Page 38 of Maid for the Duke

Amelie gasped as he lifted her up but wrapped her legs around him. ‘You are a very bad influence, Your Grace,’ she murmured in his ear. Her voice was light, filled with desire, her hand already pulling at his waistband. It was exhilarating to know she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

As he entered her she let out a moan that was far too loud for their surroundings and he had to reach up to put his hand over her mouth.

‘Do you promise to be quiet?’ he said, not moving.

She looked at him with wide eyes and shook her head.

‘You’ll have the porters running in here to investigate.’

‘I will do my best,’ she said as he took his hand away. ‘But I cannot promise anything.’

Unable to wait any longer, Will lost himself in the pleasure of her, finding he was too far gone to care about being discovered even when she did shout out at her moment of climax.

Thankfully they remained undisturbed, and fifteen minutes later they were slipping out of the gates of Peterhouse onto Trumpington Street.

Chapter Eighteen

Amelie lay back and closed her eyes, resting her arm over the side of the boat and letting her fingers trail in the water.

It was one of those summer days where the heat sapped all the energy from one’s body and made them want to do nothing but lie around and sip icy lemonade. Will had returned early from Peterhouse, declaring it was too hot to think, and Amelie did not envy him the uncomfortable morning he had spent in the library. At least here in Grantchester there was a little more air, more space to breathe.

He had suggested they go out on the river, borrowing a rowing boat from one of their neighbours upstream. Amelie could not think of anything better in the heat and was content lying back and cooling her fingers in the water. Some time later she would have to rouse herself and make dinner, but she doubted they would want much in this heat.

‘You look like a heroine from a mediaeval poem with your hair spread behind you like that,’ Will said as he pulled on the oars for a minute before letting the boat float back downstream. ‘I wish I could draw people like I can draw plants. I want to remember you like this for ever.’

Amelie closed her eyes for a moment. The summer was racing away from them too fast. It was the happiest she had ever felt, but she also had this building sense of dread in the pit of her stomach, sprouting from the knowledge that all too soon it would be over. She had promised herself that she would use this time to think about the future, how she was going to manage all her responsibilities and carve out a little bit of a life for herself. In her dreams she ended up with Will, a fairy-tale ending in which he realised that he couldn’t be without her and they lived happily together just as they were now, but with her sisters and brother safe and happy alongside them. Of course, that was never going to happen, and Amelie knew she had to get her head out of the clouds and start making decisions.

She had felt thrown in one direction and then another for the last couple of years. There’d been so many changes which had been completely out of her hands and she was desperate to stay in charge of her own destiny now. From losing her home to being abandoned by her fiancé, Amelie had been swept along by the relentless wave of change. Even when she had settled into her job as a housemaid most of her decisions had not been her own. That was what was so liberating here in Grantchester. She had been allowed freedom, even in small ways: the freedom to decide when to walk to the market and when to take a little break in the garden. For someone who had been dictated to for the last couple of years, it felt wonderful.

That was why she was so keen to be the one making decisions about her future when this surreal summer passed. She had been immensely grateful when Will had swept in and saved her brother and sisters from their life with Mrs Creedy, and she would never have turned down such kindness and generosity for her brother and sisters, but she had been aware once again that changes were being made of which she was not in control. As it was only temporary, she had not even voiced her discomfort; the children were being well looked-after, and Will could not be expected to provide for them indefinitely. After the summer she would have to decide where they went next and how she could best support them.

Amelie pondered the options. In an ideal world, she would be able to afford a little cottage somewhere, something not unlike River View Cottage here in Grantchester. They did not need anything large in size, just a roof over their heads and somewhere to call home. Sometimes Amelie dreamed about owning a house and teaching piano to the local children to earn enough money for food, clothes and school fees. Perhaps if she had been on her own then one day it might have been possible—if she saved every last penny until she could afford something small, something her own. But with all her spare money being eaten up paying for someone to look after her brother and sisters whilst she worked, and even the few pennies she had left going to Fleet Prison to stop her father from being thrown in to the communal cell and facing almost certain death, there was no hope.

‘You look very serious all of a sudden,’ Will said, leaning over and flicking some of the cool water in her direction. It was gloriously refreshing and Amelie allowed him to pull her from her reverie.

‘I’m thinking about what happens come the end of September,’ she said.

Will pulled a face. ‘I spend most of my time trying not to think what happens come September.’

‘But you have the luxury of slipping back into your old life. I have to try to plan my future, otherwise the summer will slip away and I will be faced with decisions I am not ready to make.’

‘Tell me your dreams; if you could have anything from this period of your life, what would it be?’

Amelie wanted to scream that she wanted him. This dream-like existence was wonderful, but what she really wanted was Will heart and soul. She wanted him to be so completely and utterly besotted with her that he could not even think of giving her up come the end of the summer.

Of course, that was impossible. The first thing she had ever learnt about the Duke was his ultimate respect for his duty. He came from a long line of Dukes of Ashmead and he meant to continue that line in the manner that was expected. He would marry a young woman with an impeccable pedigree and he would produce children who could trace their ancestors back to the time of the Norman invasion.

She did not begrudge him this. Never once had he sought to deceive her. Never had he promised any more than he was willing to give. It was her own ridiculous, romantic brain that wanted more, despite her promises to herself earlier in the summer that she would safeguard her heart against falling in love.

‘Anything?’ she mused, trying to think what her second-choice life would be.

‘Anything.’

‘I suppose a life in the country: a little cottage, large enough to raise my sisters and brother in; I do not covet anything too grand. Enough money to live comfortably, but I do not need any servants; I would be happy enough to cook and clean. Somewhere safe, to call our own. That is what I want.’

‘That is a very modest dream.’

‘It is,’ she agreed. ‘But these last couple of years have taught me what is really valuable. A grand house is all very well, but it can be taken away. I would much rather live modestly and be more likely to be able to keep my little home no matter what befell me.’