Chapter 17 #2
She folded the letter carefully so no one would see the vile contents and slipped it under the edge of her plate. But she must have given herself away. When she looked up, everyone was watching her.
Chatham tapped his finger on the table. “More of the same?”
“Not this time,” she lied, and smiled at everyone.
Yet her heart was beating too fast to remain still.
The cruel ink on the page pressed against the fears she’d carried for so long.
When Chatham turned to answer Lady Ashcroft’s invitation to go riding with her, she felt his prolonged consideration of the question like a stab through the heart.
“Yes, why not. The children can stay with my wife.”
Amelia had always expected betrayal.
Lucy cleared her throat. “Papa, can’t I go riding with you and Lady Ashcroft?”
“Not today,” Chatham said.
Amelia nearly cried over the child’s disappointment. She craved the attention of her father, just as Amelia did
“Darling girl, you know I’d take you anywhere,” Lady Ashcroft crooned, bending her head toward Lucy as if she’d been waiting for a moment to mother her. “We will go together another day.”
Lucy threw a cutting glance in Amelia’s direction, as if the decision was her fault.
Lady Ashcroft raised a brow and smirked, superior and insufferably smug about riding out alone with Chatham. She reached out and brushed her hand possessively over Lucy’s hair.
Amelia disliked the way the woman fawned over her daughter. It smacked as disingenuous when her eyes devoured Chatham over Lucy’s head.
Chatham was hers, not Lady Ashcroft’s.
She stilled as the possessive thought took root.
Her stomach fluttered, like a traitorous and foolish bird, caught in a trap of her own making.
She craved Chatham’s complete attention.
The delicious thrill when his fingers tightened protectively around her elbow as they climbed the stairs together heading for their bedchamber.
How he would look at her in that direct manner of his, and not as a stranger or a duty he must suffer—but as someone he wanted to be with.
She wanted him to crave her, too.
Yet, he promised he never would.
And worse—far worse—was the echo of his words in the garden.
With you, I feel…too much.
You make me forget myself.
Chatham spoke of his need to always control his emotions, his desires, and today, during their interlude in the greenhouse, he had lost control once more.
Amelia could not control her passions or even begin try to. They were honest feelings she had for the man she’d married. They rang through her like a bell tolling for the beginning of something important, but fragile and precious.
She pressed a trembling hand to her chest.
She had known, of course. Known from the moment she’d accepted Chatham’s proposal; from the moment she’d placed her hand in his so confidently, where the danger would lie. Strived to fit herself to his life without being a burden but protested being forgotten.
She had quickly discovered Chatham was a man of great passion—even if he denied himself having those stronger feelings that drove hers.
She had also known he would not offer love to her. Had told herself not to imagine he might.
But hope was stubborn. Wily.
Hope sometimes flourished in a barren garden.
That hope was hers alone, and it bloomed in her heart until it threatened to overwhelm her now.
Oh no.
This was the beginning of the end.
She was falling for her husband.
Had fallen.
And that terrified her far more than the duke’s scowl or Lucy’s disdain or any romantic rival’s smirk.
She needed air.
Amelia burst to her feet. “There is something that needs my attention upstairs,” she explained, voice unsteady. “Do excuse me, Your Graces?”
“Yes, of course,” the duchess murmured, with a kind smile.
The duke nodded and said nothing.
Chatham too did not inquire what could be so urgent upstairs and remained in his seat, silent and watchful. She paused a moment, hoping he might ask to come with her.
He noticed her watching him. “I will remain here with the children instead.”
Amelia felt her cheeks heating at the subtle dismissal. She had no other choice but to leave the room alone.
She lifted her chin and did not let her step falter until she was out of the doors. When the footmen closed them behind her, she exhaled a shaky breath.
“Milo,” she whispered, as though saying his name aloud might somehow summon him.
It did not.
She shook her head, recovering her ability to breathe in the process, and considered where to go so that Chatham could not find her until she had adjusted to the troubling discovery that she loved him.
This was no idle fancy.
It was a disaster.
“My, my, aren’t you a pretty sight this morning,” someone drawled. “A blush always suits a lady.”
Amelia glanced around, revolted to discover Mr. Dunstan leering at her again.
She inclined her head. “Excuse me, sir.”
“Where are you going? What say you and I take a stroll and continue our conversation?” he suggested, his smile indicating a stroll was the least he had on his mind.
“I have an urgent matter to attend to,” she told him.
“With me. Absolutely urgent and highly satisfying.”
Amelia gaped at his audacity, then recovered. “Definitely not with you. You have a wife.”
“My wife sleeps like the dead and doesn’t rise until midday.” The bounder planted his hand on the wall beside her head, trapping her there and blocking her escape up the stairs. “There’s no need to act so coy, but I grow tired of waiting for an invitation. You won’t find a better man here.”
“I’m not looking for a better man,” she said, straightening her shoulders. It had already been made clear that this man might have engaged in an affair with her predecessor. She wouldn’t be so foolish. Dunstan was a hound, a man without morals or scruples. “I already have the best.”
“Wife,” Chatham murmured, and she turned to see her husband looking anything but pleased by the situation she was in. He passed over the letter that she’d foolishly left behind, but his eyes never left Dunstan. “You forgot this.”
Amelia ducked under Dunstan’s arm and rushed to his side to collect her letter. “Thank you.”
“You were going upstairs, I believe.”
“I am.”
“Go now,” he suggested. “Dunstan and I have things to discuss.
Amelia took that as her cue to leave and fled up the stairs, head held high until she heard a loud grunt followed by another. She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder afraid her husband and Dunstan had come to blows over her.
Amelia risked a glance over the railing but found the pair gone.
She was disappointed Chatham had gone and returned to her room slowly, pondering her suspicions. It meant something that he might have defended her honor with his fists.
She loved Chatham but her marriage was an endless confusion to her senses.
She wanted a husband who would protect her honor from scoundrels like Dunstan.
Someone who would wrap her in his arms, hold her tight, and keep her doubts at bay.
Someone who never had to say she was important to them because their actions proved she was uppermost in their mind.
Perhaps she was being selfish, but she’d only felt that way once, and it was brief. Never to return.
Chatham never wanted to care about her that way.
She let herself into their room and pressed her back against the door. She was in an impossible situation. But perhaps her feelings would go away if there was more distance between them.
They had with her first love.
Surely, if she tried hard enough, she could keep those feelings hidden from him.
Of course, she wouldn’t abandon the promises she’d made to him when they had wed. Her vows were important to her. She would not betray Chatham for the world.
She would not do that to someone she cared about.
And she did care about him very much despite the bargain they’d made.
Her breath caught again, accepting the truth that wouldn’t go away.
She had developed deep feelings for her husband and they would only grow the longer they were together.
The pain would be worse than she’d ever experienced before, too.
She would have to distance herself from him—and the sooner the better.
He was too perceptive not to notice, of course. So she had to find a way to make him believe her indifferent to love so she could keep to their bargain.
Tell him she did not have to continue sharing the same room, the same bed, if she was with child already.
She needed space, distance, and time.
Although her belly roiled yet again. Intimacy only made her crave his attention more.
Amelia closed her eyes, steadying herself at the thought of lying in bed longing for his arms about her at night. His breath ringing in her ears, telling she was no longer alone. “Oh. This is going to hurt.”
She was about to break her own heart.