She stood up from the bed. Her covering of his coat rolled off and the colder air pebbled her nipples. She looked up, but his attention was stoically focused elsewhere. She dragged on the chemise herself and found her stays. She tried to tie the laces in the back. Her fingers fumbled for awhile before his hands stopped them and tied the laces expertly.
She should be grateful for his help but she could not help but think that he must have a lot of experience undressing and redressing women. The moment passed in silence. She stood stiff and immobile as possible with him fastening the garments she donned with an economy of motions.
She sat on the bed and tied her garters. Her dry shoe sat near her feet. His hand flashed by her. For a moment she thought he wanted to touch her and she stilled, but he only plucked his coat off the bed before turning smartly and walking out of the room.
She kept her shoulders high and her manners aloof until he left the room, but as soon as his back faded from sight she wilted. She propped her head on her open hands. She was consumed with regrets and not a little amount of shame.
In the light of the moment he had been willing, happy and, she dared to think, driven with something more than mere lust, but in the light of day it was another matter. It didn’t matter. There was no reason to follow their night of intimacies with his cold manner and the silence that cut her.
The neighing of the horses brought her away from her dark reverie. She would bear his censure but as soon as they returned she would avoid him unless it was strictly necessary.
The second shoe was pulled on. She stood up from the bed. One hand brushed against the fabric of her ridding gown but it was wrinkled beyond care. Not that it mattered, speculations would be rife. If they were caught, their options were being forced into marriage or she would be completely ruined.
His initial proposal was the only tether that stopped her mind from succumbing to the rush of guilt, but that consolation was no salve. From his manners now, how could she never bear to be married to him? Marriage would be hell. Truly she had wanted to marry for love. Something that a more practical mind would shun, something that was the reason her London Seasons had failed. It was the best protection if she was to live in the shadow of her husband without rights. Now she would be married with her rights intact and no love.
The long ride was accomplished with heavy tension. Even the animals were aware of it. They shied and were a bit difficult, but that could be because of the night in the rain. Amelia rode with her spine and her chin raised in challenge. Robert rode at her side in a similar pose. The horse responded to the expert handling by eating the ground in eager bursts, but that could easily be attributed to the lure of the stables and warm hay.
When the stone walls of the hall were suddenly looming over the horizon she breathed a sigh of relief and doubled her speed. At the stables, she caught the grooms in a group, obviously going to search for her. Mary was among them, fretting heavily and afraid. She was assailed, no doubt, with images of her lady in a ravine somewhere.
When Lady Amelia appeared a cry of relief came up and she alighted smartly.
“My lady, we were all afraid,” Simmons called out above the din of concerned voices.
“As you can see Simmons, I am in good health.” She turned to her maid who was waiting to be addressed. “Mary?”
“We were so worried. The storm blew in so quickly and lasted through the night.” The lady’s maid clenched her hands to her side in obvious effort.
“We were quite safe. We found shelter with one of the tenant families,” she finished curtly and as airily as possible to dispel the concern and the fear. It had the desired effect of taking their minds off the matter and to other more present situations.
“Oh, I am all a dither when I should be attending you.” That was a sure testament that she was worried out of her mind. Mary was never slacking in her duty.
“Well?” The arch word spurred them into action. The undergroom collected the reins of the horse from her and the rest backed away systematically. Amelia hated having to use a haughty tone with her household, but more than anything they had to refrain from their thread of conversation. She couldn’t risk Lord Windon appearing and facing their speculative eyes. She had grown up with most of them and nothing could persuade them to leave her alone if she pandered to their concerned enquiries even for a single minute.
“Let me go see to your bath.” Mary answered with a nod and she hurried off with that suggestion ringing in her wake.
“Lord Rochester?” The question was understood by Simmons.
“Your father, his lordship. has no hint that you did not return earlier. He was quite tired and spent the day indoors and retired early,” Simmons supplied with a look of reproach, but Amelia ignored it. Only the head groom could take such liberties with her.
“I am pleased. Make sure this does not reach his ears,” she ordered as she turned away from him. She was unwilling to witness the cool reproof in his eyes. The orders were strange to say the least, but Simmons was too well trained to show his disapproval with more than a discrete look.
“Rub down the horses. Give them plenty of fresh hay and warm mash,” she threw over her head. “And Simmons?”
“Yes, milady?” His disapproval was a solid cloud on his brow now.
“He must not hear a word of this, Simmons. The household will hold its tongue or suffer my wrath.” In an uncharacteristic move, she swept into the house regally. Even if she wore wrinkled clothes and her person was a trifle rancid, no one could mistake Amelia St Clair for anything other than gentry. She wore her station well.
Chapter Ten
Lord Windon returned a little slower than her. While she was eager to return to the bosom of home and the familiarity of her hall, he tried to take his time thinking on what had happened and what steps he would take now.
In equal amounts of self deprecation and slow reminisce, he replayed the events of the night before. That was his first mistake. The emotions raised and the ghost of the passion drove him to shudder, spooking his horse into sidestepping nervously. Even faraway Amelia proved again and again how easily she could unman him.
