One Dance with a Duke (30 page)

But much as he wanted to take her now, he hated to take her
here
. A sweaty tup against the wall, in a barn reeking of horses—on the second day of their true marriage? He’d planned to make love to her properly the next time, with patience and care. He’d spent the past several days caught up in a haze of his own unrelenting want, and he was beginning to realize, as the fog cleared, that Amelia might have wants of her own.

“Spencer?” Leaning forward, she licked the underside of his jaw and ground her moist heat against his palm. “Last night, when you threatened to take me against the wall, never mind the bed?”

Oh, Jesus
.

“Could you do that now?”

Yes. Yes, if that was what she wanted, he most definitely could. And if she met him halfway with the buttons, they could be under way in seconds.

“Hullo?” A faraway voice echoed through the barn. “Hullo there! Amelia, are you in here?”

“Wh—?” Her eyes sparked like candles. Her hands instantly flew to her riding habit, redraping the skirts and smoothing the bodice. Craning her neck, she called to the rafters, “Yes. We’re just here!”

What the devil?
Spencer jerked around, hastily running one hand through his hair and adjusting his breeches with the other. He knew that voice, but he couldn’t place it.

“Don’t tell me this is the duchess’s suite.” The voice and accompanying footfalls approached. “Marriages of convenience are all well and good, but I rather expected Morland to provide you finer accommodations than these.”

Spencer still didn’t know who it was, but whoever it was, he felt like hitting the man. But Amelia …

Amelia blushed. And laughed.

She dashed into the aisle to greet the newcomer, and Spencer followed her. When the owner of the irreverent comments came into view, he instantly understood. Understood that a very promising afternoon had just gone to hell.

Biting back a groan, he watched his wife embrace her brother.

“Jack,” she said warmly. “I’m so glad you’ve come.”

“I must admit,” Amelia said some time later, directing the servant to deposit the tea service on the table, “it’s quite a surprise to see you.”

“A happy one, I hope,” said Jack, shoving his blond hair back from his face. He shared Amelia’s fair coloring—all her brothers did—but he had a greater share of their mother’s refined features. He’d always been “the handsome brother,” long before he’d eagerly donned the black-fleece mantle of “the ne’er-do-well.”

“Yes, of course,” she replied. “Claudia, would you be so good as to pour?”

Even Spencer’s ward had made an appearance, obviously curious about the arrival of this impromptu house guest. The young lady accepted the tea-pouring duty with reluctance, but Amelia offered her no reprieve. Claudia needed the practice serving, and Amelia needed to think.

Why on earth was Jack here?

Of course she’d hoped he’d come out for a visit. She’d spent the last several months dreaming up methods of removing Jack from his debauched London life. That was why she’d sent him a hasty note the day of her marriage, extending him an open invitation to stay at Braxton Hall whenever he wished. But the very same week?

“I would have come even sooner, had I known what lovely scenery Cambridgeshire has to offer.” He gave Claudia a dashing smile, and worry twanged in Amelia’s gut. That quintessential Jack grin worked entirely too well on impressionable young ladies.

It did little for Claudia, however. The girl’s eyes widened a fraction, and then she simply turned her head.

Good for her.

Shrugging, Jack reached for a sandwich and bit into it eagerly. “Traveling all night on the mail coach leaves a man devilish hungry. The cooks in those posting inns have nothing to match your skill, Amelia.”

“It’s only a bit of cold ham. I’ve ordered all your favorites for luncheon, though.”

“Ah, I knew you would. Even removed to Cambridgeshire, you’re the best sister a fellow could hope to have.”

As Claudia busied herself with the tea things, Amelia leaned forward and addressed him in a low, confidential tone. “The duke will join us any moment. Dare I hope this visit means you’ve raised the funds to pay him?”

“Oh, that?” He reached for a second sandwich. “That debt’s been dispatched already. Rents from the cottage, you remember.”

“Oh.” Amelia blinked. “Yes, of course. That was … fast.”

