“It was uncomfortable,” he said, wincing at how petulant he sounded, especially considering how much effort Amelia had put into her own appearance.
Cleopatra, the most beautiful and most intelligent woman of her time. He could not think of a better choice for his Amelia. She looked perfect in the spangled muslin gown, the elaborately decorated necklace and jewels, and with her black hair straightened into shimmering falls about her face and neck. But then, Amelia always looked perfect, even when dresses had been so much broader and more complicated than current fashions. She could wear sackcloth and a horsehair shirt, and William would still find her beautiful.
How could he have thought, even for a moment, that he was worthy of her?
She stared at him expectantly, and he realized that the silence had grown so long that it was becoming awkward. He coughed into his hand, realized that his cuffs were twisted, and straightened the lace.
Her smile was fading, a confused frown furrowing her brows.
“Your costume is very accurate,” he said, not sure what else to say. “Based on the statues from Alexandria, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she replied, her smile returning as though he’d said something witty. “Do you remember that lecture we attended about the city? The one by Mrs. Faye? It was just after I went into half-mourning, and you insisted that I do something to alleviate my boredom.”
He nodded enthusiastically, relieved that she had fond memories of that excursion. “Yes, I do! Killarney was supposed to come with me, but he’d made a wager that he could walk across London on stilts before the clock struck five, so he couldn’t make it. It was a stroke of good fortune that you were in London at the time, for I do hate attending talks by myself.”
Amelia’s smile faded. “Oh, I did not realize that Killarney was interested in antiquities or travel lectures.”
“He’s not in the least, which was why it was a stroke of good fortune you were able to come, for otherwise, I’d have never known you have a love for history. I’d have probably lost all my friendships if I’d had to drag them to any more talks or visits to the museum. Now that we know you share my interests, they don’t have to pretend on my behalf.”
Amelia was silent, and William knew instinctively that he had said something wrong. She glanced off to one side, opened her fan, and began to waft it slowly beside her face.
“That’s beautiful,” he said, more to fill the awkward silence than anything else. “Not Ancient Egyptian, of course, but the decorations are remarkably accurate. Zoega has hypothesized that the hieroglyphs might have a phonetic language base rather than an alphabetic one, you know.”
“I know. I was at the same lecture,” she replied.
“Yes, of course, we attended together, didn’t we?” said William, wondering if there were any scientific studies into his inability to flirt. “It was fascinating, I thought.”
The silence stretched out further until something changed in Amelia’s expression, and she shut her fan with enough force that he worried she would snap the delicate ivory fingers.
She didn’t speak, although she did take a few steps toward him. Slowly, like she was approaching a skittish colt.
William coughed again, his throat feeling parched.
“Hill has some brilliant ideas of his own on the subject. He thinks some of the stones on the Ashmolean might be key to translations because of the Arabic, you know. Of course, they both believe the language changed over the years and are rather obsessed about discovering the provenance of things. The questions he asked about some pieces in my own collection! Dashed rude, if you ask me!”
“William,” said Amelia, her voice low and husky in a way he’d never heard her speak before.
He couldn’t help it and took a step back. His heart screamed at him to throw his arms about her, to pull her close, and kiss her as deeply and thoroughly as he longed to. He wanted to confess his love, the fact that he’d always loved her, and that he had never met any woman who filled his heart with half as much joy as she did.
His mouth, however, seemed to think that this was just the moment to continue an interesting discussion about ancient civilizations, no matter how many times he silently screamed at himself to just stop talking.
“Would you like me to lend you my copy of Hill’s Egyptian Hieroglyphics? I’d arrange for you to meet the man in person if I could, but he’s off adventuring again, and I’m not sure what country he’s in,” said William, aware that he was speaking faster and faster. It was only when he crashed, back first, into the wall, that he realized he’d been moving away from Amelia.
“William,” Amelia repeated, her voice so soft he could barely hear it over the sound of blood rushing around his skull.
“Yes, Cleopatra?” he managed to choke out.
Dear God, he sounded terrified, even to his own ears.
“I don’t want to talk about hieroglyphs right now,” she murmured.
What little piece of confidence he had retained up to that moment collapsed. His cheeks burned, and he could think of nothing to do but to duck to the side, stepping around Amelia before she even knew he had moved, and remove himself from her presence as swiftly as possible. The only alternative was to make an even bigger fool of himself and lose any future opportunity of convincing her to marry him.
“I…I’m sorry, my lady,” he stammered, trying to stand as though he were a confident high pad but suspecting he looked like an overgrown schoolboy. “My mouth often runs away with me when I’m nervous, and I forget that I am regarded as a bore by the fairer sex. You came here for flirtation, and I delivered history.”
“Wait, I never said you were a bore,” exclaimed Amelia, her seductive tones replaced by her normal voice. “I’ve never regarded you as a bore in the least!”
“You’re far too polite to do so,” he said, trying to smile. “I know you have an interest in the topic, but there are times and places for every topic, even hieroglyphs, and a secluded orangery during a masquerade is most certainly not one of them.”
Amelia drew out a long breath before responding.
“There’s a reason I’m dressed as Cleopatra, William.”
William rubbed the back of his neck, thinking of the Shakespeare play, the mythology, and the general opinion of the ancient queen.
“It suits you and is perfect for flirtation,” he admitted, knowing that he could never be Marc Antony to her Cleopatra. For a start, he’d always considered the general a bit of an idiot. Trajan, on the other hand, was a Roman worthy of respect.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that,” said Amelia, her head to one side.
He shook his head, pushing away the thoughts about Roman military commanders before his mouth decided to share them. It had to be the champagne, for he had obviously underestimated the potency of the stuff, and it was making him stupid.
“Cleopatra. Beautiful, intelligent, a great seductress, and all that.”
Amelia blinked a few times, her brow beginning to furrow.
“Are you accusing me of being a seductress?” she asked, and even William was not so dense as to miss the dangerous note to her voice.
“No! Nothing of the sort!” he tried to hastily reassure her. “I only meant that Cleopatra—and you, of course—share so much in common.”