A Clandestine Courtship by Allison Lane

“Amelia easily refuted the one about an affair with Sir Richard, for he was in London when it supposedly took place – as I know from personal observation. Not a shred of evidence has ever supported the tales. They would have died years ago if judgmental harridans like that prune-faced Mrs. Bridwell didn’t keep them alive.”
    “You sound like you are smitten,” observed James.
    “Perhaps. Amelia is the sweetest girl I’ve ever met. But despite that delicate appearance, she is neither helpless nor gullible. I intend to see more of her.”
    “Be careful about raising expectations you cannot meet,” warned James. “Whatever my suspicions about her family, I do not want her hurt.”
    “I will keep an eye on him,” offered Edwin. “It will be no hardship. Caroline is a delightful young lady.”
    Harry choked. “Surely you jest. One cannot understand one word in ten that she says. What would you want with a pea-brained widgeon?”
    “Excitable, certainly. But never pea-brained. You probably rattled her,” said Edwin. “All that sparkling charm. But once she slows down so her tongue stops tripping over itself, she is quite knowing.”
    “Are you saying she thinks faster than she talks?” asked James, frowning.
    “It would seem so. Whether that is usual with her, I cannot say. But she was clearly wrought-up tonight. I promised to call on her tomorrow.”
    James turned his thoughts inward as his friends compared impressions of the Northrup sisters. He did not like this development at all. Mary was clearly plotting to marry off her sisters-in-law and would grab the first gentlemen to show interest. She might even stoop to compromising them.
    But they were determined – moonstruck, both of them. All he could do was accompany them whenever they called at Northfield and make sure that neither of the girls tried to draw her escort off alone. Which would complement his own plans nicely, he realized in satisfaction. He had not yet convinced Mary to look for John’s killer.
    A burst of heat at the prospect of seeing Mary again made him grimace. What was wrong with him? No matter how delectable she was, he could not afford to lose control. If she suspected his motives, she would never agree to help.
    Down, he ordered his raging body, but it ignored him.
    Again he shifted his position.
    Their confrontation had not gone as he had expected – starting with her vehement denial of an affair with John. He had believed her – and not because his heart had leaped with joy at her words. She had to have heard the rumors. They were too ubiquitous for her to remain ignorant. So the white face could only have been from fury that a former friend had turned on her. Or perhaps pain?
    But he thrust that thought aside. Pain would indicate stronger feelings than friendship – unless she was upset because he had accepted that she was dishonorable, while she had dismissed more dastardly tales against him.
    Yet she was far from the sweet innocent he remembered. Now that he was removed from proximity to that delectable body, he could think more clearly. She had succored John’s victims before her marriage. What had her father been thinking?
    He remembered Vicar Layton as a devoted parent and dedicated servant of the parish. Neither role was served by discussing sexual encounters with an innocent, especially involuntary ones – which cast new suspicions on her virtue. She might not have met with John, but he had heard tales of a suitor crying off.
    He stiffened. Consider all the facts. Was Mary a better actress than he had thought? John had not merely claimed an affair. He had offered evidence – a mark visible only to a lover. He would never have mentioned something that might be easily disproved. So he must have seen her naked.
    Pain clenched his stomach.
    He twisted facts. Mary’s voice reverberated in his head. There must be another explanation for John’s knowledge. If only he could think of it.
    His expression was growing