Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Amelia did not trust herself when she finally stepped into the morning room, following her husband, unfriendly stepdaughter, and would-be rival.
Her lips still tingled from Chatham’s kisses.
Her breath still hitched at the memory of his hands on her hips, his thigh pressed between her legs, and the raw, consuming hunger she had felt rolling off him like heat from a fire.
She had expected awkwardness after their night together, confusion, and a retreat into polite formality once again.
She had not expected…more passion.
She was still clutching the sides of her cloak like a lifeline as she wished the duke and duchess a good morning.
She forced herself to breathe evenly, to hide the storm of unsatisfied need inside her. Desire to aid procreation was one thing. This fierce obsession was another.
Unceasing passion was dangerous.
Her pulse quickened at the mere thought of sitting beside Chatham at breakfast. To be that close and unable to reach for him would be exquisite torture.
A footman offered to take her cloak and she removed it, glad for the mundane task. Anything that would settle her nerves before sitting near Chatham again.
Yet when she turned, he was beyond her reach. Chatham was offering a seat to Lady Ashcroft, and then he sat himself between their two children.
Chatham did not glance in her direction, and she felt the sting of a rebuff she’d never expected would hurt so much. The only available chair for Amelia was on the opposite side of the table, beside the duchess.
She composed herself as best she could and smiled through the duchess’ polite greeting.
“Did I see you out walking earlier?”
“Yes, indeed. The gardens here are so soothing in the early hours.”
“I feel that way too, but I sometimes have difficulty slipping away. There is always someone wanting my attention,” the duchess whispered.
Amelia sympathized. She fell silent as a footman offered tea and started presenting plates of food for her to choose from. When she had made her selections, the duchess was engaged in conversation with the duke, and Amelia dared not interrupt them.
She paid attention to her breakfast but found she did not have much of an appetite anymore.
Adam, sitting opposite, had taken two of everything the footman offered and was currently holding a small meat pie in one hand. Amelia laughed softly at his expression when he took a savage bite. Milo was too engaged in conversation with Lady Ashcroft to notice his son’s enjoyment.
Amelia picked at some ham, nibbled some toasted bread while she sipped her tea, but everything made her feel a little queasy by the end. She finally pushed her plate away, puzzled by her lack of appetite that morning.
When Chatham finally looked across the table at her, the air between them shifted, turning immediately warm, charged, frighteningly intimate.
His gaze swept over her slowly, lingering on her mouth, her breasts, and she felt the memory of him touching her all the way down to her toes.
For one dizzy, reckless moment, Amelia considered throwing herself across the table right then and there, in full view of everyone, just to feel his hands on her skin again.
But then his gaze dropped and he shook his head reminding her that the children were present. And the duke and duchess, too.
Lady Ashcroft seized the moment to draw Chatham’s attention back to her. Everyone else ignored her rival’s rather obvious attempt to monopolize her husband’s attention.
Amelia was a sensible woman, always knew she would have to wait for her turn, and yet…she wasn’t feeling sensible at all that morning. She was feeling selfish.
Chatham should be looking at her. His wife. The woman he’d chosen to marry.
She folded her hands in her lap as a servant offered her more food, which she refused. She was too busy trying to quiet the pounding of her heart. She craved her husband’s attention more than anything in the world.
The thought was appalling.
“Lady Chatham,” the duke said suddenly. “Is everything all right?”
His gaze cut to his son.
“Of course, Your Grace,” she answered calmly.
But she was not truly. She was changing, evolving into a wanton creature she’d never imagined she could become. One glance from Chatham and her thoughts were to get him alone. One touch from of his hands and she’d do anything to keep them there.
She had never felt this way before.
She glanced around the table and her gaze landed on the duchess, the only friend she might have in the room.
While she might wish for someone to talk to about marriage and desire, she could not trust the duchess to keep her conversation private until she knew her better.
No matter what the duchess might promise, there was always a risk that her words would be repeated to the duke, or her husband. And that would be mortifying.
Lady Ashcroft was watching her again, too. The brief pause in her fawning over Chatham made Amelia nauseous.
