One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)(50)

Turning slowly in place, she spied a sliding wood panel to one side of the bed. It blended so perfectly into the wainscoting, she hadn’t noticed the closet on first inspection.

Enjoying the way the carpet’s thick pile cushioned her bare toes, she hurried to the door. It was heavier than she’d expected, but by leaning her full weight into the effort, she managed to slide it open.

On the other side was Spencer.

Upon seeing her, he froze—right in the middle of removing his shirt.

“Oh!” Mortified, Amelia dropped the entire bundle of fabric. Which only increased her embarrassment, since she now stood before him in just her shift and stays. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered. Her eyes riveted to the rippling muscles of his abdomen and the line of dark hair bisecting them. “I … I thought this was a closet.”

Lowering his shirt, he flicked a bemused glance at the room behind him. “No. Not a closet.”

“Of course not.” Her face burned. Obviously it was the duke’s bedchamber—an exact mirror of her own, but done up in rich, masculine colors and fabrics—and this sliding door connected the two suites. “I just wasn’t expecting … I mean, this arrangement is very—”

“Convenient?”

“Unusual. That’s what I meant to say.”

She shifted her weight uneasily. His gaze dipped to her bosom.

She added, “I mean, I’ve never seen this sort of papering before, done up in such complimentary colors. It’s so clever, the way the gold in my room is mirrored with a dark blue in yours, but both carpets have the same pattern of …”

“Mm-hm.” He nodded thoughtfully at her cle**age. He wasn’t hearing a word she said.

“The same pattern of unicorns. Alternating with rounds of cheese.”

Another vacant nod. “Indeed.”

Amelia’s face heated. Here she was, dreaming of elaborate menus and blathering on about room décor—and he didn’t care. He’d married her for one reason only, and if she’d momentarily forgotten it, the intensity with which he was currently staring at her br**sts would have been a certain reminder. He wanted to bed her, and get an heir. That was all. Despite his assurances to the contrary when he’d proposed, she was here in his home as a glorified broodmare.

No, scratch the “glorified.” He likely treated his broodmares with greater affection.

She stepped back, nearly tripping over the heap of clothing at her feet. No way to pick it up without giving him an even bolder view of her cle**age. Discreetly kicking the garments aside, she put one shoulder to the door panel and prepared to slide it closed. “I’ll see you at dinner, then.”

His hand shot out to grasp the edge of the door. Amelia pushed anyway, but the slab of oak wouldn’t budge.

“About Claudia,” he said. “She’s very … young.” He sighed. “I wish that had gone differently, downstairs.”

Was this what constituted an apology, in Spencer’s world? It didn’t quite merit absolution in Amelia’s. She nodded. “So do I.”

His gaze seemed to have settled on her hips now, his lips curving in masculine approval. Yes, yes. They were wide and strong. Excellent for breeding, as she’d been informed by many a well-meaning matron in her day.

Amelia cleared her throat. The message in the inarticulate sound was clear: Hullo? I’m up here.

He dragged his eyes back up to her face. But he took his time about it, and as his gaze stroked over her, a pleasant warmth buzzed through her veins. Lord, what a hopeless situation. She enjoyed being lusted after; there was no pretending otherwise.

But she couldn’t stop herself from craving affection in the bargain—even though he’d never offered it, and she’d accepted him knowing that full well. He was a man. Not just a man, but a powerful, attractive duke. He could separate his physical needs from his emotions—but for Amelia, the two were hopelessly entangled. That meant he had all the power.

Not to mention the physical force. As they stood there—her whole strength marshaled to close the door and his one hand holding it open—it occurred to her how easily he could overpower her, if he wished. For God’s sake, he’d lifted her six inches into the air in that ballroom, and she wasn’t especially light.

Her eyes went to the door handle.

“There’s only one latch,” he said, guessing her thoughts. “It’s on my side.”

She swallowed hard. “I see.”

“Don’t worry.” With an arrogant grin, he released his grip on the door and stepped back. “I’ll never lock it.”

Amelia shifted her weight, and the door slid shut with a satisfying bang. She thought she heard him laugh.

Chapter Eleven

Dinner was a miserable business.

Against all reason, Spencer had hoped for a swift improvement in Claudia’s demeanor. Obviously, the fact of his marriage had taken his ward by surprise. But with a few hours to grow used to the idea, perhaps she would embrace Amelia as a welcome addition to the household.

No. No embracing going on tonight.

Spencer sat at the head of the table. Amelia and Claudia faced one another across an arctic expanse of white linen and bevel-cut crystal, but their eyes never met. One would think the fish course had been served live and wriggling, considering the violence with which Claudia stabbed it.