One Dance with a Duke (37 page)

Spencer calmed Amelia’s gelding with a few clucks of his tongue and dismounted from Juno to give her a rest. Likely he shouldn’t have pressed a mare Juno’s age on such a long journey, but he’d seen with his own eyes the destruction she wrought on her stall and herself when left behind. He needed to secure ownership of Osiris, and soon. But all these were thoughts better kept to himself.

“It’s beautiful,” he said simply, looking out on the valley. Really, that was God’s truth. Caught between the wild, uneven landscape spread below, the primeval forest at his back, and the brilliant blue sky overhead … he found his breath squeezed from his lungs. The sight made his heart ache for his own boyhood home. Canada’s untamed landscape offered many such vistas, and in his youth he’d often slipped away, paddled hard, ridden far to find them. Now an adult, he rarely let himself feel how much he missed that inspiring beauty.

Nature never did betray the heart that loved her
.

Here was a dark alcove of his spirit he’d never examined too closely, but Amelia had forged straight in and drawn back the curtains, illuminating everything. He
wasn’t especially sentimental, but he
was
a true Romantic, in the vein of Wordsworth and his like. Spencer had never been able to sit in a crowded church pew and feel anything but hopeless and tormented. But Nature was his cathedral. In places and moments like these, he truly felt the presence of the divine. Both humbling and comforting, at once.

It was a good thing, at times, for a duke to feel humbled. The same could be said—or at least tacitly admitted in rare moments of self-examination—that it was sometimes a welcome thing, to be comforted. And he didn’t need to go chasing, swimming, or scaling wild landscapes in pursuit of those feelings now. Fortunate soul that he was, he’d married a woman with the wit and generosity to dispense both comfort and humility, and the spirit to keep him guessing which he’d receive on any given day.

And he loved her for it. Such a new endeavor for him: loving. And an intimidating one to undertake. He was a man who tended to excel at a few select pursuits and fail catastrophically at the rest. He hated to ponder the consequences if this one fell into the latter category.

“How long has the castle been like this?” he asked, nodding toward the ranging pile of stone.

“Not so very long,” she said. “From what my father told me, it was standing until a few generations ago. It was weakened by fire and then fell into disrepair. Most of the walls are still standing, but there are no roofs or floors to speak of.” She turned shining blue eyes toward the castle’s entrance, where a stone arch bridged a pair of rounded towers. “Well, except in the gatehouse. That’s where my brothers got up to all their mischief.”

“And you? Where did you get up to your mischief?”

“I was a good girl,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “I didn’t get up to any mischief.”

He gave her a subtle wink. “Never too late to begin.”
To give his mare a bit of rest, he led her in a slow walk about the ruined castle’s perimeter. Pity the heap was entailed to her brother. He found himself wishing he could rebuild it for Amelia, make it into the home she deserved. Wake up to this sparkling green landscape and those brilliant blue eyes every morning.

After rounding the castle, he returned to Amelia, observing her delicate profile as she looked down at the river. He could imagine her ancestors standing here, in centuries past. Generation after generation of strong, noble women who partnered the strong, protected the weak, and made the keep worth defending.

“It’s well situated,” he said, following her gaze to Briarbank. In lieu of their own private castle, he supposed they’d have to make do with the cottage. “But it’s dreadfully small.”

“Yes. And it will soon be full of people. I’ll understand, if sometimes you feel the need to slip away.” She smiled. “Anyhow, the neighborhood begs to be explored. There’s the river, the forest, all sorts of ruins. Someday we’ll ride down to Tintern. That would be an excellent excursion for Claudia.”

Spencer frowned at the mention of his ward, shooting a glance back toward the coach. Certainly, the ruined medieval abbey would be an excellent excursion for her—if they could coax the girl to go. Claudia hadn’t been riding since her return from York. He didn’t know whether her boycott stemmed from resentment toward Amelia, or toward him.

“Come along,” Amelia chided, evidently mistaking his frown for reluctance. “You know you want to see the view of Tintern Abbey. ‘When the fretful stir unprofitable,’” she quoted, teasing him with another line from Wordsworth’s poem, “‘and the fever of the world have hung upon the beatings of my heart …’”

She arched an eyebrow, extending him a dare.

