Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

A melia’s teacup rattled against the saucer as she set it down, and she swallowed down the warm liquid, wishing it were something far stronger.

“How can he be so callous? So free to disregard the well-being and wishes of all those around him?”

Sighing, Amelia pulled at the sleeve of her undress, picking at the fabric like it were the bombazine make of the dress she once wore to mother’s funeral and not the delicate cambric linen she wore now.

Her room felt overly stuffy and the air too stale and warm. Amelia rarely took tea in her room, but the thought of being at the Duke’s notice in one of the other areas of the house made her stomach flip.

“Jane,” she turned to her long-time maid with an exhausted expression, “would you please take off my chatelaine and set the thing aside. I cannot stand another minute of hearing it jingle.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” She smiled gently, her fingers working the fastenings of the chatelaine free. “But you are in such a state. Are you sure there isn’t more that I could fetch for you? I am happy to bring biscuits or cakes to your chamber.”

Amelia smiled, blinking slowly as the ring of noisy writing implements, seals, and a tiny watch was taken off her waist and placed near her wash basin.

“That’s quite all right, Jane. I am merely overstressed. I am sure this tea and a bit of time away from certain individuals will improve my countenance.” She cocked her head for a moment. “I only wish there were something more that I could do to hasten the Duke’s departure. I cannot be expected to put up with this much longer.”

Jane was quiet as she walked back over near Amelia’s bed, her eyes tracked down on the floor. It was not typical for the woman who’d been with Amelia for nigh on a decade. As she continued to remain speechless, her fingers fidgeting with each loose thread and edge of her apron, Amelia became quite sure that Jane was keeping something from her.

“Jane,” she dragged out, “is there something you wish to tell me?”

It took the woman a good ten seconds before her eyes finally lifted from the wood floor and to Amelia. They were wide with concern but also a hint of pride that Amelia recognized, like when Jane was happy with the work she’d done around the estate.

“Only that you needn’t worry, Your Grace. The matter with your husband is sure to resolve itself with haste.”

Amelia sat up straighter, suspicion and worry crowding her nerves. She was quite past her tolerance for those around her carrying on plans in her name without discussing the matter with her.

“What did you do, Jane? Out with it.”

With eyes that much wider, her brows shooting up to her hairline, Jane shook her head, the words tumbling from her lips.

“I meant no offense, Your Grace. I only…I saw what happened downstairs. I’ve also heard the talk you’ve had with your familiars that perhaps His Grace might leave should he not enjoy his stay here.”

Nervousness clung to Amelia, and she stood up off the bed, going to Jane and taking her gently by the elbow.

“Jane, you need to tell me what you’ve done.”

Looking more petite than she ever had, Jane’s brow furrowed as she spoke. “Only made a ‘mistake’ with your husband’s clothes during the washing. He might find some of his items…less usable now.”

Shock reverberated through Amelia, and her mouth fell open. Words of reprimand—though gentle they may have been—were perched on her tongue, but before Amelia could speak, Richard barged into the room, sending her door crashing into the wall.

“What have you done!”

Richard’s furious cry echoed off Amelia’s walls, and her stomach immediately dropped into her feet as her pulse ramped up into a frenzy.

“Do you dare explain how this happened?” He rushed forward, the open halves of his shirt swinging wildly.

It lacked any buttons to keep it secure, she realized, and on top of that offense, the fabric had been stained an abhorrent, patchy shade of brown that was so heavily tinged with yellow that it looked quite similar to an infant’s nappy that had been recently… used .

Oh, Jane. You goosecap. He’s likely to bring out the barking irons.

“Your Grace,” Amelia started, “my husband, I can assure you that it was a mis?—”

“I will not hear you continue to spout faradiddles when you know quite well that it is surely impossible for all the buttons to have come free of my shirt at once.”

Amelia bit her tongue. Richard wasn’t mistaken. It seemed exceptionally unlikely that the buttons would remove themselves all simultaneously while the fabric itself was stained such a terrible color. And, of course, she knew that it was not a mistake. Jane had stepped in it thoroughly, and her actions were dragging Amelia down along with her.

“You did this, didn’t you? You were still cross about what happened earlier, and this was your means of retribution against me.”

