One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)

“You know nothing of me. Don’t speak as if you do.”


“Fair enough. At the moment, I grant that we are little more than strangers. I would like, eventually, to be your friend. But I know that’s too much to expect just yet, given the circumstances. I won’t interfere in your daily routine. I will let you be.” She reached for a tray of jam tarts from the sideboard and extended it. “But you can’t keep running away from every meal. I insist that you eat.”

“You insist that I eat?” The young lady eyed the pastries. Instead of taking one, however, Claudia grasped the entire tray and removed it from Amelia’s hands altogether. “Very well,” she said, stuffing a tart into her mouth. “I’ll eat.” Then she and the tray of pastries flounced from the room.

Well, Amelia would count that as progress. At least the girl would not waste away. Settling down to her own breakfast, she opened her mental recipe book and headed a blank page, “Claudia.” Under that, she noted: “Jam tarts. No kippers.”

As she ate, she wondered where Spencer had gone for the day. It shouldn’t be surprising that he had business. After spending some months in Town, surely he must have many estate matters requiring his attention. But wherever he’d gone, she wondered if he was angry with her, after last night. Or disappointed by her. Or yearning for her.

She shook herself. The man was busy. He likely wasn’t sparing her a second thought.

Amelia kept busy, too. She interviewed each member of the staff and acquainted herself with every inch of Braxton Hall—the interior, at least. The gardens would have to wait for another day. As she moved through the rooms with the housekeeper at her side, she made careful note of any fixtures that needed replacing or improvement, any arrangement of furniture that struck her as less than pleasing or efficient. After fifteen years without a mistress, the house was still well maintained but beginning to lag where style was concerned. She limited herself to the public and common rooms, not wanting to encroach on Claudia or Spencer’s privacy.

The task took her all day, and well into evening—at which point she was glad that Spencer had not yet returned and Claudia remained cloistered with her tarts, for Amelia had no time to plan dinner. Instead, she and Mrs. Bodkin shared a cold supper as they discussed modernizing the kitchen. Afterward, they began an inventory of all the household silver. Hours later, the entire dining table was covered in gleaming rows of forks, spoons, knives, ladles, tongs …

All of which began to rattle in unison, just as the clock’s largest hand neared twelve.

Amelia grasped the table edge in alarm. Beneath the low clatter of silver, the thunder of hoofbeats swelled.

“That will be His Grace,” the housekeeper explained, the corners of her mouth creasing as she suppressed a yawn.

Spencer. Amelia’s heart kicked into a furious rhythm. Until this second, she hadn’t acknowledged how much she’d been anticipating his return. But she had. She’d been waiting for him all day, every second. Why else would she have spent the day working her fingers to nubs rather than allow herself a stray moment for thought? Why else would she be sitting up counting silver at midnight? And poor Mrs. Bodkin, forced to keep watch with her.

“You’re dismissed,” she told the housekeeper. “We’ll just lock this room overnight and finish in the morning. Thank you so much for your help.”

Amelia rushed from the room, smoothing her upswept hair and shaking the wrinkles from her skirts. How much time did she have before Spencer would enter the house? Surely he would just hand his horse off to a groom and come inside. Pausing in the corridor to check her reflection in the glass covering the clock face—not much to see, but at least the dim light confirmed her features had not suffered any dramatic rearrangement—she went to the entrance hall and waited.

And waited. Several minutes passed, and no sign of him. Could he have come in through another door? Perhaps by the kitchens … he would be hungry, after a long ride.

She walked toward the rear of the house, crossing into a narrow gallery that connected the main residence with the service wing. It was tiled in marble and lined with windows on both sides, which made it rather cold at night. Amelia hugged herself and quickened her pace. She supposed she might have simply gone up to her suite and awaited Spencer there. But that would mean choosing between her bedchamber and his, and she wanted to meet him on neutral territory. She was going to keep this calm and cool. As emotionless as possible.

Step one: A smoothly delivered, dispassionate declaration. Your Grace, I thank you for your patience. I’m now ready to consummate the marriage.