To Tame A Lady (The Reluctant Bride Collection)

Robin arrived later than usual the next day, giving his friend plenty of time to suffer from the probable bingeing of the night before. He’d expected to find Jameson still in bed but was surprised to be informed that his lordship was in the library. He was even more surprised to find him sober and lacking the ubiquitous hangover.

  Jameson was pleased to see him. “I was afraid I’d lost more than one friend last night. Not many men would forgive me for making a fool of their sister.”

  Robin gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder and sat comfortably. “Ah, well. The consensus is she made a fool of you and you of yourself, so there’s not much to forgive. I do believe her reputation has gained though. There will be even more hot-headed fools trying to win the hand of the dragon.”

  Jameson’s face clouded over. He hated for her to think of him like that. He had not proposed for the challenge of it.

  “Then I’m glad you’re here, Rob. I’ve been thinking all night and I’ve come to two conclusions.”

  “That you’re an idiot and you don’t know how you’re going to get back into her good graces?”

  Jameson smiled. “Precisely. One thing is certain, I do want to get back into her good graces. I want to marry your sister, Robin.”

  Robin blinked and he couldn’t help but frown. “Why?”

  “You do your sister a disservice. She may not be the most beautiful swan in the pond but she’s deuced entertaining to be around. A man must always keep his wits about him or she’ll charge right over him. And she knows me, she’s fond of me, there are none of my sins to be glossed over. She knows me.”

  “Which could be one of the reasons she turned you flat, old chap.”

  Jameson grimaced. “A very valid point, which is why I did not drink myself to a stupor last night. Some of my vices will have to be lessened before I am worthy of more than just brotherly fondness.”

  “You’re also too flighty.”

  “I did not mean for this to turn into a cataloging of all my faults, old friend.”

  Robin said, “What I meant was you were but recently engaged to Miss Underwood. How does Amelia know you’ll actually last until the wedding?”

  “It’s true. How does an old bachelor give up his manhood without a little trepidation?”

  “Perhaps you’re not ready for marriage.”

  Jameson sighed. “I’m ready for it all to be over.”

 

  The pounding headache that had plagued Amelia since last night beat a steady cadence to Miss Underwood’s voice. Could she not be left in peace? Must she be the only voice of reason in all of London?

  Clarice cried, “He proposed to you. Now everyone will think he left me for you.”

  She held an embroidered handkerchief to her streaming eyes. Her tears were real, as was the emotion behind it. Maybe it wasn’t spurned love, but wounded pride hurt badly all the same.

  Amelia sighed. It wasn’t the poor girl’s fault she got entangled with Jameson. Very few escaped without damage.

  Amelia said, “Or they’ll think he was so devastated at losing you, he rushed right out to the first girl to replace the love he lost. It all depends on how you act. Personally, I would feign sympathy for him.”

  “But we know differently, don’t we.”

  “My dear, I don’t pretend to know how Jameson thinks. One guess is as good as another. He humiliated you and now he’s humiliated himself. Can that not be the end of it?”

  “I’m starting to believe that even if he did ask me again I would not accept.”

  Amelia rolled her eyes and murmured, “Praise God.”

  “He is too frivolous with my emotions.”

  What about my emotions, Amelia thought, and then remembered she was the dragon. She didn’t have emotions. Jameson was simply another refusal in a vast sea of proposals. But why did it feel as if her sturdy vessel was taking on water?

 

  Lady Beckham lifted her cheek for a kiss from her son and stared at Jameson. “I feel like I should banish you to your room without supper.”

  “I know. You probably should.”

  “How will you make this up to her? You’ve embarrassed her.”

  Robin popped a bite of toast into his mouth. “I’d guess you’ve wakened the sleeping dragon and if you had any sense at all, you’d run and hide, not chase after her some more.”

  Lady Beckham said, “Are you chasing after my daughter, Jameson?”

  “I would like to. If you have no objection.”

  “I have no objections, Jameson, but permission is traditionally asked of her guardian.”

  They turned toward Robin and he stared blankly at them. Then he sputtered, “Oh, I say. I’m not her guardian.”

  His mother said, “Yes, dear, you are.”

  “But I stay out of all that. If some hot-head wants her hand, he was to win it himself. I’m not going to get in the middle of it.”

