Agatha headed toward the door. “Welcome, Lord Amesbury. Lottie, I’ll be back shortly. I need refreshment stronger than tea, and Dawson moved my brandy decanter again.” She left the door to the hall open to observe proprieties.
Amesbury watched her go, then turned to Lottie. “Am I interrupting?” He held up a brown wrapped parcel. “I brought you something, but I can come back later.”
It seemed too great a task to sit up and play her part in drawing room etiquette, so Lottie stayed where she was, in her unladylike sprawl. She waved the letter in the air and said, “Montague played his hand, and I might be outmatched.”
Raising a brow, Amesbury took a seat beside her on the sofa, setting the parcel aside. “You, outmatched? I can’t believe that. What has he done?” He eyed the mangled paper as if it might burst into flames at any moment.
The vote of confidence soothed her emotional turmoil somewhat. “I have to figure out something, and fast.” Straightening, she smoothed her hair, tucking an escaped curl behind her ear. After pacing and ranting, she likely looked a mess. “I’ll read it aloud. Since you have made yourself unavailable—I refuse to see him, and Dawson has denied him entrance multiple times, on my orders—I must carry out our plans without your assistance. Our engagement announcement will appear in Friday’s edition of the Times. If you wish input on our nuptials, you must deign to see me in person. Your future husband—he’s signed it James, but I’ve been calling him more colorful names.”
Amesbury exhaled with a great sigh, leaning back on the sofa beside her. “You may have tae catch me up. Are you two engaged? Were you?”
“Like I told you before, his father and mine are friends. They proposed the match, and I flatly declined, back before I came to London.”
A maid arrived with a tea cart, and Amesbury waved for Lottie to sit back. Ignoring etiquette entirely, he poured her a cup, then one for himself. “Two sugars, right? That’s how you took it at the inn.”
Lottie cradled the delicate teacup and stared down at the liquid. He’d paid attention to how she liked her tea, and at the moment, that was the sweetest thing she could remember anyone doing for her. “Thank you. I can’t believe you remembered.”
Amesbury blew on his beverage and waved for her to continue her tale. “Carry on. The earl arranged the match, and you refused.”
“Yes. There was a big row until he finally agreed to let me come to London to find a husband, with one stipulation. I have until Parliament convenes in November. If I don’t find someone suitable by then, I have to accept Montague.”
He furrowed his brow and swallowed. “But Montague seems tae think there’s a different timeline.”
“Exactly. Also, I told Montague in no uncertain terms that I’d never marry him. And apparently, Father never passed along my original answer to the match. Montague is pushing forward, and Father is too far away to handle any of this in a timely manner. It’s a disaster.”
“Manipulative bastard.” Amesbury ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry for the language.”
Lottie shrugged. “Think nothing of it. Had you arrived five minutes earlier, you would have heard far worse.”
“He has the earl’s permission. Can he force you?”
“Father can certainly try to pressure me, but I’m of age. I refuse to marry Montague. Suffice it to say, he showed his true colors, and I found the shade did not suit me. My concern at this moment is more for exiting the immediate situation and then handling whatever underhanded dealings my father and his friend have been up to. We had an agreement, and by accepting the match, Father has broken that deal.”
Sighing, Amesbury shook his head. “What can I do?”
The fact that he’d offered to help in any way made her smile. “I bet you didn’t know agreeing to be my friend would involve all this, did you? I don’t know what to do. Every option I think of ends in scandal, shame, or a lifetime of dealing with that man.”
“You’re a better person than I. The plans I’ve considered in the last few minutes all end with a body disposal,” Amesbury said.
Her laugh felt wonderful after a day of darker emotions. “Do all Scotsmen have this homicidal bent?”
He grinned, and a bit of hope speared her. As allies went, this giant man was a good one, if only to lift her spirits. When his expression turned serious, she could practically see the wheels turning in his head.
“You have an idea. What is it?” She tilted her head toward him, and he met her halfway, with mere inches of sofa between them.
“How far are you willing tae go tae get rid of Montague?” he asked, and his low voice felt like a caress.
Lord, his eyes were blue. The thought distracted her for a moment, sending a fizzing sensation loose in her chest. They’d been closer than this on the balcony but not by much. Memories of their near kiss and then watching him disrobe from her window heated that fizzy feeling into a warmth settling low within her. Friends probably weren’t supposed to think of one another that way, but with the memories replaying and him so close, Lottie was having a hard time shoving the emotions back in place. “What are you thinking?”
“Montague can’t publish an engagement announcement tae you if you’re already promised tae someone else.” He grinned, bringing the dimple out.
Lottie blinked, connecting his suggestion to the situation. “You? You’re asking me to marry you?” Granted, she’d instigated friendship, and she might have just been admiring his dimple, but marrying him was a bit of a stretch. Not an abhorrent thought, oddly enough, but not the answer she’d expected
