To Tame A Lady (The Reluctant Bride Collection)

The next few weeks’ events were coordinated, and a promise wrung from Jameson that he would not accept any more invitations before consulting her. Amelia decided to enjoy the Gratham’s ball herself. It had been a stressful few weeks and she had no doubt Jameson would find more ways to inconvenience her. She had to take moments to herself when she could.

  Besides, it had been nearly two weeks since she had been subjected to a ridiculous proposal, if one didn’t count Jameson’s and she didn’t, and she found herself in need of entertainment. Perhaps tonight some young idiot would get drunk enough to propose.

  Jameson, Robin, Amelia, and Lady Beckham arrived beyond fashionably late. They sat in the coach, arguing. Now that the moment was upon him, Jameson had realized that he had no idea how he would be received by the ton and had tried to wheedle his way out. Unfortunately for him, Amelia was in no mood.

  “I hope you do feel some disapproval, Jameson. You acted without thought and hurt Clarice terribly. I hope you get a few cuts.”

  Robin scolded her. “You’re being very harsh tonight. He does not need disapproval from you; who knows what he’ll be subjected to in there.”

  Jameson was quiet, sitting with his head back and his eyes half-closed.

  Amelia sat forward. “It is not you who has picked up the pieces these last weeks. It is not you who has held Clarice’s hand while she cried, or when she finally accepted that Jameson never loved her. I did. I am still his friend, though he hardly deserves it. Perhaps it is vengeance on my part that I hope he feels a smidgen of the pain he has caused. Or perhaps it is simply that I never want to go through this again and a few good cuts would help him learn the lesson.”

  Robin leaned forward in return, gesturing wildly at Jameson. “Do you honestly think he has not suffered? That he does not feel the shame and cowardice of what he’s done? Do you think he doesn’t know how horribly he treated the poor girl? He drinks himself to a stupor nearly every night.”

  “Is that new? I couldn’t tell.”

  Lady Beckham’s reason-filled voice interrupted the siblings’ feud. “Perhaps we are all too wound up to attend this evening. We can cry off, come up with some excuse.”

  Amelia sat back with a huff. “No, we can’t. Just look at this madhouse. They all want to see him, let them see him.”

  Jameson took a deep breath and knocked the top of the carriage with his cane. “Enough.”

  The door was opened and he alighted. He held his hand out to assist Amelia. “My dear, if I could do it over and save Miss Underwood from all the pain I have caused I would marry her and be a miserable drunken sod for the rest of my days. But I still think that she will be much happier without me. Let us go in and see what my punishment is to be. Whatever it is, I am sure we agree I deserve much more.”

  Amelia took his hand, stepping down. She looked into his sad eyes and pushed her anger down; tonight reminded her too much of her own brush with scandal and she was finding it hard to keep her emotions calm.

  She said, “No, you don’t. I am getting you mixed up with another drunken fool who shattered a young girl’s naiveté. Forgive me, my emotions are too close to the surface tonight.”

  He bowed, kissing her gloved hand. “If Robin hadn’t beaten that shabbaroon to a pulp, I would have shot him. In the bollocks.”

  Amelia gasped and looked to see if anyone was close enough to hear, then snapped her fan against his arm. “Jameson, really!”

  But she ascended the stairs in a much better mood.

  Jameson and Lady Beckham entered first, followed by Robin and Amelia. The loud and boisterous crowd slowly quieted as they descended into the party but they simply continued on towards the Grathams.

  The quiet rankled, but Amelia had walked this battlefield before, and with much higher consequences for failure. Oh, Jameson would feel the sting, but he was a man with a title. An unmarried man with a title and a fortune. Society would be more than willing to overlook his lapse in judgment, if only for the chance to throw their daughters at him again.

  The Grathams welcomed all of them warmly but the fawning was for Jameson. “Oh, Lord Nighting. You honor us with your presence tonight.”

  “Thank you for the invitation.”

  “Not at all, not at all. You remember my daughter, Lady Gertrude.”

