One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)

She tried to laugh, but she knew the danger of him doing just that was great. She kept her hand on the handkerchief, refusing to let him take it yet.

“If you do lose it, don’t write me for more. If you wander home a few months from now, having landed yourself in trouble again and looking for my help … I won’t give it.” Much as it pained her to speak those words, she knew she had to say them. Cut the leading strings. Perhaps if Jack understood she wouldn’t be there to catch him, he might take greater precautions not to fall. “This is the very last time I save you, do you understand? I will pray for you and always love you. But after this, not a penny more.”

With that, she let go of the handkerchief. It was much easier to release her grip on that bit of linen than it was to let go of her responsibility for him. But she had to do both. She deserved to be happy, too, and she couldn’t imagine happiness without Spencer. She simply couldn’t risk letting Jack come between them again.

Spencer was right; she did have to make a choice. But this wasn’t a matter of deciding between her brother and her husband. It was a matter of deciding to seize happiness and let go of guilt.

Amelia was choosing herself.

“I’d best be going, then.” He glanced over his shoulder at the Angelica’s gangplank. “I hate to leave you alone here. Is Morland coming for you?”

She shook her head. “He’s taken Claudia home to Cambridgeshire. I’ve sent an express to Laurent. He’ll help me close up the cottage, and then we’ll travel back to London together.”

“Amelia?” He chucked her under the chin. “When I said no one’s good enough for you, I meant it. And I include myself. I know I haven’t deserved half the help you’ve given me, but …” His lips twitched at the corner, tugging on Amelia’s heart. All the d’Orsay men made that face when they were struggling not to cry. “I’m grateful for it. Thank you for loving me, even when I’ve done my devil’s best to be unlovable.”

The look in his eyes, the catch in his voice … her heart squeezed. She was a breath away from flinging her arms around his shoulders and vowing to take him back home, solve all his problems for him.

Taking a step backward instead was quite possibly the bravest thing she’d ever done. But she knew in her heart, it was best for them both.

“Goodbye, Jack,” she said. “We’ll miss you. Please take care.”

Then she turned on her heel. Took one step. Then two. Every pace she took away from him felt like a step taken on wobbly foal legs, but as her boots clopped hollowly on the planked dock, she slowly gained in coordination and confidence. It had taken a little time and much sorrow, but she’d finally mastered the lesson Spencer had given her the night they first met:

Turn those hapless d’Orsay fortunes around. Learn when to walk away.

“Where shall I take you?” As they neared Charing Cross, Laurent turned to her on the carriage seat. “Home?”

Home.

Amelia mused on the word. She wondered which house her brother referred to: the Duke of Morland’s, or his own? Which one was “home”? That was the question for her to decide, she supposed.

“I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind.” No house felt like home without Spencer in it. And though he would still be at Braxton Hall, she couldn’t abide the thought of rattling around that cavernous town house alone.

“Of course you’re welcome. Winifred’s planned some sort of party tonight. Lucky for me we’re returning in time for it. She’d have my head if I left her alone to host.”

“Is it a large party?” Now this might change Amelia’s mind. After two days of carriage travel and a week’s worth of melancholy, a busy social gathering wasn’t really how she wished to spend her evening.

“No, no. A few couples over to dinner. Perhaps a bit of cards and dancing after, you know.”

Well, that didn’t sound too dreadful. As a matter of fact, dinner itself sounded most welcome. And as for the amusements afterward—she could easily plead a headache and slip upstairs. It wouldn’t even be a falsehood. She’d done so much ruminating and pondering and reconsidering in the past two days, her brain ached.

“Did I do the right thing?” she asked her brother, for likely the tenth time since Jack had sailed with the Angelica. “Will he be all right?”

“I don’t know how he’ll fare,” Laurent answered, reaching for her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “But you did absolutely the right thing.”

“I just still feel guilty, letting him believe his debts will remain unpaid.”

“You know he never would have left otherwise.”

“I know.” She bit her lip. “Will you have a difficult time finding another buyer?”

“I don’t expect so. It’s a choice piece of land, even if the cottage is modest. The Earl of Vinterre expressed some interest in it. Wants to tear down the place and build an Italianate palace overlooking the river.”