He had woken up with doubt ringing in his head. The ghost of that voice telling him the words he had tried to outrun all his life. Even from the grave his father haunted him. He had gone off to school and stayed there, walking the straight and narrow, avoiding excess emotion. Here he was dubbed the ‘Black Corinthian’ for all his endeavors.
The horse could not be kept from the stable any longer. It called out, and at the answering neighs it increased its speed into the courtyard of the stables. The grooms accepted the reins from him and when he gave them instruction to rub down the two horses and feed them with warm marsh he was told that Amelia had given the same instructions before she walked into the house. He nodded and made his way into the manor feeling suddenly bereft.
She was ashamed of him, of them. She couldn’t bear his presence, but he had to do the right thing. It didn’t matter if she hated him. He had to look beyond his first flush of emotion and do his duty by her. What if a child had resulted from their union? She would be ruined beyond repair. He had introduced her to the pleasures of the flesh. No, that was too cold for what had transpired between them. They had made love. And now even the friendship of the day before was lost. But there were serious implications of their union, a child could result from it. He couldn’t be sure if the idea made him shudder in fear or shiver in pleasured pride.
No matter her aversion to him, her silence and her—it pained him to admit—possible regrets, he would do right by her. He would do his duty by her. It was a matter he had to set to right.
“Your Grace, I have laid out your morning apparel and a bath has been drawn.” His valet interrupted his thoughts.
“Excellent Giles. How is Lord Rochester?” he asked with a slightly interested tone.
“He is at breakfast. He has no idea the lady has not spent the night in the household. The news among the servants is th
at he is not to be told,” the valet informed him in a bland tone.
“Hmm,” he answered as he stripped the wrinkled dirty clothes from himself. So she wanted to hide the truth of it. If it was noted they had spent the night in close quarters he could be forced to marry her, even if nothing had passed between them. But they were no strangers to each other. It galled him especially to have her prefer ruination to being saddled with him in marriage.
He stepped into the tub and steeped for a while.
His valet gathered the clothes off the floor, his brow rising when he found them to be perfectly dry, but Lord Windon was not a person one asked such questions.
"Should I have a tray brought up to you?" Dashed deuce, Giles had caught him in reverie again. It was fast becoming a habit this morning, and a pair of green eyes bore the blame. Windon lifted his face to find his valet regarding him with a more peculiar expression than ever before.
"No, I shall go down to breakfast," he informed the dratted man.
"Of course, Your Grace. Very good," was the bland reply.
"Have Lord Rochester’s solicitor summoned as soon as possible. I have business of a delicate nature that I wish to discuss with Lord Rochester after the morning repast," Robert ordered with more bite that ever.
"Of course, Your Grace. I shall have a servant summon him," Giles answered.
"And can all this be done without alerting the servants or the lady herself?" Robert added as an afterthought. He knew she would love to thwart him, and he was very aware that more their pride was on the line.
"Very well," the valet answered without a hint of how absurd he found the request.
"That will be all" he dismissed his valet as he settled into the water.
"Thank you, Your Grace." With that, and the clothes, the valet made a hasty retreat out of the room.
Lord Windon applied himself to getting clean, scrubbing and luxuriating in the hot water while thinking on the meaning of her actions. Refusing to inform Lord Rochester of her location the night before was a risky move. Did she really prefer ruin to bearing the title of his duchess? He wanted it to not be true, but things rarely changed because he wished it.
He turned his mind from the painful prospect and continued with logic. It would be a dishonorable thing for Lord Rochester to hear it from gossip after he was gone. And he was going, today, but before he left he would sign a betrothal contract. It was legal and binding. Neither one of them could step out of it without utter disgrace, something he was sure she would not be willing to entertain. This was absolutely important for the future and any child born out of their ill-timed union. It was for the best, even if she was reticent.
***
Amelia was made of stern stuff, but she could not find it in herself to go down and face her father when she had spent the night in debauchery with a peer of the realm and, more importantly, a guest of his. It didn’t matter that he did not have an inkling of the ill timed act or even that she had spent a night outside of the haven of her home. None of the servants would risk her ill will to tell their lord, nor would Robert himself stoop to such levels as to divulge such crass happenings, but she could not shake the heavy ache in her belly. She was a fallen woman and surely, because she was doomed, the whole world would know it too.
That did not take the brunt of her pain. Robert was an infernal duke with his heart hidden away. His eyes had been compelling as she enjoyed the expertise of his finger skimming her skin. The ghosts of the touches of last night invaded her senses again and she shuddered.
Mary noticed the shiver racking her lady’s frame and exclaimed, “My lady, have you taken ill?”
"No, Mary.” Mary nodded but surreptitiously added mustard powder to the steaming bath water and moved to undress her lady.
Amelia wondered if she would ever be free of the encounter. It hung over her like the sword of Damocles, threatening to sever all happiness. Yet she treasured it to herself dearly too.
Mary noticed the mangled stay strings and wondered out loud. "Did you tend to yourself?" It was a question that had no true answer and its aim was more than enquiry about dressing and undressing. Amelia did not answer but limited herself to grunting softly. But when she stripped to her chemise another shock was waiting for her.