  “Of course. I hope you have room on your card, Lady Gertrude.”

  Amelia smiled at Jameson and allowed Robin to lead her off. She was happy to know that unmarried men of title had their own punishments after all.

  She circulated the room, listening for quiet voices behind fans, whispered giggles, contemptuous looks.

  Clarice’s standing had always been in much graver danger than Jameson’s and Amelia had acted accordingly. The girl had no title, small fortune, and few connections– at least when compared to her former fiancé. It would have been natural for society to put themselves in the Earl’s corner and Amelia had worked hard to fight that.

  But now Jameson was her main concern. Of course she wanted him to feel the sting of his reprehensible behavior; no man should escape his obligations easily, especially the self-made variety. No matter how much money or connections or beauty a man had, it was a bad precedent to let him act outside the acceptable bonds of society without suffering for it.

  At the same time, she did not want him to be ostracized. She wanted him to know that he could not treat some other girl in the same dastardly manner. However, she did not want him to lose his societal standing permanently and not be able to marry at all when the time came. It was a fine line she had set for herself but she did so love a challenge.

  She listened to some whispers, chatted with a few ladies known to have loose tongues, and decided that Jameson would be okay, at least for the night. His reputation as a devil-may-care dandy had gained while his face and fortune remained quite impressive. Amelia had already overheard more than one lady say that if she were ever so lucky as to catch Lord Nighting, one could be assured it would be a short engagement.

  Jameson, for his part, danced and smiled and bantered with every woman who crossed his path. He made love to them all and Amelia did not think it spoke well of her sex to see so many faces filled with the same expression of love, hope, and pity after Jameson was done with them. He cut a swath through the oldest, most disagreeable dowager to the youngest, silliest girl and ended bright-eyed at Amelia.

  He handed her a drink. “I believe I have undone all the good work the fiasco did to keep the mothers away from me but I will admit it has been great fun watching disapproval turn to my favor. It is quite a rush, Amelia dear, to shape someone’s opinion so decidedly. I can see now why you engage in the sport.”

  “It can hardly be called sport when I have lined them up for you in advance. But you are taking them down well all the same.”

  “Thank you, my dear. But you do not seem to be enjoying the evening as well as I. No proposals tonight?”

  He stopped his laugh at her indignant look. “No. I have spent an inordinate amount of time gossiping with young girls these last weeks. There really has been no opportunity for some young hot-head to believe he’s fallen in love with me.”

  “Maybe next week then.”

  She pursed her lips and he laughed as she fought to keep a smile off her face.

  He held his hand out to her. “Come, Amelia. Take a turn with me. Take your pleasure where you can and return refreshed to battle once again.”

  She put her hand in his. “Perhaps one set. The situation does seem to be in control at the moment.”

  “Wellington himself couldn’t have orchestrated a more advantageous field. But I would appreciate it if you would let me lead on this field. A waltz loses some of its beauty when one of the parties refuses to be led around the dance floor.”

  “And I would appreciate it if you stopped telling everyone I whirl you around. My partners handle me much rougher than necessary.”

  Jameson led her into position, holding her a little closer than prudence allowed until she tapped h
is arm with her fan. He released her slightly with a smile.

  “Ah, Dragon. I don’t believe I was the one who started that rumor.”

  Amelia said, “You don’t believe it was you? Can you not remember?”

  “You know how these things start. And I can’t be the only dance partner you have ever wrested control from. I can’t think of even one dance with you that did not end in a game of tug-of-war.”

  “You are insulting my dancing skills.”

  “Yes. Pistols at dawn?” He looked down at her and his eyes captured hers. “Or perhaps I will simply have to show you how enjoyable it can be to follow a man’s lead.”

  For half a second she stared at him, then realized with a jolt that he was making love to her. To her. He had captured her attention so completely that she barely noticed any of the other dancers, only him.

  Oh, he went about it insulting and shocking her instead of charming and flattering as he’d done with every other woman tonight. But his purpose was the same, his clever stratagem only showing how well he knew her and that he was playing to win. His attention was focused on her, on winning her over to his side. All night long she had seen him engross himself in whatever lady was in front of him and now here he was, doing it to her.