She should not care if another woman wanted to capture his attention. And yet, she did mind it a great deal. She pressed her hands to her belly as her stomach churned uneasily with dread and something even more unpleasant.
She was not jealous.
She couldn’t be.
The duke leaned forward again, frowning at her. “Lady Chatham, are you sure you’re well?”
Her breath caught as Lady Ashcroft fluttered her lashes at Chatham. Amelia was not unwell, but she might cast up her accounts at any moment if the woman continued playing with her neckline to draw Chatham’s eyes to her larger bosom.
She might also want to scratch out her eyes soon.
She wet her lips. “I am perfectly well I assure you.”
Chatham glanced her way at last, frowning, and she lowered her gaze immediately as her cheeks warmed with a blush. She hated drawing attention to herself in front of others. She had spent her life since the scandal trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.
Today she was failing.
A servant took her plate, but she kept her teacup. Toying with it as she wondered about her earlier queasiness and lack of appetite this morning. There were reasons for queasiness besides jealousy.
Her heart lurched in hope at the idea of what could ail her. She highly doubted she could be increasing already, and yet, she had to wonder. And wonder led to hope and unbearable excitement.
They had made love frequently since the day they wed. Amelia had only had a few weeks to imagine motherhood and a pregnancy. She glanced across the table discreetly and exhaled. She admired her husband more and more. He had truly dedicated himself to the task of fathering her first child.
She caught his gaze and smiled at him. She was truly satisfied with the marriage she’d made with Chatham…unless Lady Ashcroft happened to be flirting with him.
If she was pregnant with his child, they would truly be a family.
She would have the love she’d always dreamed of.
Chatham would give her everything her heart desired one day soon.
He looked away and suddenly laughed at something Lady Ashcroft told him.
Amelia frowned down at her cup, troubled by their long friendship.
She remembered all too well the deception played against her by her own sister, flirting with her beau Norris.
But with the benefit of distance and time, she hardly felt the sting anymore.
She had fallen in love with Norris slowly, seeing him in secret, and not seeing what else he was doing. And now…
She raised her gaze to look at Chatham and Lady Ashcroft talking together, and dread filled her that he might leave her for the woman one day. But how could Chatham betray her when he was so passionate when they were alone?
Attraction and commitment were not the same thing, though. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.
The first time, she’d been foolishly unprepared for the betrayal. But this is how it started. Little flirtations, shared laughter and a closeness mistaken for harmless friendship…then came the hardest fall of all.
Love hurts when it isn’t returned.
She turned her attention to Lucy and Adam across the table. Her children were all she needed to love. Lucy would like her one day. She was sure of that. Adam liked her already.
And Chatham? He depended on her. He had completely changed her life.
“We shall have a very busy morning,” the duchess said abruptly, oblivious to the longing that filled her. “A few of the guests will be leaving soon. But the house will remain quite full, and of course, Lady Ashcroft will remain as our guest.”
“Yes, of course,” Chatham replied, though his gaze flickered toward Amelia, then Lady Ashcroft, again and again, as though he had started to compare them.
Her belly flipped alarmingly, feeling as if each glance diminished her importance to him. What was he thinking? What was he feeling?
She couldn’t ask. He did not want to feel anything for her.
The butler entered with a small stack of letters on a silver tray.
“For the duchess, and this one is for Lady Chatham.”
Brown handed it over with a stately nod. “My lady.”
“Thank you, Brown.” Amelia blinked at receiving another letter from her sister.
Since the duchess opened her letter, Amelia felt obliged to open her sister’s.
But the words made her stomach twist.
“I cannot believe you ignored my letter. Everyone is writing to me about your scandalous behavior there at Stapleton. I do not condone what you have done. I cry for the example you set for those poor children. You make your poor husband suffer out of spite and jealousy. You are too cold and calculating to love the earl and it is no wonder he looks elsewhere already. I rue the day I ever loved you.”
The only person Caroline had ever loved was herself and yet Amelia’s finger trembled at the injustice of Caroline’s accusations, when she had done so much worse in her acquisition of a husband. If she was alone, she would tear up that letter and burn it to dust.