Jilted By A Rogue (Jilted Brides Trilogy Book 3) Page 2

  “I’ve had the worst year,” she admitted, “and I’d like to escape London and start fresh in a new spot.”

  Amelia paused, and Miss Hastings said, “Please continue. Confess it all so there are no surprises between us.”

  “First off, I had a four-year understanding with my brother’s best friend.”

  “An understanding—toward marriage?”

  “Yes. We thought he’d propose, but he didn’t. He met someone last summer and fell madly in love. He married her instead.”

  “I’ll despise him forever then,” Miss Hastings said. “Tell me she was ugly and horrid.”

  “No. She was beautiful and sweet.”

  “Then I’ll despise her forever too.”

  Amelia laughed. “After I was tossed over, my brother became engaged, and it collapsed too. He shipped out to the Mediterranean, and he barely had time to say goodbye.”

  “And then your mother died.”

  “Yes, and I had to deal with it on my own. It was terribly difficult.”

  She didn’t add the most humiliating details, about how she’d been forlorn and grieving, how—to cheer herself—she’d nearly eloped with a stranger after the funeral.

  While she was swept up in the debacle, it had been heady and thrilling, and her dissolute acquaintances had egged her on. They’d encouraged her bad behavior, and she’d reveled in it.

  Of course it had swiftly crumbled. She hadn’t been able to dance fast enough to run from the despair that had been crushing her. When Mr. Cartwright had jilted her, she’d dodged a bullet. She realized that now.

  What if she’d actually gone to Scotland with him? What might have happened?

  The myriad of disasters that could have arisen were alarming.

  “It’s occurred to me,” she said, “that I’ll probably never wed. I have to cease wishing for what will never transpire.”

  “You’re not that old. You’re hardly destined to remain a spinster.”

  “I’m plenty old, and I don’t want to tarry in London, hoping some fellow notices me. I want to live with my brother. I want to start over in Gibraltar.”

  Miss Hastings studied Amelia again, her keen scrutiny digging deep, then she shrugged. “Can you be ready to depart on Thursday? It’s in three days.”

  Amelia blanched. “Three? Well…ah…yes, I suppose I can.”

  “Then I suppose you’re hired.”

  Miss Hastings had decided so quickly that Amelia felt dizzy.

  “Really? I’m hired?”

  “Yes, and don’t make me regret it.”

  “I won’t. I swear.”

  Miss Hastings stood, indicating the interview was concluded. “I’ll send you a letter this afternoon. It will explain what you should bring and what you can’t.”

  “Perfect.”

  “And I’ll provide the directions to the ship. I’ll meet you there. The tide turns at eleven in the morning. We have to be on board by then, with our belongings stowed.”

  “All right.”

  “You’re allowed two traveling trunks.”

  “I can manage that.” Amelia’s mind was racing, trying to deduce how a woman packed her entire life into two small trunks.

  “If you have any questions, write me a note. Don’t stop by. I won’t be here much.”

  “I won’t have any questions.”

  “Good. I like you more by the second.”

  Miss Hastings walked to the door and opened it. Amelia rose and followed her over.

  “I’ll see you Thursday,” Amelia said.

  “Don’t be late.”

  “I won’t be.”

  Amelia strolled out, her posture erect, her bearing poised, but once she was outside, she fell against the wall of the building. She took several frantic breaths, as if she hadn’t inhaled the whole time she’d been with Miss Hastings.

  She grinned and gazed up at the sky.

  “I’m going to Gibraltar,” she murmured to the clouds. Then she spoke the words into her hand and cast them up and onto the wind to carry them south. “Do you hear me, Evan? I’m coming. I’ll be there very soon.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Amelia marched down the cobbled street, and she was so happy she could barely keep from twirling in merry circles.

  So far, Gibraltar seemed perfect. It was exotic and foreign and wonderfully thrilling. Of course she’d just debarked from their ship two hours earlier, so she might be wrong, but she didn’t think so.

  The sky was so blue, the sun so bright. Colors were more intense, the world glowing in vibrant shades of pink, green, and red. There were flowers everywhere, trailing over railings and growing in pots.

  Miss Hastings and her sister, Laura, were at the hotel, content to spend the hottest part of the afternoon in the shade. Amelia had been too excited to rest and mope. They had arrived! How could she not venture out immediately?

  She couldn’t wait to investigate her surroundings.

  The locals retired in the afternoon, so it was impossible to glean information as to Evan’s whereabouts. Public offices would open again at five o’clock, after the heat of the day had waned, and she would inquire then.

  She was a tad lost, but she didn’t care. Once she decided to return to the hotel, she need only head for the harbor. She could see it from every vantage point, so there was no reason to panic. She would stroll and gape like the tourist she was—until she was too exhausted to continue.

  After the weeks on the ship, it was refreshing to stand on solid ground. She should have worn a bonnet though. In her haste to flee their stifling inn and—if she was being honest—to escape Miss Hastings, she’d rushed out without it.

  The sun was too daunting to not wear a bonnet, and it was quickly dawning on her that her London wardrobe, especially her black mourning attire, was completely inappropriate for the tropical climate.

