Chapter 5

Chapter Five

“ T hey are written in some type of code, Edward. I’m sure of it. The sense these receipts make is a sure as a one foxed up to no end.”

Richard’s frustration bit through him, gnawing on the marrow of his bones as he continued to study his wife’s ledgers. In truth, there was no issue with the calculations or the lack of transparency. Still, the system that Amelia used to keep track of the debts was none he’d ever seen, and countless line items appeared to him like quite the waste of funds.

“I am most sorry to hear of your exasperation, Your Grace. Is there anything which I can bring you to ease your mind?”

He shook his head at the valet, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes squeezed shut. “No, Edward. I am quite without the possibility of good spirits at this stage. I think I shall retire, in fact. There is little more to be done at this late an hour.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Edward nodded, moving toward the door to begin preparation for assisting the Duke with undressing. “I shall ensure the room is to your liking.”

But Richard’s enjoyment of his valet’s company was minimized this evening, a result of his long hours navigating the estate’s accounts. He wished for only an evening of peace and solitude.

“It is quite all right, Edward. I’m sure it will be acceptable. Would you please be so kind as to ensure that breakfast and the necessities for a morning walk are at the ready for the morrow? That would suit my mood far better.”

Edward ducked his head low as he regarded Richard, bowing slightly. “Of course, Your Grace. Have a most restful evening.”

As his valet left, Richard shoved aside the ledger. He would not be attempting to discern its truth further until the morning. Exhaustion crept through him too readily, and he would be of little use in navigating the documents as tired as he was. He leaned back in his chair, the wood squeaking softly as it took his weight, and Richard let out a long exhale.

“It is a wonder that my wife’s hoyden sensibilities have not led the estate to dun territory.” He shifted forward again, unable to find comfort in any one position for longer than a moment. “We shall be dished up and under the hatches should that woman continue to lend out her good graces so readily.”

A rough sigh hit him, and unbidden, Richard’s mind turned to the events of earlier that day. Amelia’s cadre of hangers-on surrounded her like gibbering cits, and the laughter from the drawing room had been enough to rattle the walls of his office.

And Richard knew that it had been a purposeful effort. There was no mistaking the timing of the lively chatter or the way that it occurred out of thin air when the room had been quiet just moments prior. His wife was attempting to dislodge him from Heartwick for his supposed offenses to her, and he would have none of it.

I am the Duke of this estate, and Amelia will take care to remember that.

Still, even now, hours later, Richard’s fingers tingled at the memory of holding Amelia as she nearly toppled to the ground, thanks to that silly game she’d insisted on playing in the house instead of in the garden or yard where it was most suitable.

The blazing image of Amelia’s smile lit up behind Richard’s closed lids, and he sighed as he raked his hands over his face. She had smiled. His wife had smiled so genuinely and without the usual weight that carried her down. He’d not seen her wear that expression previously, and certainly not as the result of his proximity.

In the moment, Richard had nearly frozen, nearly told the guests crowded into the usually bright room to depart for an entirely different occasion. He’d been consumed with lascivious thoughts that strangled him even now, simply recalling them. It had been his only hope, steering into the storm of his anger, or he would have claimed her sweet lips within moments.

Steel yourself, Richard. You cannot allow yourself to be so…manipulated by the mere presence of the woman in your mind.

But there was little use in fighting against the raging waves of his subconscious as they churned all the harder. Every breath he took made the situation with his wife that much more complicated, more fraught with unending battles between his sound, logical mind and the depths of unpredictable, purposeless emotion that threatened to crowd it out.

This would not do. There was no time for the distraction that Amelia’s being caused with each interaction. She was thistle in the soft down of a pillow, one that prodded him at even the slightest of unfortunate movements.

And were he not careful, Richard knew that his better judgment would be swayed by the unique cunning that her kind possessed.

He had been taught far too well by his father—a man whose disappointment carried with it the vengeance of a swift switch—and he would not allow himself or his reputation to be so sullied by a lack of strength on his part.

He stood up from his desk, shaking his chair. The quiet of the room was too oppressive. He needed sleep. So, Richard trekked up to his bedroom. It would not be occupied by an unforeseen visitor this evening, and allowing himself to fall into the cushion with little care sounded heavenly.

A candle was still lit near his bed, and Richard used the low light to strip free of his many layers. His banyan was set aside while his shirt and waistcoat were deposited in the sturdy basket for the maids. Next should have come a nightshirt, but Richard was practically dragging himself to the bed as it were, and it seemed of no significant harm to crawl beneath his covers in his pantaloons.

I’ll be sure to inspect them for any damage come morning.

Richard crashed down atop his mattress without ceremony, and unlike a typical night laden with insomnia and discomfort, Richard began to steadily fall asleep within seconds.

Hazy images percolated up from his subconscious mind as Richard dozed, and the mist-like shapes gradually began to take form—smooth, long lines forming slender arms and legs and swelling curves forming naked breasts and hips.

