Chapter 2

Chapter Two

“ W ould someone let me in!” Richard called out, slamming his fist into the door once more.

Lightning cracked and lit up the night sky as the storm continued to drown the Duke of Blackford in frigid rain. He stood at the front steps of Heartwick, his estate, and there had yet to be an answer to his furious pounding on the door. Richard had left the country that afternoon as soon as the news had made its way to him. His arrival at Heartwick was met with as much fanfare as he could expect for it being well past midnight.

He’d left Blackford as soon as he was able, the cause of the compulsion still clutched in his grip, the paper soggy and crumpled. It was hardly the first of its kind that had suffered a similar forceful containment. Still, this latest sheet to reach him had filled Richard with a type of fury he’d thought reserved solely for his blasted father.

Jiggling metal sounded on the other side of the thick entry at last, and Richard heaved out a foggy breath into the cold air. Edward, Richard’s stalwart valet, stood at his side, holding an umbrella over his head as the icy liquid poured over the roof above them. When finally the door creaked open, Richard shoved his way through with little ceremony.

“My goodness!”

The elderly butler of the estate, Winslow, stumbled back, surprised, to say the least. As Edward followed Richard inside, closing up the door to keep the deluge of rain from rushing in, the Duke shook off his greatcoat before hauling the thing off and holding it out for his valet.

“Your Grace,” Winslow said, his voice warbling with age and shock, “you’ve arrived at such a late hour and with no notice from Blackford. Please, please, allow me to take your wet things and lead you to a fire to get warm.”

Reaching out, Winslow took the greatcoat from Edward’s arms, gesturing forward as he turned sharply toward the door to the drawing room and hastily pulled the thing open.

“Do you require refreshment, Your Grace? I would be happy to ring up the maids. I’m sure they could have something lovely prepared readily from the kitchen stores.”

“I’m quite well, Winslow. I only wish to rid myself of these dampened coverings.”

He ducked his head, holding out his hand again, this time toward the dimly glowing fireplace. “Of course, Your Grace. I will stoke the flames at once.”

Richard sighed, not wishing to tarry about in the drawing room but instead retire to his bedroom after the long evening he spent within the cramped confines of his port chaise.

“That is all well and good, Winslow. But I wish to?—”

“Oh, the staff will be most excited to see you, Your Grace. And the Duchess will be most enthusiastic about your return to Heartwick. I will be sure to send the maids to the market to acquire ingredients for a meal celebrating your return. It will be?—”

“Winslow, please.” The man stopped, turning from the fire and facing Richard as he still stood near the door to the drawing room. “I will be retiring to my room. Sleep is what calls after such a journey. We can talk about my return in the morning.”

Without another word, Richard turned and started off for his bedroom. The long stretch of the house seemed all the more pronounced for his exhaustion, and Richard dimly dreaded the notion of climbing the stairs up to his bed.

“Your Grace!” Richard heard Winslow call, but the remainder of his words was lost as the Duke pressed on and paid no mind to whatever the elderly man was saying.

He was far too tired to deal with the overly excited man at present, and the only thing indeed that he required was to rest himself upon the comfort of his mattress.

Richard’s entire body ached from the jostle of the long carriage ride, and he rubbed absently at his shoulder as he found the handle to his bedroom door, his body carrying him there by rote. The floor creaked as he pressed inside the dark space, nary a single candle lit to guide him once in the room.

Which, of course, made sense. The space was left to be unused since his departure, and it would be a silly notion to light an unused bedroom. Still, a chill rippled over him as the darkness settled over his form, and Richard was quick to pull the remainder of his sodden clothes from himself.

Oh, at last. All I want is rest.

Stumbling a bit over the pile of garments he’d created on the floor, Richard made his way to the bed and flopped down onto the surprisingly warm fabric. Undoubtedly, he was chilled from standing in the blasted rain, and the contrast of the dry sheets was only magnified by his situation.