  All of her gowns had high necklines, dark colors, and long sleeves, and they were sewn from warm, heavy fabric. Her first order of business would be to purchase new clothes in lighter shades and materials. How did a woman cool down in such heat?

  She was meandering down a quiet lane, with streets winding up the hill where the houses were bigger and grander. She supposed they’d officially be called villas. She hoped during her sojourn, she would be invited to visit one of them. She was already picturing herself loafing on a verandah and staring out at the ocean.

  Suddenly, she heard voices, male voices—British voices—and the tone was cheery and enthused. There was clapping and jests, and she walked toward the sound, not worried about being alone. She was twenty-three years old and hardly needed a chaperone dogging her heels.

  She rounded a corner and stumbled on a barn that had to be part of the army garrison. There was a corral, with several soldiers leaned on the wooden slats. They were watching a man work with a horse.

  The soldiers were teasing the man, tossing out good-natured insults and offering wagers as to whether he could ride the horse without being thrown to the dirt.

  She huddled in the shadows, observing them with a sense of relief and pleasure. These were the sort of men she knew well, the sort of men around whom she’d been raised. Her father had been a sailor. Her brother was a sailor. The chairs at their dining table had always been filled with the same type of active, robust young fellows.

  Their presence increased her perception of having come to the right place. It would be very satisfying to host a supper party for them.

  The man in the corral was quite something. About thirty, with a handsome face, black hair, and blue eyes, he was arresting and dynamic in a thoroughly splendid way. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a lanky physique, and he glided by with the grace of a dancer or an athlete.

  He was a soldier, but behaving as if he were a native. He was clad in the white trousers of his uniform, but that was it. His chest was bare, his feet too, and clearly, he often tarried in the sun. His skin was bronzed a beautiful ho
ney color.

  At strutting about nearly naked, he was unabashed and unconcerned. It seemed a normal state for him, as if he frequently stripped off his clothes. Since they were from a country where people buttoned up from chin to toe, his dishabille was so un-British. She wanted to cluck her tongue with dismay, but she was actually jealous. She’d love to shed a few of her heavy garments too.

  If there was a single defect on his smooth, flawless torso, it was a jagged scar on his back and arm, as if he’d been slashed by a saber. The wound was old and healed, but she hated to see that he’d once been maimed. She wished she could wave a magic wand and have the injury vanish.

  There was a water trough by the fence, and he led the horse to it, letting the animal drink. Then he dunked his head into the water too. As he stood, it careened down his chest. His hair was long and tied with a strip of leather. He tugged the strip away, the dark locks swirling over his shoulders as if he were a feral savage.

  He murmured a comment in the horse’s ear. The animal nestled closer, as if mesmerized by the words, then the man stepped to its side and leapt onto its back. It tensed, and he spoke softly to it again.

  It visibly relaxed, then trotted around the corral as if it was the tamest creature on Earth. The man moved with it, as if they were melded together. He hadn’t been pitched into the dirt, so the onlookers were either disappointed or delighted, depending on their wager.

  One of them muttered, “I shouldn’t ever bet against him. Not when there’s a horse involved.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” another said, sounding disgruntled.

  The man on the horse grinned pompously, as if he were a king or a black prince who’d proved them to be lesser mortals. His imperious gaze swept over them, and it also landed on Amelia where she was still loitering in the shadows.

  On odd spark of recognition flared between them, as if the universe was making note of the encounter, then it passed as swiftly as it had flickered.

  He dismounted, and the spectators surrounded him, which she took as her cue to sneak away. She’d likely meet all of them eventually, but she wasn’t so brash that she would bluster up and introduce herself.

  Miss Hastings would. But not Amelia.

  Amelia had learned quite a bit about her companion, having slyly pried out information about her past. Miss Hastings was wild and unrestrained, and she pushed herself into situations without thinking.

  She’d mostly been raised by Lord Denby’s brother who’d been a London gambler and dandy. She’d had an unusual upbringing, intermittent schooling, irregular chaperones, and scant supervision.

  She knew the rules of Polite Society, but chose not to follow them, so she was an exhausting person, and Amelia would be glad to separate from her.

  Miss Hastings’s sister, Laura, was another matter though. Initially, Miss Hastings had claimed Laura was a handful who required constant minding, but it was a bizarre assessment.

  The girl was a tiny sprite who never talked and who floated through the world as if she were invisible. Miss Hastings insisted she could speak if she felt like it, that there was no impediment to prevent it, but she remained silent simply to draw attention to herself.

  Amelia suspected the poor child was merely a keen observer of life who huddled in the corner and fretted over what her sister might do next. She rarely let her sister out of her sight, as if she’d been abandoned before and was afraid she might be again.

  It would be a blessing to deliver the pair to Lord Denby—and good riddance.

  She’d ogled the horse trainer much too avidly, and she tiptoed away and sauntered down the pretty lane again, figuring it was time to return to the hotel, then proceed to the naval office to garner what details she could about Evan.