Even asleep, Richard’s pulse ticked up as his dreams conjured up the fantasy of his wife’s unclothed body. His imagination proved too strong to deny, and it churned with the possibility of seeing her, touching her.

His body stirred to life, a reaction that he could keep at bay when he was not so consumed by the sorcery of his slumber. Questions tickled through him as the images morphed and danced behind his closed eyes.

What would she display to him? What would the rosy tenderness of her lips taste like should he claim them with his own?

What would Amelia feel like wrapped around his?—

Richard shot up in the bed, his heart hammering against his ribs sure enough to break them where he lay. It was a rush of shock and swelling guilt that plagued him down to his core, and the Duke felt the fever of want clamoring beneath his skin as he strained to catch his breath.

Then, from somewhere distant, Richard was sure he heard the call of a perturbed cat or pained waterfowl.

“What on earth?”

He tossed back the covers as he furiously rose from his bed. He’d already been awoken because of the torturous efforts of a devil who sought to infect his thoughts, and now, when he wished only to return to his rest, there was a grating noise filling the halls outside his door.

As his wits returned to him and he regretfully left the warmth of his bed, Richard parsed out that it wasn’t, in fact, some sullen animal screeching its demise for all to hear, but someone singing—horribly so.

Confusion wormed through him as he stepped out into the hall. Still, as he followed the source of the sound down past the other rooms to the opposite end of the house, his jaw reflexively clenched.

Amelia.

What his wife was up to now was a mystery, but Richard was confident that it had something to do with him and an effort to keep him from a night’s rest.

No. I will not be made to play these childish games.

Richard turned around, his hand moving to the knob of his door so that he might ignore the thunderous, discordant wailing that blackened the air with its enormous lack of tune. He nearly threw the door open and then stepped inside, closing things back up again.

But it was no use. That terrible singing bled through the walls with no end in sight. If Amelia was so determined to keep him from sleep, Richard was of a mind to make it just as much an impediment for his wife as it was for him.

“Damn that woman.”

Richard left his room once more, following the long hallway down to Amelia’s chambers. The dreadful noise grew louder and louder with each step, making his nerves surge with fury and vitriol in compounding order.

Arriving at her door, Richard knocked with little ceremony and waited for her to answer. It only took a moment, and when the panel opened to reveal her, Richard glared, his jaw muscles working as he took in Amelia’s apparent surprise.

“What on God’s green earth are you doing? It’s the middle of the night.”

She bowed her head, putting a hand to her chest as she clutched the robe she wore with the other. “I’m most sorry, Richard. Did I wake you?”

The Duke only glared, not dignifying the asinine question with a response.

“Truly, I am most sorry. Singing works to soothe Amelia when I am plagued by a terrible insomnia. I had no intention of drawing you from your room when you were undoubtedly kept up far into the evening looking over my ledgers.”

In his many days with his father and family and the following years spent receiving his education at university, Richard had never once heard of a case of insomnia so relieved by singing terribly as loud as one could. This was most assuredly a ploy by his wife to irritate him, and while it was working to a degree, he would not let this stand in the way of his goals.

“Insomnia.” He stared at her blankly. “Indeed, Amelia, it is difficult to think that there isn’t anyone in the estate who is free of that malady now that you’ve roused the entirety of the western hemisphere with your squawking.”

She gaped, pulling back from him with a look of horror that almost passed as genuine but not entirely. “Richard, I?—”

“Enough, Amelia. I am set to return to my room to sleep. I ardently suggest that you attempt to do the same.”

Turning away without regard to his wife’s incorrigible performance, Richard started back for his bedroom when Amelia whispered into the hall.

“I shall try to be quieter.” She began to close the door, her singing resuming at length and with no discernable change in volume or tone.

Richard came to an abrupt stop, spinning on his heel and marching back to his wife’s bedroom. The boom of his steps stole her attention even over her tuneless crooning, and he was sure that even the fires in the hearth could not match that coursing through his veins.

Shoving past the door, the Duke pushed inside her room and closed the distance to his wife till he could clamp his hand down over her mouth. Her eyes flared wide as she looked up at him, squirming within his hold as he worked to keep her still.

“That wasn’t at all quieter, wife, and I believe you are well aware of that fact. You will desist with this ungracious behavior, or I shall be forced to return with yet another solution to keep you from waking the entire manor.”

She shoved Richard off, and he was quick to pull back, not waiting for his wife to go on with additional lies about insomnia or the inability to determine her volume. This was a most ridiculous evening already, and if Richard did not get his rest forthwith, he would be all the more sour of a mood come first light.

Silence filled the halls as he walked back down to his bedroom, and Richard allowed himself to feel the inklings of hope for, at last, a restful night. It was not to be, however, because no sooner had his feet crossed the threshold when Richard heard the unmistakable singsong lark of Amelia’s laughter, lovely in a manner that gave away the false nature of her discordant warbling. And for as quiet as it was, it had still been enough to reach him these feet away.

She will pay for her disobedience.

