Page 57 of The Wrong Duke

Before she did that, however, she needed to speak of what had happened. To sing it to the world! Albeit quietly. There was but one person who she could confide this in, and seeing as this one person hadn’t gone to the ball last night, she guessed her to be awake. What was more, she knew exactly where she might be.

Lord Wexley’s manor had an extensive library, even bigger than the one her father owned. It was on the first floor, toward the back of the house, out of the way and perfect if you didn’t want to be found. Her sister, not invited to the ball, would almost certainly be there, so Amelia took the risk and snuck through the large manor, keeping an ear out for servants and guests, ducking down the halls and hurrying, trying to focus on staying hidden but unable to stop thinking about all that had happened.

The library was darker than she had expected; assuming her sister was here, the curtains should have been thrown open, bathing the large room in natural morning light. But they were drawn, the room was dark, and one look about confirmed that her sister wasn’t perched in the back with a candle burning.

She probably should have turned about right then and there and gone to her room. But again, excitement flooded Amelia with a whole different type of energy, one that saw her skulk into the large library.

“Bridget?” she called softly. “Are you here?”

There was no response, which meant her sister must have still been sleeping. Amelia didn’t want to go back to her room and wait, but with no choice, she turned about and slowly started back —

“Miss Baker?” Lord Malnor was standing in the doorway, caught between entering and staying put because he appeared surprised by her being there. Surprised... and confused.

“Lord Malnor!” Amelia gasped, suddenly very aware of the way she looked. She cast her gaze about as if for somewhere to hide while using her hands to try and straighten her dress and hair, even if the act was pointless. “What are you doing... awake?”

“I could ask you the same question.” He took a cautious step deep into the library, his expression still geared toward confusion, as if she was the last person he had thought to see here. Although why that should confuse or concern him, she had no idea.

“Just looking for my sister,” she said hurriedly.

“Is that right?” he frowned.

“Ye — yes,” she stammered, feeling herself grow hot as he looked her over, eyebrow raising as he moved from her torn dress to her smeared make-up to her frizzled hair. “But she must still be sleeping.”

“It would seem that way.”

It was only now, having come into the situation, that Amelia was able to take proper note of how strangely the Marquess was behaving. Which was to say, very strange.

The way he lurked just inside the door. His hesitation and trepidation, his confusion and surprise at finding Amelia in a place that wasn’t at all strange for her to be. If she didn’t know better, he was looking for someone. Someone who was certainly not she.

Amelia was about to put her head down and walk right by him when she noticed what he was wearing. The same outfit from the previous night, she assumed — a suit much like what most lords would wear. But the shirt was untucked. The cummerbund was loose. The pants were clearly crinkled. And his hair matched her own in how messy it was. She knew the Marquess didn’t spend the night in his own room, and while she hadn’t considered it earlier, now, she couldn’t help but wonder where he had spent it...

“I should go,” she said softly, unable to hide her smile.

“Wait” the Marquess said, stepping in front of her and then forward, so the two were mere feet apart. “So, it wasn’t you?”

“Me? What do you...” Her eyes widened at the realization, an assumption that he was speaking about her night spent with the Duke.

She was about to stammer out a response when the Marquess held up a single sheet of paper. “Who wrote me?” he said. “It wasn’t you who asked me to meet here?”

“Why would I — Mo, of course not.” She frowned and eyed the single sheet of paper. “Someone asked you to come here?”

“They did.” He pressed his lips together, clearly a little upset. “I thought... no, it does not matter. Best not to say,” he chuckled softly.

Amelia eyed the paper a moment longer. Thought about it. Considered a little slower than she should have. Then, it came to her, and she nearly cried out. Unfortunately, by then it was too late.

“Amelia!” her father cried from the doorway. “What are you doing?!”

She looked up, eyes widened to a state of horror. Her father, standing in the doorway, his expression properly shocked and angered... and just a little smug. The Marquess too, he spun about, stepping back at the same time, casting his glance about in the same manner she had earlier, as if he was looking for a place to hide.

“Lord Lindstone!” he gasped. “What are you —”

“What is this?!” her father bellowed and stormed into the library. “What are the two of you doing here?!”

“Father!” Amelia cried. At first, she thought his anger to be related to what had happened last night, as if he somehow knew what she had done. “This isn’t —”

“Don’t lie to me, girl!” her father roared. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her back from Lord Malnor. “And you!” He then turned on the Marquess. “What is the meaning of this?”

Lord Marquess stammered. “I — I’m not sure — I assure you, this isn’t —”

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