Page 39 of The Rules of Matrimony (The Matchmaking Mamas #4)

Sprawled out on his office floor, Ian had a pillow under his head and a stack of papers hovering over his face as he read through another record from the Old Bailey. Moving his papers to the side an inch, he stole a glance at Amie. She sat above him on the two-seated sofa with a knitted blanket on her lap and her legs curled up beneath her. She had the tip of her finger between her teeth and her own stack of papers in hand.

“This one is a terribly sad case,” she murmured, reaching over him to set the paper on his desk, where they had compiled the worst cases to show the other members of Parliament.

“Excellent,” he said, finishing his own case and tossing it into a haphazard pile of unusable documents on the floor behind his head. Each time they found something, it gave him an ounce of hope, but it also brought an equal feeling of dread. If they did not make changes, the old system would perpetuate the same heartless results it had for more than a century. Amie’s help had been a godsend, keeping up his spirits and cutting down on his workload.

He started his next case, but his thoughts wandered to Amie.

After hours of being tucked away in his office, she hadn’t complained once. Not even after getting up early, a nearly unheard of event among the ton during the Season. Something about that alone made him smile. Any other lady would have complained that such reading material was shocking to their sensibilities. Amie devoured the records as if they were as important to her as they were to him. If ever there were a key to his heart, this sacrifice might be it.

He squeezed his eyes shut, chastising himself for his lack of focus. He quickly adjusted the papers to hide his view of her completely. If he couldn’t concentrate on his work, the least he could do was come up with a solid plan of how to handle Amie’s mother and uncle when they arrived. Paul had been right to caution him about the contract. It all seemed rather immature and stupid now. But after watching all his friends swear off marriage and then succumb one by one to the Matchmaking Mamas, he had needed to proceed with the utmost caution.

With the slightest effort, he shifted his papers to the side to glance at Amie again. She grew more beautiful to him every time he looked at her. He loathed thinking of her facing her relatives and any form of embarrassment.

“Is there something on my face?” Amie’s eyes flicked over to meet his. “Ink perhaps? You keep staring at me.”

He’d been caught. He lowered his papers to his lap. “Staring? Me?”

“I keep feeling your gaze.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps you are imagining it?”

“Hardly. Did I not catch you just now?”

He pushed up on his elbow. There was no use denying the obvious at this point. If she were less beautiful or interesting, he wouldn’t be staring at all. “I am making certain you’re doing your work,” he teased. “You know I only have three more days until the committee presents to the House.” She did not appear as if she believed him. He wouldn’t believe him either.

She gave him a dry look. “You’ve mentioned it a half a dozen times already this morning.”

“Have I?” He grinned. He’d not expected her to be so fun to banter with when he’d first met her, but he’d come to value her hidden wit.

“Yes, but it seems you are the one who cannot concentrate on your work.”

His grin receded as he tried and failed to summon a look of contrition. “I have my reasons.” Reasons that he wouldn’t voice aloud. What good would it do to tell her that she was far prettier than the papers in his hands? It was only reasonable that his eyes should prefer her face. Not to mention how her scent hovered about the room and had him thinking of too many times where she’d been in his arms.

Her brows rose, and she leaned her chin against the palm of her hand. “Reasons, you say. Do these reasons include my face?”

Was she reading his mind? “Perhaps it’s because you put your feet up under you, and I’m waiting for you to kick me at any moment. My memory is too keen for me not to be on my guard.”

She leaned forward, giving him a stare that reminded him of a mother berating her child. “You know perfectly well that it was because of the warm milk.”

“Do I?” he teased. “I haven’t been brave enough to sleep beside you again to be sure.” His half smile froze on his lips. This conversation was taking a wild turn for the worse, and it was entirely his fault.

Instead of a look of shock at his flirtations, he got a glare. “Why not see if I kick better when I am awake than when I’m asleep?” She started to untangle her feet from beneath her.

He sat up in one smooth motion. “On that note, I think I’ll move to the seat beside you.”

She laughed. “We’ll see if it improves your concentration.”

Likely not. He’d been avoiding that seat to help him focus. It had worked for a few hours.

As soon as he was settled, the butler stuck his head through the door. “Pardon my interruption, My Lordship. A Mrs. Tyler, a Mr. Nelson, a Mr. Robert Nelson, and a Mr. Withers are here to see you.”

A small hand suddenly gripped his. He met Amie’s terrified gaze. “Mr. Withers is the Nelsons’ solicitor. What is he doing here?”

“Relax, we have a plan, remember?” With his free hand, he gathered their papers and set them to the side while he addressed his butler. “See the guests to the drawing room and send for some refreshment.”

“Very good, my lord.” His butler dipped his head and retreated.

“What was the plan again?” Amie’s voice heightened. She normally hid her ruffled feelings far better than this. He turned his hand so his fingers wrapped around hers and held their hands up to emphasize them. “This. This is the plan.”

