It was difficult to keep a level head while the feel of his hands on hers was having such a profound effect on all of her nerve endings. It was so tempting to just give in to the sensations and consider the consequences later. ‘Not at all, which I suppose is the problem. You are exceedingly likeable once you get past all of that stodginess you wear like a uniform. But you are a duke, for goodness’ sake. A powerful and wealthy duke with a great deal of expectation resting on his shoulders.’
His brows came together as he tried to understand why such a thing was a problem. She saw the exact moment that he gave up trying. ‘I fail to understand what my being a duke has to do with anything. I have been led to believe that being a duke is considered quite a good thing amongst the ladies of the ton.’
‘And there you have it. I am not part of the ton. I am a companion. A servant. We come from different worlds that are best kept separate, Your Grace.’
The sound of his honorific on her lips appeared to anger him. ‘Please just call me Ben... I prefer that.’
‘I cannot, Your Grace, because you will always be a duke.’
‘A few weeks ago it was too much trouble for you to sayYour Grace. Now you insist upon using it topurposefullycreate distance between us. And whilst I am prepared to concede that this attraction that we feel for each other is not ideal, I would still prefer to pursue it.’
He really was not getting it at all. Because he was a duke. ‘It is not ideal for you, you mean.’ And he had no idea how much he kept insulting her with his casual words. A familiar knot of anger began to form in the pit of her stomach, reminding her of her past experience with an aristocrat who had reluctantly compromised. Her father had done so for money and then had come to regret it bitterly and used his power to cast her mother aside. Would the Duke of Aveley lower himself just because of lust or would he slake that lust before he came to his ducal senses and severed their attachment? Amelia already knew the answer. She had lived it. ‘Tell me, how much of a sacrifice are youpreparedto make for us, Your Grace?’
Amelia watched his throat bob nervously as he shifted in his seat. ‘I suppose I could consider marriage...’
There was a definite wince as he said it. Amelia laughed bitterly and tugged her hand out of his so that she could stand. It would be easier to put him in his place if she was not being distracted by his touch. ‘IsupposeIcould. Have you any idea how offensive those words just sounded?’ Her hands came to rest on her hips as she glared at him in bold accusation.How dare he?‘I am sure that you think that I should be positively thrilled to receive such agenerousoffer from a mansosocially superior to myself. What girl wouldnotwish to marry a rich and powerful duke, after all? You are Bennett Montague. The perfect catch. Women fall over themselves to impress you. They grovel and simper and hang on your every word and read your stupid book out loud. You have five of them dangling on your hook as we speak, and they are grateful to be there. I suppose I should be eternally grateful that you have lowered yourself to make such a huge sacrifice on my behalf!’
She watched his silvery blue eyes narrow and harden into cold crystals. ‘Would you prefer it if I lied to you? Do you want me to pretend that marrying you would not have any effect on my political career? My reputation has always been beyond reproach and I have worked very hard to keep it that way. How do you think my peers will take it if I marry a...’ He stopped abruptly, the harsh words hanging ominously unsaid, so Amelia finished his sentence for him.
‘A guttersnipe, Ben? At least have the decency to say it.’
‘That is not what I meant at all.’ He stood angrily and edged towards her. ‘I did not intend to insult you. I was merely thinking through the ramifications of such a decision. I was born into this life. From the moment I could talk I have been moulded and shaped to serve this country. If you think I take that responsibility lightly, then you are sorely mistaken. I want to change things. I want reform. I want to end the harsh reality that many loyal subjects have to deal with and Icannotdo that from the back benches. If I am going to have the greatest influence and instigate real reform, the best way that I can serve the people of England is as their Prime Minister. Therefore, there is an expectation on me to marry well. There always has been. You know that. Marrying my aunt’s companion would be a complication...but perhaps not an insurmountable one.’
He raked his hand through his thick hair in frustration and took several even, calming breaths. ‘I have a great many supporters in Parliament that might be sympathetic to our particular circumstances. Of course, it will have to be carefully orchestrated to ensure that it is received properly...and perhaps we will have to be very careful what we tell people about your background...’
The pompous Duke had returned again and he had not even realised it.‘Ramifications! Complications!’Amelia was sorely tempted to kick him. ‘Our particular circumstances!Be still my beating heart!’ Amelia found herself prodding him in his magnificent and arrogant chest instead. ‘I rather think that you are entirely missing the point. Whilst I am sure that most ladies would be prepared to grovel and beg for your ducal affections, and that they would be delighted to suppress every part of their natural character in order to fit in with what society expects them to be, I can assure you that I am not one of them. Iloathearistocrats! It is the aristocrats of this country who continue to oppress the poor for their own gain. They toss away lives with the same lack of regard that other people throw away potato peelings! I suppose that I should happily accept that I am unworthy, lie about my background and pretend to be some vapid adornment who pours tea and embroiders. And, of course, it goes without saying that the future Duchess of Aveley would never be seen serving the poor in a soup kitchen, or setting foot in Seven Dials or marching towards Westminster demanding the vote for ordinary working men. Yet you, like all aristocrats, think that you have a divine right to be obeyed, although heaven knows why when you all gained those lofty titles by being either bullies or sycophants.’
