Fortune's Prince. Allison Leigh

the morning. After she woke.

      And what Amelia did after that wasn’t anything he was going to let himself care about.

      Chapter Three

      Quinn stared at the empty bed.

      Amelia was gone.

      It was only nine in the morning, and sometime between when he’d left the house at dawn and when he’d returned again just now, she’d disappeared.

      If not for the wig that he’d found on the ground inside his barn door, he might have wondered if he’d hallucinated the entire thing.

      It didn’t take a genius to figure out she’d beat him to the punch in calling her aunt. One phone call to Jeanne, or to any one of the newfound cousins, and rescue would have easily arrived within an hour.

      He walked into the bedroom.

      The bed looked exactly the way it had when he’d tossed the quilt on top of it, before she’d gone to bed. Maybe a little neater. Maybe a lot neater.

      He’d also thought her presence would linger after she was gone. But it didn’t.

      The room—hell, the entire house—felt deathly still. Empty.

      That was the legacy she’d left that he’d have to live with.

      He tossed the wig on the foot of the bed and rubbed the back of his neck. He had a crick in it from sleeping—or pretending to—on the too-short couch.

      It shouldn’t matter that she’d left without a word. Snuck out while his back was essentially turned. He hadn’t wanted her there in the first place. And obviously, her need to “talk” hadn’t been so strong, after all.

      “Gone and good riddance,” he muttered.

      Then, because he smelled more like cow than man and Jess would give him a rash of crap about it when he showed up at his nephew’s baseball game in Vicker’s Corners that afternoon, he grabbed a shower and changed into clean jeans and T-shirt.

      In the kitchen, the paper towel that he’d given Amelia was still sitting on the table where she’d left it, all folded up. He grabbed it to toss it in the trash, but hesitated.

      She hadn’t just folded the paper into a bunch of complicated triangles. She’d fashioned it into a sort of bird. As if the cheap paper towel was some fancy origami.

      I have lots of useless talents.

      The memory of her words swam in his head.

      She’d told him that, and more, when they’d lain under the stars. How she had a degree in literature that she didn’t think she’d ever use. How she spoke several languages even though she didn’t much care for traveling. How she could play the piano and the harp well enough to play at some of the family’s royal functions, but suffered stage fright badly enough that having to do so was agonizing.

      He pinched the bridge of his nose where a pain was forming in his head and dropped the paper bird on the table again, before grabbing his Resistol hat off the peg by the back door and heading out.

      He paid Tanya Fremont, one of the students where Jess and Mac taught high school, to clean his house once a week and she’d be there that weekend.

      She could take care of the trash.

      * * *

      “Aunt Jeanne, really?” Amelia lifted a glossy tabloid magazine off the coffee table where it was sitting and held it up. “I can’t believe you purchase these things.”

      Her aunt’s blue eyes were wry as she sat down beside Amelia on the couch. She set the two mugs of herbal tea she was carrying on the coffee table and plucked the glossy out of Amelia’s hands. She spread it over the knees of her faded blue jeans and tapped the small picture on the upper corner of the cover. “It had a picture of you and Lucie,” she defended. “You and your sister looked so pretty. I thought I’d clip it out and put it in my scrapbook.”

      Amelia was touched by the thought even though she deplored being on the magazine cover. The photo was from the dedication of one of the orphanages her mother helped establish. Amelia recognized the dress she’d worn to the ceremony. “I don’t even want to know what the article said.” Undoubtedly, it had not focused on the good works of Lady Josephine or Lucie’s latest accomplishments, but the pending nuptials of Amelia and Lord James Banning, the Viscount St. Allen and heir apparent to the Earl of Estingwood.

      “No article,” Jeanne Marie corrected. “Not really. Just a small paragraph from close friends—” she sketched quotes in the air “—of ‘Jamelia’ that the wedding date had been set, but was being kept under wraps for now to preserve your and James’s privacy.”

      “There is no wedding date,” Amelia blurted. She slumped back on the couch.

      “Oh?” Jeanne Marie leaned forward and set the magazine on the coffee table. She picked up her tea and studied Amelia over the rim of the sturdy mug with eyes that were eerily similar to Amelia’s mother.

      That was to be expected, she supposed, since Josephine and Jeanne Marie were two thirds of a set of triplets. What wasn’t the norm, was the fact that the siblings had only recently discovered one another. Amelia’s mother hadn’t even known that she’d been adopted until she’d met Jeanne Marie Fortune Jones and their triplet brother, James Marshall Fortune. He was the only reason the trio had found one another after having been separated as young children. There was even another older brother, John Fortune, to add to the new family tree.

      Amelia realized her aunt wasn’t gaping at her over the news there was to be no wedding. “You don’t seem very surprised.”

      Jeanne Marie lifted one shoulder. “Well, honey. You are here.” And again, even though her words were full of Texas drawl, her mild, somewhat ironic lilt was exactly the same as Josephine’s entirely proper Brit would have been.

      It was still startling to Amelia, even after meeting her aunt nearly a year ago.

      “I’m assuming you have a good reason for not announcing you broke things off with your young man in England?”

      “It’s complicated,” she murmured, even as she felt guilty for leaving her aunt under the impression that there had ever been something to break off in the first place. James had been as much a victim of their supposed engagement as she, since the presumptuous announcement had been issued by his father. But once it had been, and Amelia hadn’t denied it, James had been doing his level best to convince her to make it a reality. Under immense family pressure to make a suitable marriage, he’d given up hope of a match with the girl he really loved—Astrid, who sold coffee at the stand in his building—and tried giving Amelia a family ring in hopes that she’d come around, though she’d refused to take it. “Jimmy and I have known each other a long time.”

      While she really only knew Quinn in the biblical sense. The irony of it all was heartbreaking.

      “Sometimes a little distance has a way of uncomplicating things,” Jeanne said. “And as delighted as I am to have you here, it does tend to raise a few questions. Particularly havin’ to get you from Quinn Drummond’s place practically before sunup. And havin’ you dressed like you are.”

      Amelia’s fingers pleated the hem of the oversize shirt. “I was trying to avoid paparazzi.”

      “So you said while we were driving here.” Jeanne Marie finally set down the mug. She was obviously as disinterested in her tea as Amelia was. “What’s going on between you and Quinn?”

      “Nothing.” She felt heat rise up her throat.

      “And that’s why you called me from his house at seven in the morning. Because nothing is going on between you two.” Jeanne Marie’s lips curved. “In my day, that sort of nothing usually led to a shotgun and a stand-up in front of a preacher whether there was another suitor in the wings or not.”

      Amelia winced.