Living London - By Kristin Vayden Page 0,45

which flattered me. Though Morgan had nothing to be jealous over, it was intriguing to see the possessive nature in his response.

"Lord… Heath," I commented, nodding my head. His eyebrow rose slightly at my usage of his formal name rather than nickname I'd given him earlier.

"Good evening." Morgan said as he led me away and into the hall towards the cool night air.

****

Amelia was too controlled the next day when I went to visit her. Her sharp eyes seemed dulled, and her movements were too polite and precise. She was hurting, and as much as I told her that we might have jumped to conclusions concerning Arynna and Lord Heath, she refused to believe it.

"But what if… what if we were wrong and he was just trying to appease her? It makes sense," I offered. As much as Lord Rake annoyed me with his dark angel looks and overconfident smirk, I knew Amelia sincerely cared for him, and I was quite convinced he returned her affections.

"No." She hadn't moved from her opinion or her prim posture on the brocaded settee. "And," she added, some of the spark returning to her eyes, "if what he had implied to me at the park was true, how am I supposed to be his wife and watch him act the very same way in order to extract himself from all the 'unwanted' attentions? How is that any better? Even if he's flirting with them to get his own way, it's still flirting."

She had a good point. And I admired her backbone, or pluck as they called it. Lord Heath had his work cut out for him if he really wanted Amelia. But that was the way it should be. After all, the notorious rake that he was, he must have been accustomed to getting his own way with whomever he pursued. Amelia wasn't falling into his ranks as a besotted, simpering debutante.

Good for her. If he wanted her then he'd do something about it. Something far more than was in character. And I told Amelia such.

"You could be onto something there," she mused, eyeing past me and mulling over our conversation.

"Miss Amelia?" came her butler's voice from the doorway.

"Yes, Groves?"

"You have a delivery. Shall I bring it in?" He spoke with the same emotional detachment as Wains. The impulse to shake things up a bit to see if he'd react was overwhelming, but I squelched it, barely.

"Yes… what is it?" Amelia asked curiously.

"A box, miss."

"How very helpful, Groves," she remarked sarcastically.

He smirked — well, his face twitched ever so slightly as he left to retrieve the box. He returned and set it on the side table for Amelia. I bit back a grin.

"Roses, dozens of them," Amelia breathed, her features lit up like a Christmas tree for an instant before they clouded over like a summer thunderstorm. "From Lord Heath."

"Er, yes, he did say something about sending them to you when we talked last night," I added belatedly.

Her eyes flashed fire as she glared at the beautiful red hothouse roses. "So, he thinks he can buy my good graces, does he? From afar no less! Well, let's send a message back… don't you think? It's only polite." She grinned, and I was slightly afraid at the half-mad expression on her face.

"What were you, um, thinking?" I dared ask.

"Here." She handed me a rose. "Take all the petals off."

"What?"

"Take all the petals off." She drew out the words as if challenging my intelligence.

"And do what with them?"

"Give them back."

When we finished, the box was filled with demolished roses and the room smelled heavenly. Each flower had been dissected, its petals removed and its stem placed back into the box amongst the petals. "Groves?" Amelia called, dusting her hands on a handkerchief.

"Yes, miss?" He stood at attention in the doorway, a dubious expression barely discernable across his high brow.

"Please have this box delivered to the residence of Lord Heath immediately."

His expression remained bland except for the slight widening of his eyes. "Of course, miss. Was there a note to accompany your… delivery?"

"No," she replied, smiling. "A note will surely not be necessary."

As he left with the box, Amelia regained some more of her spark, and we drank tea while I told her of the heroics of the elder Dannberry brother, saving me from Lord Haymore. We hadn't spoken for long before Groves once again appeared in the doorway.

"Miss Amelia? You have a gentleman caller; are you at home?" He came over to her with a shining