  She snapped out, “Jameson! Really! Control yourself. I am not one of your conquests.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Not yet, my dear. You require more than a dance or two to change your mind. I find the challenge to be quite thrilling.”

   Amelia looked at him in consternation. “And just what opinion of mine is it that needs changing? I have always thought you a reprobate and that has not affected my friendship with you.”

  He laughed. “I can not decide if you have higher standards than society or lower.”

  She pursed her lips. “Perhaps they are just different.”

  “Perhaps. But even you seem to have limits on the kind of relationship you will undergo with such a reprobate. Not that I blame you, my dear. Had you any fewer standards, one of your many proposals would have tempted you by now and mine would be but a fantasy.”

  She huffed. “Kindly do not bring up that nonsense again. You have gone quite mad over this marriage business, proposing to all and sundry.”

  “Would Miss Underwood be the all and you the sundry? Two proposals in a man’s lifetime does not seem wildly unusual.”

  Amelia said, “Wildly unusual. That will be your epitaph. I will personally engrave it on your headstone myself if you persist with this senselessness.”

  He looked thoughtful. “Murderous tendencies, you did warn me. Is this where I show you how useful a charming husband could be? This ill-humor of yours can not be good for health or digestion. And there is a disturbing vein protruding from your temple.”

  Jameson stroked a finger across her temple, then pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Perhaps you are simply overheated. It is uncommonly crowded tonight.”

  He began maneuvering them closer to the doors. She resisted, proving him right that she could not go one dance without turning it into a skirmish. He merely laughed, gripped her tighter about the waist, and muscled her to the doors. She had no doubt it looked little like a waltz but hoped the ballroom was too crowded for any to notice.

  She gripped his arm in an attempt to keep from falling and said tartly, “I believe you enjoy making a spectacle of yourself.”

  “My dear, I live for it. And you are so obliging. It would be so very tedious to make a spectacle by one’s self.”

  He kept Amelia near the doors despite her struggles to move them farther back into the room. His chuckles drove her nearly mad and she did indeed fear this ill-humor would adversely affect her health. She knew it was going to adversely affect his sometime in the near future; she would make sure of it.

  Jameson swept them out the doors as soon as the music ended and did not bother to release her; he simply propelled her into the cool night air, across the balcony, and down into the garden. She saw not a soul, his careful positioning during the dance ensuring they would be the first outside.

  She unconsciously lowered her voice in the sudden hush. “Jameson, you have taken leave of your senses. If you do not stop manhandling me, I will be forced to emulate Clarice and her unmanning of you.”

  He tsked at her. “Really, Amelia. I expect more originality from you. That scene has been done.”

  Her breathless struggles prevented her from replying; she merely doubled her efforts to halt their headlong pace. She was gratified to hear his breathing become just as erratic but it slowed him down none at all.

  Their skirmish ended on a small ornamental bridge crossing a trickling stream. He whipped her around to overlook the stream and stepped behind her, encircling her with his arms and gripping the railing tight.

  She stood trapped for a moment, silent, regaining her breath. The instant she realized her backside was plastered along his front, she stiffened. She turned her head to lambaste him and her lips grazed his excruciatingly close cheek. She jerked her head away.

  She hissed, “You have gone mad!”

  His breathing had quieted and he said softly into her ear, “I simply needed to get you alone, my dear. You are the one who turned it into a battle.” A puff of his breath played across her cheek. “I must admit, I did not expect the battle to be so very exciting. I am beginning to think those scads of suitors pursuing you are not so half-witted after all.”

  “Half-witted for chasing me at all, do you mean? Yet here you are, king of the half-wits.”

  Jameson brushed a fingertip across the back of her neck, playing with the small curls at the base of her hair. A shiver ran down her spine and her skin seemed to come alive, tingling at his touch.

  He said, “Not for chasing you; for thinking they could properly appreciate you after so short a time. You are an acquired taste.”

