When he wasn’t being the Duke, Bennett Montague was actually a very knowledgeable man with a dry, clever sense of humour. His grasp of the universe was quite impressive and he managed to explain it all without sounding patronising or haughty or pompous.
For once.
And that had been the problem. At some point while they were strolling back through the garden, the cosy intimacy and easy conversation had made her forget that he was a pompous duke and Amelia had enjoyed being with the man. Seeing him as a pompous duke, it did not matter that his silvery blue eyes sparkled in the moonlight or that his quiet, deep chuckle made her insides melt like butter. Seeing him as a man, Amelia was keenly aware of those things. Repeatedly, she’d found herself staring at his profile as he gazed at the sky. The mist in the air had tousled his hair so that it fell over his forehead, and each time they’d paused to look at another constellation she had been sorely tempted to brush it away from his eyes. And then the air around them hung heavy with the weight of promise and she had the distinct feeling that he was going to kiss her. At that moment, to her complete surprise, she would not have minded in the slightest.
However, the closer they’d got to the house, the more duke-like he’d become. Now the Duke of Aveley was back with a vengeance. His posture was as stiff as a plank and his arms were clasped imperiously behind his back. It had been the most sudden, and unwelcome, transformation. Almost calculated. It was obvious that he had no intention of even pretending to be amiable when he was anywhere near his peers and would be mortified if anybody saw them together, even though there were already several people taking the air on the terrace a few feet away, so their presence out here could be easily explained. Yet he had called her a commoner—maybe not directly, but the implication was clear—and the spell he had cast around her was broken.
Thank heavens.
The very last man she would ever want to kiss would be a man with a title. Just like her father, Bennett Montague could change from reasonable man to self-righteous aristocrat with a click of his fingers. Underneath all of that amiability he was just as mercenary and she would do well to remember that.
‘I hardly think that walking in a garden in Mayfair counts as a clandestine outing. And, even if it did, I am employed by your aunt. My free time is mine to do with as I choose.’ Gathering her blanket tightly around her, Amelia turned and marched around the side of the house towards the French windows she had left open. She heard him start after her.
‘Wait. I am sorry. My tone was unnecessarily harsh and I apologise. It’s just that...’
Amelia whipped her head around angrily and cut him off. ‘Save your apologies; I have no need of them. We both know that your aristocratic stodginess returned the very moment you realised that you might be seen talking to someone as lowly as me!’
‘Stodgy!’ That word, out of all that she had used, clearly offended him the most and he thrust out his square jaw in protest. Well, Amelia had a jawbone too and could not stop herself from using it.
‘Yes. Stodgy. You have no need to fear for your aristocratic reputation, Your Grace; I would rather not be seen with you either. Commoners can be quite particular about who we talk to.’ Her feet tore up the ground and the elusive French windows came into sight. Unfortunately, her short legs were no match for his much longer strides.
‘I did not mean that either, Miss Mansfield.’ He was in front of her now and intent on blocking her path. He ran his hand through his thick hair in agitation and then stood a little awkwardly. It was apparent that he did not know what to do with his arms until he clasped them firmly behind his back again. ‘I just...’
‘It does not matter.’ Amelia was in no mood for hollow explanations or meaningless apologies. She was well aware of her place in society—and of his. Experience had taught her a great deal about the titled male’s mind; any doubts she had about the mind of this man in front of her had been amply filled with the drivel in his silly book. She had been foolish to allow her head to be turned, even for a few minutes, by a man who lived according to such a strict and ancient code of conduct.
But she had promised Lady Worsted that she would be on her best behaviour whilst she was a guest in his house; no matter how galling she found it, her position in the household meant that she had to keep the peace and swallow her pride. ‘You are a duke. I am a servant. You have been very charitable to have honoured me with your conversation this evening and I thank you for it. However, the vast chasm between our stations makes it impossible for you to continue in that vein in the company of others. I understand that. Let us not make more of it than it is, Your Grace.’
‘Stop interrupting me!’
The next thing that she knew, he’d hauled her against him and covered her mouth with his.
Chapter Eleven
Marriage to a politician has to be viewed as a treaty. The nation will expect you to ally yourself with one of the great families of England to maintain the high standards of the government...
There really was nothing stodgy or reserved about his kiss. The moment his lips fused with hers, it lit a fire within her that burned too hot to extinguish. Not that she gave that much thought at the beginning. All thought was suspended while Amelia gave herself over to the wonderful sensations he created.
Amelia had been kissed before. There had been a couple of chaste kisses from intellectual young men who fervently believed in the same causes that she did. In each case, those romances had fizzled out because neither party felt the same fire for the relationship that they did for the plight that united them. Then there had been the other kisses which had been an unwelcome intrusion. A violation even. There had been quite a few of those too. Things were earthier in the slums and those who did not try to take what they wanted were invariably left with nothing. And she had been a young woman all alone and there were a great many who had sought to take advantage of that fact. Fortunately, in every circumstance, she had been able to fend off the male who tried to take from her.
This kiss fell into neither category. He was passionate—yet tender. The kiss firm yet achingly gentle. And his strong arms felt so very right wrapped around her that she gave in to the flash of desire and allowed her own arms to coil around his neck so that she could cling to him for dear life. It was only when she felt the blanket slither from her shoulders when his arms searched for, and found, her waist, then drew her hips to rest intimately against his that she realised that she was in trouble.
Serious trouble.
This intoxicating man was a duke. A duke who was hell-bent on finding his perfect duchess—a woman who would be well-bred, compliant and aristocratic. He had already reminded her that she was a commoner and therefore unworthy. That meant there was only one thing that he could possibly want from Amelia—and that was the same thing that every chancer and bounder had tried, and failed, to achieve.
Decisively, she dragged her hands to his chest and pushed him away with all of her might. She might well be a commoner now, in fact she was proud to be one, but she would not be her mother and be seduced by his wealth or his power. Or, heaven forbid, his ghastly title. The measure of a man was what he was inside and not who he was born to be. Whilst the Duke might have a bit more substance than some of his aristocratic peers, his arrogant superiority was still ingrained into his soul.
Commoner!
How typically...aristocratic. As if being common was an infectious disease that he needed to be protected from! Well, he needn’t worry on that score. He was too much like her father to even consider him. Not that he would ever offer her marriage, thank goodness. And she was not prepared to be a passing fancy for him either, no matter how much her body enjoyed his touch. Even if he were the very last man on earth, it would be a cold day in hell before Amelia would ever consider any form of dalliance with one in possession of a title.
However, that brought another problem immediately to the forefront. In her experience, the more powerful the man, the less understanding they were about being rejected. Amelia might well want to slap him stoutly on his perfect cheek, but she needed to keep her job. Humour and diplomacy would serve her much better than anger right now.
Bennett fought to catch his breath while he watched the alarming play of emotions on her lovely face. Kissing her had been a mistake. And a revelation. What had he been thinking? Perhaps, for once, he had not been thinking, which was somehow even worse. He never lost his head. Ever. He was always fully in control of every single situation and his emotions. There could be no volcanic eruption in front of Miss Mansfield.
Yet here he was, completely aroused and totally blindsided by a simple kiss with a wholly unsuitable woman. A woman who was now regarding him cautiously, her feline eyes wary and her body poised to either run away or attack. Without thinking, he took a step towards her, but she stayed him with her small hand.
‘Before we continue, Your Grace, I just wanted to be sure that I am right to believe that I am now on your Potential list?’
