One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)(14)

What she saw did not put her at ease.

Ashworth was enormous, in every respect—tall, broad, imposing. A dramatic scar sliced from his temple to his cheekbone. The blow that caused it must have narrowly missed his eye. But for all Ashworth had the look of a marauding pirate, she felt safer with him than with Bellamy. Despite his rakishly mussed hair, Mr. Bellamy’s clothing and manner were polished—so polished, they gave the impression of slickness. There was such a thing as a man too handsome to be trusted.

She drew a deep, steadying breath. “Here is what will occur. We will alert the house staff to awaken Lily and ask her to dress. By the time she comes down, I promise you, she will be prepared for the worst.”

Any woman, when awakened in the dead of night, prepared herself for the worst. How many times had Amelia stumbled downstairs, tripping over feet numb with dread, certain that disaster had befallen another of her loved ones? Only to discover it was Jack, staggering in from an evening spent carousing with his “friends.”

“When she comes down,” she continued, “I will speak with her alone. You gentlemen wait in Lord Harcliffe’s study, and I will inform Lily of her brother’s death.”

“Lady Amelia—”

She silenced Bellamy by raising an open palm. “It is not a task I relish, sir. But I will not leave it to the three of you. Forgive me for speaking frankly, but after the past quarter-hour’s conversation, I am unconvinced that any of you possess the sense or sensitivity to impart the news in any respectful fashion.”

“My lady, I must insist—”

“No, you must listen!” Her voice squeaked, and she pressed a hand to her belly. “You must understand, I have lived through the very experience that Lily is about to endure. And the three of you together, you’re a fearsome group. I’m not even certain how I’m able to stand before you without melting into the mist … except that this has been a most unconventional evening, and I’m no longer certain of much at all.”

Dear Lord, now she was babbling, and they were looking at her with that strange combination of pity and panic with which men regard a woman on the verge of hysterics.

Pull yourself together, Amelia.

“Please,” she said. “What I’m trying to say is, allow me to break the news delicately. If Lily gets one look at you, she’s going to instantly know—”

With a gentle creak, the door swung open behind her.

Amelia pivoted, meeting face-to-face not with a servant, as she’d anticipated, but with Lily Chatwick herself. For the first time in … oh, it must have been two years. Since Hugh’s funeral, perhaps. They’d been friends as girls—not the closest of friends, as Lily was a few years older. But after the fever that left Lily without hearing, they’d seen one another less and less. She did not come out in society often.

“Amelia?” Lily swept a lock of dark hair from her face. With her other hand, she clutched the neck of her dressing gown closed. “Why, Amelia d’Orsay, whatever are you doing here at this—” Her sleepy, dark-fringed eyes went to the men.

Amelia squeezed her hands into fists. Lily couldn’t have heard her remarks, she reminded herself. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to break the news gently.

“Oh, dear God.” Lily’s hand went to her throat. “Leo’s dead.”

“I knew it,” Lily said some time later, staring blankly at her folded hands. They sat in the parlor. A cup of brandy-laced tea rested on the table, untouched and long gone cold. “Somehow I just knew it, even before you arrived. I’d retired early. I was so very tired last night. But then I woke with a start not an hour later and haven’t been able to sleep since. I just knew he was gone.”

Amelia moved her chair closer to her friend’s. “I’m so sorry.” Such worthless, feeble words. But really, in such a situation, there was nothing helpful to be said.

“I wouldn’t have been able to believe it, had I not felt it in my own heart. As it is, I’ve been growing accustomed to the idea for several hours now. We’ve always known when the other was in danger. Because we are twins, I suspect. Our bond has always been close. During my illness, he took the mail coach all the way home from Oxford, even though no one had written him. I don’t know how I’ll—” Lily bent her head to her folded hands. “It’s just so hard to imagine existing without him, when I never have.”

Her slight shoulders shook as she cried, and Amelia smoothed the black plait of hair running down the grieving woman’s back. The casual observer would never have guessed that she and Leo were twins. Their appearances could not have been more different. Leo had golden-brown hair, bronzed skin—an aura of health and energy radiated from him. By contrast, Lily was fair and dark-haired, of serene and contemplative disposition. The moon to her brother’s sun. Amelia had heard it suggested, in gossipy settings, that the twin birth was a fortunate thing for their mother’s reputation—for no one would believe Leo and Lily to be children of the same father, had they not emerged from the womb within minutes of one another.

Amelia squeezed her friend’s shoulder lightly until Lily lifted her gaze. “It’s hard to imagine Leo gone, even for me. More than anyone in my acquaintance, he always seemed so … so alive. He will be greatly missed.” She gentled her touch, stroking reassuringly. “But you needn’t be anxious. For as many people as there were who loved Leo, there will be equally many eager to assist you, in any way.” She threw a sideways glance toward the doors that connected this parlor with the library. “Just in the other room, you have three of England’s most powerful men, each of them prepared to swim the Channel, if you asked it.”