“Oh, yes, indeed I do.” She quickly ran through her calendar and remembered the Bartons’ musicale on Tuesday, which she didn’t mind missing. The Barton daughters’ idea of singing brought a whole new meaning to self-inflicted torture. “Yes, I will be at home Tuesday night.”
He nodded. “Excellent. I shall call around eight, if that is acceptable to you.”
Amy told herself she was looking forward to William’s visit because she was relieved to finally receive the book she had been searching for, certainly not because she was anxious for a visit from his lordship.
CHAPTER 2
The next evening, Amy paced the deep-blue Aubusson carpet in the library of her family’s townhouse, awaiting the arrival of her betrothed.
Soon to be ex-betrothed.
As she strode back and forth, her gown whipping behind her as she turned, she mumbled to herself the words she wanted to say to St. Vincent. In her fist she clutched the anonymous note she’d received two days before, repeating to herself the words etched in her mind:
My Dear Lady Amy,
I find it imperative to inform you of your fiancé’s nefarious activities. Mr. Ronald St. Vincent has been involved in shipping, and in turn selling, opium to individuals who are unfortunately addicted to the drug.
His illegal activities have caused a great deal of harm to upstanding members of the community.
Sincerely,
A Friend
She’d done her own investigation. It had taken her only a short visit with one of her contacts in the criminal world to discover the truth of the mi
ssive, giving her the perfect reason to put an end to her betrothal.
Most young ladies of her rank would have had their father deal with the messy matter. However, she was not one to hide from her decisions or show anything but confidence. Instead of summoning Papa from London, she would do the dirty deed herself. Truth be known, she wasn’t fully convinced Papa wouldn’t try to dismiss the evidence she’d gathered and insist on proceeding with the wedding anyway.
Her insides roiled when Mr. Stevens, the night butler at the front door, entered the room. “My lady, Mr. St. Vincent has called.”
“Thank you, Stevens. Please show him in.”
She wiped her sweaty palms on her skirts, patted her hair, and raised her chin. She could do this.
St. Vincent entered, his hands extended. “My love. So very nice to see you. I always look forward to our visits.”
Why had she not noticed his false levity before? Or the fake smile? So many things about the man annoyed her now. Thank goodness she’d discovered his unsavory deeds before they married. Her stomach muscles tightened at the thought of being stuck with this man for the rest of her life.
She regarded him coolly. “Please have a seat, Mr. St. Vincent.”
He waved to the deep-red brocade settee. “After you, my love.” Again, the artificial smile. Admittedly, he was certainly not difficult to look at, with his sandy hair, warm chocolate-brown eyes, and the little dip in his chin. But his good looks were too perfect. Along with the smile. She shuddered thinking about how close she’d come to disaster.
She settled on the settee, and he sat alongside her. When he reached for her hand, she drew it away from him. “I wish to discuss something of great importance.”
“Anything, my dear.”
She stood, unable to sit close to him and say what needed to be said. He stood as well. She drew in a deep breath, faced him, and removed the ring he’d given her on their betrothal, an ostentatious sapphire-studded band that had belonged to his grandmother. His brows rose as she held it out to him.
“What? Do you not like the ring? I can get you another one.” His eyes shifted, and small beads of perspiration popped up on his forehead.
“No, I do not want another ring.” She stiffened her spine and sucked in a lungful of air. “I wish to break our engagement.”
His eyes grew wide. “I don’t understand.” Was that a lack of surprise in his voice, a bit of playacting? Had he guessed she’d discovered the truth? Did he know about the note?
“Let me see if I can say it differently so you do understand.” She tapped her chin. “I do not wish to marry you.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders. “You are overwrought and not making sense, Lady Amy. Perhaps I should have your cook prepare a tisane for you.”