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Her heart was racing, but she could hear the rain slashing against the windowpanes. He was right, of course—she couldn’t ask him to see her back in this weather. She glanced down at herself, only then remembering she was in his clothes. She could hear her mother shriek again.
“I’ve asked Butler to prepare a light supper.”
Supper. “Ah... I have nothing to wear.”
“I would beg to differ. My clothes have never looked as good as they do on you.”
There went her heart, pitter-pattering in her chest. Amelia stood up. She felt a little off-balance, her legs a pair of unbendable logs. How far had she walked?
Joshua lowered his book. “Is there something I might get for you?”
This was all too comfortable between them. She was wearing his clothes and sleeping on his rug. She had talked about her suitors and he had talked about leaving Hollyfield. She could imagine her mother and her sister if they could see her now. Justine would beg Amelia to please stop turning up in places she ought not to be and her mother would accuse her of being reckless. All fair points.
Joshua put aside his book and stood. He went to the sideboard and returned a minute later with a glass of wine. “This might help.”
She reached for the goblet, but she didn’t pull it from his hand. They stood there a moment, both with a tenuous hold on the goblet, their fingers a bit tangled around the stem. She noticed his callused hand again. “I’m sorry.”
He frowned. “Whatever for?”
“For...everything. For requiring a rescue and wearing your clothes and falling asleep.”
“There’s really no need to apologize.”
“I thought I knew how far it was to the abbey, and it was too late when I realized I was mistaken. I’ve no idea how far I walked, but my body feels like it must have been miles.”
“I’d say at least seven, if not more.”
“Seven?” And she thought she’d walked two miles at most. And now she just felt silly.
“Do you want the wine?”
She still hadn’t taken it. She was thinking of his eyes, and the way he’d looked at her earlier. She was thinking of the glimpse she’d had of his body, and how it had stirred her. She was thinking of the way she’d felt before the wind blew and the dogs barked and she fell asleep. She was thinking of the spark she’d felt, that definite, dangerous spark of pure attraction and how she had hoped he would kiss her.
“Amelia...are you all right?”
He’d said her name, and it felt like the most intimate thing anyone had ever said to her. “Je,thank you.” She slowly pulled the wine free. “There is a saying in Weslorian:Rumlus er vesas to tarken. Which means, folly is the teacher of the wise. I think I’ve been taught a valuable lesson today.”
“Ah. Then perhaps the day was worth it in the end?”
She smiled. “Perhaps.” She was feeling better now. Stronger. She carried her wineglass to the hearth and looked up at the only uncovered painting in the room. It was of a family. The woman was in pink satin, the gentleman nearby on a horse. Three children in last century’s dress were romping beneath a tree with a pair of spaniels. “Ancestors of yours?” She sipped her wine.
“Probably so. I’ve not inquired.”
He’d notinquired? “Weren’t you required to learn art history? One summer, I was made to go around all of Rohalan Palace and learn the paintings we have there. Who painted them, the subjects, the year, the meaning...and all of it to be committed to memory in the event I was ever to entertain guests. Except for the painting of my great-great-aunt the Duchess of Dunreese. My tutor said that my mother the queen had expressly forbade him to teach me about her, as she’d had a torrid affair with a lady-in-waiting.” She giggled, recalling how eagerly her tutor had taken her up the servant’s staircase to show her. “He delighted in telling me the story all the same.”
Marley smiled.
She turned her gaze to the painting again. “Have you been the duke very long?”
“Only a few years,” he said. “But I didn’t receive any instruction as a boy. I wasn’t meant to inherit the title.”
“What do you mean?”
“My cousin was the duke. My father an earl, my brother a viscount. I was the youngest, which meant I was destined to be wealthy, but nothing more than that.” He smiled sheepishly. “There had been some talk of the clergy, but I think my father recognized early that the Grim Reaper was not a suitable candidate for the cloth.”
Amelia laughed and groaned at the same time. She couldn’t believe she’d called him that—and to his face! Her mother was right—sometimes she should not speak. The impression she’d had of him in the beginning couldn’t be more different from the one she had now. “How did you accede the title?”
“A series of calamities. My brother died suddenly. His heart gave out. And that proved to be too much for my father—not six months later, he followed John to the grave. I assumed both titles. A few years later, my cousin was accidentally shot during a hunt. He had no issue, and his title would have passed to his uncle, and then to my brother. But it passed to me.”
