One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)

She shook her head. “If we’re to leave as soon as possible, I’ll be too busy.” She looked toward the door. “I should go begin writing letters now.”


But she didn’t move. She just stood there, staring at the door, as if waiting for him to say something. It felt like a test, and he’d spent his boyhood living in terror of just such oral exams. He never knew the right thing to say.

“Amelia …” He exhaled slowly. “I still need an heir. But as you ask, I’ll honor our initial agreement. If, once you have borne me a son, you no longer wish to live with me …” He hated the thought of it, but at least he had the better part of a year to change her mind. “I will release the entirety of your trust and provide you with a completely separate home.”

Her lower lip trembled. Then thinned. Then folded under her teeth and all but disappeared.

Wrong thing. Wrong thing to say, completely. Devil, damn, blast.

For midday in summer, the air in the room took on an odd chill.

“Yes,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “That was our agreement, wasn’t it? I should never have expected more.”

“I just …” Damn it, how had this past hour gone so wrong? This morning, they’d been on the cusp of something wonderful. Closeness. Friendship. Intimacy. Now there was a wall between them. “Amelia, I just want you to be happy.”

“Oh, I shall be.” Lifting her chin, she smoothed her palms down her stomach and hips. “I am going to Briarbank, and I have a house party to host. Of course, I will choose to be happy.” Her cheeks tightened with a forced smile as she headed for the door. “Well. Now that’s settled. If you’ll excuse me, I have dinner to plan.”

Chapter Sixteen

The weeks passed quickly, once Amelia fell into a routine. She spent the majority of her day with Mrs. Bodkin, attending to matters of the household. In the afternoon, she took some time for correspondence, making arrangements for their journey and their stay at Briarbank. Sometimes she found a stray hour or two for a walk through Braxton Hall’s park or gardens.

By night, she went to Spencer’s bed. They did not talk a great deal there, and almost never otherwise. It was all very much as a marriage of convenience should be. There were no more cards, no more discussions of books. No more arguments, and no more dangerous emotions. Just separate days, and temperate bedding, and polite distance. With every day of relative silence that passed, the number of things left unsaid grew—until that heap of unspoken remarks made a formidable wall of protection around Amelia’s heart.

And she needed to protect her heart, or what pieces of it remained. For one passionate night and perfect morning, she’d made the mistake of surrendering it to Spencer, and he’d stomped it to bits. If he cared anything for her, how could he cut her off from her own brother? She couldn’t begin to understand it, and Spencer showed no willingness to explain.

So silence it was.

Claudia remained aloof, as ever. Her presence at meals was unpredictable, as was her mood at any given moment. She rebuffed every one of Amelia’s attempts at friendship, and eventually Amelia ceased making them. The girl would doubtless come around in time, but in the interim, a duchess had more pressing matters demanding her attention. Such as writing invitations to her guests, and sending servants ahead to Briarbank with supply ledgers and lists of cleaning tasks and heaps of crisp linens.

She was so busy, the appointed date for their departure arrived before she expected it. Rather than take the longer route through London, Spencer had decided they would travel directly west, to Oxford and then Gloucester. But the roads were smaller and poorer, which made for slow and nauseating travel. Both Amelia and Claudia spent their time jouncing about the coach and trading the basin between them.

As they crossed into Oxfordshire on the third morning, Amelia perked up. She’d written to her second cousin, now styled Lady Grantham, and arranged for the party to break their journey at Grantham Lodge. Amelia had never been particularly close to Venetia, nor even particularly fond of her. But she did keep a lovely home in Town and had a rapacious taste for the society of nobility, so Amelia had hopes for warm hospitality.

The sun was still high in the sky when Grantham Lodge came into view. It was a friendly looking manor house, quite modern in its architecture. The shallow reflecting pool before the house provided a mirror image of the white façade and its many glazed windows. A swan or two paddled idly about. Sir Russell must be doing rather well for himself, Amelia mused. But then, the Granthams had always been an ambitious couple.

The carriages rolled to a halt in the drive. When she and Claudia alighted, Sir Russell and Lady Grantham were waiting to greet them. Venetia wore apricot silk and that same strange, thin smile Amelia remembered. Her cousin had elaborate theories about too-wide smiles causing premature wrinkles. Amelia thought she would rather look wrinkled and happy than smooth-skinned and camphorized.