Chapter Nine #2
Amelia sighed sadly, and he caught her hands in his.
He waited silently for her to continue. “He’d just begun his riding lessons when his father had his accident.
He’d been so excited until then. Now, I cannot convince him to go near the stables.
Not even his docile little pony can entice him.
I don’t know what to do.” Dorian pressed her knuckles to his lips.
“He’s a brave, intelligent boy in so many ways, but he was so traumatized by the loss that I don’t know how he’ll ever recover. ”
“Let me try,” Dorian volunteered, much to Amelia’s surprise.
Before she could respond, however, Faye shoved her way between them with a determined grunt. Amelia giggled and scratched her head; Kempton cocked a brow and narrowed his eyes at the dog.
“She really does not care for me.”
“She’s just protective.”
“Well, I take it personally, especially when she gets to share your bed and I do not.”
Amelia’s eyes flew to his face and she began to blush. “Dorian…”
“Don’t,” he said suddenly, his eyes darkening at her use of his given name. “Don’t pretend to regret it. I don’t. And I know we both enjoyed it.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “And I eagerly await more.”
Amelia couldn’t help but be thrilled by the words and the enticing timbre of his voice. At a loss for much else, she said the first thing that came to mind: “You smell like horse.”
Dorian’s eyebrows twitched in confusion a moment before he released a bark of laughter. Amelia laughed as well, only partly out of mortification from her unthinking comment. She gave a little yelp of surprise when he pulled her into his arms, holding the length of her body against his.
“I will bathe…but you could join me, if you so wished,” he murmured against her neck.
Faye, affronted, wriggled out from between them.
Amelia was overcome by images of Dorian’s lean, beautiful body glistening, rivulets of water racing one another down the hard planes she felt pressed against her.
Her mouth went dry at the thought. She’d had a taste of him the previous evening, experienced his passion and the pleasure his body could give to her.
Even she couldn’t lie to herself about wanting more.
Much more. Emitting a shaky breath, she stepped back; his arms slid somewhat reluctantly from her body.
“I am due to meet with my cook about this evening’s meal,” she said lamely.
“Can’t it wait?”
She shook her head and began to back further away.
“Amelia,” Dorian said, stalling her retreat. “I fully intend on picking up where we left off last night.”
She gnawed on her lower lip and spun to leave, her heart pounding furiously.
Dorian suffered several failed attempts to follow through over the next couple of days, much to both his and Amelia’s consternation.
That first night, he’d come to her bedchamber only to be forced to hide in her dressing room when Clara knocked on the door.
After what felt like hours of waiting in the dark while the women chatted, he slipped out the other side of her dressing room and into the hallway to duck back to his own wing.
The next day, he’d been desperate enough to accost Amelia in the library in broad daylight, pulling her into his lap and kissing her senseless until Faye, once more, refused to be ignored.
Amelia had tried not to giggle when he’d struggled with Faye’s ungainly weight.
The animal’s stubbornness won out—especially when they were called to tea.
Dorian was left frustrated and increasingly desperate.
There were too many people and one too many animals present in Amelia’s chambers.
And his own chambers were far too close to Clara’s for what he planned on doing to Amelia.
Restless, Dorian decided to take a page from Amelia’s book and liberate her son from his studies.
If he couldn’t get anywhere with Amelia, then there was no use wasting precious time.
He went down to the stables and made inquiries, finding precisely what he’d been looking for at a cottage in the village.
Once this task was completed, he searched out the boy’s tutor, advising that he was going to “kidnap” him.
The tutor was less than thrilled to have his plans interrupted, and had the temerity to ask if Lady Coylton was aware of this plan.
Of course, Dorian lied, considering it a bit of payback for all the times she’d helped Clara escape her lessons in favor of raising all sorts of mischief.
At the appointed time, Dorian liberated the skeptical boy from the nursery, correctly assuming he wouldn’t be able to resist going outside instead of being cooped up. The thrill of escaping the schoolroom was a bonus.
Maintaining the ruse, Dorian slipped with him out the servants’ doors. Each servant was careful to play their part and avert their eyes to continue the ruse of sneaking away. Dorian snatched up a burlap rucksack already packed with the necessary supplies and slung it over his back.
Archie practically vibrated with excitement; he spoke rapidly and bounced more than he walked.
