One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)(85)

“Is there nothing I can do for you?” she asked.

“No, no. Just leave me be.”

“I could send for—”

“Leave me be,” he said, with too much force. They both cringed. He knew he was only alienating her further, because she lived to be helpful. But in this case, there was nothing she could do. He took a breath and calmed his voice. “When this happens, all I need is to be let alone.”

“Very well.” She rose to her feet. “I’ll go. Stay here as long as you wish, and I’ll make excuses with our hosts.”

With that, she hurried back toward the entrance of the house. Spencer sighed, feeling a weight of guilt settle about his shoulders. In the past few minutes, he’d felt closer to Amelia than he had in weeks, but this damned condition of his was the brick wall he’d spent a lifetime banging his head against. And no matter what he said, or what she did, they would always remain on opposite sides of it. She needed society to make her life complete; he only felt whole in relative solitude.

Had he really tried everything? Not truthfully. In his youth, he’d attempted to overcome the damned problem through any number of strategies—most of which involved drinking and plain force of will—but he’d always been motivated by his own selfish needs and desires. The wish to attend school. The desire to chase girls. Sheer frustration with his ineptitude.

But there was one thing he hadn’t yet tried. He hadn’t tried conquering it for Amelia.

At the very least, he owed it to her to try.

“Are you quite certain?” Amelia studied her husband’s expression for any trace of reluctance.

He leaned against the wall, crossing one ankle over the other. “For the fifth time, Amelia. I’m quite certain.”

“You truly don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind.”

She tugged on her gloves. “You know we don’t have to go down at all.”

“I know it.”

“I would suggest we wait until after the dancing’s started, but I suspect they’ll be waiting on us to begin it. We’ll only stay for a dance or two. The moment you want to leave, just tell me. You don’t even have to say a word. We’ll have some sort of signal. Touch the top button of your waistcoat, perhaps.”

“A signal?” He arched a brow. “What are we, spies for the Crown? Can’t I just bodily remove you from the hall? It worked well enough last time.”

She threw him a disapproving look. Which was difficult, because there was simply nothing about his appearance to inspire her disapproval. Even swathed in silk and pearls, Amelia felt unequal to his simple, black-and-white-attired elegance. He looked splendid.

“Don’t give me that look. I think you rather enjoyed it.” His eyes darkened. “I know I did.”

She blushed. Well, she had rather enjoyed it, truth be told. “A discreet signal will do for tonight. Save the bodily lifting for later, in private.”

They exchanged smiles, and a giddy flutter rose in her belly.

Something had changed, since the garden that afternoon. He’d opened himself to her, revealing his vulnerabilities as he hadn’t done since that conversation in the stables. He was a man who’d spent his life actively wishing to be misunderstood, but he’d bared a piece of his true self to her. And now, each time their eyes met, it was as though a silent message passed between them—sometimes a joke, sometimes an observation, other times a carnal suggestion. They were behaving like a couple, instead of two individuals who happened to be married.

His sudden openness made Amelia imprudently hopeful. Her foolish optimism was only increased by the fact that she knew he was making a great sacrifice, attending this party with her. She worried her heart was in serious peril, but she couldn’t bring herself to erect the barriers again. She could only hope for a change in his views. Once they arrived at Briarbank, he would see what her home and family meant to her—how they’d molded her into the person she was, much as his own past had formed him. Perhaps then he would understand how it hurt her to be separated from Jack.

As Spencer looked her up and down, his appreciative expression turned to a frown.

Self-conscious, she put a hand to her throat. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, nothing.” But as he stared at her, the little furrow of concentration between his eyebrows deepened. The expression was one of bemusement, as though he’d expected a different image from the one his eyes beheld.

“Does the gown look well?” She twisted a little, hoping he’d praise the dress at least and send her downstairs with a smidge more confidence.

“Quite,” he said thoughtfully. “But then, blue always looks well on you.”

Well, that seemed to be all the reassurance she would receive.

She took one last fretful glance at her reflection in the mirror and then met Spencer at the door. Before they left the room, Amelia paused a moment to smooth his lapels and waistcoat with her gloved hands.

Their gazes met. She kept her hands flat against his chest. It would have been the perfect moment for a kiss … if he wanted to kiss her. In the garden earlier, he’d embraced her so sweetly. But perhaps that had just been one more tactical move in a lifelong campaign of evasion and disguise.

After staring into her eyes a long moment, he reached to open the door. “Shall we?”