Before long, Richard’s breathing evened out, the slow rise and fall of his chest signaling his desperately sought-after relaxation. But just as the pull of slumber reached an apex, Richard sure he would sleep until an ungodly hour, even greater warmth surged around him—accompanied by the softness of unfamiliar skin.

“Bloody hell!”

Richard jumped up in the bed, flailing out as he sought to grab and overpower whoever dared to enter his bedroom. His hand met with force against the slender arm that had draped over him, and in the moment that it took for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light, a scream bellowed out into the room, along with several swatting blows in his direction.

“Ahh! Get out! Wins?—”

But the high-pitched voice was cut off as Richard reared up, swiveling over the petite figure and pinning it down to the bed. He straddled the intruder, immobilizing them by securing the thin wrists that were attached to the violent hands with one of his own over their owner’s head.

Attempts to scream at him again were foiled as Richard clamped a hand down over the offender’s mouth, and it was then that he was finally able to make out the dark shape beneath him.

“Amelia?” Richard’s brow met his hairline, but he was quick to school himself, shaking his head as the woman’s thrashing stilled. “Good. Are you quite through with that, then? Seeing as it is the master of this house you’ve chosen to assault?”

The slender woman looked up at him, her own eyes most likely able to process his identity now. As she focused on his face, her brows rose in a mirrored gesture, and the muffled sound of her yelling died out behind his palm.

Amelia was still rigid as a pole, however, and Richard leaned back, giving her more space.

“I shall remove my hand so long as you can agree to silence your screaming. Yes?”

She nodded, surrendering more to the situation the Duchess had found herself in. The thread of release that wormed through her muscles hit Richard with a swell of something unexpected—and vexing.

Having her pliant body beneath him stirred something primordial within him, and Richard swallowed hard. He disliked the odd state Amelia’s mere presence appeared to put in him, and the Duke began to slowly remove his hand as he forced himself to remember the cause of his arrival.

“What are you doing in here? And,” Amelia looked down his chest, pulling her chin in, “why are you wet?”

Annoyance flared within Richard’s chest, and despite the previous intrigue of finding himself in such a precarious situation, he was confident that the fault of the encounter lay squarely on Amelia’s delicate shoulders.

“What are you doing in my bedroom?”

She gaped at him before shaking herself and pulling against Richard’s hold once more. “ Your bedroom? Excuse me, Your Grace, but the master bed was claimed by myself when you saw fit not to use it as confirmed by your immediate departure from Heartwick on the day of our nuptials.”

Richard frowned, narrowing his eyes on his wife as they adjusted more and more to the lack of light.

“It is the master suite, and yet somehow, the Duchess of the house finds herself using it when the Duke is residing in the country for a time. If you’d taken up your place in your?—”

“For a time?” She squirmed against him, trying to gain a position of intimidation or control, most likely. “You have been absent for these five years. Furthermore, you have provided no reference to your arrival and have, in fact, never spoken or written of your potential return. I had little cause to think you would ever be back.”

“Clearly,” Richard squeezed tighter as Amelia threatened to pull her arms free and use them against him, “I have returned. And this remains my bedroom as Duke of this estate. And furthermore, you have only yourself to blame that I have returned to Heartwick at all.”

Gawking at him with those plump lips parted, Amelia regarded Richard as if he’d been responsible for the most heinous set-down.

“Me? What on earth have I done to merit being accosted during the middle of the night by a near stranger?”

Richard rolled his eyes at her. “Hardly. I only wish to get rest after a rather arduous and, as you pointed out, damp journey. My attempt was interrupted when it was discovered that my wife was present by way of colliding her arm with my face. Several times, in fact.”

Huffing out a breath of air, Amelia fought for her hands, whining like an impetuous school maid when she couldn’t break herself free.

“I thought you were a burglar or assailant. I was asleep, for Christ’s sake, and you scared the daylights out of me.”

The air pinched tight with a layer of tension that sat over the top of them like an oppressive leather skin. Richard grumbled to himself, shaking his head as he ran over the facts of the situation again in his mind.

