Page 6 of His Abandoned Duchess

There was, of course, no fault or grave issue to be found. This room was equally well constructed, just like all the other rooms in the estate. It simply wasn’t hers, and no matter what that husband of hers had said, the other one was.

“He’s so aggravating,” Amelia grumbled to herself. “Mutton-headed…cob! I’d sooner see him taking his leave to a caravansary than spending another night within Heartwick. I’m liable to stuff his cravat in his darkest reaches before I spend another evening in this God-forsaken guest’s room.”

Flinging off the covers, Amelia sulked over toward the room’s wash cabinet. She snatched the jug next to the marble basin, carrying it toward the door where she would ring for a servant to bring up hot water. Usually, she would allow the maid to procure the jug herself, but Amelia dreaded the notion of interacting with anyone just yet and set the thing outside her door.

As she stood at the other side of the closed door, however, Amelia’s mind wandered. It looped back to the previous evening and the sudden feel of her husband looming over her, holding her captive beneath his thick legs and impressive grip.

Something stirred low in her belly. It was unfamiliar for the most part, but Amelia could recall vague similarities to it that had occurred over the years.

His eyes were so…blue.

Amelia would never forget those eyes, not from the very first moment she saw them to the next at their wedding and evenuntil they closed their last. There were icy and piercing, a strike from a needle-thin icicle straight through her chest.

It was all hogwash. Why on God’s great earth was she thinking about her absent husband like this? It must, of course, have to do with his sudden arrival, and Amelia squeezed her hands in fists at her side, gripping the thin fabric of her chemise.

But the thoughts of his proximity were not easily dissuaded. There had been a roiling heat that clamored through her body with each moment that he contained her. Though admitting such a thing sounded as pleasant as an abscessed tooth, Amelia could do little to deny it.

She was attracted to him.

“Your Grace,” Jane called through the door, “are you well? I’ve sent Beatrice for your water, and I should think to help you with dressing.”

Amelia sighed. She knew it would only make the woman ask more questions if she kept Jane out, and she had been with Amelia since she was first employed by her father as a governess.

Walking to the door, Amelia painted on her most convincing look of indifference and pulled it open with a gentle smile.

“Jane. Thank you. I am quite well. I do wish to wash prior to breakfast. Please see that the hip bath is brought in with enough hot water.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Jane nodded, lowering her head, which made the sunlight dance in the gray streaks of her hair. “I shall have a fire set to keep you warm.”

With her own nod, Amelia returned to the four-poster bed across the room and sat down, waiting for the water and bath to be brought in for her to clean. In truth, she hoped that by arranging for a lengthy dressing time, she would find the morning room empty when she arrived late for breakfast—no husband in sight.

She could, after all, simply insist that she was not late but arriving for breakfast at the agreed uponteno’clock, a full hour past its usual time. As long as the servants didn’t give her away, of course.

Steps clicking against the wood floor as she descended the stairs, Amelia’s pulse was a noticeable flicker in her neck. Her nerves had not settled since she’d awoken this morning, and while dressed and put together as she should be, Amelia still felt underdressed for the occasion.

Or perhaps it was that she felt unprepared for another encounter with the Duke, and with little else to blame for it, Amelia had chosen her attire as the scapegoat.

The solemnity of the silent hall grated on Amelia’s skin, and she hurried toward the morning room, where she hoped that a meal of fresh marmalade and toast would be waiting. Tea with creamsounded the better option for Amelia this morning. However, her tiredness due to the previous evening’s lack of sleep may well warrant coffee.

I’ll be lucky if I make it through to luncheon without requiring a brief rest.

When she approached the breakfast room, the smell of eggs and meat nearly caused Amelia to walk into the doorframe. It was exceedingly unusual for such a hearty meal to be eaten this early in the day. She typically chose to consume only her regular toast with jam and butter. This had to be the Duke’s doing, and Amelia’s foul mood soured all the more as she pressed forward past the door.

“At last. The Duchess has decided to grace us with her presence for breakfast.” Richard’s voice cut through the quiet like a knife, and Amelia immediately missed the silence that had seemed so oppressive. “If I am not mistaken, breakfast was to begin at nine. Was it not?”

Amelia cast a glance at the servants who stood at the side of the room. They offered guilt-ridden expressions, silently asking her to show them mercy for their error. They were not at fault, of course. Amelia had chosen to delay the meal this morning and had been the one who forgot to pass out that crucial information to them.

With a sigh, she walked to the end of the table. One of the servants was there in a flash to pull free her chair, and Amelia satdown at the wrong head of the table, a tight smile dressing her lips.

“Apologies, Your Grace. I found myself difficult to rouse this morning and believed that a brisk bathing would do Amelia wonders. You needn’t have waited for me.”

Richard glared from his position across the long table, his stare breaking Amelia’s only long enough for him to regard the now cold eggs that sat waiting in the center of the breakfast spread.

“It is customary to begin breakfast whenallare in attendance.” Her husband’s disingenuous grin reflected her own. “And I was given plenty of this fine coffee and cream to keep Amelia at ease.”

Amelia nodded her head low, letting her stare fall to the china plate in front of her. Without responding to Richard, she regarded the servant who stood nearby, gesturing for a bit of bread and jam along with a healthy pour of tea into the delicate cup that sat to her right.

She took her tea with a small amount of cream and ground sugar from the kitchens, which she would often watch as it was chiseled from the loaf by the housekeeper. It was a fascinating little process, chipping off the smaller bits of sugar to be ground up for use in tea. As Amelia returned her attention to her husband, she had a firm conviction that the Duke had never once even considered how the sugar was added to his coffee.

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