Amelia arrived at Genevieve's townhouse feeling uncharacteristically low. The brisk walk here, which she'd hoped would clear her mind, had only made her angrier.
Genevieve would help. She had to. Amelia repeated this to herself as she climbed the townhouse steps and knocked.
"Miss Ashford!" The butler opened the door with a bow, and Amelia was swept inside. "Miss Worthington is expecting you."
The drawing room was a riot of colors and fabrics, bright and cheerful, sunlight streamed in through the windows and bounced off the colorful upholstery. There wasn't a single inch of wall that wasn't covered in some sort of wallpaper or motif. One time Amelia counted 5 different patterns from birds to reeds, to geometric shapes on one wall alone. That didn't even count the ceiling. Amelia drew in a breath, feeling the warmth lift some of the weight from her shoulders. But that moment of relief vanished the instant she saw him.
Sebastian Sinclair, Viscount Allendale, lounged comfortably in one of Genevieve's armchairs. He looked infuriatingly at ease, one ankle resting lazily over his knee, a glass of something undoubtedly expensive in hand. His gaze snapped to Amelia, and recognition sparked in his dark eyes. Then, to her utter mortification, he smiled.
"Well, well, it's you from earlier," he drawled, rising to his feet with an air of lazy amusement. "Twice in one day. Should I be flattered, or should I begin to fear for my safety?"
Amelia's stomach dropped, but she lifted her chin, refusing to let him see her discomfort. "Lord Allendale," she said tightly. "How fortunate for you to have so little to occupy your time that you must haunt my steps."
Genevieve, who had been watching with clear delight, clapped her hands together. "Oh, this is far better than I imagined! You two have clearly already met."
Amelia turned sharply toward her friend. "What did you imagine exactly?"
"Well," Genevieve replied, utterly unrepentant. "I thought the two of you might get on splendidly. Or at least provide me with a very entertaining afternoon. Sebastian recounted a very fun encounter he had with a mystery woman on the street earlier. From the way he described her, I guessed it might have been you. Miss Ashford is her name, Sebastian. Amelia to her dearest friends like me. But I doubt you are quite there yet."
"I'm thrilled to know I am now a source of your amusement," Amelia muttered.
Sebastian chuckled, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. "I must say, I do not think I have ever been spoken to with such… vigor. It is quite refreshing."
"Then clearly you keep poor company," Amelia snapped before she could stop herself.
Genevieve let out a peal of laughter. "I adore you both. Now, Amelia, do sit. Your note sounded of something urgent, I dare say Lord Allendale might prove useful in complicated matters."
Amelia turned her glare on Genevieve, her cheeks burning. "I doubt that very much."
Sebastian, for his part, looked nothing but amused as he resumed his seat. "And yet, Miss Ashford, here we are."
Amelia closed her eyes briefly, praying for patience. She sank into the chair Genevieve had indicated, though every muscle in her body remained tense. She clasped her hands together tightly in her lap, her mind racing, knowing full well she was about to say far too much in front of a man she scarcely knew.
Sebastian, for his part, was silent as he studied her, his lazy posture betraying nothing of his thoughts. If he had been amused earlier, it seemed the novelty had worn off. His expression was unreadable now, save for the faint glint of interest in his dark eyes.
Genevieve perched on the edge of the sofa across from Amelia, her bright demeanor a stark contrast to the heavy knot in Amelia's chest. "Now, tell me everything, Amelia. You look like a kettle on the verge of boiling over. And if you don't, I shall simply start guessing, and you know how outlandish my guesses can be. You are going to become a pirate. You are pregnant with the King's love child-"
"It's my father. He… is dead." Amelia exhaled slowly.
Genevieve's expression sobered immediately. "Oh, Amelia, I'm so sorry. When you said complication I didn't realize it was this. But what happened?"
Sebastian's gaze sharpened slightly, though he said nothing.
Amelia tightened her grip on her gloves. "He was killed, murdered, outside a brothel, a very bad one if I am to understand," she said softly, the scandal of it landing heavily in the bright, cheerful room. "The circumstances are as shameful as you might imagine, and the debts he left behind are beyond anything I can begin to comprehend."
