She was suddenly filled with a desperate longing that threatened to overwhelm her good sense. Amalie admitted to herself if she ever did drum up the courage to cross Max’s path, it would not be because her friends wished it…it would be to mend the friendship she had long despaired might never be repaired. It was perhaps a foolish expectation that had remained in her heart for too long. And even more alarming, wasn’t it Max Amalie dreamed about when the nights had been lonely? Just perhaps her friends’ suggestion was not so foolish after all. They had only nudged at the desires she had deep in her heart, pushing them to the surface with shocking intensity.
Oh, Max, how do I dare approach you?
Chapter 2
Only a few hours after meeting with her friends, Amalie handed over her cloak to the butler in the receiving line of the Countess of Rushworth’s midnight ball. She greeted Bess, who was adorned in the most charming rose-colored gown with a very revealing decolletage, as she reached her. They chatted while they made their way down the stairs leading to the heart of the ball. Lords and ladies twirled with elegant vigor across the dance floor to the sensual strains of a waltz. Chatter and laughter floated on the air, and the champagne flowed freely.
Yet no surge of excitement raced in her veins. Amalie recalled the very first time she’d been sent to London for her come-out at seventeen years of age, how dazzled and awed she’d been by everything. Only a mere eight years had passed, but it felt like a lifetime.
“So,” Bess said, leaning closer. “Have you given our suggestion any other thoughts?”
“I have.”
“And?” her friend demanded, with an arch of her brow.
“I might…seek a reintroduction,” she said with a smile, knowing she was being mysterious.
Bess gasped and grabbed her gloved hand. “A reintroduction? Whenever did you meet Lord Kentwood, and why am I just hearing about this?”
Amalie looped her hand around her friend’s arm, ignoring the gentlemen giving her inviting smiles. So many of them had approached her with their scandalous proposals over the years, and she had rebuffed all their advances to their great frustration. She’d then developed a reputation of being unattainable…but also as being an exciting and exacting lover. As the speculation grew more lurid so did their conquests, and so did her indifference to their ridiculous pursuit.
At first, it had been tolerably amusing, but this season, all Amalie experienced was tedium and that frightening feeling of being alone in the world. “I…I have told you, my dear, Bess, of that encounter with the man in my bedchamber five years ago,” she said, a flush heating her face.
Bess's eyes widened in stunned surprise. “It was Lord Kentwood?”
“Yes. But at the time, he was simply Mr. Maximilian Langdon. A friend…a boy…a boy I loved with my entire heart.” It took so much to admit that truth, and even more courage to look Bess in the eye when she grounded them to a halt.
“Oh, Amalie, I am so sorry. You must have been so devastated when he walked away without a word.”
She had told her friend the entirety of the situation which surrounded her dreadful scandal, but she’d never revealed that the man in her room had been Max. “I suspect you’ve agreed with Jules, Thea, and Melinda that I should seduce the earl because of my slip of the tongue last week.” She took a deep breath. “I love you for thinking of me, Bess, and I admit it, I am frightfully lonely, terribly bored, and disenchanted with the frivolities of the season.” And perhaps life in general. Just as she had been last season, and the one before.
Despite supporting several charities and indulging in rousing hobbies—archery competitions, fishing, and painting—something was missing, and frustratingly she could not identify what she needed to fill that emptiness. The relationship with her parents were strained with little hopes of it being mended. Marriage was long off the cards for her, and she did not long for the state because Amalie understood the challenges of her situation. No gentleman worth his weight in wealth, connections, and standing would ask a woman with her tarnished reputation to be his wife.
Her well-meaning friends had encouraged her for years to select a lover from the suitable gentlemen of the ton. Many widows had such arrangements, including her friends. Though each entered an affaire de coeur for different reasons—including missing remembered pleasure, loneliness, and the need for financial security.
“I’ve known Max…Lord Kentwood has been back in town for a few months now, and I’ve been avoiding the events I thought he chose to attend.”
“Nonsense,” Bess said, her eyes flashing. “You should have told me before.”
“Perhaps,” she said, squeezing her friend’s hand slightly. “But I do believe I will seek to rekindle a friendship.”
There…she’d said it! A clash of raw fear and excitement filled her veins, the duality of the conflicting emotions making her heart pound. “One with kisses, perhaps…” she murmured on a light laugh.
At that moment, a ripple of gossip went through the crowd, and she turned to see the very devil they spoke of descending the stairs with Countess Rushworth’s son George, Viscount Bramwell. It was a rare occasion when one of that pair was mentioned in the scandal sheets without the other also being mentioned. Amalie idly wondered when Max had become as thick as thieves with the Viscount.
“Oh my,” Bess murmured admiringly, “He is quite handsome, isn’t he? And so frightfully appealing with all his knowledge of bed play!”
And it was that awareness of his alleged skills that had many women unfurling their fans and using them quite vigorously. Society had labeled him a Casanova and, from the ingénue to the most experienced courtesan, everyone in the ballroom seemed to want to slide between the sheets with the man!
His clothes were faultlessly tailored to his lean, graceful physique, and he cut quite a dashing figure in his black trousers, well-fitted matching jacket, and an exquisitely designed blue waistcoat. Midnight black hair complimented his lean, strong features, even Amalie had to admit he was a strikingly handsome man.
He was the sort of man any young lady of virtue should stay away from, but Lady Emily deliberately dropped her lace handkerchief as he approached.
She tittered and batted her lovely lashes at him when he picked it up and handed it to her. He held enormous appeal to the ladies because here was a man who thought wives should be pleasured…that such adventures should not be restricted to mistresses alone.
Max made the rounds, many ladies shamelessly approached the earl, and he seemed to indulge each one. Yet she could not tell from his expression whether he particularly enjoyed the attention or if he was bored. His expression was carefully neutral, and it occurred to her Lord Kentwood was merely being polite.
“Will you go to him?” Bess asked softly.
“There is a bevy of ladies around him,” she said with an astonished laugh. “Even the men are waylaying him. I cannot credit it.”
Bess leaned in closer. “I think perhaps his book is working for many. I’ve heard that Lady Shelton and her husband have been on very good terms of late, and he even gave his mistress of six years the boot! The rumors also say he is not looking to replace that mistress but devoted his romantic efforts towards his wife. How utterly delightful I think it all is!”