‘Bullies or sycophants?And which, pray tell, am I?’ His voice dripped sarcasm.
Illogically, she was becoming more offended by the second, though not at the sarcasm but because of that telling wince. That wince that told her, in no uncertain terms, that he was going to deign to tolerate her past, just as her father had tolerated the dreadful stigma of being married to an American. He would tolerate it until he decided that his low-born wife simply wasn’t worth all of the effort. She had practical experience of how disposable a wife could be. ‘I suppose that depends on how your illustrious family chanced on their title.’
‘We did not chance on it; the Montagues came over with William the Conqueror. I am the Sixteenth Duke of Aveley.’ He was prowling after her on the darkened battlements and his temper was definitely hovering dangerously close to the surface. A sensible woman would end the conversation here and now. Amelia was not in the mood to be sensible.
‘Would that be the same William the Conqueror who murdered all of the English nobles and replaced them with his cronies?’ She tapped her lips with her index finger as if in thought. ‘I would say that you fell in the bully category then, wouldn’t you? Had you toadied around a king to get your title, then you would be a sycophant—but, then again, you are one of the Regent’s mosttrustedadvisers, are you not, Your Grace, so perhaps you now fall into both categories.’
He caught her angrily by the arm to face him. ‘You are on the cusp of unacceptable impertinence. This is not how I expected you to react when I have stated that I might be able to offer you marriage.’
She had to crane her neck upwards to look him squarely in the eye and stare into those stormy, swirling depths. ‘Might?How romantic! Your arrogance is quite staggering! I do not want to marry a man who believes that I amnot ideal, who has offered me thepossibilityof marriage as an act of charity on hissufferance. And as I would prefer to be completely impertinent rather than merely hovering on thecuspof it,Your Grace, I should add that the very last man that I would ever choose to marry is one in possession of a title!’
Chapter Twenty-One
It is the fashion nowadays for couples to marry for love. Whilst this may appeal to the romantic side of your character, it is not an advised course of action. Once you have chosen an eminently suitable woman, love will blossom in time...
His fingers closed possessively around her hand and pressed it against the hard wall of his chest to prevent her from prodding. ‘I do not believe that you are prepared to throw away everything between us just like that, Amelia.’ His other hand snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against him so that his mouth was a few scant inches from hers. ‘You feel the pull between us, and it has nothing whatsoever to do with my title and everything to do with desire.’
She wanted to deny it, but her body was already calling her a liar. The hand that rested against his chest was splayed over his steady heartbeat, the other had already found its way to his lapel. His mouth descended onto hers savagely, but Amelia was powerless to resist kissing him back with equal force.
She wanted him. Pure and simple.
One last kiss goodbye was not too much to ask for, surely? And it would be goodbye. It had to be. Tears prickled her eyes, but she poured all of her tangled emotions into it. She greedily wound her arms around his neck when he imprisoned her against the battlements with his body. His lips gentled as he deepened the kiss and Amelia was powerless to do anything other than cling to him while her senses and every nerve ending came alive.
Each stroke of his tongue caused her womb to constrict, almost as if there was some secret hidden thread that linked the two halves of her body together that only he knew about, while her breasts felt suddenly heavy and ached for his touch. Unthinkingly, she arched against him and he responded by sliding his hands down to rest possessively on her bottom, drawing her hips intimately against his. She revelled in the insistent nudge of his hardness against her belly, pressed herself against it while her hands explored his chest beneath his snug waistcoat, felt the tension in the muscles of his abdomen and thrilled at how laboured his breathing was. The shallow, rapid rise and fall of his ribcage mirrored hers.
Amelia moaned when his warm palm closed over her breast, wishing that it was not encased in layers of clothing and laid bare to his fingers. Her wish was granted when he edged his hand gently beneath the neckline of her bodice and she groaned again when the pad of his thumb grazed her taut nipple, moaning against his lips in wanton encouragement. No matter what she had said, or how much she distrusted men like him, she still wanted him more than she ever had any man before. If only he was indeed just Ben... Then she would willingly succumb to him. Marry him. Whatever it took to just be with him.
‘I want you in my bed, Amelia.’ His voice came out strangled with desire. ‘Let us not fight this attraction we feel.’
Temptation warred with common sense. If she went to his bed, what then? In one swift motion, she tore her mouth from his and darted out of the cage of his arms. ‘This is just passion, Ben, and passion fades.’
