Page 31 of The Wrong Duke

As to how Amelia felt about this seemingly purposeful shunning? She wasn’t quite sure.

She couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened earlier this morning. That was the reason that she was behaving in such an obtuse manner. Her mind refused to leave that garden, trapped underneath that elm tree, focused on and refusing to yield from the Duke’s tongue and lips and how it had made her body shake and shudder and explode in ways that she hadn’t known it could.

How had it even happened? Why had it happened? And what did she think of it? All good questions, none for which she had answers to. It was like a dream from which she could not wake. An impossible situation that she half thought she might have imagined — she must have! To kiss the Duke accidentally was one thing. To be kissed by him again was another. But this... this was something else entirely.

“I can’t wait for it,” Martha was saying excitedly to Lord Malnor. “The Galentine Ball is always the best of the Season — Last year’s was splendid.”

“I hear Lord Galentine is importing real live lions this year,” Lord Malnor said. “He’ll have them in cages around the hall.”

“No!” Martha cried and held a hand to her mouth.

“You didn’t hear it from me,” Lord Malnor chuckled.

It might have been one of the more exciting pieces of gossip that Amelia had heard all week, but she barely acknowledged it, barely heard it, barely cared to pretend.

It was the Duke’s lips that captured her interest. The feel of them between her thighs as she squeezed and moaned and begged for him to not stop. She could feel her cheeks flushing red and tried to escape such thoughts — now was not the time. But she was but human, and there was little she could do.

She dared a glance at the Duke, noting his refusal to look at her. But what did that mean? Did he regret it? Was he embarrassed? Had Amelia done something wrong? Or was this all part of his plan to unmask her? Although how that might be, she had no idea.

“Well, that was easy,” Amelia’s mother said suddenly, sounding rather satisfied with herself. “Much more than I had dared hope. Miss Forbes, will you be making a selection?”

“No,” Martha grumbled. “Mother has my dress selected already.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely,” Lord Malnor chided.

Martha glared at him. “You know it’s not.”

“Wonderful,” Amelia’s mother agreed. “If that’s the case, we best be off.” She turned back to the seamstress. “When can we expect it to be ready?”

“The ball is in three days?”

“That’s correct.”

“I’ll have it for you tomorrow then” the seamstress assured her. “That will give you enough time to try it on. And if any adjustments are needed, I will be at your beck and call.”

“Perfect.” Her mother clapped her hands together. “Well, come on then, no use standing about now. The lady has work to do.”

Amelia was glad to be going. What she needed was to be back in her room, the door firmly closed, possibly even locked so as to ensure no disturbances. And then she would have a long and hard think about what had happened earlier and what she was going to do about it. If anything.

A nod of the head and she started toward the door... only for her eye to catch a glimpse of a transcendent yellow silk hanging from one of the hooks. It was just gorgeous: a darker yellow with wisps of canary trailing through its seam, hints of red about the hems, lightly woven, almost gossamer it was so delicate. Despite herself, Amelia found her hand running through it, and for the first time all morning, the Duke and his wicked tongue wasn’t the only thing on her mind.

“Amelia?” Her mother clicked her tongue. “What are you doing?”

“I —” She turned back to find her mother, Martha, and Lord Malnor all watching her. “This material. It’s rather fetching, don’t you think?”

Her mother pushed her lips together, paying it a fraction of a glance. “It’s fine. Now, come on, dear, let us —”

“It’s more than fine. It’s lovely.” She pulled the material out further, holding it against her skin. “Mother, might I request that I have a dress fashioned from this instead?”

“What? Why?”

“Well...” Amelia blinked. “Is that not why we’re here, so I might choose a —”

“Which we have done.” She turned to the seamstress. “Ignore her. She’s been acting strangely all morning.” Then, back to her daughter, “You might have thought to bring this up earlier, dear. But it’s too late now. We really must be going.”

If it had been another day, Amelia might have argued. If her mind hadn’t been fractured into a dozen different pieces, she certainly would have stood her ground. But she wasn’t in a place right now to argue with her mother, and thoughts of the ball next week and how she may or may not look felt about as important as discussing with the kitchen staff what they would be supping on later.

Also... she caught the Duke watching her out of the corner of her eye which had her cheeks flushing red hot, her tummy doing all sorts of things that she didn’t want to think of, and her legs shaking in ways that made her want to move them lest she collapse on the spot.

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