Page 84 of His Spirited Lady
Richard wiggled his toes and fingers as much as he dared before checking his knees and elbow, then his neck, and finally his jaw. The click in that joint concerned him, but a quick swipe of his tongue told him all of his teeth were there, were stable enough to stay in place, and he wasn’t bleeding.
“There is no way Amelia is marrying him.”
“Ye gods,” Richard groaned without lifting his head. “Do you only have one volume?” He straightened his arm and raised his middle finger. “I was outside a brothel, not in one.” His index finger. “Haven’t been in…months.” His thumb. “I’m not drunk today.” He lifted himself to his elbows. “And of course Amelia isn’t marrying me. You’ve known that since the beginning, Fletcher.” He swung over so he could sit on the mattress before cradling his chin and wriggling his jaw in earnest. “Which of you hit me?”
“He did,” Oliver grumbled. “But only because he reached you first. And don’t change the subject, either of you.” He dragged a chair across the floor. “This was a ruse?”
“I didn’t know until it was too late to stop them.” Drake’s chair squeaked as he dropped into it.
Richard swore they were making as much noise as possible to torture him. “I told her to ask you, and she wouldn’t do it.”
“Because I had enough sense to tell her no.” Fletcher squeaked his chair again.
“Because she couldn’t afford you.” It had been one of the first jokes Amelia made on purpose, but he took pleasure in twisting the knife a bit. Mr. High and Mighty with the Squeaky Chair was an employee. “And I told her no, too.”
“And then?” Oliver twitched his fingers like he wanted to pull the story free.
“And then Augustus fell ill, and Ethan Raymond was an arse, and Fiona Allen was a flirt, and Amelia…” He drew a deep breath. Everything stopped at her feet. “Before I knew it, they were reading the banns, and I was turning down a house, and we were…here.”
That was as much as he was going to say. No one needed to know about braces, split skirts, and a wicked sense of humor. Or that her taste buds were a wonder and her tongue drove him mad. Or that her heart was as large as her imagination—and her ambition was bigger than the two combined.
Or that he’d never eat another apple again.
“Drake, would you please go tell Jasper we’ve found Richard and that he’s unharmed—mostly?”
The chair protested again when the man stood. “Of course. There’s no sense of going to more trouble or expense than he already has.”
“God, that man is a prick,” Richard groused as the door closed. He didn’t care if Fletcher could hear him. “And can’t you afford well-made chairs?”
“You only dislike him because Amelia doesn’t,” Oliver said. “But he seems to have a genuine distrust of you.”
“Likely because she threatened to let me ruin her so she could stay on the shelf and make whiskey for the rest of her life.”
Oliver’s mouth fell open. “That’s the daftest thing I’ve ever heard. Tell me you didn’t—”
“I’m engaged, not stupid.” Richard looked down his nose. There was no reason for anyone to know how close he’d come. “By the time Augustus, you, and Warren got through with me, there wouldn’t have been anything left for Fletcher’s axe.”
Besides, Amelia would be wasted on a shelf, always on display but never touched.
Oliver snorted an agreement as he rubbed his forehead. “You scared us to death, Rich.”
“I told you I was working. I sent you a contract—a damned good one.” He rose from the bed, pulling his shirt free as he went. It was torn from where he’d hit the pavement, and it smelled of the street.
“Which took half a day, according to Bolding.” Oliver swept his hand toward the door. “I get here to find the house empty, no liquor, no ink, and my library covered in ruined paper. Warren has people walking up and down the Thames looking for your corpse.”
“He’s likely stopped that since I saw Fiona.” He checked his torso in the mirror. He had a few minor scrapes, and he’d likely have some colorful bruises. Especially on his jaw. Other than that, he looked unscathed. “I’m sure—”
“Dammit, Richard! That is not the point. Did you have no consideration for your family?” Oliver banged a cosmetic pot on the dressing table. “That’s for your bruises. Thea thought you might have been in a scrape.”
“She’s very kind, your wife,” Richard muttered as he used his reflection to apply the cream as far as he could reach.
“She likes you.”
“It’s easy to see why you never stopped loving her.” Richard winced as he pulled a clean shirt over his head.
“Rich—”
“Every time he calls Thea mother, I think of how much Julia was looking forward to that.” He shoved his shirt into his trousers and reached for the buttons. “Do you remember that, Ol?”
