“My lady?”
“The truth, and all of it without exception.”
“But…” What should she say?
“Do you think me a fool? I know you are no dear friend of Diana’s. You have somehow gotten my son, my daughter, and now me involved in your havey cavey schemes. I will know the truth of it now, or I shall stop this carriage right here, toss you into the street, and be done with you completely. Do not think I won’t.”
Amber believed her. Lady Byrn was livid, and Amber was out of convenient daydreams to fill in the silence.
Oh, who was she kidding? Her fictions weren’t daydreams. They were lies, and she had been telling them to herself and everyone else for so very, very long. And now she was well and truly caught.
Chapter Sixteen
Elliott damned himself for a fool. He’d spent the day doing a dozen important things. He’d handled a letter from his steward regarding the management of their family estate. He’d met with members of his political party and had drinks with members of the opposition. Then he’d attended balls and danced with girls he might marry, all while thinking about Amber.
No matter what he did, she was in his thoughts. The image of her, the smell of her, and the sound of her laugh. He thought about her words and the feel of her body pressed against his. And when he cursed himself for thinking so carnally, his mind wandered to her solution with Baron Easterly. He thought of her jewelry and wondered who sported designs from her hand.
When the whispers about her identity as Thisbe Gold reached his ears, he finally had an excuse to see her. One that had him using his key to slip into Diana’s dark house. He tiptoed upstairs and pressed his ear to Amber’s bedroom. When he heard the unmistakable sound of tears, he knocked as quietly as could be managed, then slipped inside.
He heard her sit up with a gasp and was quick to whisper. “It’s me, Elliott. I came to see if you are all right.”
He heard her blow out a relieved breath as she lit a candle. The warm glow filled the space, and he was able to see her face clearly. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her skin was blotchy, but she held her chin high.
“What are you doing here, Elliott?”
He wanted to wrap her in his arms. He wanted to hold her as she sobbed out her troubles so that he could fix everything for her. But he was already well beyond the bounds of propriety just for sneaking into her room.
“I heard about what happened at the theater.” He took a step forward and offered her his handkerchief. “What can I do?”
She took it and wiped her eyes. He used the time to sit down at the base of her bed. He would not leave her when she was this upset.
“Sometimes, a woman just needs to cry. There is nothing to fix, no one to punish, and nothing to say. Unless you mean to chastise me for being stupid.”
Elliott frowned. “You are not stupid. I am hard-pressed to find a smarter woman.”
“Oh, there are quite a few who are cleverer than I,” she said dryly. “Your mother, for one.”
A cold chill ran down his spine. “What has she done?”
Amber shrugged, and he was momentarily distracted by the shift of her breasts beneath the high-necked nightrail. “She has been clever, Elliott. She knows I am not Diana’s dear friend.”
“Did Diana say something?”
She shook her head. “Mr. Walsh said something, and though she covered, she was smart enough to know it was the truth.”
“I will set him straight,” Elliott growled. He was startled by the violence in his own voice. She was, too, because she pulled back from him with wide eyes.
“He was right,” she said firmly. “I am Thisbe Gold.”
“You are Amber Gohar,” he said clearly. “And I will challenge anyone who says differently.”
She threw up her hands. “Then you might as well draw a pistol on me because I told her the truth. I told her who I am and that you needed me for your resolution to help the veterans.”
He held his breath. “Anything else?” Did she speak of how he had kissed her or that he had asked her to be his mistress? Had she told his mother of the shameful way he had treated her?
“I told her I make jewelry.” Her lips curved. “I offered to make the peacock I designed for her, and she became very interested in that.”
“That is no surprise,” he said as the clench in his belly eased. “Be sure that she pays you a fair price. She will try to—”
“I don’t need your advice on how to get paid.” Her tone was tart and angry, and he flushed at her words. He was completely in the wrong here. He shouldn’t have tried to make her his mistress, he shouldn’t have brought her into his family to be harassed by his mother, and he definitely shouldn’t be here in her bedroom. Yet, he couldn’t make himself leave.
“Why were you crying?”
She leaned back against the headboard. “Have you ever had a dream come true only to find it was nothing like you expected?”
He frowned. “As a boy, I wanted to swim the channel only to discover that the water is really cold. I barely got two feet before coming back.”
She smiled. “Why did you want to swim the Channel?”
He tried to remember, but it was so long ago. “I thought it would be fun to swim to France.” He squeezed her ankle through the coverlet. “But I don’t think that’s what you meant.”
“In a way, it is. I have always dreamed of dancing among the ton. Of being one of you, of meeting a handsome prince, and falling desperately in love.”
“That’s still possible, I suppose—”
“I am among you, Elliott, and it’s nothing like I thought.” She looked up at him, her eyes large and dark in the dim light. “It’s hard.”
She didn’t need to explain more. He knew how difficult it was to move through the ton, especially as an unmarried woman. He had heard his sister Gwen complain often of petty cruelties and vicious gossip, and she had been born to her position. “I will be more public in your support. Perhaps if I take you to a ball tomorrow—”
“No,” she said softly. “Your family has already given me more than I deserve. You wanted me to make a brooch. We should go tomorrow—”
“You deserve respect. You deserve to enjoy yourself without being harassed. You deserve to dance with your prince and fall desperately in love.” His words were vehement. He hesitated, but somehow the question came out anyway. “And have you found someone? It isn’t Mr. Walsh, is it?”
Her lips curved. “That drunkard? No. But Mr. Jupp seems nice.”
He was. A sober poet of a man. Nothing objectionable, and in fact, they might have a great deal in common. Elliott hated him. It was irrational. He wanted Amber for himself, and everyone else be damned. But that wasn’t what was best for her, and so he forced himself to stand up.
“I should not be in here.”
“Is it always so mercenary?” she asked abruptly. “Does no one fall in love?”
“Scores fall in and out of love all the time,” he said. “But none marry.” Then honesty forced him to admit the truth. “There are a few love matches every Season.”