recent days had shown her the errors of her impetuous ways. Or perhaps she was simply maturing, the way traumatic events forced one to reevaluate themselves. Amelia had thought she’d done enough traumatic maturation ten years ago, after losing her father and having to face so many adults who wanted to usurp her life and keep her away from her brother.

Her first and best friend was always her brother, the other half of herself. The only other person who knew how Papa liked a bit of chocolate in his coffee or how he took three biscuits to bed with him every night. The sound of his roaring snores. Only Sam could keep those memories alive for her, and everyone had wanted to separate them, set them on two different paths into adulthood. She and Sam had fought so hard, as mere children, to stay connected. Now... now Death wanted to take him. She’d fight Death too, if she had to.

But at least she wasn’t doing it alone. She’d had Sam back then, and she had Graham now. However this ended, she wouldn’t forget that Graham had tried. She sighed inwardly. She would not hate him anymore. She couldn’t promise she’d like him, but she wouldn’t hate him. She’d no longer insult him for his stodgy attitude, boring demeaner, or scalding judgment. He was serious and steady, and she could respect that.

“Are you ready?” he asked, breaking through her thoughts.

“We’re here already?”

The door opened, and he stepped out, waiting to hand her down. She placed her hand in his, stepping out and standing by his side. He linked their arms and placed his hand over hers, where it rested on his forearm. The touch sent tingles up her arm, but Amelia didn’t pull away. In fact, she wondered what it would be like if they stayed like this. How would it feel to be close all night, tender with each other, affectionate? What if she pretended to be a woman he would want to marry? A woman who did not embarrass him or insult him, one who let him be the one in control—at least sometimes. Part of her revolted at the idea, but another softer part, a tired part, wanted to let go, let him carry the weight of expectation for both of them. She was sure he could do it easily with those broad shoulders of his.

They entered the front hall, lining up with the other guests to greet their host.

He leaned in. “You’re quiet,” he said.

“I know. Just thinking.”

“Of?”

“Everything and nothing.”

His brow pinched.

“No need to worry. I’m worn out, too tired to be the nuisance I usually am.”

He only grunted in reply. They reached their host, and Amelia summoned a dazzling smile to greet the Duchess of Lumond, the duke, and their three daughters, Maryann, Diana, and Juliet.

“My dear, where is your brother?” Her Grace asked.

Amelia turned to Graham. He cleared his throat. “He sends his regrets, Your Grace. He had urgent business with his estate up north.”

She frowned, casting a regretful look at her daughters. “How unfortunate.”

“Yes,” Amelia said. “But he will return as soon as possible. I know he is sad to miss your party.”

She appeared mollified by that. “Once he returns, he will have make a morning call to make up for it.”

Pleasantries completed, Graham led Amelia to the ballroom, guiding her down the crowded hall into a glittering room of polished white marble floors. The walls and ceiling shimmered in gold paper and paint. Garlands of flowers were dripping from every available surface, and bird cages filled with colorful birds were placed sparsely around the edges. Spring had exploded into the room and surpassed beauty into something garish.

“Interesting,” Graham muttered.

“It’s hideous. These poor birds appear distressed.”

“Indeed. Promise me you won’t do something reckless like let them out.”

Amelia gasped up at him. “I would never! The poor things could get hurt! And most of them aren’t native to England and should not be set loose only to suffer and die in our differing climate. What do you take me for?”

“Forgive me,” he said, a hint of a smile just visible.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

He chuckled, and it sent a riot of shivers through her body. She drew a breath, once again tantalized by the idea of playing a part that would make him weak for her. At least she thought she knew what type of woman he’d want. Someone sweet, pliant, quiet, and reliant on him. The opposite of everything she was.

“Will you be dancing with me?” she asked.

“Am I not obligated to?”

“Yes, but not more than once. And you don’t play cards, so how will you occupy yourself while I’m on the dance floor?”

He looked out at the dance floor where no couples had yet ventured. “You plan to dance often?”

“As much as possible. I love to dance.”

“With whom?”

“Anyone acceptable who asks.”

He gave the gentlemen around them a hard, assessing look. “But I am your jealous and possessive fiancé. What if I don’t let you?”

Oof, something hot and urgent erupted inside her. His words both infuriated and delighted her. She thought of her idea again—to be everything he wanted, just for one night, just to see what he would be like.

“Do you want to keep me all to yourself?” she said in a lower, breathier tone.

Then he did that thing she hated where he went rigid all over, as if so offended by whatever she’d done or said that he’d turned to stone, like she was Medusa, cursing him. “Er, you should do what you normally do.”

Amelia sighed and shrugged one shoulder. “That wouldn’t be wise. Dancing until my feet ache and then trouncing gentlemen at cards until my brother—or you—drags me away doesn’t fit with my new image. I also like to lure men into the garden for a game of seek and find, but they never find me until they wander back into the ballroom, ruffled and angry, and then I apologize and say I forgot we were ever playing. I usually do that to the rude men who insult the wallflowers.”

He frowned. “Let’s not do that tonight.”

“No, probably not the best idea. So what should we do?”

“We’ll dance two dances, both waltzes, and then you may dance with gentlemen I approve of. I’ll escort you into dinner, and afterward we’ll leave.”

No seek and find? I’ll let you catch me , she wanted to tease but wisely kept her mouth shut.

“Very well.”

He raised a brow. “That’s all?”

“I’m not going to argue with you tonight.”

“Are you unwell?” he asked incredulously.

“No, as I said, I’m tired. I’m exhausted in all the ways a person can be, inside and out, in every waking thought and in every dream. I’m too weary.”

Something unreadable passed over his features. “I know what you mean. I am, too.”

“Then let’s be easy on each other tonight.”

“Deal.”