Why would she think of him at a moment like this? There should be no comparison.
A footman opened the door behind them, and Lottie’s earlier sense of foreboding returned with force. As if her wandering thoughts had summoned him, Lord Amesbury stood in the doorway in evening dress beside Lord Carlyle. Lord Bartlesby crossed the room to shake Carlyle’s hand, then greeted Amesbury with a stiff nod.
Her unease deepened when their hostess joined the men at the doorway, looking awfully pleased with herself, eyes darting between Amesbury and Lottie. This was a setup from the beginning.
Of course. It made sense now.
As the first hostess to get the Paper Doll Princess and Lord Amesbury in the same room—at her table, no less—Lady Bartlesby held the trump card of hot gossip. Their hostess winked at Lottie with a glittering diamond-hard smile, her earlier friendly facade nowhere in sight.
For a moment, Lottie was that awkward debutante again—a young woman who chose to run from London rather than endure the laughter of her peers. The gossips, led by tonight’s hostess, would feast for weeks on the loaded silence that fell over the room as the guests realized what was happening. Possible plans of action presented themselves. Leaving immediately, remaining silent, or simply pretending she wasn’t bright enough to grasp the situation might work but smacked of cowardice. One by one she rejected her options until only a single clear path remained. This time, Lord Amesbury was a victim of the circumstance as much as she. That put them on the same side of this war, so to speak.
Amesbury and Aunt Agatha wore twin expressions with hard eyes and tight lips. He didn’t exactly appear welcoming, but she’d have to act quickly and hope he played along.
As fast as the feeling of impotent panic arrived, it fled. This situation could be managed, thank you very much. She’d handled worse. If Lady Bartlesby intended to create drama, they would try their best to disappoint.
Donning her most enthusiastic smile, Lottie greeted the new arrivals with her hands held out, as if sure of her welcome. “Gentlemen, what a delight. I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon.”
Lord Carlyle bowed first. “Lovely as always, Lady Charlotte. I trust the rest of your trip to London was uneventful?”
“Thankfully, yes. I think we’ve all had enough dramatics to last for a good long while.” She raised a brow meaningfully at the men. Behind her friendly mask, Lottie counted to three on each inhale and then three again for the exhale as she waited to see if the gentlemen would cooperate with her ruse. If they appeared to be friends, there would be nothing to gossip about, now would there? It was only conflict that fed the chatty cats, and she would not give their hostess any more fodder to share over tea tomorrow. Even if it meant allying herself for a time with a man who waffled between hero and villain.
All eyes were on them. Amesbury looked panicked for a moment, as if on stage with no idea of his lines. No doubt trying to stall, he kissed her glove, claiming the top of her hand with the pressure. No polite air kisses for him. “A pleasure, Lady Charlotte. Your injuries seem tae be healing nicely. How fares your coachman?”
“He’s home in Westmorland recuperating, thank you for asking.” Their friendly exchange needed to appear authentic, as if she were entirely at ease in his company, so Lottie slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. He froze for an instant, then tucked her against his side. Gracious, there was a lot of him. The lapel of his coat sat at her eye level. Although his smile was easy when he spoke to her, his body was taut with tension. With any luck, they would appear as a united front as she addressed the room at large.
“On the way to London, my traveling party suffered a horrible accident with grave injury to my coachman,” she explained to the other guests. “Lords Carlyle and Amesbury were staying at the nearest inn and lent their aid with the situation.” Lottie patted Lord Amesbury’s arm for good measure. He was a solid wall of muscle in an evening coat, radiating heat beside her. Something under her skin began to hum.
The top of her head would fit right under his chin. Everywhere he was hard, she was soft. Under her clenched fingers, the tendons of his arm felt like warm steel. Lottie’s senses swam as she drank in his unique scent, with a trace of lemon reminiscent of her bath oil.
“Lady Charlotte is being modest.” Amesbury’s deep burr brought her back to the moment. “She sustained injuries yet bravely rode for help.” The sharp lines of his face softened when he smiled, making a shallow dimple play peekaboo beside the corner of his mouth. Somehow, she hadn’t noticed that dimple before now. But now she couldn’t unnotice it.
“How fortunate that you were there! Travel is such a chore these days.” Lady Bartlesby appeared nonplussed. The expression sent a thrill through Lottie. The lack of drama was undoubtedly a bitter disappointment, but it served her right.
A gong sounded, signaling the dinner hour. Lottie let Amesbury lead them into the dining room. Her skirts occasionally brushed against his pantaloons, making a sensual swishing sound of wool rubbing silk.
“Well done, love,” Agatha whispered as she passed.
It wasn’t a surprise to anyone that Lottie’s and Amesbury’s name cards were side by side on the long table, right in the middle, where everyone could keep an eye on their interaction. Now she and Amesbury needed to make it through dinner while
