Denying The Duke (Regency Romance: Strong Women Find True Love Book 3)

by Virginia Vice

  She drew a more daring forfeit. ‘Kiss the one you love and the best man or lady. They may not be the same person.’ She brushed a kiss on the vicar’s cheek and then marched up to her father and bussed the top of his head proudly. He laughed and hugged her tight. She blushed at this show of paternal affection.

  The hour grew late and their guests begged to take their leave. Amelia was not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved that she sailed through the evening without collecting another kiss. After the last carriage had sailed down the drive, Amelia went to bed.

  Chapter Eight

  Lord Rochester invited Lord Windon to the parlor for a nightcap. He brought a decanter from a high shelf and proceeded to pour them a generous amount of fine spirit, smuggled goods no doubt. After a moment of idle talk Lord Rochester asked the duke about the state of his suit with his daughter. Lord Windon relayed the events of the day to the dismal earl.

  Lord Rochester begged him again, asking for his favor as he was dying and would ask nothing more of seeing his daughter settled. Lord Windon could not refuse a dying man his wish, but he couldn’t disclose to Lord Rochester that he had decided to tarry a while of his own volition.

  Sleep claimed him as he played the events of the day through his mind. Lady Amelia deliciously mussed after riding with abandon. And the poised and polished woman at the dinner table. The bright but silent beauty that had trounced her own partner at whist. The contrast was bold and stirring.

  The morning repast was a merry affair. Amelia was silent, but Lord Windon and her father were completely engrossed in discussions about the hunting parties they had attended in the past. Lord Windon told of one particular hunt where a hound used in the hunt had led the men away from the fox, it being a foxhound itself. A nonsense joke. The retelling was so comical and unbelievable that her father laughed out loud. Amelia smiled to see her father so animated.

  A storm in the early hours of the morning left the weather in a contradictory state for most of the morning. The bright sunshine beckoned but the wet grass and damp air screamed caution. Lord Windon, wanting very much to be left to his own company, did not heed the warning. He was in far too a reflective mood and, having exhausted his current reserves for polite responses to polite conversation, he went wandering off instead to the gardens. They were spectacular, the work of a gifted gardener no doubt. He found himself walking at a leisurely pace through the neatly pruned gardens with the scent of many flowers washing over him in softly fragrant waves of cool air. The only one he could identify were the roses.

  He gave a particular decorative arch his interest. It had cherubs carved on it. The rest of the structure was covered in climbing pink and white roses. They blended beautifully, contrasting yet complimenting. He leaned closer and strained a finger across the lips of a tight bud wondering if her lips would be just as soft and warm.

  He stumbled at the force of the startling idea that he was lusting after her. The woman who had, in the little time of their acquaintance, insulted him, misconstrued his intentions, told him he was no gentleman, and then ignored him, even if it was hidden beneath a thin veneer of civility.

  He couldn’t be lusting after her. He only had only wanted to offer for her hand. He had no intentions on her person at all, but his body was betraying him with traitorous imaginations. That wouldn’t do at all.

  He staggered back and stumbled into a conveniently placed stone seat. He took a seat on the damp stone, too lost in thought to register the cold. By Jove, he had damned himself beyond redemption. It wouldn’t do to rescue her and then make carnal demands on her person, even if they were by law his conjugal rights. He was under no illusion that theirs would be more than a marriage of convenience, but he was most unwilling to set his wife against him. He sighed at the directions of his thought. The lady in question was most unlikely to accept his suit in any event. It wouldn’t do to cast her in the role just yet.

  “Your Grace, I am sorry if I am the cause of so thunderous a scowl.” He startled badly and scrambled to his feet to regard the one person who currently possessed his thoughts. She looked beautiful. Her skin was clear and faintly rosy and her hair was a sheet of black that complemented her bright green eyes. It only added to the fear running through him. He wondered if his expression gave away the direction his mind had taken. In a trice his face cleared as he came to his feet.

  Amelia had gone looking for Lord Windon after he had excused himself. She had followed him toward the garden only to find him several minutes later, sitting on a damp stone bench and scowling at the roses. The roses were definitely innocent.

  “Lady Amelia.” He answered her puzzled looks

  “Your Grace.” She started.

  “Robert.” He corrected gently.

  She waited a moment then nodded “Robert. I do need to speak with you about something.”

  “I gathered. Somehow a chance meeting in the gardens was too contrived,” he murmured.

  She deflated suddenly. Her eyes fastened on her own wildly gesticulating fingers. “I am sorry, Your Grace. If you found the countryside wanting for excitement, it is no reason to behave the harridan. You are entitled to your opinion no matter how much it differs from mine.”

  She looked up at and looked away. The guilt bringing stinging blood to her cheeks. He looked at her with an expression that could be termed benevolent, only the amusement in his smile belied that. “I find, Lady Amelia...”

  “Amelia.” It was only fair that she give him use of her Christian name.

  He paused and nodded, mirroring her own reactions. “Amelia. I find that in our brief acquaintance you have expressed your displeasure with me twice. I wouldn't care to make it thrice.”

