Page 20 of His Abandoned Duchess

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 riskboth 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.

Chapter Ten

“Amarvelous event. Is it not, Your Grace?”

Swelling music filled the vast ballroom to the rafters, making it difficult to hear. Amelia struggled to pull her attention away from the warm wash of candlelight reflected off the shimmering fabrics of ladies’ gowns, all mirroring that subtle warmth with their yellows and golds and off-whites.

Notice of this event had been shockingly short, and Amelia was genuinely taken aback at how quickly Richard had gotten the two of them on the invitation list.

It was unheard of to be granted access with the event set to be held the very next day. Still, Amelia assumed that the hostess had been particularly amenable because she was an old family friend of the Duke, one, Lady Anne Culling-Smith, sister to the Duke of Wellington, who knew Richard’s family well.

A fact that she had only remembered when the notion of attending the ball was brought up and the information passed to Jane the previous evening.

“Lovely,” Amelia replied, bowing her head to the stately man in front of her.

His flowery words continued on as the entire space hummed with an ever-present buzz as conversations flowed. Amelia was scarcely listening to the Lord, her eyes roaming the room.

Women of marrying age vied for the attention of suitors. At the same time, business was conducted at the corners by men with plump glasses of sherry in hand. It was heartily similar to any drum or event she might attend during the Season, save for one glaring difference.

Richard insisted on introducing her to nearly every lord and lady in the home, and she had grown particularly tired of it.

“Of course, Your Grace. I don’t wish to keep you.” The Lord lowered his head toward her husband, and Amelia offered a polite, if distracted, smile as she curtsied.

As the man walked off, surely going to find another set of people to chat into a stupor, Amelia realized that she had not paid enough attention to catch the man’s name, and she chewed back on the desire to laugh.

The draining pageantry of introducing his wife to each person of station attending the ball was Richard’s sole focus, it seemed, and Amelia was near the end of her rope, seeking a way to break free from the needless conversations and escape into the solitude of a nearby terrace or hall.

Above the impossible pace of all these introductions, Amelia was more fatigued by one particular stressor that weighed on her like a gown of lead—that kiss.

Richard hadn’t so much as looked at her for longer than a few moments, and he was readily turning every conversation to business and the expectations of the ball. It was as if their torrid encounter was the farthest thing from his mind. The same could indeednotbe said about Amelia.

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