"Juliana," he gasped softly.
She turned and stepped forward, her hair glinting the palest blond.
It wasn't Juliana.
"Lord Stafford!" Lady Amanda's cheeks flushed bright red. She swiftly jerked her dress up to cover herself, but not before he glimpsed an oddly shaped birthmark on her left breast. "What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" Had he entered the wrong room? What had happened to Juliana? "Fix your clothes, will you?"
"I—I cannot!"
She was clutching her bodice for dear life, unwilling to let go in order to button her dress. Vaguely wondering how she'd managed to unbutton it in the first place, James stalked across the room to fasten it for her.
The door opened and closed again. "What are you doing here?" the Duke of Castleton asked in an exceedingly stuffy manner.
The ass. "Buttoning the lady's dress," James spat, stating the obvious. "What are you doing here?" The paper-wrapped roses tucked under one arm, his fingers awkwardly worked up Lady Amanda's spine as quickly as possible.
But not quickly enough. Before he was anywhere near finishing—before Castleton could even open his mouth to answer James's question—the door flew open once more, and a flood of people poured in.
Led by Lord Occlestone.
"How dare you preach morality to the House of Lords, Stafford."
James's fingers fell from Lady Amanda's buttons, and the roses fell, too. He scooped them up. "This isn't what it looks like."
Occlestone's squarish nose went into the air. He'd never looked more like a pig. "I doubt the lady's father will agree."
"My father is here?" Lady Amanda squealed.
"Lord Wolverston is looking for you. I shall fetch him forthwith."
"Please don't," she said quickly, but he was already gone.
The onlookers turned as one to watch him, then broke out in excited whispers.
"Gracious me," Lady Amanda breathed, slowly turning to face James. "What an unpleasant man."
The woman was a master of understatement. Unpleasant, indeed. James hadn't missed the smirk on the man's face. Occlestone was enjoying this tiny bit of revenge.
And unfortunately, the revenge could turn out to be far more than tiny.
Lady Amanda's gaze darted about the whispering crowd. "What are we going to do?" she asked in a low, panicked tone.
"Nothing. There is nothing we can do." His instincts said to run. But escape was impossible. Alerted by Occlestone, Lady Hartley's guests were arriving in droves, filling the doorway, cramming the room. He could only be grateful his mother and aunts weren't among them. So far, anyway. Perhaps they'd all come down with the sniffles and gone home.
A long velvet curtain swished behind him, and he turned, shocked to see Juliana step from behind it. "What the devil is going on here?" he asked.
Her gaze swept the fascinated bystanders, then settled on him as though they were the only ones there. "I'm so sorry." She did look sorry, not that that did any good. "We'd planned for Lady Amanda to be discovered with the duke."
James swung to Castleton in disbelief. "You were party to this? You willingly—"
"Yes," Castleton interrupted stiffly, but before he could explain anything, more people streamed into the room—Cornelia and her sisters among them, damnation—as Lord Wolverston arrived with a roar.
"Stafford, you will pay for this!"
James's stomach sank. He'd never been formally introduced to Amanda's father—in fact, he'd never even laid eyes on the man until a few minutes earlier. But he wasn't surprised to find that Wolverston knew his name. Occlestone would have supplied him with all the lurid details as the two of them made their way from the tent to the library.
He should have run.
Although he was no taller than his offspring, Lord Wolverston was commanding in his fury. "You will wed my daughter in place of Lord Malmsey. Next Saturday, as planned."
A buzz filled the room. Gasps of surprise and astonished whispers. It seemed Lady Amanda's betrothal had been a well-kept secret.
"No!" she cried. "This is all a mistake!"
Her father turned to her, his jaw clenched. "A serious mistake indeed, young lady." He swung back to James. "I'll expect you at Wolverston House at noon with a special license."
James's gaze flicked to his horrified mother before he nodded. There was nothing else he could do. Having been witnessed buttoning Lady Amanda's dress at an event attended by half of the ton, he had no choice but to comply or lose all honor.
"What if Baron Malmsey still wants her?" someone shouted over the babble. "Will you deprive him of his betrothed bride?"
"I would never go back on my word." Lord Wolverston craned his neck, searching the crowd. "Malmsey!" he bellowed. "Do you still wish to wed my disgraced daughter?"
Someone pushed Lord Malmsey forward. "I—I—" he sputtered. A meek man to begin with, he seemed to have shrunk into himself. "I—"
"The baron doesn't want her," Wolverston said.
Well, of course he didn't. He wanted Lady Frances.
"She must wed the earl," Wolverston concluded, suddenly sounding less discontented. In fact, if the man were possessed of a more pleasant demeanor, James suspected he'd have looked positively delighted.
"Please, Father!" Lady Amanda begged. "This isn't fair! Father, you must listen! You must reconsider—"
"There will be no reconsidering." Lord Wolverston grabbed her by the arm, making her wince. "We're leaving."
"Please, Father!" she wailed as he dragged her through the crush. "Pleeeease!"
It was a wail James feared he would hear the rest of his life.
Literally.
FORTY-TWO
AS LADY Hartley's guests followed the Wolverstons from the room like rats mesmerized by a piper—except in this case they were riveted by Amanda's dramatic pleadings—Juliana watched Lady Stafford push through them in the other direction.
"James!" she cried, throwing her arms around him.
He held her for a few seconds, but then extricated himself. "Please go, Mother. Take Aunt Aurelia and Aunt Bedelia back to the tent. I'll talk to you in