  She blushed. He must think her without restraint. “I must confess I used to be consider quite even tempered, yet I have lost my composure twice with you. It baffles me, Robert.”

  “Might I ask a favor of you then?” When he stopped, she raised her head in question. “That you allow me chance to understand my errors and make amends for them.”

  “It is I who must make amends for my hasty speech for yesterday and at the first dinner party,” she insisted.

  “In truth, you wounded me.” The words stopped her.

  “Your Grace?” He turned to her with an arch expression. She corrected her error without reminder. “Robert.”

  “Yesterday I was trying to inform you that the quiet of Mossford appeals greatly to me. No invitation to a hunting party or all manners of promised revelry could please me as much as it did.” Now he smiled wryly, amused now that the matter was behind them.

  She gasped then, drawing his attention to her contrite features. There was nothing that compared to the soft moue of her semi-pouted lips, a pale pink that stole his attention. He realised she had been talking when he was lost in his reverie. “I beg your forgiveness, Your Grace,” she continued, looking appropriately chastened.

  “Robert. You will find it easier with frequent use.”

  Now she smiled sadly. “Robert.” He nodded and gestured for her to continue.

  “I must beg your forgiveness, Robert. I was overwrought. My father may have manipulated us both. He did not inform me of your impending arrival until your outrider was at our gates announcing your carriage from the distance of a mile away. I was ill prepared.” The excuses would do for a bystander. and even her father, but they sounded weak in her ears just as she knew they truly were.

  “I thought your attire quite fetching.” She had braced herself for an insult and was shocked when none was forthcoming.

  “I think you are teasing me, Robert. The stink of the stables was about me,” she countered.

  “I didn’t notice,” he concluded with uncommon chivalry.

  “Now I know you are teasing me,” she finished in the tones of one who was being treated badly.

  “Will you not have a seat? The stone is cold but the sun is surely warm and not to be missed. It is too weak to ruin your complexion and the gardens are beautiful,” he
offered magnanimously.

  “These are my gardens, Robert,” she answered.

  “I assure you, the irony is not lost on me.” He was amused.

  “I cannot sit idly in the gardens.” His smile grew larger.

  “Forgive me for indulging. Shall we occupy ourselves with something as we converse? Might I suggest embroidery?” The crooked smile was now very obviously teasing one out of her.

  “Robert!” He laughed at her comical indignation, enjoying her teasing and laughter. The easy camaraderie was much like they once had, but even better. She was pleased to find it again, too pleased. It was fast becoming an addiction.

  “Forgive me, Amelia.” He was amused by her manners.

  “You jest with me, Robert.” Her tone was huffy, but she was smiling.

  “I find I cannot help myself. Your smile is a worthy sight.” The words warmed her and changed the mood drastically.

  “Robert?” He was suddenly serious. The change of mood had her looking at him closely. His amusement was gone and his stare was suddenly intense. His eyes, she discovered, were a lovely grey and they looked at her directly. They unsettled her somewhat and she ducked her head. She chastised herself. She was not a child fresh from the schoolroom faced with her first flirtation. And they were merely talking, no reason to find her avidly interested in his boots. Gleaming, expensive leather though they were.

  “Don't hide from me. I want to see your smiles. You have given me so few of them.” Fingers wedged under her chin lifted her face up until she was looking directly into his eyes. She wasn’t smiling now.

  “I shall endeavour to do better,” she ventured boldly, and he nodded solemnly.

  “I sincerely hope so,” he replied with a suddenly intense gaze that drew her in. He moved his hands away and she almost fainted at the sudden relief from his stare. “Tarry with me a while.” He gestured to the stone seat. “I am sure certain duties will snatch you away soon.” He tried to inject a light note into the suddenly tense moment.

  “Sitting in the gardens is not...” She had already complained once. “Shall we go for a ride then, Your Grace?”

  “If we can escape the sad endings of yesterday.” He was entirely serious.

  “I believe that there is nothing left to color the air.” She felt her face burn.

  “Then I shall be most pleased to see your lands from your own eyes.”

  “I should like to show you my favourites haunts,” she offered as a truce.

  “Lead the way.” She led the way, much like yesterday, but when they arrived at the stables she told the groom to saddle her favorite horse. Heather was a playful chestnut just a hand span shorter than the stallion. Amelia mounted astride. A side saddle was not going to make for easy riding and the distance was a good part away. When she settled into the saddle and arranged her skirts she found him mounted and waiting for her to lead the way.

  They passed the time riding slowly while they made easy conversation. After a good while they arrived at the brook. Surrounded by a copse of trees that hid it, one could only stumble on it by accident. It gurgled softly. The water was clear to its depths, with smooth pebbles in its bed. Amelia alighted and Robert followed quickly.

  “You should let me have the honor of helping you from your horse,” he chided softly.

  She paused at that, looking from him to the horse and replaying the past moment. “I am unused to such courtesies.”

  “No man has held your reins for you?” He was surprised and pleased. It was a trivial matter, but they were sharing intimacies she had never shared with any other.

  “I have never ridden with another man, save when I was but a child and Sebastian carried me on his horse.” She stood reminiscing with a small smile at the corners of her lips.

