Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

M y Dearest Amelia,

I find myself sitting quietly in my room here in Brighton, looking out at the sea, and my heart is full of thoughts of you. Brighton has its beauty, but there's a certain quiet that I find myself lost in. It's in these moments that I wish most for your company. I miss you dearly, and I hate to be selfish, but I am very much looking forward to our meeting again soon. It has been three long years, and my heart grows heavy at the thought.

Yet, even as I write this, I want you to know that I wouldn't wish for you to leave your season in London just to be with me. These moments are precious for you, you may never get to experience them again. So if it is a burden, then I will be very upset with you if you choose to leave them behind.

Sometimes, I imagine you, little sister, dazzling the ton with your elegance and charm, and my heart swells with pride. Remember, the gentleman who eventually wins your heart must be deserving of your grace and kindness. He must cherish you as the treasure that you are.

I must confess, the thought of you finding love fills me with a joy that is bittersweet, for I know the path of the heart is a delicate one. Yet, I have faith in you and in your ability to choose a love that is true and kind.

I must go now, but please write to me when you are free from your busy life. It might be some time before I can write again. The Earl had an injury at the docks and will be staying home for the foreseeable future.

Know that you are always in my heart and on my mind. Take care of yourself and remember to have fun for the both of us!

With all my love,

Dorothy

It was the seventh time Amelia had read her sister's letter, and each time, fresh tears welled in her eyes. She released a groan of frustration as she balled another sheet of paper before her, tossing it into the wastebasket to join the other failed attempts. She didn't know what to write back. The only thing that came to her mind was to ask Dorothy how she fared, to tell her that help would be coming soon. But she didn't want to risk the letter—and her plan—falling into the wrong hands.

Nor did she want Dorothy to know the extent she had gone to save her.

How could she explain to her sister that she'd gotten married to the Masked Rogue, the very Masked Rogue who had ruined their family, who was the cause of their present woes, and who was now capable of stirring foreign feelings in her, all for Dorothy's sake? Amelia was at a loss for where to even start.

Lewis' plea came rushing back to her and she sighed. After she'd left the billiards room, once she was certain that the coast was clear, she'd quickly made her way to the library to fetch a book and additional stationery before she headed back to her bedchamber to hide away for the rest of the evening. The book hadn't done much to distract her mind from everything she had been told, though. The Duke weighed heavily on her thoughts, a feat that seemed to plague her constantly ever since she moved into the castle.

Her thoughts drifted back to the night of the soiree. For a fleeting moment, she had almost convinced herself that the duke had interrupted her conversation with the Baron Fenton because he had been jealous. Now, she knew how foolish she had been for even considering the thought. A man as handsome and as sought-after as he was would never care about staking his claim on her, even if she was his wife. He must have done that to keep her from saying anything she shouldn't.

It makes no sense for me to feel like this then , she thought ruefully. Her mind relentlessly replayed the way he'd held her during their dance, how perfectly her hand had fit in his.

And the way his fingers had tenderly grazed her heated skin as he'd helped her get dressed…

That particular memory constantly pursued her into her dreams, its imprint on her as intoxicating as the finest wine. Amelia squirmed in her chair, her hands drifting to her peaking nipples. Her eyelids fluttered shut. She imagined they were her husband's hands. Just a few nights ago, they were. Something stirred within her and, for a careless moment, she allowed herself to delve down that line of imagination.

Thinking of how it would feel to have his hands on her bare skin, to feel his lips brush her neck, to hear her name flow huskily from his lips. The bulge she had felt pressed against her rear that evening had filled her mind with lust and wonder, with the insatiable urge to reach behind her and feel it in her hands. The urge had alarmed her but now that she was alone, Amelia let herself give in to that sensual need.

A sudden knock at the door had her jolting from her chair, heart racing. Amelia swallowed, taking slow breaths to calm herself. If that was Gideon…

"Y-yes?" she called, her voice a little shaky.

"May I enter, Your Grace?" Jenny's voice filtered through and Amelia felt varying waves of disappointment and relief.

"Yes, please come in," she responded, sagging against the table.

Jenny entered the room quietly, cradling a violet gown in her arms. "His Grace has requested to dine with you this evening," Jenny explained. "And he requested for you to wear this dress, Your Grace"

"Oh, I see." Of course, Gideon would exert his dominance by dressing her like a doll. Right on cue, Amelia's stomach rumbled. She hadn't been eating very well this past week and her neglect was already catching up to her. She stared suspiciously at the dress, temptation pulling her in one direction.

"Oh! His Grace has also requested I hand you this." Jenny held out a small note.