A plan that would surely be his undoing. Warmth already spread up his arm, and he was thinking about holding more than just her hand. Before he could act on any impulses, he stood, tugging her gently to her feet.

“Are you certain you can handle it?” she asked.

“I can restrain myself,” he said, his voice suddenly rough as he looked down at her. “Though I admit it won’t be easy for me.” His will was waning rapidly.

She blushed pink. “I meant handle the situation.”

He chuckled. “There will be no restraint there.” He winked, a very Tom thing to do. Ian’s friend was the flirt, not him. Amie brought out a strange, foreign side of him. “Are you ready?”

She took a fortifying breath and nodded.

He squeezed her fingers. “Do you need a minute?”

“Yes—er, no. I can manage.” She gave him a tentative smile. “The sooner we see to this, the fewer rumors will get out. We’ve had enough of that already.”

He agreed, and he was glad he did not need to remind her. With her permission, he led her out of his office toward the entrance hall, their hands clasped tight between them. An ounce of worry niggled inside him. He had managed to resolve many situations over the years with a little cleverness, but what about the problems of his own making?

They entered the drawing room, and their company rose to their feet.

Mrs. Tyler rushed forward. “Oh, Amie.” Her eyes were red and puffy. Her steps halted well before she reached them, her eyes riveting on their intertwined hands. “I ... I ...”

Mr. Nelson and his son, who both teemed with anger, seemed to notice the same gesture a moment later.

“Is this a show?” Mr. Nelson stood. “I won’t be taken in by a title and money. Not again.”

Ian glowered at Amie’s uncle. He had no respect for a man who kept his relatives at the end of a stick and only let them nearer when it benefited him. “Is what a show? Your temper? Do your niece and her husband not deserve a greeting when you storm into their home?”

“My lord,” Robert whined. “You’ve had us all. We know about the contract. Aunt, show him.”

Mrs. Tyler dug into her reticule and produced the folded parchment. “I have it here.”

“Show me.” Ian still did not know exactly what he would say once he saw it. Heaven help him.

Mrs. Tyler hurried to him and extended it.

Before he could take it, Robert spoke to Amie. “Dear cousin, we are here to help you. This is no fault of yours. You have not been well since the death of your father. There is a trail of stories that followed you from each of your relatives.”

“Robert, what are you saying?” Amie shook her head.

Robert straightened as if he were about to say something more, something very brave and very hard. “Mr. Withers, I will testify in court if need be, but clearly, Miss Tyler had no idea what sort of an arrangement she was entering.”

“ Lady Reynolds , if you please,” Ian said, correcting her name while accepting the contract from Mrs. Tyler.

“Lady Reynolds for now,” Robert said. “We believe she is not sound of mind and was taken in by you.”

Of all the ridiculous statements.

Mr. Withers was a wiry man with shrewd, boring eyes behind his spectacles. He clutched his satchel in a manner of self-importance. “There are grounds to annul a marriage if either party did not know what he or she was doing.”

That word again. It dropped like a weight in Ian’s stomach. How was it possible that both sides of the family were demanding an annulment? He knew marriage would be a complicated beast, but he had sorely underestimated the backlash from their families. Why had he not asked Paul to be here? His legal expertise would be useful about now.

“But both of us consented to this marriage,” Amie said, stepping nearer to Ian until her shoulder touched his.

The action lent him a sense of unity.

“But if one of you is insane, that is different,” Mr. Withers argued, addressing Ian and ignoring Amie. “The marriage between John Wallop, 3rd Earl of Portsmouth, to his solicitor’s daughter, Mary Anne Hanson, was annulled after nearly twenty years of marriage once they proved the earl mad. Your Lordship, Mr. Nelson has a reasonable case against your wife.”

Amie tensed next to him, and Ian’s own temper flared. “You have a lot of nerve, Mr. Withers, coming in here and even hinting that my wife, a viscountess, is insane.” There had to be a lot of money on the table to convince the solicitor to even make such threats.

Mr. Withers had the decency to give a look of chagrin. Ian had powerful friends, and there was no way Amie’s relatives would seal their claim. Unfortunately, the rumors and gossip would do sufficient damage regardless.

Ian made a show of unfolding the paper in his hands, desperately racking his brain for a way out of this mess. He stared at his own frill-less handwriting and Amie’s contrasting elegant signature. They had been two different souls from the beginning, but they had fit rather perfectly together ever since.

But that revelation did not accompany words to save them.

“Can you deny that this note was written by your hand, Your Lordship?” Mr. Withers asked.

Ian didn’t want to answer, but withholding the truth when it could be proved otherwise was pointless. He shook his head.

Mr. Withers turned to Amie. “Can you deny that it was signed by your hand, Your Ladyship?”

“No.” The simple answer was spoken without hesitation. The direct way she said it reminded him of the day she’d turned down his proposal, so certain no one could save her from her predicament. She’d been wrong then and was now too.

