Hero, Come Back (Cynster 9.50)

She laughed again. “No, not at all. Actually, she is due to come out this Season. My mother feared that if I died before then, it would put the family in mourning and my sister would have to put off her debut until next year. My parents hope to see her well-matched and heard rumors the Earl of Symmons was coming to London to look for a bride this spring. My passing would have put a terrible crimp in their plans.”

Jemmy dropped her hands and stared at her. He’d never heard anything so outrageous in his life. No wonder she didn’t believe in him—with such a family to look after her.

Across the room, an overburdened maid collided with a footman, and the vase she carried smashed to the floor. Lady Finch hurried into the fray, directing the mess to be cleared and soothing the flustered servants.

Jemmy rose and ran a hand through his hair. “First of all, I am going to put a stop to all this nonsense. Then you and I are going to—”

Her hand caught his arm. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“No. You cannot call this off. It is giving your mother a great deal of pleasure to put on this ball. Let her have her moment of glory.”

“But you cannot be wed. Not to anyone else but—” He stopped over the last fateful word. Me. His near confession caught his heart. Marry Amanda?

If someone had told him just two days earlier he was going to meet the woman of his dreams, let alone marry her, he would have scoffed at the notion as pure tomfoolery.

But now he understood how love happens. As his father would say, one moment there is merely a tiny seed, and then you turn around and something spectacular and unexpected has blossomed, seemingly out of nothing.

Nothing more than a wrong turn on a country lane. A storm that drove her to seek shelter. A morning ride to visit a friend. A bargain with a matchmaker.

A bargain he intended to see broken. Just as he intended to find a way to see Amanda live a long and happy life.

“Miss Smythe! Miss Smythe, where have you gone to?” his mother was calling.

“I’m here, my lady,” she replied. She leaned closer to Jemmy. “Do not disappoint her. For my sake.”

What could he do but agree when she turned her pleading gaze upon him? His heart melted, and if this was what Amanda wanted…but that didn’t mean he was going to let her be married off.

He caught her hand in his once again. “We’ll slip away just before midnight,” he told her. “There will be so many people coming and going, we’ll be able to elude our determined constable.”

“You’d do all that, risk so much for me?” she asked.

He nodded. “Until then,” he promised, pressing a quick kiss onto her fingertips.

“Jemmy, quit pestering Miss Smythe,” his mother said, crossing the room. As she passed the butler who had just arrived with a tea tray, she said, “Addison, tea! How perfect. Please put it in the music room and then find Mrs. Maguire for me. I want her opinion on Miss Smythe’s ball gown.” With the tray set aside and the butler dispatched, the lady turned her attention to Amanda. “Come along, my dear. Mrs. Hanley is here for your fitting. She might not be some fancy imported mantua maker, but I’d put her handiwork and taste up against the best Bond Street seamstress. I think you’ll find the gown she’s designed exquisite.”

“Mother, I—” Jemmy called after them.

Amanda swung around, her eyes wide with alarm and betrayal.

He had to put a stop to this nonsense—didn’t she see that? But one more pleading glance from her green eyes stopped him.

“What is it, Jemmy?” his mother snapped, her patience wearing thin. He suspected the old dragon had the day planned out to the

last second to see this wretched ball pulled off without a hitch.

Amanda shook her head, her lips forming two words. No, please.

“Jemmy, I haven’t all day,” his mother was saying.

“Yes, well, I wanted to say…that is, I wanted to ask…” He took a deep breath and spit out the first stray thought that came to mind. “I would like the honor of dancing with Miss Smythe in the opening set.”

“Then ask the gel and be done with it,” his mother said. “But one dance, and that is all you get.”

Amanda’s eyes sparkled and her mouth curved in a sly smile. “I would be honored, sir.”

“Bah! What nonsense,” Lady Finch said, waving her hand at her son. “Now go make yourself useful, Jemmy. Your father has wandered off again. Go see to it that he’s found and is reminded to be in attendance tomorrow night. I won’t have Lady Mitton spreading rumors again that I’ve nagged Lord Finch into exile.” With that, she had Amanda hustled into the music room where an impromptu dressmaker’s shop had been set up.