One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)(41)

This man is my husband.

This man is my husband.

Surely one of these days the novelty would fade. Or at least she would learn to adjust more quickly, so each time they crossed paths in the corridor, she wouldn’t pull up short and simply stand there, open-mouthed and struck stupid.

Rather as she was doing now.

He removed his coat, unfastened his cuffs, turned up his sleeves, and lathered his hands at the small wash-stand. As he rinsed them, he asked, “You’ve eaten?”

“As much as I care to. And you?”

He nodded. “Downstairs.”

After carefully folding his coat and laying it across a trunk, he worked loose his cravat. Next he sat in one of the chairs and began on his boots. He really was remarkably self-sufficient, for a man of his rank. Amelia supposed he must not have been raised with a valet.

“You needn’t sit with me, if you’d rather be downstairs,” she said nervously. Didn’t men prefer to be down in the tavern, drinking and carousing?

He gave her a disbelieving look. “You think I’d leave you alone in a public inn? Not a chance. This is one of the better establishments, but still …” He shook his head. “At any rate, crowded alehouses really aren’t my idea of a pleasant evening.”

“Why have we stopped at an inn at all? Cambridgeshire isn’t so very far. Couldn’t we have pushed through to your estate?”

“Breaking the journey sets a kinder pace for the horses.”

Well, to be sure, she thought to herself bitterly. Heaven forfend we place human convenience ahead of the horses’ comfort.

He began unbuttoning his waistcoat. Just how far did he intend to disrobe, right in front of her?

She rose from her chair. “Well, I’m rather fatigued. I think I’ll retire early.”

To her dismay, he also stood. “Excellent idea.”

Surely he didn’t mean to go to sleep with her. Hadn’t he promised to leave her be? “On second thought, I’m not sleepy just yet. I believe I’ll work on my embroidery.”

She went to the smallest of her trunks and unbuckled the straps, knowing her needlework basket to be at the top. She imagined she felt him ogling her bottom as she bent at the waist to retrieve it, and she straightened so quickly, all the blood rushed from her head.

She stumbled, and he grasped her by the elbow to steady her. His firm, arousing touch was of no benefit as she struggled to collect her wits. Curse this wretched infatuation that turned her into a perfect simpleton whenever she came within breathing distance of his warm, male scent. It made her want to fall straight into his arms, never mind if he was a murderer or the very Devil himself.

She was used to being around strong, protective men—her brothers—and used to being embraced and comforted by them. Now she was miles away from all of them: homesick and weary, and direly in need of a hug. It occurred to her that the duke was her only potential source of strong, engulfing masculine embraces in the vicinity, and that thought made her sad indeed. For while she was tolerably certain he’d bed her tonight if she gave him the slightest encouragement, she knew she’d never be able to ask him for a hug.

She cringed to imagine his response, if she did. He probably didn’t even know how to give one.

He released her as she sank back into her chair. Drawing closer to the light, she busied herself unpacking linen, thread, and scissors. “What is your usual habit in the evenings, Your Grace? Do you keep country hours?”

“I keep my own hours, wherever I am. I typically retire around midnight.”

The word “midnight” sent a shiver through her. “And until then?”

“Until then?” His eyes caught hers, a glint of wry humor in their dark, entrancing depths. “You mean, in the absence of other nighttime activities?” He paused, giving her mind ample time to fill with other, very nocturnal activities. “When I’m not plotting my next vile act of treachery?”

He leaned forward. Heat prickled along her skin.

Finally, he said in a deep, suggestive voice, “I read.”

She stared at him, suddenly unable to speak.

“Books,” he added, as if for clarification.

“Oh,” she replied, as if she were stupid enough to need that clarification.

He opened a small valise, revealing it to be full to brimming with volumes of all sizes, in a variety of bindings. The sight caused a swift, surprising pang in her chest.

“My,” she remarked. “You must be a great reader.”

“Whenever I’m in London, I take the opportunity to add to my personal library.” He removed a few books, turning them over in his hands to read the bindings. “I didn’t attend university, you see. Extensive reading has been my only education.”

“Didn’t you want to go to university?”

“Not especially. Even if I had, my uncle thought it best not to send me.”

“Because of what happened at Eton? When you were sent down for the brawl with Lord Ashworth?” She was guessing, but it seemed the logical explanation for both the rumors she’d heard and the strange tension she’d observed between the men.

He gave her a long, pointed look. Well, there was one of her questions answered.

“Because,” he said coolly, selecting a book and packing the others away, “my uncle’s health was already failing, and I was his heir. Estate management was a more pressing topic of study than Latin or mathematics. I continued my studies independently.”