  “Like a Stilton?”

  She felt his chest rumble with laughter. “Or a Roquefort. I love a good Roquefort.”

  Amelia sniffed. “How very unpatriotic. If you are going to compare me to a stinky cheese at least have the decency to choose an English one.”

  He bent his head and whispered into her ear, his hot breath caressing her skin. “Has there not even been one, my little Stilton? Not one man in all the bunch that made you hesitate? That made you wonder if you were missing something?”

  She ignored her sensitized skin, her erratically beating heart. “No.”

  He stroked her arm. “Are you hesitating now? Are you wondering if I could show you what you were missing?”

  His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her tightly against him. His erection probed her bottom and warmth spread downward from the contact.

  Words seemed to have deserted her so she shook her head.

  Jameson’s hand rested lightly below her breast and his voice continued to lay siege to her senses. “You are wondering, aren’t you? I like thinking I’m the only one.”

  He pressed her even more firmly against him and his teeth scraped gently against her ear. He licked and sucked, then moved down her neck. He nuzzled her, right behind her ear, his stubble grazing lightly, and her body burst into feeling. Every inch of her flesh pebbled and a small sound escaped her throat.

  He gripped her tighter, his breath huffing into her ear. “I have found a chink in your scales, Dragon.”

  Amelia opened her mouth to set him straight and instead shivered as he resumed his attentions on her neck. Heat raced through her body and she did indeed fear he had found a chink.

  He used his teeth and tongue and breath on her neck while his fingers moved slowly, tracing the neckline of her dress. No sound penetrated their embrace, only his breath hot and loud in her ear. She was mesmerized by it, her breathing accelerating to rise and fall with his.

  He cupped her jaw, turning her head toward him. His eyes were hot in the moonlight and she had no resistance left in her mutinous body when he captured her lips with his. They were soft and hot and his scent filled her.
r />   He kissed her as if nothing else existed for him, as if she alone was everything he would ever need. She held on to the railing for support, the wrought-iron cool against her heated skin. His mouth plundered hers and she desperately clung to the railing as if it could keep her from falling into his kiss, into him.

  A low grumble escaped his throat and he pulled her away from the railing, turning her body into his, fitting her tightly against him. Her arms wrapped around his waist and she kissed him back. All thought was forgotten; she could only feel. His arms were tight around her, his hands gripping her bottom and pulling her into that hard, probing part of him.

  A high-pitched laugh intruded, bringing her abruptly back to herself. She was in a garden, with Jameson still kissing her senseless. She panicked, thinking only of being seen, of having to once again defend her reputation, to endure the insults and slights and knowing looks. And this time she would deserve it all. She had lost all care for decorum, for propriety. She had melted into him. She could hardly remember her own name, though his pulsed in her head with each heart beat.

  Jameson, Jameson, Jameson.

  She stomped down hard on his foot and when he jerked in surprise, brought her tight fist up into his belly. He stumbled back, the opposite railing catching him from falling into the little stream.

  They stared at each other, their breathing ragged. The heat left his eyes and the panic left hers.

  The high-pitched laugh rang out again and Jameson straightened. “Quite right, my dear. I had not expected to be quite so overcome.”

  He looked at her a moment, then huffed out a laugh and sketched her a bow. Amelia watched him stride away, unable to decide whether or not she was glad for the desertion. In any case, she was left alone in the cool night air.

  She slowly let out the breath she had been holding. Dear Lord, the man was capable.

  She stared unseeing at the spot he had just deserted and wondered for the first time if there was indeed something she was missing.

 

  Jameson slunk back toward the house, slightly light-headed, careful to keep away from other couples. He had meant to seduce her senseless, not himself.

  Halfway to the house he paused, thinking of Amelia alone in the night. He had no doubt she would not want to see him just yet, and if he were honest with himself, he felt the same. There had been shock and heat in her eyes, but once her brain started working again. . . Amelia was not known to pull her punches, figuratively and literally it seemed, and Jameson was sure he did not want to hear her thoughts on their kiss.