The white material was stained red and for a moment of fear she thought that it was the proof of her maidenhood that spilled but then she remembered last night and she recalled also that the clothing had been pristine when she had donned them. The answer filtered through her mind, eclipsing fear for a while.
"Are you ruined, milady?" The question was heavy and Mary had summed a good amount of her courage. Her concern was bleeding though.
Amelia did not pause to answer. “It is only my courses,” she replied as airily as possible.
Amelia washed herself, refusing Mary’s fussing. She lay in the metal tub as Mary puttered up and down. But she could not hide forever and soon got out of the bath and started to dress. She put on the things Mary brought her: the long pad of cloth, the belt and the binder that held it in place. At least she did not suffer at this time like many women were wont to. She could not very well bear that and her current shame.
Mary brought a pale green dress of muslin and all the petticoats and stockings to her lady.
"Will you be having breakfast at your convenience?" Mary asked as she passed on a shift to her. The gruff tone told Amelia more than anything she was aware of the undertone in the room.
Amelia considered it only for a moment before she agreed, putting the shift and stays on. Mary turned to her back and began to lace it up. "I want a full breakfast brought up," she instructed. Thinking on what had happened had kept the hunger at bay, but once noticed it became an urgent and rabid need.
Mary nodded and notched the laces tighter. "Not so tight, Mary. I cannot breathe."
"I’m sorry, milady. What shall I tell your father, if he enquires after you?" Mary answered and loosened her hand. The question brought the ugly matters to head and made Amelia anxious.
"Tell him I’m suffering a female malady." Amelia returned curtly, trying to cut off any other leading questions. Not only did it aggravate her, it showed her too clearly this was a pathetic attempt to close the stable door after the horse had bolted. She stepped into the petticoats and Mary tied them off at the back.
The soft material flowed over the underthings and its inert form was given elegant form. Mary fastened the row of small hooks down the front of her day gown with her anxious expression hovering. Amelia kept her own face blank.
She signaled no to Mary, who tried to braid her hair, and told her instead. “A simple coiffure perhaps, I will spend a better part of the day in my own company.”
Mary muttered at the oddness of her mistress this morning and did as she was told. Amelia knew that gossip would be rife in the household. Even if she trusted Mary her silence would only fan the flames.
Amelia rested on her bed and Mary attempted to clear away all the evidences of a bath. When she had closed the door behind her, Amelia released the breath she didn’t know she was holding. Notoriety did not suit her in the least. She was wise to postpone going down to breakfast and facing her father’s sincere gaze and Robert’s own eyes filled with censure and veiled disgust.
She patted her bodice and turned back into bed. She would be a coward today, something her entire being usually rebelled strongly against. Today she would put off going down. She was happy to miss the accusing eyes, the undeniable evidence that last night had happened, that and the moments of remembrance. Even if she could never forget it.
Mary returned with a chamber maid who was carrying the makings of a hearty meal. Her stomach growled and Amelia reached for the offered cup of hot chocolate. Dining in the comfort of her room, Amelia missed an important battle. Lord Windon was more than pleased to have not had her to deal with as well.
Chapter Eleven
Lord Windon reached up to dip the tip of the quill in the ink pot. He scrapped the excess ink off
the top and signed his signature with a flourish on the paper.
Lord Rochester’s solicitor, Mister Smythe, pulled another sheaf from his pile and tendered then to Lord Windon.
"Does this contain the condition I want affixed?" Windon accepted the paper offered.
"Yes sir. But I must say..." The solicitor started to explain but Lord Windon paid more attention to the paper in front of him.
"Is it legal?" He glanced through the papers.
"Yes, quite. Your instructions were quite precise. I dare say it would hold even against the Crown, and in that vein I must advice you to..." The solicitor was agitated.
"Very well, Smythe. I am most grateful."
"Sir, the process cannot be second guessed. And signing that paper in the presence of such a witness as Lord Rochester and I renders it completely binding," Smythe advised.
"I am well aware." Lord Windon nodded curtly.
Lord Rochester piped in finally. "I do not think Lord Windon will take kindly to the continued doubt you are casting on his actions."
"It is unheard of. I must..." Smythe sputtered again, trying a last-ditch effort to stop what he had no doubt concluded was an insane act.
One eyebrow raised in a look that had quelled even stronger men, made sure the rest of that sentence was lost. After the other man kept his thoughts to himself, Lord Windon took an inordinate amount of joy in signing this this particular paper. This was more a declaration Amelia than her father. He had no use for her estate and he was a man of his word, even if the circumstances had gone in ways he had never envisioned. She could console herself with the fact that she was losing nothing. Her life would not change in any way.
When he had signed it and rested the quill in the ink pot, Lord Rochester smiled proudly, looking slightly besotted. Lord Windon smiled back, if only in response. He felt guilt riding him and fear at her reaction. His entire life he had not feared another human being, not even his father. He had loathed his father, but not feared him. Here he was afraid of a wisp of girl.
Denying The Duke (Regency Romance: Strong Women Find True Love Book 3) Page 8
