My Fair Duchess (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel Book 1)

by Julie Johnstone

  Amelia shrugged, but his aunt grinned. “Why, your old school chum the Duke of Scarsdale is one of them. And Lords Edington and Shrewsbury are the other two,” his aunt added in a silky voice.

  Colin glanced at Amelia to find her gaping at his aunt. What the devil was that about? “Did you not know who sent you the flowers, Lady Amelia?”

  “I knew of one of them,” she said pointedly, her words laced with an underlying reprimand.

  “I’m sorry, dearest.” Aunt Jane shot Amelia a truly regretful look. “I’m afraid my curiosity really did get the best of me, and I peeked at the other cards when you were visiting with Lord Worthington.”

  Colin held his silence since he was in the same position as his aunt. Amelia shrugged. “No matter.” She eyed Colin warily.

  “I take it receiving cards from three gentleman with loftier titles than Worthington pleases you,” Colin said, knowing full well he was leading her in the hope she would deny it. His answer was a silent, stern glare.

  “I think I’ll retire now,” his aunt said, giving him a pointed stare. “You seem to have it hand, even if rather clumsily.”

  “I thank you for your confidence,” he said dryly. Once she was departed, he stood in silence with Amelia for a long moment and finally cleared his throat when it seemed abundantly apparent that she was not going to be the first to say anything. “Shall we sit in the parlor and visit?”

  “Certainly,” she responded. “Lucy is still in there from my last caller.”

  “Of course,” Colin replied, sweeping his hand forward to indicate Amelia should move ahead. “I just saw Worthington. He was rather angry.”

  “Was he?” Amelia murmured as if she did not know.

  With her hips swaying provocatively as she walked, Colin found it hard to concentrate on discerning whether she was being genuine or sarcastic. Most of his energy was directed toward cooling his heated blood.

  “Indeed, he was,” he finally answered, unable to tear his gaze away from her softly moving hips.

  He followed her into the parlor, took a seat, and eyed her.

  The artful way her hair was piled atop her head with a few teasing tendrils dangling around the long, slender column of her neck made him want to unpin her tresses and see them tumble down her shoulders. The view of her creamy skin served as a fierce reminder of just how pleasing having his lips on her neck had been. He shifted in his chair to combat his growing need. “Worthington mentioned you turned down his offer for your hand. I assume this means I have won the wager?”

  Damnation. He clenched his fists, suddenly understanding how much he wanted her to deny he had won and to offer a reasonable explanation.

  “You assume wrong,” she replied evenly.

  “Are you saying you did not deny Worthington’s proposal because you have now set your sights on one of the three, more prominent, gentleman who have taken a fancy to you?”

  She pursed her very kissable lips before pressing them into a hard line and then sighing softly. “That’s correct. I denied Lord Worthington’s offer because it was quite obvious he does not love me, and frankly I realized I do not love him.”

  Worthington’s words that she wanted a loftier title than his rang in Colin’s ears. He tried to ignore it, but the layers of cynicism were damnably hard to peel away. As much as he wanted to believe, he could not. At least not completely.

  He leaned back in his chair and studied her. Her color was high on her cheeks, her pulse visibly beat a rapid pace at her neck, and her hands clutched at the folds of her skirts. Somehow, it made him feel better that she seemed nervous, too. “I don’t mean to play the devil’s advocate”―though truly he did―“but I need to be convinced that you really have not changed who you are rather than the more readily believable explanation that it is your newfound status as an Incomparable that has caused you to deny Worthington. If you can convince me of this, then I will call the wager over and pay your brother’s debts.”

  She took a deep breath, the full measure of it pushing her chest upward. “And how should I go about convincing you? I’ve told you the truth, yet you refuse to believe it. Shall I turn down another lofty lord? Five others? Ten?” Her eyes burned with anger. Or was that hurt?

  The parlor door swung open, and his aunt strolled through the room followed by Lords Shrewsbury and Edington. Colin stood and scowled at the gentleman. “What the devil do you want?”

  “Your Grace!” Amelia cried and popped out of her seat. “Please come in, Lord Edington and Lord Shrewsbury.”

