Page 58 of The Wrong Duke

“What is going on here?” Lord Wexley was in the doorway next, as was his wife. “Lord Lindstone? Miss Baker!”

“I will tell you what is going on,” Lord Lindstone fumed, still gripping Amelia by the arm. “My daughter has made a mockery of me. She didn’t return to her chambers last night — do you have any idea how worried I was?” he seethed. “I thought... I thought... what I thought doesn’t matter. It seems that my worry was misplaced.”

“Lord Lindstone,” Lord Malnor attempted. “I can assure you that whatever it is you’re thinking, it could not be further from the truth. Miss Baker and I —”

“I don’t want to hear it. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“He’s right, Lord Malnor,” Lord Wexley said, clicking his tongue. He wore a cheeky grin, his eyes flicking over Lord Malnor’s disheveled appearance and then Amelia’s. “There’s no use denying it. We have eyes, you know?”

“Father,” Amelia tried desperately, “this is not —”

“I said I don’t want to hear it!” He turned on her, but what she saw in his eyes wasn’t fury at what he had supposedly caught her doing. Rather, it was triumph. “You have embarrassed me girl. And you, Lord Malnor... you have brought shame on me and my family.”

Amelia looked desperately at Lord Malnor. Pleadingly! Begging him to explain and right this wrong before it spiraled out of control. But he remained silent, bowing his head because he seemed to realize what Amelia was failing to: that it didn’t matter. They’d been caught alone. Dressed in a way that suggested they’d been up together all night. Both looking ashamed and embarrassed and chastised as they ought to be.

And then, as if to double down, Lord Chalmers and his wife appeared in the door. Lord Chalmers shook his head, and Lady Chalmers curled her lip in disgust. Regardless of what was said, word would now spread and before long the entiretonwill have heard the story of Miss Baker and Lord Malnor’s late-night tryst.

“Father...” Amelia said softly. “How... how could you?”

He wasn’t listening. Releasing her, he strode to the others and began to hurriedly explain, loud enough for all to hear, how this wasn’t nearly as bad as it seemed because, as he claimed so rightly, Lord Malnor and his daughter had been courting in secret. All this was, was bad timing, two young lovers getting carried away. Not nearly as bad as it appeared!

Her father hadn’t trusted her. He had known she might stumble at the final hurdle. So, rather cleverly, he had taken matters into his own hands, and this time, he’d succeeded where she had failed time and time again. Amelia’s father had won.

CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO

Amelia was waiting for her father in the foyer of their manor.

Sent home early, her father told Lord Wexley and the others he was too ashamed to see her and needed her gone from his sight, so he packed her in a carriage and ordered her off. She knew that he just didn’t want her there, so she might give her side of the story. Not that it would have mattered. From the look on Lord Wexley and Lord Chalmers’ faces, she knew that they’d made up their mind about her. As far as they were concerned, she and Lord Malnor had spent the night together and had been caught red-handed.

The trip home was spent steaming. Stewing. Writhing with a level of fury that she had never known. It was one thing to be forced by her father to do things that she didn’t want to do. But for him to trick her like this, not to mention Lord Malnor, happy to destroy both their reputations so that he might get what he wanted.

Amelia had hated her father for trying to force her to marry Lord Malnor. Now, she despised him.

When she arrived home, she didn’t bother going to her room to change. She didn’t have a bath drawn, so she might clean up, maybe force herself to relax, make herself more presentable for the confrontation she was sure to have. She was too angry for that! The moment she walked inside, she stayed right where she was, pacing the foyer back and forth, cursing under her breath, kicking her heels, and wringing her hands because it was all she could think to do.

The anger lasted for some hours, but it couldn’t last forever. Once she started to calm down, she felt her anger wane as fury was replaced with worry, and antipathy was replaced with distress.

Her life was over. She would confront her father. She would let him know just how she felt. But it wouldn’t make a difference. Even now, she knew, he was likely striking a deal with Lord Malnor, one that would see the two wed because Lord Malnor was in the exact same position as she and wouldn’t be able to deny her father any longer. How had she been so stupid? How had she let this happen? She should have gone straight to her room. She shouldn’t have sought her sister out. She shouldn’t have left the Duke’s bed in the first place!

From worry and distress, she next found herself wandering the foyer in an apoplexy of utmost despair. One night of happiness. That was all she had. One night with the Duke, finally on the same page as she, finally ready to admit her feelings and have them returned. She loved him. And he loved her... or she thought he did. When he found out what happened, and what was yet to happen still, how would he feel? Would he be mad? Would he be understanding? And even if he was, what could he possibly do about it?

Trust the Duke, she told herself. Trust him to save her. He had promised that he would! Only... trusting him wasn’t the answer she wanted it to be — needed it to be! She could trust him with all her heart, and the result would be the same. Her father had outsmarted them both, and she could shout and scream and yell all she liked, but it would do no good.

By the time she heard her father’s carriage arriving, Amelia was sitting in the middle of the foyer in a heap, a broken woman who had been outplayed, outsmarted, and out done. She almost removed herself to her room, her desire to confront her father just about gone.

But then she heard the carriage door open, her father laughing at something — how could he be so happy? Her anger returned, and by the time the door to the foyer was thrown open, she was on her feet and ready.

“How could you?!” she bellowed before he’d so much as stepped a single foot inside.

Her father didn’t look at all surprised to see her. Her mother sure did, as did Bridget, but before they could do or say anything, he was dismissing them. “I’ll be upstairs shortly,” he said to Amelia’s mother. “Wait for me.”

Her mother looked unsure, glancing at Amelia, her face stricken with pain. “Perhaps it’s best if I —”

“Upstairs, woman!” he snapped to which she balked and then bowed her head in acceptance. She hurried past her daughter, not even daring to look at her, likely because her shame was too great. “And you. I thought I said to leave us,” he snapped at Bridget next.

Bridget tried to catch her sister’s eye. A look of pity, mixed with concern, was how it read, but Amelia didn’t return it. She kept her heated gaze fixed on her father, staring white hot rage in his direction as her younger sister hurried from the room.

Once they were alone, Amelia started again. “You sent Lord Malnor that note, didn’t you! You... you tricked him! How could you do such a thing!”

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