One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)(22)

“Yes, they will. It cannot be helped. In fact, the gossip is likely to increase with the announcement of a betrothal. We may as well make the engagement brief.”

Silence.

Brother and sister stared at him in open-mouthed shock. Spencer rocked idly on his heels, waiting.

Lady Amelia left her brother’s side and went to the nearest chair. At last, the thought had occurred to her to sit.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” she began, “but this has already been a rather unbelievable night. And it is giving way to a positively apocryphal morning. I thought I just heard you refer to an engagement.”

“Yes. Ours.”

More stunned silence.

Spencer cleared his throat. “It is not my aim to be cryptic. Allow me to make my intentions perfectly clear. Beauvale, I am offering to marry your sister.”

The earl lifted a brow. “Do you mean you are requesting the honor of her hand?”

“Is that not what I just said?”

“No,” Lady Amelia said, with an odd little laugh. “No, it is most definitely not.” Regarding Spencer closely, she added, “Laurent, will you leave us?”

“Yes,” her brother said, drawing out the word. “Reluctantly. I shall wait in the parlor.”

“Thank you,” she said coolly. “We won’t be long.”

Chapter Five

Amelia stared at the duke. His health was robust, his expression composed, his bearing everything ducal, if not downright regal. He looked quite fit indeed. Still, the question tumbled out.

“Are you insane?”

“No,” he answered swiftly. “No, I am in possession of my mental faculties, and in excellent physical health. If you wish further assurances prior to the wedding, I can refer you to my personal physician.”

Good Lord, was he serious?

His mild expression told her he was.

“That will not be necessary. Allow me to rephrase my question. What on earth are you thinking, suggesting we should marry?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He sat casually on the edge of Laurent’s desk. “Your reputation is endangered.”

“Only because you are endangering it! Nothing happened between us. Why would you lead my brother to believe otherwise?”

“You are the one who led him to believe otherwise, with your stammering and blushing. I am merely taking the honorable course, by not contradicting you.”

“The honorable course? Well, this is a fresh development. Were you taking the honorable course when you groped me in the carriage?”

“That was … an experiment.”

“An experiment,” she echoed in disbelief. “Pray tell me, what did you learn?”

“Two things. First, it assured me of your virtue.”

“My virtue? You were—” Oh, there was no use in mincing words now. “You were able to divine my virginity, by fondling my leg.”

“Yes.”

She covered her eyes with one hand, then traced her left eyebrow with a fingertip. “Forgive me, Your Grace. Are you suggesting a woman is some sort of … piece of fruit to you? One squeeze, and you know if she’s ripe?”

“No.” He laughed softly. A low, brief chuckle. It took her by surprise, for she had not thought him a man capable of humor. “It was not what I squeezed that convinced me, but rather your reaction to being squeezed.”

Amelia’s face burned as she recalled her squawk of surprise, and the alacrity with which she had sought the farthest corner of the cab. Even that distance had not been far enough. The heat of his touch had lingered on her thigh, then melted and spread over her entire body. Her mind had been in upheaval, her pulse a mad riot.

She was not sure she had recovered, even now.

She took a deep breath. “You say this experiment of yours brought you to two conclusions, Your Grace. Dare I ask, what was the second?”

He gave her a bold, scorching look. “That I would not find it a chore to bed you.”

Oh, Lord.

What, pray tell, was the appropriate response to that? Her own body could not come to an accord on the matter. A blush burned on her cheeks, her stomach twisted itself into a knot, and her blood skittered merrily through her veins.

Don’t react as though you were flattered, she told herself sternly. Do not take perverse excitement in the fact that the Duke of Morland has evidently given a good deal of thought to the idea of bedding you, perhaps even imagined the act in detail. Do not—do not—dream of imagining it yourself!

Too late, too late.

Amelia pushed the carnal image away and struggled to tamp down any sensation that might be construed as a thrill. The duke had not called her desirable. He had deemed her beddable, and in highly insulting fashion at that. No doubt he would say the same of any chambermaid.

“I cannot credit this,” she finally said.

“You believe me insincere?”

“I believe you inconsistent. Here you are offering to marry me this morning. Yet not seven hours ago, you were ready to duel Mr. Bellamy rather than offer for Lily. And she, I might add, has a greater claim on your honor.” And more beauty. And more grace. And more money.

“I did not wish to marry Lily.”

The back of Amelia’s neck prickled, against all her attempts to remind it that the duke’s statement was not a compliment to her.