Page 29 of The Rules of Matrimony (The Matchmaking Mamas #4)

Ian stood back while Amie greeted Mrs. Tyler in a tight embrace. The women were about the same size, but Amie put her head on her mother’s shoulder while her mother stroked her hair just above her ear, where it was pulled tight back into a chignon. They clung to each other for a time, each whispering whatever it was a close mother and daughter said after being parted for a few weeks. They had been everything to each other for a long time, and he would not rush them.

He clasped his hands behind his back just inside the drawing room door. This surprise visit meant rethinking his plans. Again. He wasn’t used to always considering someone else before acting, and it would take some getting used to.

“Let me see this husband of yours,” Mrs. Tyler announced, releasing Amie and coming toward him.

Something about the word husband seemed more regal a title than lord, and he straightened. “How do you do, Mrs. Tyler?” He dipped his head. “We are pleased to have you with us.”

“You must think us silly for being so happy to see one another after such a short time.”

“I do not think it silly at all.”

Mrs. Tyler smoothed her wrinkled travel gown, though it was the tired lines in her face that concerned him. “I did not get a proper goodbye with her, you know. You missed the wedding breakfast.”

Guilt settled on his shoulders. “Forgive me. I was anxious to get on the road.” What had seemed like a necessary escape at the time now felt extremely selfish. His apology was as sincere as could be.

Mrs. Tyler gave him a comforting smile. “Don’t think on it again. It does not matter now that we are together.”

“Thank you for understanding. Please, take a seat and rest.” He motioned to the sofa closest to her.

Amie took her mother’s arm. “Tea should be here any moment. You need some refreshment after your long journey.”

Ian took a seat across from them. There would be no hiding from Amie today. He must face her head on while also facing whatever strange, obsessive feelings he’d tried his utmost to avoid for the past several days.

A maid arrived with a tea tray, and Amie began to serve everyone. She handed her mother the first cup. “I told you in my last letter that Lord Reynolds would send a carriage for you in a month or so. How did you manage to come on your own?”

Mrs. Tyler took a delicate sip. “Oh, it wasn’t any trouble. Lady Kellen arranged it.”

Ian sat forward in his seat. “My mother?”

Amie came over and handed him a cup fixed just the way he liked it, but his mind was caught up in why his mother would interfere. There was no doubt she had ulterior motives and sent Mrs. Tyler on purpose. He loved his mother, but she was as conniving as she was sweet. When would she learn that her interference had the capacity to wound people deeply? He and Amie weren’t dolls to be forced together at her whim.

He didn’t want that for Amie.

Looking up from his tea, he observed her asking her mother about the inn she had stayed at the night before. There was nothing shiny about Amie’s apparel or appearance, but something about her sparkled all the same. He yearned to be near her and run his hand down her silky cheek.

He cared for her. He had accepted that much. But he’d made a commitment to them both, and he would not let himself fall any deeper. Silky cheek or not.

After tea, Amie sent her mother to her room to rest. Ian was retreating to his study when Amie called to him.

“Ian, may I have a word?”

“By all means.” He might have been the smallest bit excited to spend another minute in her company. He opened the study door and followed her inside. She took a seat opposite his desk. Instead of circling around, he leaned against the front of it. He realized too late that he was closer to her than need be. This particular study was more like a glorified closet. He cleared his throat, hoping to push down the awkwardness of their proximity that only his thoughts were creating. “What is on your mind?”

“Your nose is looking better.”

He reached up to touch it. “It feels better. But I don’t think that’s what you desired to speak to me about.”

“No, it isn’t.” She made a face as if bracing herself for his reaction. “It’s about my mother’s room.”

Ah, this must be a question about money. “I saw it is finished. If there is anything that you would like to add for her comfort, please do not think twice about the cost.”

She bit the side of her bottom lip, her hands coming together tightly in front of her. “It isn’t exactly finished. I had the servants paint the door this morning. It cannot be shut until tomorrow, or it will stick.”

She was joking. One hand went to his hip. “And our convalescing maid?”

“The doctor saw her yesterday. She is to remain in bed for another week before she can be moved.”

He groaned. “So your mother is resting in your room?”

She nodded.

There had to be another answer besides them being together again. “Can you not stay with her tonight?”

Amie looked at her lap. “She would not expect it.”

He bit hard on his tongue. The blasted agreement about making this marriage believable was coming back to haunt him. “Say no more. You may stay with me tonight.”

“Thank you.” There was not an ounce of excitement in her eyes. Was he such a bear that she feared the arrangement? And why did he feel disappointed that she was dreading being near him? He was the one who should be dreading it. Not only did she kick and disturb his sleep, but he had boundaries to maintain as well.

“My mother did this on purpose,” he grumbled.

Amie answered without guile. “I am the one who arranged for the door to be painted.”

“No, she sent your mother here because that is exactly the kind of person she is.”

Amie’s brow knitted together. “Because she is kind?”

Amie saw the best in people, but she needed to know what they were dealing with. “Because she is playing matchmaker. They knew I left you to travel to London, and my father learned why I was there. My mother must have caught on. Which means she knows I want to return as quickly as possible. This is her way of keeping us together.”

Amie’s expression softened into one of amusement. “Surely you’re jumping to conclusions.”

He pushed his palms into the wood on either side of him. “I’m making an educated conjecture based on years of experience watching my mother rearrange other people’s lives. Every friend you met at my wedding has my mother to thank for their marriage.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Even that winking man, Mr. Harwood, who complained about the kiss at his wedding? He seemed far too flirtatious with his wife to want to remain single for long.”

“Even Teasing Tom was against marriage before my mother got to him.”