The right words came to him in that moment. “It is a private letter, but since it has been shared without our permission, let me put the matter to rest for you. You have discovered the rules from our engagement.”

“Rules from your engagement ?” Mrs. Tyler shrieked.

“Indeed. We did our best to keep a proper distance from each other, though I admit to some struggle on my behalf.” He met Amie’s gaze, her face still lined with worry, and the truth he’d been holding back slowly slid out. “Her beauty captured me, and I was taken with her from the start. She is like a diamond in a bed of river rocks. It is a wonder we could follow any rules at all.” He stared into her wide, disbelieving eyes, losing himself in them as he often did. The sudden desire to tell her he loved her burned on his lips.

“You said this was a marriage contract,” Mr. Nelson bellowed, his hot gaze skewering Mrs. Tyler.

The heated statement stopped Ian from uttering words to Amie he knew he would never be able to withdraw.

“Cousin?” Robert put his hands together and stalked toward Amie. “This cannot be true. You can be honest with us. You were taken in by this man and ill prepared for such a union. We are here to help you.”

Ian’s fist tightened. If Robert came a step closer to Amie, Ian would punch him in the nose.

Amie’s words restrained him. “I knew exactly what I was doing when I married Lord Reynolds. We are happy together, and we do not appreciate your interference.”

Happy , he repeated in his head. Yes, they were happy.

“Amie, dear,” Mrs. Tyler said, “we want the best for you. If you plea madness, we can undo everything.”

“Mama,” Amie cried. “Listen to yourself.”

Mrs. Tyler fidgeted with her hands. “I don’t think you’re truly mad, but your engagement was not made in the usual way. I have been beside myself worrying that I made a big mistake. After all, it was I who made the announcement.”

Amie squeezed Ian’s hand with more strength than he knew her capable of. He understood exactly what she was trying to communicate. Mrs. Tyler could not, under any circumstance, reveal how she had betrothed Amie to a dead man. Then they might have two cases of madness on their hands, and more evidence against their marriage.

“Mrs. Tyler,” Ian begged. “That day in the graveyard when you met my mother was the most providential day of my life.” He couldn’t believe he was saying this, but it was no act. “I don’t know if I have ever thanked you for your part in bringing Amie and me together. I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone else.”

The fervor in his voice surprised him. He had not known the depth of his feelings until it was cast from his mouth into the room like little seeds blossoming into full-grown truths. He might not have let himself love her or live with her, but no one else could ever be Lady Reynolds. Amie was the only one for him.

Mrs. Tyler’s sad expression wilted away into a smile. “Oh, goodness. That is so romantic.” She clutched the hem of her neckline. “I ... I daresay I might have been ... no, I am quite certain—I made a mistake.”

He gave a firm nod. “Indeed, you were mistaken.”

Amie reached for his arm. “You need not doubt again, Mama. We are happy together.”

That word again. Happy.

How it rang in his mind.

“Truly, dear?” Mrs. Tyler asked. “Then, you do love each other?” Her smile bloomed ever wider, and Ian did not correct her. He couldn’t. In the end, she did not give him the chance to say anything. “Oh, Mr. Nelson,” Mrs. Tyler cried. “I let my emotions get away with me again. It was a contract from their engagement , don’t you see? My daughter is finally happy.”

“But she would be far happier with me,” Robert cried, stomping his foot like a child. Ian half-expected tears from him at any moment.

“We will investigate this,” Mr. Nelson said, though his forehead furrowed in confusion.

Mr. Withers clutched his satchel to his middle. “Without the mother’s testimony, Mr. Nelson, we might not succeed.”

“I warn you,” Ian threatened, staring both the solicitor and Mr. Nelson down. “You will be the laughingstock of London if you try. Anyone who disparages my wife will see ruin.” He switched which hand held hers and put his arm around her. He’d never felt more protective in his life, but no one wanted to know what sort of damage he was capable of with such emotion stirring through him.

All three men who came in full of indignation were suddenly reduced to scared little mice. Ruination was not a threat to take lightly, and Ian would follow through if they dared press him. They scurried from the room with their proverbial tails between their legs, leaving Mrs. Tyler alone with them.

Amie stepped out of his arms and hurried to her mother. “Oh, Mama!” The two of them embraced and cried together. He did not quite know what to make of it. He missed Amie’s body pressed to his side, and the sound of her soft cries tore at him.

While he sensed the tears were of gratitude and relief, they still affected him. He wanted her to be happy . The same mantra he’d repeated over and over in his mind from the beginning only intensified the longer he knew her: He couldn’t hurt her.

He clenched his hand to keep from reaching to comfort her himself.

He couldn’t hurt her.

He wasn’t his father or his grandfather.

He couldn’t hurt her.

He would say this as many times as it took.

He wanted her to be happy. More than anything.