  She intended to surprise him, and she was positive he’d be happy that she’d come. He wouldn’t have wanted her to mourn alone in England.

  Very quickly, she decided she was walking in circles. Or perhaps all the lush balconies looked the same. She’d tried to head toward the harbor, but none of the streets took her there. After awhile, she wound up by the barn where the handsome equestrian had performed his tricks.

  The soldiers were gone, the place empty, which was frustrating. She could have asked a British gentleman to escort her through the labyrinth. She spun to continue on, and she ran right into the man in question. The oaf was so light on his feet that he’d snuck up without her noticing.

  He’d put on his clothes, although the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a swath of chest she found much too intriguing. His hair was pulled back with that strip of leather again, and he’d donned black boots that covered him to his knees. They were scuffed and muddy and needed polishing.

  He was grinning a devil’s grin, his blue eyes twinkling with merriment and conceit. He exuded the confidence of a lothario who could easily overwhelm a gullible female.

  Bedchamber eyes…

  It was a phrase she’d once heard an elderly auntie whisper to her mother when Amelia was little. A renowned actor had passed by in a carriage, and the two women had tittered with shock and amusement.

  At the time, Amelia hadn’t understood what the words indicated, but she understood now. He was very impertinent, as if he was visually undressing her, and she wished she’d been carrying a parasol. She’d have whacked him on the arm and told him to behave.

  When she’d seen him earlier, she’d thought he was tall, but with him standing beside her, she assumed he was six feet at least, and with her being only five-foot-four in her slippers, he towered over her.

  He hadn’t moved away, so he was close enough that her skirt twined around his legs. She could have stepped back to create some space between them, but she was certain it would simply fan his ego. She stayed where she was.

  “Were you looking for me?” he asked.

  “Not you precisely, but if you could show me the correct route to my hotel, I’d be eternally grateful.”

  “You’re a Londoner,” he said, stating the obvious.

  “How can you tell?”

  “You have the accent.”

  “I didn’t realize Londoners had an accent.”

  “They do.” His lazy gaze wandered down her torso. “And you’re wearing the wrong clothes.”

  “It’s all I brought.”

  “You just arrived?”

  “A few hours ago.”

  “You’ll need to find a competent seamstress or you’ll be constantly fainting from the heat.”

  “I’m not the fainting type.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He gestured to the street. “May I be your guide? Will I suffice?”

  She snorted with annoyance. “You’re a cheeky devil, aren’t you?”

  “I can be.”

  “Well, you can rein in your marvelous allure. It won’t work on me.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Quite sure. I grew up with men like you, so I’m immune.”

  He pretended to be insulted. “Men like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know exactly. I shouldn’t have to spell it out.”

  “I can’t help myself. Charm oozes out of me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re too vain by half.”

  “Why did you really come back?” His expression became sly. “Were you hoping to catch me alone?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m lost, and I wasn’t aware I was near this barn again until I staggered up to it.”

  “I saw you watching me.”

  “Believe me, it wasn’t intentional. I stumbled on you by accident.”

  “But you were so fascinated you had to dawdle. I’m amazing. You can admit it.”

  “Honestly! You might be the most conceited person I’ve ever met.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “You seemed to be very proficient with that horse you were riding. Are you a cavalry officer?”

  “Yes. I was raised around h
orses. They’re my stock and trade.”

  “It looked as if you were talking to it.”

  “I always chat with the animals I train. How else would they realize what I’m requesting?”

  “It also looked as if he understood you.”

  “Yes, I speak their language.”

  She stared at him, thinking he was joking, but he wasn’t. He truly presumed he’d spoken to it. Perhaps he had. She didn’t know much about animals, so who was she to have an opinion?

  “Do you like horses?” he asked. “Shall we ride together someday?”

  “I’m not an equestrian.”

  “Isn’t every British girl an equestrian? Didn’t you have lessons when you were young?”

  “I fell off and broke my arm.”

  “Your father didn’t make you climb back on?”

  “No, but he was a sailor, so he was rarely home. It was just my mother, and I almost gave her an apoplexy. My lessons were abruptly cancelled.”

  He sighed dramatically. “If you don’t like horses, I’m sorry to report that we have nothing in common. Why am I bothering with you?”

  “Are they your life?”

  “Yes. I like them better than people. They never disappoint me.”

  It was her turn to gesture to the street. “May we go? I have to get to my hotel.”

  “Is your husband waiting for you? If so, I’m stunned that he let you traipse off by yourself. You shouldn’t.”

  “I’m not married.”

  “You shouldn’t wander.”

  “I’m used to taking care of myself. I haven’t had a nanny in many years.”

  “But if you went missing, who would worry about you?”

  “Probably no one.”

  “That’s the saddest comment I’ve ever heard.”

  She tsked with irritation. “I shouldn’t have said no one. My brother would miss me terribly.”

  “Good to know.” He nodded. “What brings you to Gibraltar? Is it your brother? Is he stationed here?”

  “Yes, but he’s a sailor, so he’s likely not in port at the moment.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Evan Boyle? Are you acquainted with him?”