Hurt crowded in alongside logic in Amelia’s brain. She was irritated yet again that Richard seemed to only think the worst of her. Still, Amelia wasn’t about to let Jane take the punishment for this. Amelia could withstand being yelled at and chastised by her unfortunate husband. Jane could not withstand a firing. She would not survive.

“Jane, please excuse me. I am required by my husband.” Amelia walked up to her, putting a hand under her maid’s elbow and walking her to the door as she whispered, “We shall discuss this matter later. Please see to it that there are no more surprises for the Duke.”

The maid only nodded and then scurried out of the room as quickly as her aging legs could carry her.

Sucking in a lungful of air through her nose, Amelia began to face Richard once more. “Now, about this unfortunate?—”

But as soon as she was facing him properly again, taking in the disastrous look of the man in that ruined shirt, Amelia could do nothing to stop the laughter from bursting through her lips.

Her giggles, poorly restrained through her fingers, filled the room, and Richard turned a brighter and brighter shade of red. Finally, when he could clearly no longer take it, her husband yanked the offending fabric from his body and tossed the garment to the floor, stomping on it for good measure.

Rushing her, Richard stopped mere inches from her face, and Amelia recoiled, her laughter silencing abruptly.

“You will not continue to make a mockery of me, Amelia.”

She sobered some, clearing her throat as he respectfully ducked her head. “I apologize, Your Grace. It appears that I have gone too far. It was a terrible act to ruin such a lovely shirt. I assure you I will be to the shop first thing to replace it.”

“You most certainly will!” The veins along Richard’s temples and down his neck pulsed fervently, and Amelia found her gaze dropping to the bare skin of his chest. “I had apologized for this afternoon’s events, and still you thought it wise to test my generosity with a…prank?!”

Amelia shook herself, trying to refocus on Richard’s words because she’d utterly lost them. She yanked her eyes back up to his face, at a loss for where they were in the conversation.

“Are you even listening to me?” Richard glared, his skin gleaming gently in the firelight of Amelia’s room. “What on earth could be worthy of your attention if not your husband?”

He regarded her, and Amelia was lost to the flames growing behind her cheeks. She could not find her voice, and yet again, her traitorous eyes flicked down to Richard’s bare chest—a wanton need swimming through her blood.

Why must he be so very pleasing to look at? An ugly husband would have suited me better .

Unfortunately, the Duke finally registered what had distracted her so much, and he glanced down at himself before returning his crystal blue gaze to Amelia’s face. Slowly, almost an imperceptible change were it not for the abrupt turn-around of Richard’s mood, a sly smirk touched his cheek.

Butterflies flounced in her belly, foxed up and dancing at a wilder drum than she’d ever thrown. Amelia couldn’t continue to meet Richard’s eyes, so she turned her attention to the floor and the stained shirt lying at his feet. The air in the room shifted, no less tense but imbued with that lingering bewitchment that so took her whenever she was alone with Richard like this.

Creak.

The sound of the floor adjusting rattled her, forcing Amelia to jump instinctively, and when she looked up, Richard hovered over her, his velvety-looking skin achingly close to her.

“My, my. Did you perhaps have different motives for destroying my clothing, Amelia?” The air was too thick, Richard’s voice too low and strained with something she dared not name. “If you had wanted to look on me without the protection of my attire…”

The words hung there, a palpable presence in the space between them, and Amelia was all too aware of her pounding heart in her ears and chest. Was the fitting of her dress suddenly inches tighter? Had some invisible specter haunted her by yanking on the ties of her stays?

“You need only have asked instead of taking to ruining one of my best shirts.”

“I…”

But forms words seemed all too impossible a task, Amelia’s entire body humming as it called out for something that just couldn’t possibly be right. She did not wish for her husband to see her like this. She didn’t wish for him to undress or to smooth the sculpted form of his body against hers, swept away by a passion she’d only read about.

No, of course not. That would be…

And still, Amelia hadn’t spoken. She shook herself, attempting to direct the conversation in a different direction even if she wasn’t wholly sure why.

“I had no such ends in mind, Your Grace. I wouldn’t dream of refuting that first and foremost stipulation of our arrangement.”

