Page 24 of The Wrong Duke

“What? No, I wasn’t talking about Lord Malnor, Amelia.”

“You weren’t?” Amelia leaned back and eyed her sister. “Then who are you talking about?”

Bridget’s eyes flashed mischief. “His Grace, of course. The way the two of you bickered —”

“Hold your tongue!”

“I will not,” she giggled again. “As I said, there is a reason I was happy to scurry myself away to the library after supper. I didn’t want to get in the way.”

Amelia felt her cheeks blushing as if a fire had been held against them. Try as she might, the kiss she and the Duke had shared had haunted her like a stubborn specter, more than once finding its way into her dreams in a way that had made sleeping somewhat challenging of late. But it was nothing, she told herself. Just the whims of boredom and a wandering mind that she’d always had trouble keeping on track. Surely, most definitely, she wasn’t attracted to the Duke...

“There is nothing... His Grace and I weren’t... You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered.

“Whatever you say.”

“I do say it,” she snapped. “And you better not.” She eyed her sister warningly, who responded with a smug grin. “His Grace is a nuisance and nothing more. For reasons that... that aren’t important, he doesn’t want me courting Lord Malnor, so he’s insisting on interfering every chance he gets. That’s all it is.”

“And you?”

“What about me? I’m doing what I can to ignore him, but...” She sucked through her teeth as she felt her anger spike. “But he brings out the worst in me.”

“He brings out something in you.”

“Bridget!”

“And he is handsome, too,” she continued. “And rich, I am sure. If you and he were to wish to wed, I can’t imagine father stopping it. And the result would be much the same.”

“The point is moot,” Amelia said, her tone severe now, a warning for her sister to drop it. “It is Lord Malnor who our father wishes upon me, and thus it is he who I am to pursue. His Grace is... irrelevant.”

“Whatever you say, sister.”

She narrowed her eyes at Bridget, and Bridget, as she so often did, giggled to herself and widened her eyes as if daring Amelia to push the point. Amelia’s response was to roll her eyes and then pull her sister into a tight hug to which Bridget was happy to accede and snuggle in to. And there they remained, tucked into the back of the dark library, the sounds of the guests filtering softly from beyond the walls, dull and far off, drifting listlessly through the manor as they slowly retired to bed.

Bridget didn’t know what she was talking about. That was all it was. Amelia considered her sister’s words, deciding that they were simply the whims and misunderstandings of a young girl who didn’t know the first thing about men.

Amelia had meant what she said. The Duke was nothing more than a nuisance. A darn pain is what he was. And the way he had goaded her tonight, luring her with sharp words and suggestive comments, trying to trick her into saying something that might tarnish her before the Marquess’ eyes — it was infuriating!

Worse, she couldn’t help but be goaded. Whenever he opened his mouth, even just to breathe, she felt herself tensing and bracing for a comment or a snide remark. And while it would have been so easy and right to ignore... Amelia simply couldn’t help herself.

Bridget was snoring beside her, and Amelia tittered to herself as she thought back to their duel over supper. It was funny in a way that if he wasn’t so determined to unmask her, the two might have gotten along. They had similar temperaments. The same sense of humor and pertinacity to make fun while others might shy away. If it wasn’t for the way he treated her, the distrust he held, the two might even be friends.

And in that, Amelia had an idea.

Snuggled in beside her sister, eyes drifting and body turning heavy, what she realized in the moment was the mistake she had been making. She was letting the Duke get to her. She was allowing him to frustrate her. She was playing right into his hands like a puppet on the end of a string. But what if she was to change tact and no longer rise to the bait? What if she were to treat him as a friend and lure him with honey rather than vinegar?

Not seduce the Duke, heavens no. Rather, give him a reason to stop attacking her at every turn. He thought she was a vicious harpy trying to lure his friend to his doom? Let him see her as a congenial puppy eager to please and happy to acquiesce so that he would have no choice but to kowtow to her and Lord Malnor’s romantic desires.

Yes... Amelia felt herself fading, a smile on her face as she imagined how she would behave the next time she and the Duke were alone. Pleasant conversation. Friendly banter. And then, finally, he might leave her alone.

* * *

Amelia saw His Grace walking alone through the gardens. It was just sunrise, the manor still sat in a state of deathly silence as the alcohol which flowed freely last night trapped the guests in a deep sleep from which they might not break for several more hours, and with her plan now decided upon, Amelia realize this here was the perfect chance to act.

She had just finished bathing and dressing herself. As it was still early morning, she was in morning dress: a maroon Spencer jacket over a white muslin gown, her hair worn in curls but her make-up so light one would be forgiven for thinking she had nothing on at all. Ordinarily, she would have broken her fast before daring to speak with anyone as on an empty stomach, Amelia had a tendency to act brash and behave in a shortsighted manner. But she’d spied the Duke from her window, saw that he was alone, and knew that this was the perfect time to act.

Through the manor, she hurried, careful to keep her feet light so as not to wake anyone; even the serving staff were slow to rise, and she dodged their eyes because she didn’t want gossip to spread. Then she slipped out the front door, rounded the manor, and as expected, found the Duke wandering idly along the path which led toward the back gardens.

She started when she saw him. In the light of the morning — soft light oranges and dark pinks — he cut a bold figure. Dressed plainly in breeches and a white shirt, barefoot of all things — if she had any decency, she’d turn around and leave him be. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting company.

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