  “Robin, dear, this isn’t some hot-head, this is Jameson. And he would like your permission to court Amelia.”

  Robin turned pink at his mother’s words. “I say, Mother.”

  Jameson said, “Robin, I would like permission to court your sister. I’m sure you are well aware that I can provide for her. And you know I would be too afraid to hurt her.”

  Lady Beckham pressed her lips together in disapproval.

  Jameson cleared his throat. “And of course I hold her in the highest esteem. In fact, I think we all agree she’s the only woman likely to keep me under control. And I may be the only man she can’t completely control.”

  Robin patted his forehead. “Oh, all right. But for God’s sake, don’t tell her I gave you permission. Last time I gave some knot-head permission she nearly tore my head off. Amelia prefers I stay out of these matters.”

  Jameson patted his friend on the back. “I hope you find a nice, sweet girl to settle down with, Rob.”

  He turned back to Lady Beckham. “Where is Amelia? Not hiding in her room. I can’t imagine her missing a chance to scream at me.”

  She shook her head. “She is out with Miss Underwood. Amelia thought it prudent to be seen together happy and carefree. They were to go shopping for hats and gloves.”

  Jameson turned to Robin. “Would you accompany me? I do not care to see both those women alone and unprotected.”

  “Are you quite sure this is a good idea, old chap?”

  “No. I’m almost certain this is a very bad idea but it must be done. And perhaps having this out in public will be all for the better.”

  Lady Beckham looked slightly alarmed. “Have you even seen Miss Underwood since the wedding was called off? And now you have proposed to another lady quite publicly?”

  Robin shook his head. “Amelia is not going to like this.”

  “No. But Amelia is not going to like anything I do for a while, I suppose. If you will distract Miss Underwood from any injurious intentions toward my person I will handle your sister.”

  Robin stood with a sigh, pecking his mother on the cheek, and dutifully following his friend. He said, “Lord save us both.”

 

  Jameson and Robin toured the shops women were likely to frequent. Whispers, laughter, and starch looks followed them and Jameson was more and more grateful for his steady friend. Had he been alone on this mission he had no doubt the women would have attacked, pecking and squawking until he’d wished he’d never been born.

  And then, when they finally found Amelia and Miss Underwood at the milliner’s, he wished heartily he had listened to his friend. This really had not been a good idea.

  Miss Underwood gasped when she saw him.

  Amelia stared at him with open hostility. “You must indeed be the stupidest man in all of England.”

  She turned her ire to her brother. “And you. What were you thinking of letting him out today of all days?”

  Robin manfully ignored his sister, stepping to Miss Underwood’s side and offering his arm. “May I escort you home, Miss Underwood? I fear bystanders will not be saf
e during this battle.”

  Unthinking, she took his arm, allowing him to draw her away. Her skin was pale and Robin steered her gently.

  Amelia watched them walk away with lips tightly pursed. Then she turned away from Jameson and began making her way in the opposite direction.

  He followed for a while, silently allowing her to ignore him as best she could. It was hard doing, as both men and women stopped jerkily when they saw who followed her. Jameson could see her shoulders stiffening and her hands clenching into tight balls before she would remember and loosen them again. Judging by the startled expressions of innocent bystanders when they met her eye, he guessed he was glad she was still ignoring him.

  He knew it would not last, though. Ignoring was not how Amelia dealt with problems. Slicing them in two was more her style.

  The shops changed from milliners to bakers, the clientele from haute to housewives on errands. They still gasped when they saw her expression and stayed well out of her path, though recognition no longer dawned in their eyes.

  Jameson wondered if they were to walk all the way home, and if that was indeed her plan if he should start steering her in the right direction.

  What she needed was a place she could lay into him, screaming like a fishwife until it was all out of her system and she felt in control again. Until she could see the humor of it.

  They couldn’t do that at either of their homes; no servant, no matter how loyal or devoted, could keep Jameson’s coming tongue-lashing to themselves. And finding a spot sufficiently empty in London was too dangerous.

  But he did know a spot that was so loud she could scream without anyone hearing her, including him. And the more he thought of it the better he liked it. He gathered the courage to pick up his pace and made his way to her side.