Genevieve's mouth fell open, though she quickly recovered. "Surely someone is arranging this for you… your solicitor?"
Amelia's laugh was bitter. "No one. I have been to the solicitor, and he dismissed me outright. Apparently, my being unmarried and a woman makes me wholly incapable of managing the situation."
Sebastian shifted at this, though still he said nothing.
"And that is not the worst of it," Amelia continued. "William Thornton holds the majority of my father's debts, and he has made his intentions very clear. If the debts are not settled within two weeks, he will claim Charlotte's dowry."
Sebastian leaned back slightly in his chair. Ashford…Henry Ashford. The name was familiar enough, dredged from the murkier recesses of his memory. His father's cohort, of course, a man whose penchant for vice could make even the late Viscount Allendale look restrained. Gaming houses, illicit dealings, women… Ashford's reputation had been that of a man without limits or shame, a cautionary tale among those entrenched in London's seedier circles.
And now, the consequences of such a life sat before him, wrapped in the tightly controlled composure of Amelia Ashford. He studied her carefully, noting the way her shoulders tensed with the effort of remaining upright, the faint tremor in her hand as she reached for her tea. Sebastian could imagine the household she had grown up in, its volatile chaos, the shadows of neglect. He felt a flicker of something uncomfortably close to empathy. He'd grown up surrounded by whispers, too.
But one thing tugged at his thoughts, a detail that didn't sit right. Why Charlotte? Of the two sisters, Amelia was the eldest, the natural candidate for marriage. If William Thornton wanted to claim the family's fortune through marriage, why would he not press his claim on her? It made little sense, unless, of course, there was something about Amelia's situation that she hadn't disclosed. Something that rendered her… unfit, in Thornton's eyes.
He folded his hands in his lap, masking his unease with a detached calm. "So, Thornton has made it clear he will claim Charlotte unless the debt is paid for her dowry," he said, though his thoughts continued to churn. But why Charlotte, and not you?
Genevieve gasped, sitting up straighter. "Marry her? Without her constent? How is that even legal?"
"It seems Mr. Thornton has little regard for legality," Amelia replied bitterly. "And I have no one to stand up to him. I have decided to send Charlotte to Aunt Margaret in Bath for a time. She is too unwell, to delicate, to know the full truth of our circumstances."
"And you?" Genevieve asked softly.
"I will remain here to figure out how to stop this."
Amelia stared at her hands, embarrassed to have laid bare so much of her trouble. She had come here for help, but now the telling of it made her feel exposed, vulnerable.
"Well," Genevieve said suddenly, straightening as though she had been struck by inspiration. "We must formulate a plan."
"Genevieve—"
"No arguments," Genevieve interrupted, holding up a hand. "You cannot do this alone, Amelia, no matter how capable you think you are. And before you protest, I have already decided to help you. Now, let us think this through. The first order of business is finding out exactly how much debt this William Thornton holds. It is no use fighting shadows."
Amelia opened her mouth to protest, but Genevieve barreled on. "We shall also need someone who can learn Thornton's movements, someone with connections, a bad enough reputation that it wouldn't be out of the ordinary, someone who can get into these gaming establishments. And…" She paused dramatically, turning to Sebastian with a wicked smile. "I know just the man for the job."
Sebastian, who had been listening silently up to this point, looked sharply at Genevieve. "Absolutely not."
Genevieve blinked at him innocently. "I haven't asked you anything yet, Lord Allendale."
"I know that tone, Genevieve, and I know where this is going," Sebastian replied, his voice edged with irritation. "You know full well I am leaving London. I have neither the time nor the inclination to involve myself in someone else's scandal."
Amelia flushed, the heat rising to her cheeks. "I did not ask for your involvement, my lord. Nor would I accept it, if offered."
Sebastian's gaze snapped to her, one brow arching in what looked suspiciously like amusement. "You have a great deal of pride for someone in such desperate circumstances, Miss Ashford."
"And you have a great deal of arrogance for someone so determined to be useless," Amelia shot back.
Genevieve clapped her hands together. "Oh, I do love this. But enough sparring, both of you. Sebastian, you will help her."