“And the vicar? I cannot imagine it. Every last one of them seemed deeply affectionate toward their spouse.”

He shuddered. “ Deeply is the right word for it. I’ve been suffocated by the mere sight of them. She has all the matrons in Brookeside as her little helpers. My mother is very good at what she does. She never fails to make her match.”

Amie’s hand flew to her mouth, barely smothering her gasp.

He straightened. “What is it?”

“Your mother was at the graveyard the day my mother created the lie about our engagement. You don’t think ...”

Ian gritted his teeth and fell back against the desk once more. “She was the one to tell me about the rumors circulating about us. She was likely the one who created them.”

Amie shook her head. “Surely not. Your mother is one of the kindest, more sincere people I have ever met.”

“My mother has the very best of intentions. The Matchmaking Mamas’ mantra is simple: ‘A match is not a match unless the couple falls madly in love.’ Unfortunately, that is where they will fail with us since you and I will not fall victim to their schemes.”

Amie stared at him. “You sound confident for a man whose friends could not withstand the same pressures.”

“I have the advantage of being me,” he said with a measure of self-loathing. “Lord Grumpy, remember? No, I am nothing like my friends. Where their hearts are soft, mine is hard. Where they are kind, I am short-tempered.”

She pushed away from her seat, standing before he could finish listing his final and greatest reason. Her gown billowed over his feet, her stance nearly eliminating the space between them. With him sitting on the edge of his desk, their heads were nearly the same height, giving him an excellent, and rather heart-stopping, view of his favorite pair of brown eyes.

“Why do you disparage yourself?” she asked. “No one cares so utterly and completely for the livelihood of others as you do. You’re giving up all your time and every ounce of your energy, and why? Not because anyone asked you, but because of the goodness of your conscience. You deserve to love, Ian, and to be loved. There is no reason you could give me that could make me believe otherwise.”

For a moment, he had lost himself in her passion of words and in the depth of her eyes that reflected her very generous soul. Only his tight grip on his desk kept him from pulling her to him and breaking all his promises. “I have a good reason,” he finally said. “Even if you cannot see it.”

She shook her head. “Then, it is by choice and not because you are not capable. It is your own fault that you chose me when you could have had anyone.”

He didn’t like where this was going. “What do you mean by that?”

She gave the smallest, almost imperceivable shrug. “I’m not a fool. You chose me because I was the last person you could love.”

Her words were like a sucker punch to his gut. She couldn’t actually believe that. “Amie—”

“I shoved mint leaves in your mouth and told you off, remember?” She cut him off. “I pulled my hair out because of Cousin Robert and looked like a mad woman. You saw a charity case, not a wife. I know what I am to you, so there is no use pretending otherwise. The point is you are still free to consider what your father said. We could still end this contract and annul the marriage.”

Did she really think he saw her this way? “Amie—”

“No, Ian. I am much too beneath you; we both know it. You will have opportunities beyond what you have now with the right woman by your side.”

Each statement out of her mouth made his blood boil. And she thought he had disparaged himself, where she was being completely cruel in her self-estimation.

“I heard you agree with your father that I am useless, and it’s true. Listen to him,” she begged, the plea in her gaze undoing him, “and give yourself a chance at living a full life equal to what you deserve. One with a woman who deserves you in return. This isn’t—”

He put his hands on her waist and pulled her to him, cutting her off, and she stared at him, their faces inches from each other. He could feel her chest heaving with surprise against his own.

In a low and husky tone, he mustered the words he had to say, “There is nothing useless about you, and you are not, nor will you ever be a charity case to me.” And he would prove it to her. He did what he’d been resisting since their wedding and set his mouth against the smooth flesh of hers and kissed her. She would know what he really thought of her with every slow, deliberate move. He let himself explore the shape of her lips, one hand curling around her delicate neck and the other bringing her tight against him.

This kiss, even though it was a release of a yearning he’d struggled against, wasn’t for him.

Every touch, pressure, and emotion it elicited was strictly for her. He wanted—needed—for her to know that she was far above what he deserved—she was everything to him. Her quiet beauty was devastating, so much so that after years of resisting passing attractions, he wasn’t capable of resisting her. Her heart was too good, too perfect.

Her hands found his neck, and she started to return his kiss. He sighed inwardly with pleasure, hoping she felt the same. She was warm and soft, and her vanilla scent filled all his senses. She was the right woman by his side—the only one he would allow; she had to know it.

She pulled back enough to breathe his name. “Ian?”

“Hmm?” he said, kissing her again.

“You’re breaking rule number one,” she whispered before meeting his touch again.

He didn’t want to stop, but her reminder was timely. With every ounce of self-control left that he possessed, he pulled back. His hands came up to cup her face, indulging himself in stroking that milky smooth skin he’d missed. “Amie, my reasons for resisting love have nothing to do with you. Trust me when I say, it would not take any effort at all for me to fall madly in love with you.” She blinked, her brown eyes rich in color. “Can you understand that, Amie?”

She nodded beneath his gentle hold, though he could see that she did not quite understand at all. But he didn’t want to spell out a lifetime of goals and commitments or his father’s transgressions and his grandfather’s too. There was no need to ruin the moment completely. This would be their memory alone. Something to live by in the lonely years to come.

“Good.” He stripped his hands away from her and forced them to his side. He straightened and squeezed past her, moving a few steps to the door and to safety, his heart pounding dangerously in his chest. He turned back when he reached the edge of the room, taking in her flushed cheeks and swollen lips. “I won’t kiss you again. Not even if you grow confused. So you mustn’t forget what I’ve told you. It will be a few days until I leave for London, but you will have your independence. I might have broken my own rule, but I won’t break my promise about your future. I’ll give you what you’ve always wanted.”