  “I don’t think all this walking is going to help, Amelia. What you need is a good place to let it all out and I have just the ticket, but I will need to call a hansom. I promise to take you where you can scream at me all you like without anyone hearing that foul mouth of yours.”

  His attempt at humor was perhaps a tad too early. But despite a reddening in her face and a worrisome tightening of her fists, she nodded.

  He called the first hansom he could find, not caring that the condition was exceedingly poor nor that the driver was more than a little inebriated, and ushered her in.

  The stench hit him like a fist and he wordlessly handed her his handkerchief as he settled in the opposite seat. He breathed shallowly through his mouth and watched Amelia as she held the cloth to her face. Her grey eyes shot daggers at him.

  She took a breath to begin her tirade but she coughed and gagged into the handkerchief.

  He said, “My dear, I am sorry for the stench. I would recommend waiting until we have reached our destination.”

  He did not think it prudent, and wouldn’t Amelia be so proud of his judicious use of that word, to mention the stench was likely to be far worse where they were headed.

  They arrived and Jameson escorted her down, the slap of shouting men, bellowing animals, and putrid air made her stumble and he kept hold of her arm. Even he, who had been expecting the chaos and stench of the cattle market, was taken aback.

  He looked for a spot they would be safe from being trampled, from either man or beast, and kept a tight grip on Amelia. Ladies did not come to this hell-hole; gentleman very rarely. They weren’t likely to be seen by anyone who mattered and keeping them safe was his first priority.

  He would have grinned if he’d dared open his mouth. Quite obviously his first priority was not keeping them safe or he would never have brought her here.

  When he found as safe a spot as he could, he smiled at her, opening his arms wide and inviting her to begin.

  Her eyes showed incomprehension for a moment and then light dawned. A slight smile began to shine in her eyes, the only part of her face not covered by his handkerchief, and he couldn’t help but answer it with his own.

  And then the laughter died in her eyes and she began screaming at him.

  The sound of the market was indeed deafening and he was grateful he couldn’t hear her. Her angry, one-handed gestures were words enough. The angry timbre to her voice was all he could hear through the handkerchief, and then only sometimes. He had been right; this place was exactly what she’d needed. He would enjoy it while it lasted since he doubted he would ever get her here again.

  He watched her in admiration. Never could he imagine any other woman with such fire in her, such passion. If she didn’t look as if she wanted to kill him with her bare hands he would kiss her until all that passion was funneled into a different outlet entirely.

  She lasted far longer than he’d expected with this stench. Her grievances must have been great indeed; it had been a trying few weeks for her, after all. But she eventually wound down and they stood there staring at each other. Her eyes had lost that diabolical madness and her fists no longer clenched. All in all, a worthwhile outing.

  They had been mostly ignored during her diatribe but one man had stood there watching them nearly the whole time. He sidled up to Jameson and bellowed, “I’ll give you ₤25 for her.”

  Amelia turned to look at him and Jameson nearly laughed aloud. He bellowed back, “I couldn’t possibly let her go for less than a hundred.”

  “She’s fancy, I’ll give you that, but looks to me she’s got a temper on her.”

  Amelia looked at the man with all the contempt she could muster, which was not inconsiderable, and turned away, making her way back to the street and a hopefully waiting hansom.

  Jameson followed her, waving the man off when he shouted, “What, you’re not selling her then?”

  Their hansom was still there, waiting for them. Jameson had little doubt the driver had slept through the stench and din and none had bothered to wake him, he and the carriage were in that bad of condition. Amelia balked when she saw Jameson heading toward it.

  “I will not get back in that hansom.”

  Her voice was rough and he wondered if tomorrow she would have any voice at all. He said, “It is better than staying here, isn’t it? I believe we will leave it worse than we found it, and that is quite an accomplishment.”

  She sighed but entered the hansom. “I hate you, Jameson. Truly, and with just cause, hate you.”

  “Yes, my dear. But you must admit my valet will hate me more once he sees what I’ve done to these togs.”

  She eyed his trousers and smiled. “Yes. He will.”

 

  The next morning, Amelia awoke with her throat on fire and her voice a croak. She sent for tea and remained in bed.