  The men darted nervous glances at Colin while shifting from foot to foot. “Very well,” Colin grumbled. “If Lady Amelia says you can sit with her, then who am I to stop you?” No matter how much he wanted to send them on their way. As Amelia went to sit, Edington and Shrewsbury fairly tripped over themselves to help her get to her seat. Colin ground his teeth while taking the chair opposite of everyone else. Amelia’s slender body looked crushed between the larger gentlemen sitting on either side of her.

  “This is cozy,” Colin remarked, purposely eyeing both men. “I’m almost inclined to say it’s too cozy. That there are too many gentlemen in this room. Two should leave.”

  “Nonsense,” came a deep voice from behind Colin. “I’m sure we are all here for the same purpose. I, for one, have always loved a good competition.”

  Cringing with recognition, Colin craned his neck, met Scarsdale’s gaze and frowned. Perfect. The day had just gone from mildly annoying to abominable. “Who let you in?”

  “Aversley,” his aunt snapped. “I must ask you to mind your manners no matter how difficult you may find it. This is my house, and therefore these are my guests." His aunt turned her glacial glare from him to Scarsdale, though she softened her look immediately to one of welcome. Traitor. "Please do come in and join us, Your Grace.”

  “You are kind as always, Lady Langley,” Scarsdale said in a nasally voice. He took the seat right next to Colin―probably just to annoy him― and folded his arms across his chest while stretching his legs out as if he owned the damnable place. Colin extended his legs in front of him and crossed his ankles. He was sorely tempted to kick off his shoes, but, if he behaved so crassly, his aunt would probably box his ears as she’d done when he was a wild lad. Still, if anyone belonged here in this room with Amelia, he did.

  Amelia cleared her throat, her face flushing as she did so. “Thank you for the lovely flowers, gentlemen.”

  Everyone nodded but Colin, and suddenly he felt the fool. He could have bought Amelia flowers, except he was not courting her, so why should he? Of course, she loved them, and it would have brought a smile to her beautiful face.

  “I sent you the bouquet of red roses,” Shrewsbury said.

  “I sent you the larger bouquet of yellow roses,” Edington spouted in a rushed tone.

  Scarsdale smiled blandly at both gentlemen then gazed at Amelia for too long and too lustfully. Colin gritted his teeth harder.

  “I sent you the thirty bouquets of lily of the valley,” Scarsdale said, his voice too confident by half.

  Even as Amelia smiled at the man, Colin imagined how good it would feel to get in the ring at Gentlemen Jackson’s with Scarsdale and show him, punch by brutal punch, what he could do with his thirty bouquets of flowers.

  “Which bouquet do you prefer?” the ever overly eager Edington asked.

  Amelia squirmed, her gaze darting to each gentleman and coming to rest on Colin. “I do so like roses and the lily of the valley are quite lovely, as well, but my favorite flower is the great hairy willow herb.”

  Warmth seeped into Colin’s body and spread through his veins. When Amelia awoke tomorrow morning, the downstairs was going to be filled with great hairy willow herb. He had never purchased flowers for a lady in his life, but he wanted to buy out all the florists in London for Amelia.

  He smiled, and the one she gave him in return, full of sweet radiant joy, made his chest do that painful tightening thing it only did when she was near him.


  “I’m surprised you like the great hairy willow herb,” Scarsdale said, interrupting Colin’s peace. He scowled at the man only to have the look returned, accompanied by a strange scrutinizing that Scarsdale eventually turned on Amelia. “That particular flower is quite ugly.”

  “Yes, well, better ugly than poisonous,” Colin retorted. “You’ve filled my aunt’s house with lethal flowers. Did you not know that or did you intend to kill Lady Amelia?” Colin struggled not to smirk at Scarsdale.

  For a moment, the man appeared shocked with his widened gaze. Slowly, he shook his head. “I had no idea. Are they really dangerous?”

  “To small children or anyone who might be inclined to eat the dark berries that accompany the flowers.”

  “Luckily,” Amelia chirped, “I have no such inclination.” She gave Colin a sideways scowl as if he had done something wrong. Blasted women made no sense.

  “I’m truly sorry, Lady Amelia. I really did not know. Did you know and simply say nothing about it to be kind?”

