Page 34 of The Wrong Duke

“How many points does that make it?” Lord Malnor sighed as if annoyed.

“Me?” Amelia smiled innocently. “Ninety-two.”

“And me?” he asked glumly.

“Sixty-four. But you’re well overdue for a comeback.”

“It’s going to be hard if you keep on cheating,” he mumbled.

“Now really, Lord Malnor, I will remind you that you’re the one who asked to play. I had no idea you’d be such a sore loser.”

“And I had no idea you’d be such a gracious winner,” he joked.

“Well, I haven’t won yet...” She cocked an eyebrow at him and grinned. “But that will come soon enough.”

“Ha!”

Oh yes, things were finally starting to go her way. Or her father’s way, for that matter. Another quick glance across the room confirmed how pleased he looked with the situation such that Amelia might have allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. This here was what he wanted. This here was the purpose of this entire weekend. And if things continued in this way, stretching across tomorrow and the next evening, she had no doubt her father would feel confident enough to approach Lord Malnor and ask if he might be interested in courting her officially.

If only things were as simple as that.

As said, they weren’t the only ones in the drawing room. Of the fifteen guests spending the weekend at the manor, there were eight left, the others having retired to their quarters already. Most of them were engaged in other card games or conversation, paying Amelia and Lord Malnor little mind. But among them, there was one whom Amelia couldn’t help but notice, one whom her eyes strayed toward time and time again. He sat alone in the back, drinking a glass of brandy, staring sullenly at the wall as if in the midst of an existential crisis.

The Duke hadn’t been the same since this morning.

From the moment the two left the garden together, throughout the day and the evening, and right up until this moment, he’d been a far cry from his usually verbose, bawdy, persistently arrogant self. He hadn’t said a word to Amelia since their tryst in the garden. He had barely even looked at her. All day and all evening he’d remained withdrawn, avoiding conversations with anyone who tried, glowering and simmering alone because as far as she could tell, he was angry.

What he was so angry about, she had no idea. If anything, Amelia was the one who should have been angry. He had, after all, purposefully seduced her. He was, after all, trying to block her from engaging with Lord Malnor. And he would, most likely, tell the Marquess what had transpired between the two sooner, rather than later. Or at least, she suspected he might.

The events of this morning still sat with her. Her heart still raced whenever she remembered it. Her face still flushed whenever she thought of it. And her loins still tingled when she dared to shut her eyes and return to that sensation which was unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

In a way, she supposed it was lucky that it was the Duke who had dared to act as such. For a brief moment, she had wondered if maybe there was more to the man than the feelings of antipathy that he leveled at her whenever they spoke. For a short while there, when she was engaging him in a friendly manner rather than rising to the bait, they had gotten along better than she could have expected, and pairing that with what had happened after, a small part of her dared to imagine that he might have wanted more from her than what he claimed. That this whole charade of his was just a chance to get closer to her.

That idea was laughable now. The Duke, she had decided, was a cold and calculating character. Devoid of emotional depth. Sequestered and secluded and unable to love or care for anyone but himself. The way he had been behaving all day was proof enough of that. And for that reason, she decided that she was done worrying about the Duke and what he felt or what he thought. This morning was a mistake, a minor misstep, and thus not worth her time.

“So, Miss Baker, will you be hunting with us tomorrow?” Lord Malnor asked as he dealt her the next hand of cards.

“Oh yes,” she said seriously. “I’m quite the shot, you know?”

“Is that right?” he laughed.

“Terribly good,” she continued in jest. “In fact, based on tonight’s performance, and seeing how poor of a loser you are, tomorrow, after you fail miserably in the hunt —”

“Careful...” he grinned.

She winked. “I might be willing to pretend that my takings were in fact your own. After all, it isn’t proper for a lady to go hunting in the first place, so you might as well take credit for it.”

“How very gracious.”

“I can be.”

“So much that I’m even willing to let you win tonight,” he said with a sly wink. “Which, by the way, is what I’ve been doing this whole time.”

“Ah, of course,” she responded dryly. “That explains it.”

She and Lord Malnor got on perfectly well. Better than that, in fact. He was funny, affable, charming in his own right. He was also attractive and dashing and everything a lord should be. So much so that, Amelia knew that she should have been glad for what was transpiring and relieved that the man her father had set for her was one whom she could very well see herself marrying and living a happy life with.

And yet... and yet deep down, she just couldn’t excite herself toward the notion. And while she tried her best not to, her mind went back to the garden, to His Grace and that wicked tongue and those devilish lips. She tried her best to picture Lord Malnor in the Duke’s place, but it just wasn’t the same. There was no fire there. No heat. Nopassion.

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