Within the dark of his bedroom, Richard’s mind ignited with terrible purpose. He strode forward, snagging his cravat from where he’d draped it over a chair and wound the fabric around his fist. He had never been so possessed by the need for such actions. The wild notion of it still struck him, but his logical mind was no match for the fury consuming his blood and soul.

The fabric tightly gripped in his hand, Richard marched back down the hall toward Amelia’s room, sure it would be the final time he found her there this evening.

His steps had been far from quiet, and still, when he threw open the door, Richard found his wife lying in the bed, attempting to deceive him into believing she’d somehow fallen asleep.

You shall think twice before testing Amelia again, little minx.

Seizing Amelia up from the mattress, Richard hauled her close, dropping the loose end of the cravat to hang from his hand.

“What are you?—”

“If you are incapable of silencing yourself, perhaps an external aid is a necessity.”

Her eyes wide, his wife stared up at him with an expression of such bewilderment, dumbfounded enough to make no move to dislodge herself from his embrace.

A fascinating surge of stimulation rushed through him. Richard hoisted up the cravat, securing it around Amelia’s mouth with an odd rapture at seeing her so trussed up for him. Securing the fabric with a sturdy knot at the back of her head, Richard smirked down at her as Amelia’s brows knitted together, her irascibility more than evident.

“There now,” Richard crooned, “you have your aid. The household will be most grateful for the end to your gratuitous carrying on.”

Richard held her tight to his chest. Yet, the half-hearted thrashing she performed next to him ignited a blaze within the deep recesses of his being, stirring the repressed facets of himself that he kept securely locked away.

A palpable tension in the air pressed down on him, and Richard found himself holding onto the gold-flecked umber of her irises. There was so much to the pattern of striations in Amelia’s eyes that he had yet to notice previously. Unconsciously, he smoothed away a thick, twirling lock of hair, securing the curl behind her ear.

Amelia’s glare wavered, and she shook her shoulders; her quickened breaths felt in his own chest.

How had he not seen the graceful lines of her strong jaw before? Were the indomitable fires glowing behind her stare forever a part of his wife’s form? It seemed impossible that Richard had stood before Amelia on their wedding day and overlooked the exquisite, statuesque creation that was this formidable woman.

Flush colored Amelia’s soft skin, rising in her cheeks, and Richard studied the intricacies of her features, mapping them in his mind as an explorer might a foreign land.

“Ugh,” she grunted through the material of his cravat, just getting an arm free and reaching for the tie tangled in her hair.

Richard snagged her wrist, pinning it behind her back in a flash of movement that made Amelia yelp.

“Ah, ah. Shall you attempt to remove it,” he leaned closer, separating their faces by centimeters, “I shall be forced to find another means of keeping you quiet, wife.”

The rose in Amelia’s cheeks swelled all the higher, and even Richard contained a level of shock at his words. The deeper meaning was apparent to both of them, and it struck him that Richard had never spoken as such in any other moment of his thirty years on this earth.

He was bewildered beyond reason, unable to keep himself level on a choppy sea of conflicting desires. It was nearly as if he weren’t commanding the reins of his own body, an invisible driver of questionable morals wielding him like a wicked tool of seduction.

And even knowing that Richard was powerless to stop himself.

Amelia simply did something to him, something that, in their five years apart, he’d assumed would never occur. He was nothing if not a stalwart gentleman, never wishing to dally elsewhere, though he resided far from Amelia’s side. He’d frankly had no interest in such a thing, and yet, here with the woman who was technically speaking already his, Richard was devoured by the carnal need thrumming through his body.

His eyes found her lips beneath the reflective silk fabric, tracing their outline with rapt focus.

“This particular look suits you well, wife.” Richard released her wrist to drag his fingertips over Amelia’s mouth, warmth bleeding into him through the thin layer that separated them. “Evidently, a creative use of fabric had been most advantageous.”

She shuddered beneath his touch, and the motion drilled straight through him to the core of his being. Richard swelled, his body awake and alive in a terrifying, unfamiliar manner that forced him to swallow against his parched throat.

To think what she might look like…her soft, pink lips wrapped around ? —

Richard pulled himself back, barely able to catch himself through the downward tumble his mind had found itself in. Only a few moments longer, and he was not sure what he might have done. Leaving Amelia to stand frozen stock still and gawking like a deer in the hunt, he fled back to his room, desperately in search of fresher air.

His skin was too hot, his pantaloons overly constrictive as his body fought to free itself of them. He was out of his damned mind, behaving like this. What had gotten into him?

But even as Richard chastised his behavior, an ember remained inside him, resilient and unextinguished by his abrupt departure from Amelia’s side. He squeezed his eyes shut, tucking himself under the covers of his bed, and set not to exit the thing until morning light drove him from it.

This was a most problematic situation and one wholly unfamiliar to the Duke. Come the morrow, he was uncertain what another interaction with Amelia might cause him to do.

And he was not fond of that in the slightest.