Richard’s eyes were shadowed as he looked down at her through his lashes, the lidded gaze undoubtedly reflected in her own expression. Amelia forced herself to swallow as her husband angled closer, the tips of his fingers brushing up along the side of her arm.

This felt nothing like the encounter with Mr. Stanley, and she cursed her brain for even comparing the two. But Amelia had been so terrified, and now…now she felt alive and aching in a way that she had never dreamed of being this close to acting on.

Desire was not new to her, but the idea that a lifetime of absence and only her own company to satisfy her was potentially coming to an end—thanks to her husband, of all people—was certainly too good to be true.

“Of course.” Richard’s stare moved down her face, finding her lips once more as they had in the study. “Such a move would, dare I say, alter the entire fabric of our relationship. Still…”

Richard regarded her, stepping closer so that his hand cupped around the back of Amelia’s elbow as the other went to her waist. A tiny gasp escaped her, and Amelia’s head spun so much that she feared she would topple over. The heat of the room was far more than what could be attributed to the fire, and it was all too similar to imbibing too much of the drink.

However, it was much clearer than that; a crystalline quizzing glass held up to a rosy-hued scene from deep within her fantasies.

“What if I so dared?” Richard’s words were a slight whisper, and she strained to hear them, to confirm that they were genuine and spoken in earnest.

And then his lips crashed against hers.

Amelia gasped against him, her eyes flaring wide. Her husband’s command over her body was finite, his grip as steady as iron. She could not stop herself from melting beneath the intensity of his claim, and Amelia’s lips then gently parted, Richard’s tongue sweeping against hers.

They tangled together like bits of lace woven together by an expert seamstress. They were one at that moment, and the taste of him did something to Amelia that she’d never known. Every part of her ached for Richard in a primitive, carnal way, in a manner so wildly unbecoming of a proper lady.

And she did not care in the slightest.

Still, as quickly as it had occurred, the kiss abruptly ended, and Richard hauled himself back from her like he’d been burned or suddenly sobered.

“I…” he began, but the words faded as Amelia struggled to process what had just happened.

Silence infiltrated the cramped space between them. Amelia felt so flushed that her knees trembled, and her pulse thundered in her temples. When she flicked her stare up to Richard, breathless and unable to keep herself from reaching up a hand to her lips, he shrank back slightly, nodding as if to himself.

“There…there is a ball we are set to attend. I have no doubt that you will act as an exemplary Duchess, Amelia. I will have the details delivered to you readily. If…if you’ll excuse me.”

And without so much as another word, her husband fled from her bedroom. She was half-convinced that she might be treated to the sight of his pantaloons on fire for how briskly he exited, and still, a slight smirk crept up the corner of her mouth.

As she stood there, Amelia noticed the sound of the floorboards creaking outside her door some feet away. It was undoubtedly Jane, returning from busying herself as instructed.

“Come here, Jane,” Amelia called out, crossing the room to collapse onto the edge of her bed.

When her maid entered, Amelia sighed, cocking her head at the woman as her brow furrowed.

“You cannot pull such a stunt again.” Jane ducked her head, the guilt obvious. “I understand what you meant to do, but you risk both of us with your actions. You sought to protect me from him. But that was the last of it. I don’t wish to lose you in this house nor find myself on the wrong end of a divorce. Of course, being without my Jane would tear me to pieces. I would not have you fired for simply looking after me, or anything else for that matter.”

Jane nodded, bowing clumsily as a result of her aging knees. “Of course, Your Grace. My sincerest apologies.”

“It is forgiven, Jane. Now,” Amelia raised a hand toward the door, “I require some time to myself. If you receive word of a ball I am set to attend with His Grace, please only leave it on the table.”

Curtsying again, Jane agreed and wished Amelia a good evening, leaving the Duchess to her thoughts. With the quiet and privacy now granted, Amelia was left bewildered as they churned about what was happening between her and Richard.

What game was he playing at? Or…could it possibly be that he had indeed kissed her out of desire? The thought seemed preposterous, and yet, Amelia could not deny the appeal. Matters at Heartwick were changing, and as the evening dragged to a close, Amelia was left alone to wonder what those changes might mean.