“‘How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,’” he finished in a murmur, looking over his shoulder as though there might be someone to hear.

“I knew it.” She smiled. “Romantic.”

“Our secret, remember.” He made his voice deep with mock threat. “You’re not to tell a soul.”

Four days later, Spencer sat in Briarbank’s small library, shaking blotting powder over the letter he’d just finished. A knock sounded at the door. “Come in.”

“It’s only me.” Amelia entered the library, closing the door behind her and approaching the desk with a delicious sway in her hips. A quite promising sway, if he read the signals right.

This place was good for her. He’d noticed the change in her the moment they’d arrived at Briarbank. She was in her element, brimming with confidence and cheer, and for his part, Spencer had been reaping bountiful rewards in their bedchamber. And in their dressing room, and in the bath, and even once in the drawing room. But not yet in this library, and he dearly hoped this afternoon’s interruption was intended to remedy that oversight.

He sealed his letter and set it aside. “Well?”

“A rider just arrived from Harcliffe Manor. Lily and the gentlemen are under way. They should arrive within an hour or two.”

Spencer received the news with surprising ambivalence. This was the original reason he’d journeyed here—to get Bellamy and Ashworth in one place and put an end to this Stud Club business. But now he’d been enjoying his time alone with Amelia. He hated for the honeymoon to end.

Evidently, she felt the same. Skirting the desk, she sauntered around to his chair and made herself at home in his lap. “Soon the house will be full of people,” she said.
“I’ll be busy making everyone feel at home. This may be our last time alone for a while.”

She wasted no time with coyness. Her hand went straight to his groin.

“Already?” she teased, stroking his erection through the fabric of his trousers.

“From the moment you entered the room.” He hauled her further into his lap, taking her mouth in a kiss that was equal parts playfulness and passion. God, he loved her mouth. So sweet and lush, just like the rest of her.

She reached between them, unbuttoning his fall and smallclothes with practiced skill. He cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples to peaks through the thin muslin as she freed him from his trousers. Her cool, delicate fingers wrapped around his thick length, stroking him boldly. He reclined in the chair, reveling in the sensation. She was a quick study, his Amelia. She’d already learned just how he liked to be touched.

Another rap at the door had him jolting in the chair.

“Stay here,” she said, scooting off his lap. “One of the servants, no doubt. I’ll be back in a trice.”

He obeyed her. Because really, he had no desire to stand and greet whoever it was with a rampant erection. He didn’t even bother to tuck himself back in, just moved closer to the desk. Amelia conferred with the intruder in hushed tones, and then shut the door and locked it. If his arousal had flagged the slightest bit during the interruption, the sound of that tumbler in the lock had him throbbing again, instantly.

As she hurried back across the room, he pushed back in his chair and surveyed the desk. Would he lay her atop it? Or bend her over it? Decisions, decisions.

Amelia had ideas of her own, however. She walked over to where he sat in the chair, took his eager length in her hand, and sank to her knees.

Oh, hell.

That sweet, lush mouth closed over the swollen head of his cock, and Spencer thought he would erupt. “Amelia, wait.”

She backed off and looked up at him.

Damn it. Why the deuce had he done that?

“What is it?” she asked.

“Are you sure …?” He hadn’t wanted to push her into this too soon.

Her eyes twinkled. “You told me that if I enjoy something you do to me, there’s an excellent chance you’ll enjoy the same.”

“In this case, it’s not an excellent chance. It’s a certainty.”

“Well, then. Stop interrupting.”

She took him in her mouth again, this time smiling while she did it. And it was the damnedest thing, but it felt different when she smiled. Even better than before, if such a thing were possible. Her tongue curled around the sensitive ridge beneath, and her soft palate rubbed against the crown, and a helpless burst of profanity tore from his throat.

Which made her laugh, and then it got even better.

She was a little tentative, but that was good, because if she’d been any more free with her lips and tongue and hands, he would have come in an embarrassingly brief ten seconds.

He fell back into the chair, surrendering to the mounting pleasure. With one hand, he swept a stray lock of her hair aside, to better watch as she sucked him between those plump, coral-pink lips. She looked up and caught him watching, and she gave an erotic sigh that had him clawing the upholstery.