  “A delightful experience I am sure.” It was more a statement of fact than it was a question.

  “It was magnificent. It was on a black stallion, the sire if the one you are now riding. I would smile all day. Once, when we reached this brook, he made a pantomime. I was a damsel in distress and a dragon was coming to eat me.” Her smile was brighter now, her joy palpable.

  “He cast himself in the role of dragon slayer then?” He joined in her childish glee.

  She smiled and frowned a moment later. “I refused to be a weak damsel. I got myself a branch and fought off the dragon. Afterwards we duelled.”

  “You, my lady, have had the pleasure of a most unconventional childhood.” He replied without censure and not a little jealousy. He had spent his childhood in rooms with crotchety tutors who deplored his habit of looking out the windows when he could be applying himself to his lessons.

  “You resolved to call me by my Christian name, remember?” She wrinkled her nose at him. He flicked the tip of her nose as he laughed out loud in his effusive manner when he found something worth a laugh.

  “I stand corrected.” He admitted with a sheepish smile.

  “I haven’t been here for 3 years, almost 4.”

  “Since your brother died?”

  “And my mother.”

  He did not know what to say. None of the well worded platitudes offered in his own moment of grief seemed right. “I am sorry.”

  “Thank you for your kindness,” she answered him simply. “I fear I am a coward to avoid this place.”

  “There is nothing of the coward to avoid places that feel too much.” He countered firmly.

  “You're too kind, Robert.” She still thought herself uncaring and cowardly for not facing her grief. Yet she had dared to criticise him for failing a sibling. She was a hypocrite.

  “It is merely the truth. I believe it takes a fortitude of the soul to survive grief. A gel, I am told, needs her mother.” He said so ruefully, sure he was treading in dangerous ground.

  “And a man his father, yet yours is deceased. I am sorry for prattling on. I am not the only one with a dead parent. You are an orphan, are you not?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” The words were soft, but they held a heavy message.

  What was she supposed to say? Having known grief, she knew words were not enough. “My condolences.”

  He nodded tightly and continued, “I must confess, I find I only grieved for my mother.”

  “How did she die?” She ventured boldly. Clearly there was more to the matter than the initial implications.

  “A carriage accident.”

  “Is that where you...”

  “Got my scars. Yes.” He was silent a moment. “I grew to favor my mother. I think that was hard for my father. We had a warm house once. After that my father sent me off to school and crawled into a bottle.”

  Lady Amelia’s eyes grew large and misty for the young boy he had been, grieving for his mother, forced to sever connections with his sister and abandoned by his father.

  “He gave me over to tutors and masters of the manly arts. I was in Eton when I heard he died. I came home to attend to my duties as the new Duke of Windon and laid him to rest. As soon as he was placed in the ground I returned to Eton. I wore black for the expected time as did my sister. But I confess I think she wore it out of filial devotion, and I? I cannot think why except that it was expected. My real father had died years before. He told me to never fall in love. It hurts too much. It certainly destroyed him.” He said it in a light manner that she now recognised to be an armor of sorts. There was a world of confusion, puzzlement and pain beneath it all. “Six months to the day after the funeral I took off the mourning bands and resumed my life.”

  He turned to her, wondering why she was silent, Amelia was looking at him with the most heartbroken expression and tears streaming down her face.

  He stared at her as she bit down on her lips to keep from making a sound. Her reaction stunned him. Nobody had ever cried for him. He found it oddly appealing and saddening. She should not cry for any reason. “Now, hush, not another tear.” He pulled a starched handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her cheeks.

  The sobs burst out despite her best effort
s. “I cannot bear it Robert, I cannot.”

  “I confess, I am waiting for your anger to wash over me, demanding how I can be content with mere duty,” he prompted.

  “I am wrong, so wrong to judge you. Oh Robert, I cannot bear it. You without a mother, separated from your sister and a father that abandoned you. Oh...ooh.” He stopped dabbing at her face. It proved ineffectual at staunching the flow of tears anyways and his handkerchief was quite soaked.

  He leaned closer and gathered her to his chest. She was lean but of considerable height. Her head reaching his shoulders and the coils of the coiffure she currently sported tickled his chin as he held her shuddering body in his embrace.

  “Here I am, well loved and discontent. You have surely chastised me with your tale. I am ashamed and fully contrite.” She spoke into his chest, muffled but audible through her sniffling.

  Robert bent over her head to hear what she had mumbled against his chest. “It was not my intentions to make you cry. Neither are they to have the effects of a sermon. I only wanted to tell you.”

  “And I understand,” she protested. “I still feel a fool,” she muttered against his chest with a touch of asperity.

  He threw his head back and laughed. He wondered how he could feel the urge when he had been in the holds of grief mere moments ago.

  Amelia remained content to lay her head on his chest. The rumbling from his chest was even more delightful than the sound that escaped into the air. She leaned in closer and rubbed her face in his waistcoat.

  “You are making a jest of me,” she complained. He had stopped laughing aloud but was still overcome by silent fits of amusement.

  “I assure you, I am simply overcome,” he protested before giving in to another fit of laughter.