The Lord of the Highwaymen - Elizabeth Bramwell Page 0,16

with mortification.

The earl grinned.

“For once, Miss Willow and I are in agreement. Take the lead, and demand he worships you, oh Queen of the Nile!”

“Will you please stop with the theatrics?” said Lydia with an exasperated sigh, and Amelia took advantage of the brewing squabble to take her leave.

It was difficult to control the urge to stop and beg her friend to come with her like she was a foolish maiden on her way to meet her first beau. It was thrilling, terrifying, and utterly ridiculous all at the same time.

She remembered the days when she had first let down her skirts and had secretly hoped that the shy son of the local viscount thought of her as more than a friend. Her heart had broken the day her father had explained that Lord Haddington, while an excellent fellow, would never countenance a match between his heir and the daughter of a penniless squire. William, he’d said, was not even twenty and likely only in the throes of his first calf love.

Perhaps she’d been wrong to believe her father. However, she could never regret marrying her dear Randolph, or doubt that Lord Haddington would have been foolish indeed to permit his heir to marry anyone while still at University. She’d hardened her heart and ignored the pangs in her chest whenever she and William were together and had even managed to convince herself that there was nothing more than friendship between them.

Now the years were rolling back, and that flare of love she’d so ruthlessly squashed was being fed hope once again. It was all she could do to stop herself from running to the orangery with no care for propriety.

She barely made it back through the balcony doors before a pale-faced Pharaoh with badly drawn kohl ringing his eyes accosted her, demanding that she become his companion for the rest of the night.

“You are the Queen of Egypt, after all,” he said, as though this concluded the matter. “You can spend the evening on my arm.”

If he had been a portlier man, Amelia would have taken his imperious attitude as proof he was one of the royal dukes, if not Prince George himself, but she could not guess at the identity of the arrogant man beneath his elaborate crown and makeup.

She always missed Randolph in these moments, for he had known every living peer no matter their age of fortune. It was not a skill she had ever truly mastered, for she had always found that those of forgettable character were inevitably of forgettable face as well.

There are not enough interesting men in the world, she thought. Not enough men like William Haddington.

“I thank you, but my hand is already engaged for every set this evening,” she lied smoothly. “The goddess, Aphrodite, however, always enjoys sophisticated company, and surely a deity outranks a mere queen.”

The man hesitated, his gaze flickering across the ballroom to where the handsome lady in Grecian attire, quite possibly Lady Bessborough, was commanding the attention of numerous watchmen, harlequins, and—somewhat improbably—a pair of Catholic priests. He did not even take his leave before heading to the court surrounding Aphrodite in a bid to win her hand.

Amelia managed to squeeze past a few groups of people before she was accosted once again.

“Forgive me, Madam, but I must insist that you accompany me to the orangery for your own safety,” said a highwayman in a purple frock coat.

It was not William, but the invitation meant she was confident of the man’s identity.

His Grace, the Duke of Roehampton, William’s closest friend, as well as a dear acquaintance of her own.

She opened her fan, lavishly decorated with copies of the drawings in Egyptian tombs, and began to flutter it flirtatiously.

“I was sent to meet my secret protector by your companion of the road and was on my way to the orangery when you accosted me. Are you the one I was to meet, or are you detaining me for nefarious reasons of your own?”

The duke looked surprised for a moment and then stepped back so that he could execute a bow. “I am glad that my brother conveyed his message. I am shocked he left you to make such a perilous journey alone.”

“He wanted to spend time with the Blind Beak of Bow Street,” she replied, referencing the costume choice of Lydia.

He smirked. “That explains everything, then. Allow me to escort you for the rest of your journey. There are many nefarious characters on your path, and honor demands