  “No,” Amelia said. “I was not aware, either. His Grace”―she inclined her head toward Colin with a small smile―“has educated me about two types of flowers in two days. Yesterday he taught me the correct name of the great hairy willow herb, and today he enlightened me on the poisonous nature of lily of the valley.”

  “How very instructive of him,” Scarsdale said, giving Colin that strange look again. “And what, pray tell, has Lady Amelia taught you, Aversley?”

  Between jealousy and the desire to crush Amelia against his body, Colin’s blood surged through his veins like a turbulent river. Why did a few kind words from her and one single smile affect him so? He struggled to focus on Scarsdale and his question. “She’s taught me to keep my guard up higher than I had been, and for that I’m eternally grateful.”

  Amelia glanced quickly away, but before she did, Colin caught the tremble of her bottom lip. If ever there was an arse he was one. He hated himself, but better to hate just himself than himself and her, because if he let his guard down she would disappoint him, betray him and destroy him. Wouldn’t she?

  But what if she didn’t disappoint? a voice whispered in his head.

  If he wasn’t careful he’d be muttering to himself soon.

  Needing to escape the confines of the parlor, Colin jumped up. “We should be departing for the Banbury’s picnic.” Before anyone could respond he barreled onward. “Shrewsbury and Edington, you two should say your goodbyes. I’m sure you both have ladies who are waiting to join you for today’s outing.”

  Both men shook their heads.

  “Go anyway,” Colin snapped, not caring how grumpy he sounded. “We cannot very well leave with you sitting in my aunt’s parlor.”

  His aunt gave him another stern look but rose without arguing. “Though I would have put it much differently, gentlemen, we do need to be departing for the festivities if we don’t want to be late.” She focused on Scarsdale. “I hope we will see you again soon.”

  Scarsdale grinned, and before he even said a word, Colin knew he wasn’t going to like the words by the glint in his former friend’s eyes.

  “As a matter of fact,” Scarsdale said, “as happy coincidence would have it, I’m attending the same picnic.”

  “Isn’t that lovely, Aversley?” Colin’s aunt asked, turning her gaze on him. He could have sworn her lips were quivering with mirth by the upward tilt of them. What was she about today? Clearly, she did not have an looming megrim. When the silence stretched, she raised her eyebrows at him. “Aversley? Did you hear me?”

  “I heard you,” he grumbled. “I find certain paintings lovely. A cloudless day. A moonlit night.” He glanced purposely at Amelia. “Women with luxurious golden hair and long limbs are especially lovely, but picnics full of eager suitors, like Scarsdale, does not call the word lovely to mind. I think the word is…nuisance.”

  “Really, Aversley. Your manners have not improved with the years,” Scarsdale said in a mirth-filled tone before he took a step toward Amelia. “Lady Amelia, would you care to ride to the picnic with me?” Scarsdale asked, moving nearer.

  If Scarsdale moved another bloody step closer to her, Colin was going to put the man flat on his back. “She is riding with me,” Colin said and proffered his elbow to Amelia. “Shall we be departing?”

  Without a word, Amelia slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow, and much to Colin’s irritation, they departed the house as one big annoying group.

  Colin was not sure quite how it had happened but somehow his aunt had volunteered him to give a walking flower tour to a group of the picnickers, of which Amelia was not among. He could, however, see her in the distance, strolling around the lake with Scarsdale, Edington, and Shrewsbury surrounding her and her lady’s maid trailing behind them.

  Swatting at the bee buzzing around his head, he barely held in his curse. He wasn’t sure if it was the heat or his burgeoning temper that was making him sweat, but rivulets ran down his spine dampening his shirt and making the thing cling to his skin. He was having trouble thinking logically about flowers…or anything else. All he could think about was Amelia, and that was far from logical.

  “Your Grace, what flower is that?” Lady Sara asked him.

  “Foxglove,” he murmured, forcing himself to look at her. When she smiled demurely, he pretended not to notice. He had no doubt that his mother was somehow behind Lady Sara being at this picnic, since she did not know the host before today. Lady Sara appearing here smacked of his mother’s involvement, and the only way she could have known he was coming here would be his aunt. Colin frowned. It was a rare occasion Aunt Jane and Mother spoke a civil word to each other, but it seemed the occasion had happened.

