One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)

He bowed in Spencer’s direction. Lady Amelia crossed to her brother immediately and threw herself into his arms.

“Amelia. For God’s sake, where have you been?” Beauvale pulled back from the embrace and studied his sister. “What’s happened to you?”

“Leo is dead,” she said, burying her face in her brother’s coat.

“Harcliffe?” The earl directed his question at Spencer.

He nodded. “Attacked by footpads, last evening. We have spent the night attending his sister. She was—and remains—in a state of shock.”

“Yes, poor Lily,” the earl muttered, rubbing his sister’s arms. “Poor Leo. I can’t believe it.”

“I can’t either,” she said. “He was so young, so vivacious and well-liked. He was …” Her eyes met Spencer’s. “He was the answer to your question, Your Grace. A man of true understanding. In all the years I knew him, Leo never once spoke an unkind word to me.”

“Yes, well. We can’t all be Leo, can we?”

This bitter, ill-conceived remark was repaid with cold silence. As it deserved to be. Even Spencer realized it had been an unfeeling thing to say, motivated by envy.

Envy for a dead man, at that. How nonsensical.

Nothing about this night had made sense, from the moment she’d caromed across that ballroom and grasped his hand in hers. He’d danced with her, argued with her, carted her from the dance floor like some sort of primeval cave dweller, and then together they’d spent the night attending an impromptu vigil. On a morning that should have found him taciturn and withdrawn, she’d made him chatty. Now he found himself taking spiteful swipes at the poor dead fool who earned a word of her praise. It all added up to one inescapable conclusion.

He was rather taken with Amelia Claire d’Orsay.

Irrational, perhaps; unexpected, certainly. But there it was.

The earl spoke over his sister’s shoulder. “Thank you for seeing her home, Your Grace.”

It was a clear dismissal, just like her less eloquent version at the doorstep: You may go. But Spencer remained undeterred. He was the Duke of Morland; he would not be dismissed. And once he’d set his mind on something—or someone—he couldn’t rest without making it his.

He said, “I should advise you, Beauvale, that upon hearing of this tragedy, we left the Bunscombe residence together in surreptitious fashion. To others in attendance, it may have appeared to be an illicit assignation.”

“I see.” The earl frowned. “But nothing happened.”

Spencer looked to Lady Amelia.

“Amelia?” Beauvale prompted. “Nothing happened, did it?”

“Oh, no. No. Most definitely not.” Her deep blush did not lend the impression of veracity.

“I see.” Beauvale glared in Spencer’s direction. “People will be talking?”

“Yes, they will. It cannot be helped. In fact, the gossip is likely to increase with the announcement of a betrothal. We may as well make the engagement brief.”

Silence.

Brother and sister stared at him in open-mouthed shock. Spencer rocked idly on his heels, waiting.

Lady Amelia left her brother’s side and went to the nearest chair. At last, the thought had occurred to her to sit.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” she began, “but this has already been a rather unbelievable night. And it is giving way to a positively apocryphal morning. I thought I just heard you refer to an engagement.”

“Yes. Ours.”

More stunned silence.

Spencer cleared his throat. “It is not my aim to be cryptic. Allow me to make my intentions perfectly clear. Beauvale, I am offering to marry your sister.”

The earl lifted a brow. “Do you mean you are requesting the honor of her hand?”

“Is that not what I just said?”

“No,” Lady Amelia said, with an odd little laugh. “No, it is most definitely not.” Regarding Spencer closely, she added, “Laurent, will you leave us?”

“Yes,” her brother said, drawing out the word. “Reluctantly. I shall wait in the parlor.”

“Thank you,” she said coolly. “We won’t be long.”

Chapter Five

Amelia stared at the duke. His health was robust, his expression composed, his bearing everything ducal, if not downright regal. He looked quite fit indeed. Still, the question tumbled out.

“Are you insane?”

“No,” he answered swiftly. “No, I am in possession of my mental faculties, and in excellent physical health. If you wish further assurances prior to the wedding, I can refer you to my personal physician.”

Good Lord, was he serious?

His mild expression told her he was.

“That will not be necessary. Allow me to rephrase my question. What on earth are you thinking, suggesting we should marry?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He sat casually on the edge of Laurent’s desk. “Your reputation is endangered.”

“Only because you are endangering it! Nothing happened between us. Why would you lead my brother to believe otherwise?”