"I can't," he said. His words hung in the air. He turned to face them, his jaw tight. "I'm not blind to her situation, Genevieve. But I'm no hero. Involving myself will only make things worse."
He wasn't blind to Amelia Ashford, not in the slightest. A man would have to be insensible not to notice her. There was a quiet, almost defiant grace to her. Her beauty wasn't the sort that demanded attention, yet it held it nonetheless, those stormy sea-glass eyes, that unruly sweep of blonde hair she clearly attempted (and failed) to keep pinned in place. And then there was her mouth, which seemed perpetually poised on the edge of either reprimand or rebellion. He could think of hundreds of better uses for her mouth than sparring with him on everything.
Her loveliness wasn't the problem. It was the fire beneath it, the determination in her gaze, the way she squared her shoulders like a woman prepared to face the world alone, even as it bared its teeth at her. That kind of resilience had a way of unsettling a man, especially one who had spent years perfecting the art of keeping others at arm's length.
Sebastian exhaled through his nose, willing himself to remember why he had no intention of getting involved. Amelia's troubles were precisely the kind that snared men like him—complicated, dangerous, laced with the potential for scandal. And yet…
And yet, despite the warning bells clamoring in his head, he couldn't seem to look away.
Genevieve, damn her, must have sensed it. Her gaze flicked toward him, far too knowing for his comfort. He straightened, schooling his features into something colder, more detached.
Genevieve tilted her head, studying him. "Why do you assume that?"
"Because I've seen what happens when I get involved," Sebastian said bitterly. His gaze flicked briefly to Amelia, then back to Genevieve. "I'm generally considered a rake of the highest degree. Add my name to this, and it becomes something even uglier. No one will believe I'm acting the hero. A scandal is the last thing Miss Ashford needs."
Amelia blinked, her indignation faltering. "Are you suggesting you're doing this for my sake?"
Sebastian laughed humorlessly, running a hand through his hair. "Don't mistake this for nobility, Miss Ashford. My reluctance is entirely selfish. I have enough messes of my own to clean up without adding yours. I will not"
"You will," Genevieve said sweetly, leaning toward him. "Or I shall be forced to let slip certain details about your charitable pursuits. You know the ones I mean."
Sebastian froze. "You wouldn't."
"Wouldn't I?" Genevieve replied, all innocence. "How tragic it would be for all of London to discover that the infamous Viscount Allendale spends his free time establishing foundling homes and caring for orphans. Why, you'd lose your reputation as a wicked rake entirely."
Amelia blinked, taken aback. She looked between Genevieve and Sebastian, trying to make sense of what she had just heard. "Is this true?" she asked Sebastian before she could stop herself.
Sebastian glared at Genevieve before answering, his tone clipped. "It is of no consequence."
"On the contrary," Genevieve said slowly, "it is quite consequential. It seems you are not quite so useless as you claim to be. Can you imagine the Mamas, already on your heels, just throwing their daughters at you, finding out you have a heart as well as a title."
Sebastian turned his sharp gaze on her. "Do not mistake my actions for altruism. My answer remains no. I'm avoiding London, I'm avoiding marriagable women. I'm avoiding this."
Genevieve beamed at him. "But it won't remain no for long. I have every faith in you, Sebastian. And so does Amelia."
"I do not," Amelia interjected, though her voice wavered slightly.
Sebastian exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is absurd."
Genevieve smiled serenely. "Perhaps. But you will help her all the same."
Amelia looked at Sebastian, her pride warring with the deep, desperate knowledge that she could not do this alone. She hated that she needed his help, hated that it had come to this, but there was Charlotte to think of.
"I do not trust you, my lord," she said quietly, meeting his gaze. "But I have no choice. I will accept your help if you were to provide it."
Amelia's gaze flickered to Sebastian, but she quickly looked away, as if meeting his eyes for too long might tip the scales of this fragile arrangement in his favor. She hated this, hated the gnawing vulnerability that came with asking for help from a man like him. Handsome, charming, and entirely too self-assured. Men like Sebastian Sinclair didn't offer aid without expecting something in return. She'd learned that lesson well enough.
