Page 68 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
“Really.”
She was going to be a published author.
Her.
Boring old Amelia, with rich parents but nothing else to recommend her. It was incredible.
“That’s wonderful!” Kate reached for her, as if to hug her, but hesitated.
With no such qualms, Amelia drew her into an embrace,bouncing on the balls of her feet, her heart so light, she felt as though she could float away.
“One of my stories is going to be a book,” she cried, releasing Kate.
Kate giggled, her face alight with glee. “Congratulations. I don’t read a lot, but I want you to tell me all about it.”
“Soon. First, I must tell the earl.” Amelia skipped away from Kate and into the corridor. She bounded down the stairs and around the corner to Andrew’s office.There were no footfalls behind her, so she assumed Kate had gone to break the news to Lady Drake.
She paused at the door, suddenly realizing he might not want her interrupting him in the midst of his work. They’d been getting along well over the previous month, but she couldn’t take anything for granted—especially not something that would have sent her mother into a fit of vapors.
Just because Andrew had been supportive thus far did not necessarily mean his attitude would continue.
“Come in,” he called before she’d even decided whether to knock. “I can hear you out there. You weren’t very quiet as you came down the hall.”
Rolling her eyes at her own silliness, Amelia pushed the door open and stepped inside. However he reacted, Andrew needed to know. There was no point putting it off.
“I have news,” she declared, her jaw still aching from the constant smile. It hadn’t wavered even in the face of her nerves.
He cocked his head. “Good news, I take it?”
“The best.” She couldn’t resist wiggling on the spot. “My novel is to be published.”
He smiled and got to his feet. “Congratulations. I agree, that is the best news we could have received.”
He took a few steps forward and folded her into an embrace. She froze, painstakingly aware of every single place where they touched.
This was the first time she’d been this close to a male body—other than her father’s. Awkwardly, she circled her arms around him and hugged him back.
His lips brushed her temple. “I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked hard for this.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, tears of joy stinging her eyes.
It meant everything that his support didn’t waver when her dreams became reality. Lord, she’d been so lucky to end up married to him. She’d never have received such acceptance at her parents’ home.
She melted against him, reveling in the firmness of his chest and the way his subtle masculine scent—a combination of bergamot and cinnamon—wrapped around her.
A laugh rumbled from him. “What are you thanking me for? You’re the one who put in all the time and effort.”
She pressed her lips together, fending off a wave of tenderness toward him. She couldn’t afford to feel too much for him. That would only end in heartache.
“You haven’t asked me to stop,” she murmured, drawing back reluctantly. If she indulged in him too much, she’d never be able to control herself around him. “You haven’t belittled me or made me feel like something about me is wrong. You just accept me as I am.”
His family did too. Or at least, they didn’t treat her as though something was wrong with her because of her dreams and ambitions, or how she liked to spend her time.
He pulled her into another quick, firm embrace. “I happen to like who you are. I don’t need any kind of thanks for that.”
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and she warmed inside. Why did he have to make it so difficult to remember that they were, at best, friends who’d married for the sake of convenience?
“They want more too.” She couldn’t dwell on hersimmering attraction to her husband. “They’ve asked if I have more stories about Joceline.”