When he was like this—behaving carefree and unabashed—he truly reminded Dorian of Amelia.
He could see little of her in him until that point, but it was pleasing to know he’d inherited one of her more charming qualities.
The lad kept trying to guess where they were going, but Dorian remained tight-lipped.
When he realized Dorian wasn’t going to give in, Archie began pointing out the sights on their walk—the stream where his father had taken him fishing, the loch in the distance where they used to take out a little boat in the summer, etc.
“You miss your father a great deal, don’t you?” Dorian asked gently as they strolled on. The boy nodded sadly. “And your mother?” Dorian couldn’t resist asking. “How does she fare?”
“She was sad at first, but I think she was sadder for me.”
“Oh?”
He nodded, taking an interest in an insect in their path. “She said he’d been a good father, and now I had no one to help me learn to be a man.”
Dorian nodded thoughtfully, wondering how much further he might push the conversation. “Did they love each other terribly, your mother and father?” he inquired cautiously.
The boy examined the insect in his hand, distractedly replying, “They never kissed or held hands, like I’ve seen some of my friends’ parents do.”
Dorian tried not to put too much stock in that reply. Nobles were trained to be reserved, most keeping private even minor gestures of intimacy. The boy’s friends were from a vastly different social circle—servants and villagers—so the difference in manners made sense.
“Why?” asked the boy, finally looking up as the insect took flight from the tip of his finger. “Do you love her?” The question was asked so bluntly and innocently that Dorian nearly choked.
“Why would you ask such a thing?” He attempted to deflect, but it backfired.
“Because you ask a lot of questions,” the boy said matter-of-factly. “And you watch her. A lot.” The statement was made with a very pointed look. Dorian clearly was not dealing with an average boy. They turned down a lane to one of the farms. “Well?” the boy asked persistently, kicking at a stone.
“I did very much, at one time,” Dorian answered truthfully.
The boy’s eyes widened, thrilled at being privy to such an adult topic. “What happened?” he asked in awe.
Dorian cocked a brow at his unabashed interest. “It did not work out. Then she married your father.” He looked away, hoping that would be the end of it. He’d misjudged his companion.
As children do, the boy began to ramble on, unaware of just what sort of information he was imparting. “So, now you are friends again,” he said about Dorian and his mother. “Mother said Father was a dear friend of hers, too.”
What an odd thing for a wife to say of her husband, thought Dorian.
He was still ruminating over the comment when they finally arrived at the cottage and lean-to barn. The boy realized where they’d stopped.
“Why have we come here?” he asked, confusion knitting his brow.
Dorian didn’t reply, merely leading the boy around the cottage to find the farmer and his teenage son chopping wood.
“Good day!” Dorian greeted them with a raised hand. “I am Lord Kempton and this is Lord Coylton.”
“My, but you’ve grown!” the older man said to Archie. “I used ta see ye riding’ in front o’ yer da almost daily.”
Archie squirmed from side to side, as if unsure how to respond to the comment, so Dorian stepped in. “I was told you would be expecting us?”
“Aye! Me son, Angus, said ye’d be comin’.” The man’s grin was wide and friendly as he shooed his other son away. “Gae on, Freddie. Take ’em ’round.”
The boy set aside his axe, wiped his hands on his homespun shirt, and gestured for Dorian and Archie to follow him. They were led to the lean-to stable and, immediately, Archie froze at the scent of manure and horseflesh.
Anticipating such a thing might happen, Dorian was prepared.
He stooped down to speak to the lad. “I brought you here to show you something. I know you do not like horses, but have you ever seen a new foal?” The boy shook his head, still confused, displeased, and unsure all at once.
“It’s a wobbly little thing—all head and legs—smaller even than that great beast your mother seems to think is a dog.
” The boy gave a reluctant chuckle. “You do not have to ride, you do not have to touch it, just take a look at the silly little creature.”
“I don’t have to go near it?” he asked, unease still bleeding into his tone.
“Not if you do not wish to; you have my word.”
After a few moments of deliberation, Archie took Dorian’s proffered hand and followed, half hiding behind his legs. Freddie waved them over with a crooked smile as he leaned against the old wooden fence. Dorian approached slowly, giving Archie time to adjust as he walked beside him.