  Yesterday, when Jameson had taken her to the cattle market, she had nearly laughed aloud at the proud look on his face. As if he had brought her the greatest treasure in all the world. And perhaps he had. She had needed that release; she felt quite a bit more cheerful this morning.

  She would not think of the dress or the shoes it had cost her; she had ordered them thrown away and not to be brought inside under any circumstance. Nor would she recall the indignity of having to undress down to her unmentionables right outside the servant’s entrance behind a hastily erected screen. She had entered the servants’ quarters only a handful of times and did not think her slinking through it smelling so ripe was the best way of keeping anybody happy. Herself included.

  But she couldn’t for the life of her wish their little adventure undone. Despite the smell, despite the damage done to both her clothing and standing with the servants, despite her aching throat, she could not but smile at the memory.

  She was trying to maintain her anger at the rapscallion; he had proposed to her on a dance floor. But he made it deuced hard to. She couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her whenever she thought of their adventure.

  She remembered Jameson had said that she knew him, that she would have no hopes dashed as any other woman who dared to marry him. She knew his faults only too well, although he could on occasion surprise even her. She
knew when he needed reining in and when he needed to make an ass of himself.

  But the opposite held just as true. He knew all her faults, her eccentricities, her bad tempers. He even knew how to get her out of them.

  She smiled again. Then frowned. Then smiled.

  There was a happy little place in her heart that she didn’t want to look at too closely. To know that someone knew her that well and still liked her, knew all the dark recesses that were hidden from public view and still chose her? Not her money, not her connections, but her.

  And she knew his. All his dark secrets, all his fears. And she still chose him day after day. Perhaps not as a husband, because the idea was just silly, but she still had chosen him as her friend through more drama than either of them would care to admit. He was right, it was heady knowing someone knew you and still loved you.

  She had always loved Jameson. She had grown up trailing him and Robin around and couldn’t remember a time without him. But for the first time she felt that perhaps there could be something more than sisterly love. The thought of marrying him was not quite so distasteful this morning.

  Yesterday she had seen a future with a man who knew her so well he took her to a cattle market to let her scream at him.

  A cattle market!

  Wasn’t that just the most imbecilic thing she had ever heard of.

  But the damn smile just would not go away and she spent the day in as good a mood as she’d ever been.

 

  After a full day to herself, she felt sufficiently recovered to resume her normal activities. Her throat and her mood had so improved that she happily received callers and she greeted the brothers Underwood with a smile. In the few short weeks since the fiasco, she had become the problem solver for their little family. She had become quite used to giving opinions and advice on varying subjects and had enjoyed being listened to so intently. The brothers Underwood were quite happy not to have any decision at all to worry about; it went without saying that Amelia enjoyed her role just as much.

  And while they might have come to harangue her over Jameson’s proposal and what it meant for Clarice, she doubted it. They weren’t emotionally sophisticated enough for that.

  Amelia invited them to sit but they shook heads in unison.

  “Lady Amelia, we have something to ask you.”

  “Something that might surprise you.”

  “But we hope you will not be too surprised.”

  “Did anyone bring smelling salts?”

  Amelia chuckled. “I can not imagine you have anything so surprising to ask I will require smelling salts. You did come to me with a question about breeding dogs.”

  They nodded. “She does have an iron stomach.”

  “Can’t ask for much more in a wife.”

  “Well, don’t just blurt it out!”

  “You’ve got to ask first!”

  Amelia sat back. This was a surprise. She’d had no proposals in weeks and had hardly expected one to come from this corner. She watched in fascination as they began.

  “Lady Amelia, we know that your exalted station is far above ours.”

  “Yet we hope that the warm feelings we hold for you makes that irrelevant.”

  “We can provide a respectable home, and you may be assured that all our efforts will go toward your happiness.”

  “We most humbly ask for your hand in marriage.” And they all bowed to her.

  Amelia silently looked from one brother to another, wrapping her brain around this new development, then said, “I just want to be clear, which one of you is proposing?”

  They all blinked as if coming out of a trance, then looked between themselves. “That’s a good question.”

  “Hadn’t thought of it before.”

  “There is only one of her and four of us.”

  “She seems like more.”

  They looked back at Amelia, perhaps making sure there was indeed only one, then huddled together.

  “Well, which one of us?”

  “Maybe the eldest?”

