One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)(36)

“Cranes?” He cocked his head for a different angle.

Amelia averted her eyes. It seemed indecent, somehow, to keep staring at him as he lay on the bed, all rangy limbs and masculine sprawl. At least, the sight took her mind to indecent places.

“Whatever they are,” he said, “they’ll be gone the next time we’re in this house. We can’t have such an affront in your bedchamber.”

“I don’t know that I’d call it an affront. An affront to cranes, perhaps.”

“No, it’s an affront to anyone with eyes. But especially to you.”

“Why especially to me?”

“You’re accomplished with a needle, are you not?”

“I suppose.” Puzzled, Amelia folded her hands over her belly. She was indeed proud of her skill at embroidery, but how would he know that?

Ah, yes. The handkerchief. She wondered briefly what had become of it. Then she wondered briefly what had become of her wits. He could have her silly handkerchief, and welcome to it. She had to get out of this room, out of this marriage.

“For tonight,” he said, rolling onto his side and propping himself on one elbow, “I’ll simply put out the light.”

“No,” she blurted out.

“No?” He drew up to a sitting position. “Then let’s move by the fire. It’s gone drafty in here.”

Amelia watched in silence as the duke rose from the bed and shut the window. He then gathered the pillows and blankets from the bed and arranged them in a heap by the hearth. Taking up the poker, he added more coal and stirred the fire until she could feel the flames’ warmth from the center of the room.

Was this the same arrogant, ill-mannered man she’d married this morning? Dukes didn’t close their own windows or arrange their own pillows or build their own fires. And yet he performed these simple tasks with an unaffected, manly strength that was both reassuring and arousing. Here was that flash of humanness again. He certainly hadn’t the look of a cold-blooded killer.

As the light and warmth of the fire grew, her shadowy suspicions receded, until she began to feel a bit silly for entertaining them. Had she truly been standing at the window a few minutes ago, contemplating scaling the drainpipe in her dressing gown to escape her villainous bridegroom?

Really, Amelia. This isn’t a gothic novel, you know.

In her heart, she just couldn’t believe this man capable of murder. But then, she knew herself to be a trusting soul—often to a fault. Nevertheless, if she wanted some assurance of his innocence, there was nothing to prevent her from asking for it.

“There,” he said, clapping the coal dust from his hands and wiping them on his trousers. “No more disturbing birds. What of the disturbing thoughts? Is there something I can do to exorcise them?” He sat down before the fire and motioned for her to join him.

“Perhaps.” She gingerly arranged herself atop a pillow and pulled a blanket over her lap. “Where have you been? The butler told me you’d gone riding.”

“I did, for a while. I was attending to various matters in preparation for our departure. We leave tomorrow for Cambridgeshire.”

“So my maid informs me.” Beneath the blanket, Amelia crossed her legs. “Why so soon?” she asked, trying not to sound too disheartened. Had he even considered whether she would wish to leave London tomorrow? She wouldn’t have a chance to bid her brothers farewell. And where was the fun in being a duchess, if her old friends couldn’t pay calls and ply her with “Your Grace”s until they all collapsed into girlish giggling?

“My ward, Claudia, will soon return from York. I’m eager to see her again, and eager for her to make your acquaintance. Besides, I have no further business in London at the moment.”

“Because you have married now?”

He shook his head. “I told you, I didn’t come to London for a wife. I came for the horse.”

She quietly groaned. Not that horse again.

“I meant to win Osiris fairly, but the contest is now stalemated. One of the tokens is in unknown hands, and neither Bellamy nor Ashworth will risk his share. There’s no point to my remaining in London. I despise city living.”

“I see,” she muttered, trying to come to terms with her status in his life as a sort of consolation prize, barely worth making plans around. “If you did not come to London for a wife, tell me again why it is you’ve married me?”

He was silent for several moments. “I’d rather show you.”

Her heart stuttered. What with the pillows, the toasty fire, and all this unpleasant murder business … she’d nearly forgotten the entire reason behind his visit to her bedchamber.

Evidently he had not.

Her blood heated as he swept her with a possessive gaze. She felt a blush rising on her neck and throat. Beneath the translucent fabric of her shift, her ni**les rose to tight, self-conscious peaks. She was certain he saw them. She imagined he gave a little smile.

He reached out to grasp the hem of her shift where it peeked out from beneath her blanket. She stared at his fingers as he teased the bit of fabric, sliding the muslin back and forth over his thumb. He wasn’t even touching her, but her nerves didn’t seem to understand that. Her breath caught audibly, and his smile widened. She had the sense that he was toying with her, just as he toyed with that edge of her shift. Demonstrating that even his smallest actions had such power over her. The wolfish glint in his eyes said, in no uncertain terms, that before the night was out he meant to conquer her absolutely.