“I assure you, Amelia. The feeling was mutual. I hardly expected you to be using this room.”

Though, now that he thought about it, it could very well have been what Winslow was attempting to inform him about.

“Which again is a foolish notion as you do not live here, and I have no true reason not to.” Amelia bucked her hips, trying to dislodge the Duke, which only made part of him come alive in a most unfortunate manner. “Now, would you please remove yourself from accosting my person so that we might both get our rest for the remainder of the night?”

As his eyes adapted more to the lack of illumination, the pink of Amelia’s cheeks was the first item to come into focus. Her wiggling and terse conversation with him pulled on threads within Richard that led to dark places he’d been accustomed to keeping hidden away.

A rumbling seated itself in his pelvis, and deep within him, an uproar of burgeoning flame stoked from long-dormant embers.

Has she always been this…lovely?

Not in any manner of speaking or acting as such, but in just the simple lines of her face, the gentle swells of her chest that pressed into the fabric of her chemise as she breathed. While it was understandable considering the situation, Amelia’s address was so direct and nearly tactless.

Manners had obviously not been invited to this particular conversation, but it was even more off putting that Richard couldn’t keep himself from enjoying that attitude of Amelia’s, even if still heartily irritated.

Wide, doe eyes looked up at him, their color like a cup of the strongest tea. Faint shadows in her cheeks suggested dimples, and Amelia’s unruly curls were scattered across the pillow beneath her head, reflecting that black tea hue with a hint of Darjeeling’s deep red undertones.

At once—or perhaps in actuality, the culmination of these past few minutes—all Richard could think of was pressing his lips to Amelia’s. His mind conjured up ideas of their softness, her taste, as if bewitched by the sheer proximity of his wife.

“Richard?”

Amelia’s voice was a sliver in the dark, only the tiniest of sounds that scarcely broke the air. Still, they made the silence that followed stand in stark contrast, and it weighed down on Richard’s shoulders like an omnipresent apparition.

His stare was still pinned to Amelia’s lips, and the Duke had to clear his throat to finally pull himself out of whatever magic had grasped him so tightly.

Are you mad? What is wrong with you?

Setting his face in a grim expression, Richard pulled himself from Amelia. He took up a seat far enough away from her that she might remove herself while he remained in the bed.

“Despite the circumstances of the past five years, this remains my bedroom. I agree that we both require our rest for tomorrow’s fulfillment, so I must suggest that you find your way to your own bed chambers.”

“Ugh!” She scowled at him. “After everything, you still believe that I am the one who should leave? All my things are here. A new room would undoubtedly suit you better.”

Richard cocked his head, the corner of his mouth tilting up in a smirk that he could not keep contained.

“If you so wish for the bed, you must allow yourself to be comfortable sharing it, for I will not be leaving.”

His wife balked, her words not wholly forming as she sputtered out half-formed strings of consonants and vowels. As she recoiled, Richard stretched himself out long on the bed, placing his hands beneath his head as his eyes eased closed with a deep exhale.

“Winslow is up stoking a fire. I am sure that should you require assistance ambulating to your proper room he would be more than capable of assisting you.”

The rustling of the bed covers, along with several inaudible words hurried out beneath Amelia’s breath, played as the backdrop. He could hear her walk toward the bedroom door in a huff, pausing somewhere likely just before it to cast out another retort before she exited.

“We will have much to discuss in the morning, Your Grace. I would be most interested to hear what additional comforts you seek to disrupt with your presence. As well as how soon we can foresee your departure.”

Richard said nothing, only listening to the sound of his door closing firmly as Amelia left him alone and in peace at last. Still, as he positioned himself more comfortably in his bed, a lingering scent that could only be attributed to Amelia’s presence crowded in around him.

His mind drifted back to the feeling of her beneath him, and Richard knew that sleep this night would not come without quite a bit of effort—if at all.