Why hadn’t Spencer mentioned this? She supposed he hadn’t yet received the payment. So much for their country house party. She hated thinking of Briarbank occupied by strangers, but it did lift a weight from her shoulders, to know that Jack was clear of debt. Perhaps that was the reason for this new lightness in his demeanor.

“How long will you stay?” she asked.

“A few weeks, if you can put up with me. Thought I’d
ride over to Cambridge one of these days and see about resuming my studies.”

Her heart soared into her throat, and she swallowed her tea with difficulty. She couldn’t have dreamed of a better morning. First her conversation with Spencer, where he’d finally begun to reveal to her what a good-hearted, remarkable man he was—if inexplicably determined to hide it from the world. And now Jack’s fortuitous arrival, his intention to reform.

It was all so perfect. Jack could stay here for several weeks, away from his miscreant friends. Spencer would be such a good influence on him. Perhaps Jack could even live here when he resumed his studies—Cambridge was only a nine-mile ride away. In time, Spencer could find Jack a living somewhere: a nice vicarage, a few hundred pounds a year. It wasn’t much perhaps, but it would be a good life—and as much as the fourth son of impoverished nobility could reasonably expect. With a summer like that, she would scarcely miss Briarbank.

Brimming with optimism, Amelia nipped a lump of sugar into her tea. “Who did let it, in the end? Briarbank, I mean.”

Instead of answering, Jack rose to his feet. It took her only a moment to discern why.

Spencer stood in the salon entrance, freshly bathed and dressed in immaculate linen and dark, chocolate-brown wool.

Oh, dear. All the sensual excitement of their encounter in the stables … it rushed back in the space of a moment. When Jack had arrived, Amelia had carefully banked the fire of her lust—she’d had no choice—but beneath her every motion and every breath, desire had been quietly smoldering all the while. And now Spencer appeared, and he was … the poker, or the bellows, or the very long straw one used to light tinder—heavens, take any crude male analogy, and it fit. One
glance at his tall, strong, handsome figure, and heat washed over her, instantly. Perspiration beaded in inconvenient places—the cleft of her bosom, the backs of her knees, her inner thighs. Even her mouth watered. Her choices seemed to be two: look away, or liquefy. She opted for the former, hoping to spare the silk upholstery of her chair.

“Your Grace.” Jack made an elegant bow. He did have very pretty manners, when he chose to use them.

“Mr. d’Orsay.”

“Oh, come now, Morland. Won’t you call me Jack?” Jack took his seat. “We are brothers now, you know.”

Amelia risked a glance at Spencer then. His face revealed no pleasure at Jack’s sudden familiarity. His eyes were hard and unforgiving. Magnetic and entrancing. Demanding and arousing.

Look away, look away. A good hostess doesn’t salivate
.

“Well, Jack.” He strode into the room and joined their group, dropping his muscled frame onto a slender, straight-backed chair that looked, Amelia worried, rather unequal to the challenge. “Let’s dispense with the pleasantries, then. What is it you want?”

“What do you mean?” she said. “He’s come for a visit.”

“Oh, has he?”

Amelia couldn’t fathom the reasons for Spencer’s suddenly cool demeanor. But Jack didn’t seem overly surprised.

“Yes, of course.” Her brother chuckled nervously. “A visit. Fine way to welcome me.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows in a clear expression of skepticism.

“Perhaps I want to see how you’re treating my sister,” Jack said, his voice growing defensive. “You took her from us rather quickly, don’t you think? And there’s talk”—he leaned forward—“about you.”

“What sort of talk?” Claudia asked.

Everyone froze, surprised by the young lady’s sudden question. By appearances, she’d spent recent minutes arranging lemon slices with tiny silver tongs rather than heeding the conversation.

“The usual talk?” Claudia’s dark eyelashes fluttered with interest. “Or something new?”