  One of the boys held a hand to his chest and looked quite startled. Amelia could only assume he was the eldest.

  “What if we draw straws?”

  “I second the straws!”

  They turned to her in unison.

  “You wouldn’t have four straws of varying lengths available, would you?”

  “Or pencils, sticks, bits of something?”

  “Dice?”

  “Dice could work.”

  Amelia had always thought her proposals had been the byproduct of too much drink and a lucky throw of the dice. Perhaps she had been flattering herself and it had always been an unlucky throw of the dice that landed her prospective bridegrooms at her feet. It was perhaps even more entertaining watching it play out in front of her. It was also slightly more insulting.

  But it had always been her policy to let each proposal play itself out; one never knew the direction it would go and she had rarely been disappointed at the absurdity.

  She wasn’t sure any proposal could ever top this one.

  She rose, heading to a small writing desk. “I shall cut paper into varying degrees of lengths. Will that work?”

  Four blonde heads nodded. “Capital, capital.”

  “Quite sporting of you.”

  “Don’t know why they call you the dragon, really. I don’t feel as if my life is in the balance.”

  “No, me neither. Perhaps we’ve tamed the dragon, eh?”

  Amelia turned at the last and found them nodding between themselves, looking surprised and self-satisfied at the same time.

  She couldn’t quite decide if she thought this funny or exhausting. They were right, though. She was going much too easy on them.

  But she had spent so much time in their company since the fiasco she couldn’t find it in herself to play rough. They were just quite too amusing and simple to really make it an adventure.

  She sighed. “Gentlemen. I have no intention of marrying any or all of you. We may continue with the game or you may leave now, the only suitors to not feel my burn or bite. I leave it to your discretion.”

  They looked between themselves. “Not going to marry us?”

  “Not any of us? I thought with four our odds would have been better.”

  “Were we playing a game? Straws, was it?”

  “I was looking forward to telling everyone we had tamed the dragon. What a coup that would have been, eh?”

  Amelia found her fighting spirit rise on the last statement and she stared down the boy as only an earl’s daughter could. It took a moment for him to notice she had singled him out, but he took a step back and the color drained from his face when he saw her full attention focused on him.

  She said, “Would it have been? Would you have liked to have gone to your club as heroes, collected on the bet, been patted on the back by greater men than yourselves?” She walked slowly around them and they all turned to follow, not wanting her to get behind them.

  “And my dowry? What a grand time you would have had spending my money on waistcoats, to be sure. Do you think I would gladly hand over my money to you four? Do you think you could have spent it with no input from me?”

  She placed her face inches from one pale, sweaty face. She said softly, “Do you think it likely I would turn into a sweet, biddable wife after the magic wedding ceremony? Or do you think instead that months down the road you would find you had indeed made a deal with the devil? Think carefully. Do you really want to tame me? Do you really think you could?”

  The poor boy opened his mouth and a squeak fell out. The others shifted toward him, their hands reaching out to comfort him, perhaps catch him if he fainted. At least they were not leaving the one she had singled out to hang. They were all in this together.

  They took a collective step back and she let them. She stared into the boy’s eyes, not blinking. It was rather like staring down a dog, showing who was in charge, who had the power. Who had the biggest teeth. In this case, there
was no contest and both players knew it. He seemed to shrink in on himself and the others supported him as they continued to take slow steps backward.

  They fumbled at the door but still said not a word as she continued to stare down the poor boy. When they finally made it out and line of sight was broken, she continued to stare at the spot he had been.

  She could not find any amusement in this proposal. No laughter bubbled out of her, no triumph filled her from beating a worthy opponent. She felt tired.

  Nine years ago she’d been targeted by a fortune hunter. And every proposal since, she had imagined it was him she was beating into dust. He was now nameless, placeless. To threaten an earl’s daughter was stupidity itself. She doubted he would ever set foot in England again. And still she hated him.

  But the brother Underwood she had just shaken had been nothing like him. No small part of him had the meanness she despised. Oh, he was selfish, no doubt. But not mean.

  No, she felt no triumph in this victory.

  She felt drained. She felt beaten.

  She walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind her. And even though the sun still shone, she went to her room, laying wearily on the bed, and slept until morning.

  Seven