  He doubted greatly she would be overcome with amorous feelings towards him and she was not known as the dragon for nothing. She had a sharp tongue that could turn any man’s entrails into a sickly mush.

  But he could not leave her out here alone. He sighed, hanging his head doggedly, then turned back. He prayed he would not meet her on the path, but found her still on the little bridge, staring down into the water.

  He hid behind a bush, watching her, remembering how she fit into his arms, remembering her mouth. Who knew such a sharp tongue could give so much pleasure. His thoughts veered toward other activities her sharp tongue could partake in and he shook his head to clear it. Perhaps those dunderheads who chased her did indeed know more than he.

  She turned and began heading towards the house, towards him. The moonlight bathed her face and she looked. . . wild-eyed. And uncertain.

  Amelia uncertain?

  She touched her fingertips to her lips, tracing them gently, then took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and marched back towards the sounds of music and laughter.

  He followed her silently, thinking he had perhaps seduced her senseless.

  No doubt she could have removed the silly grin off of his face with one well-placed word but he followed her with a bounce in his step and the thought that perhaps he could win her hand after all.

 

  The dragon did not run away. No matter how much she might wish to.

  Amelia slunk back into the ballroom, heading for the retiring room, and stared into the mirror in disbelief. That was her? Those wild eyes, mussed hair, reddened skin. Good Lord, anyone would take one look at her and simply know what had transpired in the garden with Jameson.

  She felt a budding anger begin at his expense; she doubted very much he looked as undone as she did. It was simply unfair how the female bore the consequences of clandestine trysts, especially when it was always the man’s idea in the first place!

  She put herself back together as best she could, hoping that a judicious use of her fan would hide the rest. She wound her way to her mother, scaring away any conversation with a ferocious look, and keeping as far from the lights as she could.

  She found her mother blessedly alone. “May we cut this night short, Mother? I do not feel myself.”

  “You do look peaked. Are you alright?”

  “Yes, but I would like to leave.”

  Her mother nodded, rising. “Robin and Jameson left but a few moments ago; they deserted us for their club.”

  Amelia could not help the sigh of relief that escaped her. She had not known how to maneuver her mother into leaving without informing him, nor how she could have born his company in the tight confines of the carriage had he decided to leave with them.

  Jameson had somehow upset her equilibrium, when no one since the miscreant had even come close.

  She did not want to face him and that infuriated her. Afraid of Jameson? Afraid of a little kiss in the moonlight on a romantic bridge over a trickling stream?

  She shook herself. Afraid was not the correct term. She was. . . She was. . .

  She didn’t know what she was. Not herself, certainly. Never could she remember being so addled before. The man was simply infuriating! How could he do this! And now, of all times!

  She had spent the last few weeks saving his honor and reputation. And this was how he thanked her for it. By accosting her in the garden.

  It was all the more infuriating that he was such a good kisser.

  Well, Amelia assumed he was a good kisser; she had little to compare it to. She had certainly enjoyed it more than the miscreant’s ministrations, but that was hardly an apt comparison. That kiss had been more about compromising her than seducing her. She had not felt any flutterings in her belly during that kiss.

  Jameson’s manhandling had not left her with fear or revulsion; she had felt a deplorable excitement as they struggled through the garden and had not been altogether unhappy at losing. It was no doubt one of those silly female reactions she had heretofore been free from.

  But there had been something horribly exciting in being physically manipulated so easily by a handsome gentleman one generally approved of.

  She did not approve of her reaction at all. She did not approve of Jameson’s actions whatsoever.

  He had come too far down this path for her to remain unsure of his sincerity. First his proposal, now his attempt at seducing her. She had spent far too many years maneuvering him to know that he was notoriously hard-headed. She had little hope of him listening to her repeated rejection of his suit. But if he was notoriously hard-headed, he was also easily distracted. She would simply have to find him a suitable distraction.

  If it also distracted her from thinking of his kiss, so much the better.

  Five