Amelia bit her lip, both appalled at Claudia’s rudeness and eager to hear Jack’s answer. Obviously Claudia knew nothing of Leo’s death and the mysterious circumstances surrounding it, but Amelia wondered if Julian Bellamy had been spreading his suspicions through Town. She prayed not. Spencer would be proved innocent eventually, but the stain of scandal was difficult to scrub clean. Rumors of the duke’s involvement in a murder would damage the prospects of all connected with him. Claudia, most of all.

“Claudia.” Spencer addressed the girl without even looking at her. “Leave us.”

“But—”

“I said, leave us. Now.”

His tone was rapier-sharp, and though Amelia understood his reasons for wanting Claudia gone, she hurt for the girl. No one deserved that sort of dismissal, especially not in front of a guest.

“It’s all right, dear,” she whispered, laying a gentle touch atop Claudia’s wrist. “We’ll see you at luncheon.”

Tears gathering in her eyes, Claudia rose from her chair. “No, you won’t.”

As she fled the room, Spencer winced just a little. Amelia filed away a thought for some later date:
Give His Grace some lessons on the care and feeding of children
. He did well enough with foals, but he was a disaster with young humans. She’d best find a way to work on that, before birthing him a child of his own.

Oh, heavens. The mere thought of carrying his babe inside her … Her heart gave a sweet, sudden kick.

“Now, then.” Spencer braced his elbows on his knees and leaned forward over his linked hands. “Let’s settle this. You’ve come here to see how I’m treating Amelia?”

Jack fidgeted in his chair. “Yes.”

“You. The devoted brother who deserted her at a ball without chaperone, transportation, or a coin to her name. Who played high with money he didn’t have, to the detriment of her hopes and prospects. Who failed to appear at her wedding.
You
… are questioning
my
treatment of her. Do I understand this?”

Jack blinked.

Spencer turned to her abruptly. “Amelia, how are you being treated? Well enough?”

After a stunned moment, she replied, “Very well.”

“There you have your answer, Jack. The reason for your visit is satisfied. You’ll remain here as my guest tonight, and tomorrow you’ll head back the way you came.”

“Tomorrow?” Amelia blurted out. “Why, he traveled all night by coach just to get here. I’d hoped he could stay for some weeks. He means to ride over to Cambridge and see about resuming his—”

“Tomorrow.” The word was a verdict, not a suggestion. End of discussion. But his gaze trapped hers, and the conversation continued.

Why?
she felt herself silently asking.
Why are you retreating to this cold, arrogant behavior, after the lovely morning we just shared? If I truly mean something to you, why can’t you extend the slightest consideration to my kin?

There were answers there, in his eyes. But she couldn’t quite make them out.

And then something clattered to the table between them, breaking the silent communication with a sharp, metallic clang.

Amelia’s eyes flew to the object instinctively, and she gasped at what she saw. A small, roundish disc of brass, stamped with a horse’s head.

Leo’s missing token.

“Oh my …” She reached for it in surprise.

Jack clapped a hand over the coin. “I have what you want, Morland. And I know what it’s worth to you.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Spencer said.

Enmity sparked between the men, exploding all Amelia’s hopes for a happy, idyllic summer.

“However did you get that token?” she wondered aloud. “There are investigators searching all London for that scrap of brass.”

“Yes, well. The investigators haven’t come asking me.” Jack’s lips quirked in a strange little smile, and a sliver of fear pierced Amelia’s heart. Oh, God. He couldn’t have been involved in Leo’s murder. Not her own brother. No, no, no. It simply couldn’t be.

No.

It simply couldn’t be.

She replayed the events of the evening, slowly filling her lungs with relief. Jack had been with her at the ball all evening. True, he’d departed early, at half-eleven. But Mr. Bellamy and Lord Ashworth had appeared not an hour later, and Leo had already been dead for some time. Jack could not possibly have been involved. Thank God. But the question remained …

“How did you get your hands on that token?”

“It was the damnedest thing,” her brother said, speaking to Spencer. “I’d been passing some time with a—” His gaze flicked toward Amelia. “With an acquaintance, a few days ago. We had cause to exchange a coin or two, and I spied this in her purse. Offered her a guinea for it, and she happily made the exchange.”