  Moving ahead a few steps to where his aunt was, he whispered in her ear, “Have you seen my mother lately?”

  Aunt Jane nodded. “I saw her yesterday briefly. I went to the orphanage to see the children, and she was there.”

  Colin gaped at his aunt. “My mother was at an orphanage?”

  His aunt nodded. “Yes. She apparently has decided to volunteer one day a week with the children.”

  The hostess of the picnic, Lady Banbury, strolled beside him and pointed to a tall red flower. “What is that called?”

  “Dog rose,” he said distractedly. He was trying to picture his mother at an orphanage, but could not quite imagine it. Yet she had been there. She gained nothing from going there, so she must care about those children. And if she cared about them, had he totally misjudged her? Suddenly, he had an urgent desire to talk to her and another to be by Amelia’s side. He picked up his pace and strode to the end of the lane of flowers. Thank God.

  “This is the end,” he said, not even looking back as he hurried away toward where he’d last seen Amelia. Turning the corner, he expected to see her perhaps sitting on a blanket with the men surrounding her, but she was farther away, in a distant field of purple wildflowers with her brother, a handful of the other guests loitering around them. Her hand was raised to her face, and she stared off toward the edge of the woods. Colin followed her gaze to the forest, where three gentlemen appeared to be lined up on horses. In the middle of the field, another gentleman stood with―Colin squinted against the sun―was that a handkerchief in the man’s hand?

  He increased his pace to Amelia until he was running. As he neared the group, he forced himself to slow his gait, but his pulse raced ahead. Ignoring everyone else, he strode up to Amelia and her brother. “What’s happening here?”

  Harthorne motioned across the expanse with his hand. “The gentlemen are racing for the privilege of being able to take my sister on a carriage ride tomorrow morning in Hyde Park.”

  Teeters of amusement came from two of the ladies standing behind Amelia. Colin could see Amelia’s back stiffen and her face flush. “I tried to stop them,” Amelia whispered.

  A petite lady with a head full of curly red hair moved to stand beside Amelia and leaned close to her. “Ignore those two behind yo
u. They are simply jealous. Though, if you ask me, I cannot figure out why. The Duke of Scarsdale is too brooding for my taste. Edington not intelligent enough, and Shrewsbury without true bravery. They may all have titles, but I’d not have a any of them as a husband.”

  Colin instantly liked the outspoken miss. “Who might you be?”

  “I’m Jemma, the granddaughter of the Duke of Rowan.”

  “I didn’t know Rowan had a granddaughter.”

  “Neither did he,” she said flippantly, though her cheeks turned scarlet.

  “That would make you Lady Jemma,” Colin said gently.

  “I do not believe so,” she whispered, the scarlet of her cheeks spreading to her neck.

  “Ah, I see.” And he did. A bastard granddaughter would be simply Jemma, but she deserved respect no matter what anyone else thought. Accordingly, he inclined his head and came up to have her hand stuck in his face.”

  She grinned. “If you will beg my pardon, where I come from women sometimes shake hands as a greeting, as odd as that sounds.”

  “There’s no need to apologize,” Harthorne said from beside Colin.

  Colin turned toward his friend, surprised, but glad to see him studying Jemma with interest. The two exchanged pleasantries, allowing Colin to focus once more on Amelia.

  He was about to speak when one of the ladies behind them exclaimed, “It’s started.”

  Colin glanced toward the field where the men on their horses now raced toward the crowd. He did not need to watch the entire race. Scarsdale would win. That much was obvious and not surprising. Scarsdale was an excellent rider. Colin leaned close to Amelia. “Are you happy now?”

  Amelia gasped more at the hitch in Colin’s husky question than the actual question itself. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She swallowed, trying hard to order her racing thoughts, but it was next to impossible with him so near. He smelled of sweet flowers and sharp grass kissed with dew. A light breeze blew through his golden hair, moving a few wavy tendrils. Her fingers itched to slide through his hair. Now that would make her happy.