Amelia accepted it with a frown. The message was short and to the point.

It has come to my attention that you have not been eating well since arriving at the castle. I wish to remedy that. Why don't you dine with me tonight?

–Gideon

Amelia read the note over and over again. Was he being… kind? The rakehell Masked Rogue whom she knew better than to trust? Amelia softened more and more as she reread the note, a smile almost gracing her lips at one point. Remembering Jenny was still present, she held back the urge and set the folded note to a side.

"Very well then," she said at last. She moved to the center of the room, readying herself. "I suppose I should not keep him waiting."

"Indeed, Your Grace," Jenny agreed, eagerly coming to her side. She deftly began the task of helping Amelia out of her current dress.

Amelia let a few more seconds of silence go by before she spoke again. "Jenny, may I pose a question to you? And please, feel free to speak candidly."

Jenny instantly seemed apprehensive at that. "Of course, Your Grace."

"You do not need to answer if you are not comfortable," Amelia hastened to add. "I am simply curious to know your opinion of the Duke."

"My opinion?" Jenny stared at her as if Amelia was speaking a foreign language.

"Yes, what do you think about him?" Amelia rephrased.

Jenny pondered for a moment, though her hands remained steady as she aided Amelia out of her dress. Soon enough, Amelia stood only in her chemise.

"I cannot answer that question, Your Grace," she finally said, choosing her words carefully. "This is the longest His Grace has ever remained in the castle."

"He doesn't usually stay here?" Amelia inquired, surprised.

"No, not prior to your arrival," Jenny answered tentatively. She was clearly a little uneasy discussing her master, but Amelia was grateful for the modicum of information she could glean at all. "From what I understand, he would mostly stay in his residence in Mayfair and would only return now and again to host balls for the Season."

"Is that so?" Amelia was tempted to question her further about that but decided not to push her luck. "Then I suppose there is not much you could know."

"No, Your Grace." Jenny paused. "Although…"

"Yes?" Amelia encouraged gently, not wanting to scare her off.

Jenny was avoiding Amelia's eyes. "I admit that I do not know much about His Grace. But his invitation to dine suggests he values your company, does it not?

"I doubt that," Amelia scoffed. For some reason, she found it easy talking to Jenny. "But I appreciate your optimism. And thank you for answering my questions; I hope I didn't make you too uneasy."

"Not at all, Your Grace."

Amelia gave a small, reassuring smile. "Have you lived in London all your life?"

Jenny's eyes lit up at the question. She helped the purple dress over Amelia's head and began to lace up the back of it. "Actually, I come from the countryside near Sussex," she shared, and then went into stark detail about her life in the small village she'd grown up in.

"Do you have any siblings?" Amelia asked once she found a break in the conversation.

"Unfortunately not, Your Grace," Jenny sighed. "Ma and Pa really tried again but they were never blessed with another child. I was never lonely though! I had many cousins and friends in the village to spend time with. I had quite the lively childhood."

"What brought you to London then?"

"My Pa grew sick," Jenny's tone remained chipper, despite the topic. "He could no longer work the farm, so I moved to London to earn money and support them. I send back half of my wages to them every month."

"That is very commendable of you, Jenny."

"Thank you, Your Grace," she responded with a modest smile.

"So tell me more about this lively childhood of yours," Amelia encouraged and happily listened to every detail, pleased to find how chatty Jenny could become once she was comfortable. So engrossed was she in the conversation that she didn't pay much mind to the task of getting dressed until Jenny trailed off, took a step back, and stared at Amelia from head to toe with a gaping expression.

"What is it?" Amelia asked.

"Oh, it's nothing, Your Grace," Jenny quickly replied, though her stunned expression did not lift.

With a frown, Amelia picked up the rather weighty fabric of the gown's skirts and made her way over to the mirror of her vanity. Her jaw went slack at what stared back at her.

The violet dress was the most inappropriate excuse for fashion she had ever witnessed. It mimicked proper and fashionable evening gowns with the capped sleeves and the light boning around the waist. But the neckline dipped so daringly low that her bosom was all but spilling over the top. And, to make matters even more shocking, sections of the dress were crafted from white lace rather than muslin, showcasing glimpses of her skin at her waist, hips, and navel.

Amelia was left utterly speechless, her face flushing a deep shade of red. She… she couldn't believe that she'd thought, even for a second, that Gideon's intentions were pure. He had warned her that he was a rake through and through and he was making every attempt of showing her.

Amelia resolved there and then to never make the mistake of giving him the benefit of the doubt, ever, again.