Page 23 of The Rules of Matrimony (The Matchmaking Mamas #4)
Ian handed Amie a glass of warm milk—the same excuse he’d used the night before to give her a moment of privacy before bed.
“Thank you.” She did not even look at the glass before dutifully drinking it from her propped-up position in bed. Another thing that was the same as last night was her guarded position, huddled under her covers. It was not as if he hadn’t seen her in her nightdress, but he appreciated the quilt just the same. It was a firm reminder that they were in a business relationship, and they must maintain proper boundaries.
“Do you mind if I read for a few minutes?” he asked. He didn’t dare face his father again in the corridor to return to the library, so he had brought some papers with him instead.
“No, I don’t mind. I actually prefer to read for a few minutes before I go to sleep too.”
He didn’t know that about her. She did seem to be a great reader though. “What will you read?” He didn’t see any books in the room. There were few personal affects anywhere, besides the minimal items on her dressing table. The room suddenly struck him as bare and lonely.
She pointed behind him. “I have a few favorites on a shelf in the closet that I always keep with me. What about you? More work?”
His gaze trailed back to hers. “Some copied essays by a man named Samuel Romilly that were sent to me by Paul, uh, Mr. Sheldon, my barrister friend who you also met at the wedding. He thinks they might help my project.”
“The man with the russet-colored hair? How kind of him. He must be a good friend if he is taking time out of his own work to assist you.”
Ian shrugged. “I am fond of all my friends, but Paul is probably my closest, even if he did rat out our wedding to the other Rebels.”
She smiled. “A very good friend, then.”
Amusement pulled at the corners of his mouth. “You would see it that way. You know, you are more sentimental than I first took you for.”
“Am I?”
“You talk practically, but I see your attachment to people and ideas.”
She smothered another smile. “Yes, I think you’re right. Anyway, tell me about this Mr. Romilly. How will his essays help you?”
“Do you really want to know after I jawed your ear off all afternoon? It won’t bore you?”
“Not in the slightest. As you said, I ought to improve my mind if I have the opportunity. If you’re willing to share, then, isn’t this an opportunity?”
He chuckled. She had paid attention, and he ought to reward her for it. “I suppose, although this feels like a very dry bedtime story.” He took a seat on the edge of her bed and felt her legs right against him under the covers. He jumped back up. “Pardon me.”
It was her turn to laugh. “I told you that you were sensitive.”
“I wouldn’t call this sensitive. It simply doesn’t feel right.” The lines between them were already blurring, which was exactly what he’d been afraid of from the beginning. He was too comfortable with her. It was those eyes. They sent out a siren song that lured him closer and made him forget himself. “I’ll pull up a chair.”
Taking the small wooden chair with the embroidered cushion from behind the dressing table, he set it a few feet from her but close enough to her candle to still read. He lifted one of the papers, finding where he’d left off. “Romilly had the right of it. He had some brilliant criminal law reforms he presented in 1813, but they were rejected. In 1814, he got rid of the ghastly combination of hanging, drawing, and quartering. This man might be my hero.” He skimmed a little further, sharing a few lines here and there, not wanting to bore Amie, despite her saying otherwise.
After completing a few sections, he set the papers in his lap. “Well, what did you think?”
She had her long, curly hair in a braid, and she played with the ends of it. “Do you really desire my opinion?”
She had no idea. He was anxious to know what she thought, but he didn’t want to appear too eager. “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”
“Very well. I think it must be like owning a horse. If someone said an ox were a better choice, more stable, and safer, you might not even care to look twice at it. You’re content with your horse. It gets you where you want faster. Tradition is hard to break free from. We have set ideas and like what we are used to.”
Ian stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles. “You make a good point, but I am too stubborn to believe England can’t see the benefit of this change. I cannot consider failing as an option.”
The candlelight flickered, making Amie’s eyes sparkle just as she smiled at him. “I want to help you.”
He chuckled again, pleasure seeping into his chest. “Will you?”
She nodded. “Romilly accomplished change. While opinions are firm on the subject, there is hope that your efforts might lead to similar progress. That’s worth the chance. If you’ll let me, I would love to continue to be your scribe. You’ll have a great deal of letters to write if you intend to persuade all of Parliament, so I can copy pages, too, if need be.”
How could he say no with her so enthused about her idea? “Very well. You can help.”
“Good.” She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her knees covered by the quilt. “Now, tell me more about Romilly.”
His mouth twitched. “Aren’t you ready to sleep?”
She shook her head.
He cleared his throat to keep from noticing how sweet she looked and tapped his letter. “When Romilly died, Sir James Mackintosh, whom we wrote to earlier today, took up the torch. I have a great deal of respect for both these men. They might not have seen the success of their actions, but they have certainly paved the way for us. Sir James is a Whig and Mr. Peel a Tory, but if we can unite them, the two could persuade the different sides of Parliament. It will be our only hope.”
She stifled a yawn and lowered herself back on her pillows, curling up on her side. “Does it have a chance if it passes to Lords or on for the royal consent?”
He tried not to notice her new position on the bed. “You’re catching on already. I believe our greatest stumbling block will be the House of Commons. I have far more connections in Lords.”
Amie yawned again, quickly covering it with her hand. She looked like a rabbit in a burrow of blankets, ready to drift off to sleep.
“Enough for tonight. I’ve kept you awake long enough.”
Amie raised her head. “Please, tell me you won’t sleep on the floor again. I promise not to put any pillows anywhere. They’re clearly dangerous.”
He set his papers on her nightstand. “Sorry, I’m not brave enough to sleep with my head on the bottom of the bed.”
Amie frowned, studying the bed as if it had been the reason for her tossing and turning the night before. “What if you slept across the bottom?”
His face hurt just visualizing it. “Need I remind you, you kick in your sleep?”
She had the gall to look affronted. “I have shared a bed with Mama for years, and she never complained about me kicking. I did not feel well last night, and I slept poorly. You have nothing to be afraid of tonight.”
Maybe she was right. He reminded himself once again that during the storm, she had hardly moved an inch, and the floor had been terribly hard last night. “Shall I put my head on the farthest side from your feet?”
She grinned. “An excellent idea.”
He was glad he had pleased her, but she was not the one risking getting beaten up in the night. Blowing out the candle, he stripped to his shirtsleeves and trousers and lay across the foot of the bed, atop her cover, with a second smaller blanket across his own body. The bed, however, was not square, and his feet and lower legs hung off by at least a foot.
Heaven help him. It was going to be another long night.