Sweet heaven. Embarrassing or not, he was already close. So close. Perhaps he ought to warn her. She’d never done this before. She might not realize she had a
choice, but … bloody hell. Why would he want to give her one? Really, of all the times for a man’s nobility to be put to the test.

“Amelia,” he groaned. There. That was all the warning she’d get. He knew she’d recognize the desperation in his voice.

Bless her, she only increased her efforts. Her very effective efforts. Her brilliant, amazing, soul-shattering, credibility-defying, best-ever-in-his-life efforts.

“Oh,
God.”
He arched off the chair, his whole body racked by bliss.

In the aftermath, he stared unfocused at the cracked plaster and roughhewn ceiling beams. Amelia had been right. This drafty little cottage was paradise on earth.

She rose from the floor and sat on the desk facing him, wiggling her bottom backward and letting her legs dangle between his sprawled boots. Her kittenish expression was one of extreme self-satisfaction.

Minx. He would teach her something about satisfaction. Just as soon as he recovered his breath. Reaching out with a leaden arm, he encircled her ankle with his fingers. “Now you.”

She shook her head. “Thank you, no. I don’t want to get mussed. They’ll be here any time now. The beds are prepared, but I’d hoped to gather fresh flowers for each room.” Her brow wrinkled. “And I’m still missing a vegetable dish for dinner. How do you feel about parsnips?”

“I’m completely indifferent to parsnips,” he said, sliding his hand up her calf. “But I very much want to taste you.”

Laughing, she slid back on the desk, out of his reach. “Not now. I’ve so much yet to do.”

“And if you don’t finish, what does it matter? Amelia, you are too quick to put others ahead of yourself.”

She shrugged and flicked a glance at his lap. “Are you saying you wish I hadn’t …”

“Of course not. Are you mad?” He grinned. Tucking himself back in, he straightened in his chair and took a more serious tone. “But I’ve been wondering something. At the Granthams’ the other night, you were radiant. Bewitching. The center of attention. If you’d behaved like that in Town, I could not have attended a single ball without noticing you, let alone dozens. How is it I never saw that Amelia in London?”

She bit her lip. “I’ve been pondering that question myself. Obviously, you’re a great boost for my confidence. I defy any woman to be a wallflower with a handsome duke at her side.” She tickled his knee with her toes. “But before I met you … I think I once mentioned Mr. Poste to you. The squire I was engaged to marry?”

He nodded.

“My father owed him a great deal of money, you see, and he made certain I understood he would forgive the debts in exchange for … well, for me.” Her voice grew soft. “He had his eye on me, from the time I was very young. Too young. I developed earlier than most girls, and even when I was twelve, I would catch him leering at me. It made me feel so unclean, and I was only a child.”

Spencer wanted to hit something. Hard. “Did he touch you?”

“A few pinches, here and there. Nothing more. But I didn’t know how to cope with that sort of attention, and I never spoke of it to my parents. I was afraid they wouldn’t let me marry him, and I wanted so much to help. In the end, I just couldn’t go through with it. My motives were entirely selfish. I dreamed of having my turn at courtship and romance. But even after I broke the engagement, it took years before I could feel a man’s eyes on my body and not simply … wither where I stood.”

Damn it all. There was nothing to make a man feel more useless than the revelation of a wound suffered years in the past, healed over in the present, that he couldn’t do a blasted thing to remedy now.

“So if no one saw me, I suspect it was because I didn’t want to be seen. Perhaps I didn’t feel worthy of attention.” She gave him a bittersweet smile. “You see, Poste died soon after our betrothal ended. If I’d endured just a year of marriage to him, my family would have been saved so much trouble. And I’d be a wealthy widow now.”

“Surely you don’t feel guilty for that.”

One of her shoulders lifted in a shrug. A clear admission that she did.

Dear, addled girl. To have carried that misplaced guilt—and the weight of her family’s financial distress—all these years. Simply because she’d balked at marrying a lecherous old stick? At least it made some sense now, why she would so eagerly deny herself in the name of helping her brothers.

He caught her hand and squeezed it. “I’m very glad you didn’t marry him.”