Her father had been living proof. His affections, his praise, his fleeting moments of attention—they had all come with strings attached, even when Amelia was too young to recognize the weight of them. He'd whispered promises to creditors, to gentlemen who were far too eager to believe Amelia's hand was worth gambling for. She could still remember the way those men had looked at her, like a prize to be won rather than a person.
And she remembered the first one, the gentleman whose soft words had nearly swept her away, whose charm had masked intentions as cold and calculating as her father's. It had taken little more than a stolen kiss and her father's careless boasting to spark the gossip that followed her ever since. The Incident was a scar she wore just beneath the surface, invisible to most but raw enough that she flinched whenever someone tried to step too close.
Sebastian wasn't the same as that man. She knew that. But knowing did little to quiet the doubt curling in her chest like smoke. What was his price? They all had one.
Her hand tightened around the fabric of her skirt, fingers digging into the worn muslin as if she might anchor herself with the sensation. It shouldn't matter what she thought of him. Charlotte's safety was the only thing that mattered now. If she had to tolerate Lord Allendale's insufferable arrogance for two weeks, so be it.
But she would not let down her guard.
Sebastian held her gaze for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes. He rubbed his temples, his frustration mounting with each passing moment. "I'll agree to help," he said finally, his voice clipped, "but only on one condition."
Amelia's brows shot up. "A condition?"
Sebastian's dark eyes fixed on her. "Yes. You find a way to keep the throngs of marriage-minded ladies and their mothers away from me. Permanently."
Genevieve burst out laughing. "Oh, Sebastian, that is far too easy. You should have started with that. All you need to do is pretend to court Amelia."
Both Amelia and Sebastian turned to her, speaking at the same time.
"Absolutely not," Amelia snapped.
"You must be joking, that's exactly what I'm avoiding," Sebastian said, incredulous.
Genevieve grinned, utterly unbothered. "Not at all. Think about it, Sebastian. If the ton believes you're courting Amelia, they'll leave you alone. And it would also grant Amelia a degree of protection from scandal. Very few people will care that Amelia should be in deep mourning. Let's be frank, your father was not a favorite. The ton loves damsel in distress story and they will forgive your reputation, Allendale, because you are going to be nothing but upstanding. You two can avoid outings like balls all together because that would be inappropriate."
Amelia's cheeks flushed as she glared at her friend. "Genevieve, this is absurd. You know I am hardly a suitable choice for such a scheme."
"And why not?" Sebastian asked, his curiosity clearly piqued. "You are an unmarried lady of Quality. What could possibly make you un-betrothable?"
Amelia's shoulders stiffened, and her gaze turned cold. "That is none of your concern, Lord Allendale."
Sebastian tilted his head, his expression intrigued and faintly irritated. "You cannot expect me to engage in such a ruse without knowing what I'm walking into."
"I can, and I do, I have given you all the sordid details regarding my father," Amelia replied sharply. "But this is a matter I will not discuss. If that is unacceptable to you, then perhaps this farce should be abandoned altogether."
Genevieve sighed, waving a hand as though to dispel the tension. "Now, now, no need for dramatics. It's a simple solution. Anyway, Amelia, everyone just thinks you're a spinster. You don't have to take the pretense far, a few walks in the park, some well-placed rumors, and everyone will assume you're besotted with one another. It would be mutually beneficial."
Sebastian crossed his arms, glaring at Genevieve. "And what do you get out of this, Genevieve?"
Genevieve's smile widened. "Oh, nothing but the satisfaction of helping two dear friends solve their problems. And, of course, the sheer delight of watching you squirm."
Amelia groaned. "This is a terrible idea."
"It's an excellent idea," Genevieve countered. "You'll see."
Sebastian let out a long, suffering sigh. "If I agree to this, Miss Ashford, you had best ensure it works. Otherwise, I shall hold you personally responsible for every insufferable encounter I endure."
Amelia's glare could have melted steel. "Believe me, Lord Allendale, I have no intention of failing."
Genevieve clapped her hands again, looking entirely too pleased. "Wonderful! Now, let's get started."
"Two weeks, Miss Ashford," he said softly. "This had better be worth it."