Chapter Four #3
Dorian chuckled at Amelia’s none-too-subtle rush to her chair but did not comment. Not for the first time, he appreciated how at home she seemed, in charge at the monstrous desk.
It took some shuffling, but she located what she was looking for.
As she read a piece of parchment, she slowly, absently removed her long satin gloves one finger at a time.
He watched the fabric slide down the soft skin of her arms, and his mouth went dry.
There was an unconscious grace to her movements as she took out her writing implements and made to pen a response.
It amazed him just how much she’d grown and taken on since the dissolution of their betrothal.
He liked to believe he would have afforded her as much room to blossom and test her skills had they gone through with their marriage, but that was something to which neither of them would ever be able to attest.
“You certainly are busy, aren’t you?” he commented.
She signed her letter with a flourish before replying. “I do what I must to ensure my son comes into an estate worth running.”
This surprised Dorian. He hadn’t realized just how much she’d taken on.
He’d seen some of the papers on her desk but had assumed the tidy numbers had belonged to the hand of a capable steward.
It seemed he’d underestimated Amelia. This woman left nothing to chance, and it was more than admirable. It was remarkable.
She was remarkable.
She prepared the blue-black wax for a seal and produced a small box from one of the drawers. It was velvet-lined, and he soon learned that it held her late husband’s signet ring. Boldly, she pressed the golden seal into the prepared wax before replacing the ring in its box for safekeeping.
Dorian propped a nonchalant hip against the edge of the desk as he watched her tidy, efficient movements.
He was inexplicably entranced as she reached for a small stack of unopened letters on an ornate silver salver.
That stack had not been there that morning, and it was impressive how so much correspondence still seemed to reach her in this quiet corner of Scotland. It would seem her work was never done.
Without looking at him, she commented, “It is impolite to hover.” She picked up the penknife and deftly split a seal with slightly more force than was necessary.
“Archie is lucky to have you to advocate for him,” he said honestly. Amelia did not look up, but he could tell in her stillness that she was listening to him rather than reading the narrow, slanted script before her. “Do you never take time for yourself?”
Her brow wrinkled, but she still did not look up. “Of course I do; I have Faye and my riding and…other hobbies.”
He allowed her to skim the letter and pick up her pen before he spoke. “Surely, you have other needs to attend to as well. Have you remained without companionship in this castle all this time? As a widow, that must be particularly lonely.”
The pen slipped from her fingers, splattering midnight ink across the fresh, creamy vellum she’d set before her.
She whirled on him, her eyes flaring. Color crested her cheeks much as it had earlier when they’d shared Maximus’s back.
It gave him a thrill to see her so piqued; he enjoyed the flushing of her creamy skin more than he probably should have.
“If you are trying to mortify me, then your efforts are lacking. However, if it is your intent to attack my last frayed nerve, then you, sir, are succeeding. I will tolerate your presence at supper, but not here in my private study. Please leave.”
It was probably unwise, but he could not resist teasing her further. “You seem rather on edge, Amelia. You may not wish to hear it, but there are ways to alleviate that.”
“What about any of what I’ve said to you indicates I would be open to such a thing?”
“You did not have to say a word.” Dorian leaned over the desk and lowered his voice to a sultry rumble. “Your reaction to my touch when we rode together said it all.”
And so did the catch in her breathing.
As if trying to keep herself from reaching for him, Amelia’s hands fisted atop her desk. “Get. Out,” she ground out.
Straightening, Dorian tried not to smile at her ire as he sketched a bow and turned to leave. His retreat, however, was blocked by the butler.
“Excuse the interruption, but supper is ready to be served, Lady Coylton,” the older man announced.
Dorian cocked a brow over his shoulder and held out his arm, beckoning to Amelia. He knew she would be none too happy about being forced to spend more time with him, and her irksome expression confirmed that.
Clara was already in the dining room when they walked in. Amelia released Dorian immediately and went to her seat.
Thus began one of the most painfully stilted meals of Dorian’s life.
Any conversation that was had was curt, and Amelia practically refused to acknowledge him.
Dorian settled for watching the flustered Amelia struggle through the meal.
For the most part, she was unable to meet his eyes.
A pink flush of either embarrassment or rage had not left the crests of her cheeks.
It was difficult to feel bad about it when she looked so bloody beautiful.
Finally, Clara could take the thick air of discomfort no more.
“The two of you will be the death of me!” she exclaimed dramatically, dropping her dessert spoon with a clatter.
Dorian frowned at his sister, but she continued, saying, “Dori, stop torturing Amelia for standing her ground.” She looked at Amelia.
“Amelia, you moved on and have had a wonderful life, but it is clear that none of this is in the past. You do not trust Dori, yet you cannot really be blamed when you do not know the full story.” Warnings began to scream in Dorian’s head.
If Clara was about to do what he suspected…
“Dorian’s pride was mortally wounded, and he won’t tell you, but I—”
Dorian slammed his fist upon the table, cutting off Clara and making the porcelain and glassware jump dangerously. “Enough, Clara!” he bellowed.
Immediately, Amelia sent the footmen a glance to give them some privacy, and they left silently.
Clara’s mouth snapped shut; she glared across the table at Dorian’s tense frame.
“You know not of what you speak. It would serve you to mind your tongue.”
Clara’s fists clenched.
Faye’s head appeared at Amelia’s side, her ever-present four-legged guardian. The well-trained animal seemed more interested in the argument than the food on their plates.
Clara stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I am not a child, and I shan’t be treated as one.” She turned to Amelia. “Make him tell you the truth. You are the only one strong enough to force him.” Then, she turned on her heel and spun out the doorway.
Amelia turned a confused look on Dorian, but he refused to look away from his sister’s vacated chair.
Had he not been certain she knew nothing of his intentions in making this trip, he might have been concerned that Clara was trying to foil them.
No. She had threatened to reveal the deepest secret he had: What really happened the night he’d been discovered in a very compromising embrace with a woman who was not his betrothed, and how the scandal of the fallout had broken him.
A secret she only knew because she’d been a curious, incorrigible child who had eavesdropped upon his distraught conversation with Brinley all those years ago.
He’d caught her and swore her to secrecy, threatening her life as only an older brother can do, and she’d believed him as only a little girl who adored her elder brother would.
Now, however, Clara was grown, and she was rapidly learning that the world was not so black and white.
Her loyalties were clearly torn, and Dorian had to deal with it if he had any hope of keeping his secret.
“What is she talking about?” Amelia asked in a wary tone, sounding as if she were repeating herself while he’d been lost in thought.
“Nothing,” he growled and stood, bracing his palms flat on the table. Normally, he would have enjoyed the dessert of decadent tarts laid in front of him, but his appetite had been slaughtered. He stormed from the room.
Amelia soon followed suit, tossing her napkin on the table and doggedly following him, Faye by her side.
“It cannot have been nothing. Regardless of what you may think, Clara isn’t prone to histrionics.
She wouldn’t have behaved like that, wouldn’t have implied…
she wouldn’t have said such things if there was no reason to.
Something has upset her, and it clearly has to do with what happened to us. ”
Dorian stopped walking so quickly that Amelia nearly collided with his rigid back. As it was, Faye barely sidestepped in time.