One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)

“Amelia, wait.”


The deep voice rang out over the crowd. Over the musicians. Over even the violent pounding of her heart.

“Wait right there. Please.”

Well, that couldn’t be Spencer. She’d just heard the word “please.” She wheeled around anyway and felt positively biblical when the crowd thronging the hall parted like the Red Sea. And there, standing at the other end of that freshly carved valley of humanity, was her husband. The tardy Duke of Midnight.

“It’s ten past,” she couldn’t help but say. “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry,” he said earnestly, starting toward her. “I came as soon as I could.”

She shook her head, astonished. Not only “please,” but “sorry” now? In public, no less? Was this man truly her husband?

But of course he was. There was no other man on earth so handsome.

“Stay there,” he said again. “I’m coming to you.”

He took an awkward, hobbled step in her direction, and then another. A grimace pulled at his mouth. His injuries were clearly still paining him. As gratifying as it was to watch him at long last moving across a dance floor toward her, and not some preening debutante, she realized this was going to take far too long.

“For heaven’s sake, stay put,” she said. Her heel caught on the carpet fringe as she hurried toward him, and she would have fallen to the floor without the well-timed assistance of a smartly dressed gentleman in green velvet. It made her conscious, as she met her husband halfway and he pulled her into a tight embrace, that they were being observed by one and all. And “all,” in this case, referred to hundreds.

Of course she didn’t mind the attention herself. But she knew how Spencer hated crowds. She pulled him as far to the side as possible, putting his back toward the horde of onlookers.

“There now,” she said, keeping her arms laced around his neck. “Just pretend we’re dancing.”

He winced. “The ride from Braxton Hall nearly killed me. With these ribs, pretense is all I can manage.”

“Why are you in town at all? I heard you were playing cards.”

“Well, I meant to. That’s the reason I came to London. I’d no idea you’d be here. My intention was to win back Jack’s debt from the gaming lord himself. I’d arranged the game, prepared my stakes and sharpened my strategy—do you know that man’s one of the best piquet players in England?”

“I suspect you’re better.”

His mouth tipped with an arrogant grin. “I suspect I’d have proved you right, in the end. It might have taken me hours, though, and we were just sitting down to the table when your boy found me, and I read your note. And after that …” He blew out a breath. “After that, I just said to hell with it. I wrote him a bank draft instead.”

She gasped. “You didn’t!”

“I did. Because whatever amount your brother owed, it wasn’t worth a single hour’s delay in seeing you.” He swallowed hard. “All Jack’s debts are paid, Amelia. You needn’t worry about his safety anymore.”

“Oh, Spencer. You’re very good to have done that. But I wish I’d had the opportunity to speak with you first. Jack’s gone. He sailed from Bristol on a brigantine bound for America. You were right. I was doing him more harm than good. He’s my brother, and I’ll always love him. But I’ll have to love him from afar just now. Our marriage is more important to me than anything.” She lowered her voice and gripped him tight. “You are more important to me than anything. I’ll never let anything come between us again.”

“I … I can’t believe it.” He blinked away a glimmer of emotion. “What of the debt?”

“Laurent has another buyer for the cottage.” When he began to form a question, she added, “The debts are ours to dispatch, not yours. We’ll repay you every penny. Jack is our problem, our family’s responsibility.”

“Your problems are mine. Your family too, if you’ll have me. I was a complete bastard to ask you to choose. And you can’t give up that cottage. It’s your home.”

“It’s a house. Just a pile of stones and mortar, and a crumbling one at that. It’s meaningless without love to fill it. My home is wherever you are.” She felt a smile warming her face. “Here we are right back where we started, aren’t we? You owning my brother’s debt, me with only a drafty cottage in Gloucestershire as collateral.”