My Fair Duchess (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel Book 1) (14 page)

She swiveled away, desperate to get to the coach before she did something rash like stay, sopping-wet gown and all. She had a mighty urge to shove Georgiana into the lake, too, and she was not all certain she could control herself if provoked further. As she strode toward the carriage, footsteps rustled behind her in the grass and then a hand touched her shoulder.

“Amelia,” Constance murmured. “Are you all right?”

“Perfectly. Of course, I’d like to slap Georgiana and smack Charles upside the head for acting so dull witted when I know he’s not, but other than that I feel perfectly well. Why do you ask?”

“You are headed away from the carriages.”

If it were possible to make something come true simply by wishing it, then at this moment Amelia would disappear and reappear at her home away from the embarrassment of having to turn around and march back past everyone. Since that was pure and simple desperate hopefulness on her part, she, for once in her life forced herself to her full height, drew back her shoulders, notched up her chin, and strolled as gracefully as she could back in the direction she had just come. As she passed Charles and a smirking Georgiana, Amelia recalled something her mother had once said to her. If someone laughed at you, the best thing to do was to laugh with them. She offered Charles the largest smile her unwilling cheeks would muster.

“Just drying off a bit.” She waved her arms up and down while piercing Georgiana with an accusing look. “There,” she said, turning her gaze back to Charles. “Dry enough to leave now, I do believe.” Without waiting for a response, she strolled purposefully away―in the right direction this time―and turned her attention to the problem of Charles. There was no time to waste. The problem was the annoying voice in her head that kept interrupting her thoughts about how to get Charles to remember he wanted an intelligent woman for a wife. That blasted voice! It kept asking why she should have to help Charles remember anything. If it was his mother swaying his mind, should he not be man enough to stand up to her for Amelia? Was that asking too much?

As she neared the Duke of Aversley’s coach, she was no closer to answers regarding Charles than before and she had to push the problem away for another moment or else she would babble nonsense to the duke’s coachman, who was reclining in his seat with his feet propped up, and that would not do at all.

“I hate to interrupt you,” she called to the man who had his face turned to the sun and eyes closed, “but I wish to depart now.”

The coachman’s eyes flew open, and he scrambled to sit up. “My lady, is the picnic already over?”

She shook her head. “No, but I need to return home.”

The coachman was by her side startlingly fast. He offered his hand to help her up the steps. “I did not realize swimming was part of your plan today,” he said in a gentle voice.

“I did not realize it, either,” she said.

Once the carriage was underway, Amelia wrapped her arms around her waist to ward off the slight chill her damp clothes were causing. Her time was ticking away with Charles. Soon he’d be gone to London, and then he’d likely be lost to her forever. The painful fact seemed to be that he was apparently lured by the pretty picture Georgiana presented. Amelia rubbed her arms as she shivered. She could not recall having the opportunity to speak to Charles like she used to about books in the last five months. If she could create that opportunity, she was sure he would realize he needed an intelligent wife and not that nitwit Georgiana.

“That’s odd,” Harthorne said, rising from the iron bench where he had only just sat and heading to the edge of the balcony.

Colin frowned and stood, certain Harthorne was trying to come up with some excuse not to finally continue the conversation they had started earlier about marriage. After waiting around for a good part of the morning for Harthorne to come back downstairs, Colin was not in the best of moods.

He was famished. They had no cook at this house, and he had no idea how to prepare a thing, but even if he had, it was not as if he would rummage in the family’s kitchen. On top of his growling stomach, he could not quit thinking about the way Lady Amelia had looked with her hair tumbling over her shoulders. It was blasted frustrating, especially given he was usually in such control of his thoughts.

Presently, all he wanted to do was convince Harthorne to take an immediate loan from him with an indefinite payback date, change his friend’s mind about the need to marry, and then depart for London with a stop at a nice inn for a hearty lunch.

Colin strode to the bottom of the long steps that led up to the front of the house and followed Harthorne’s gaze to the stables. Frowning, he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun and surveyed his carriage coming down the drive.

“I told Barnes to wait at the picnic for your sister.”

“I thought that’s what you said.”

Harthorne strode across the grass toward the stone path that followed the line of bright green bushes.

Colin caught up with his friend at the stone path. “You don’t suppose anything is wrong?”

“That’s exactly what I suppose. Amelia would not leave the picnic early unless something was amiss.”

Colin’s chest tightened oddly. “Perhaps she told Barnes not to wait.”

“No.” Harthorne shook his head and pointed ahead of him. “There she is.”

“What the devil?” Colin studied Lady Amelia as she descended the steps of his carriage. Her hair was still down but did not appear to look the same from this distance. He could not yet make out the expression on her face, but a quick scan of her body showed no apparent injuries. Her skirts hung oddly as if plastered to her legs, and as they drew closer, he realized her skirts did cling to her legs. “She’s wet.”

“Yes.” Harthorne’s voice held a note of distraction.

As Harthorne picked up his pace to reach his sister faster, Colin slowed his own steps to allow them privacy, but his gaze locked on her face. She looked burning mad with her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed and blazing with anger. She also looked beautiful. Perhaps it was the way her hair was swept back to reveal the slope of her high cheekbones. Definite, undeniable lust stirred in his veins.

 He held back for the space of another breath before closing the remaining distance and standing in front of her. It took all his concentration not to allow his gaze to remain on the swell of her pert full breasts to which the wet material of her riding habit clung. She definitely did not resemble a boy now. She gazed at him from under hooded lashes for a moment before looking away. He wanted to ask her what had happened, but he doubted she’d be willing to share with him.

Maybe Barnes knew something. Colin inclined his head to Lady Amelia and Harthorne. “I’ll give you two a moment of privacy,” he said, moving toward his carriage where Barnes was unhooking the horses. “What happened, Barnes?” Colin demanded as the coachman worked to untether the horses.

Barnes halted in his task and turned to face Colin. “Do you want the version the lady told me or the one I saw with my own two eyes? I crept through the woods and spied on the lady as you told me to do.”

With a grin, Colin clamped his coachman on the shoulder. “The one you saw, of course.”

“Lady Amelia was pushed into the lake by another lady. From the side and rather slyly.”

“Pushed?” Colin rubbed the whiskers on his chin, belatedly realizing he had not shaved in two days, and trailed his gaze to Lady Amelia. She was waving her hands in the air as she talked to Harthorne. “Why would a lady push another into a lake?” Colin asked, more to himself than his coachman.

Barnes leaned close. “I do believe it was over a gentleman.”

That figured. “Did you recognize the gentleman?”

“Yes, Your Grace. It’s Lord Worthington.”

“Worthington?” By God, Colin had forgotten Worthington was from Norfolk. Probably because he had striven to forget Worthington, his accusations, and his anger since the accusations were partially true. His hatred of the man he had made himself into welled within him. So Lady Amelia thought she wanted to catch Worthington…?

Colin glanced at her in time to see her turn from her brother and stalk away. Five steps into her departure, she stopped and cried out, bending down toward her foot. She came up hopping, one leg slightly raised. “Oh,” she groaned as Colin reached her right side while her brother was on her left. She gripped her brother’s arm.

“What is it?” Harthorne asked. “Did you twist your ankle?”

“No. I’ve a stone lodged in the soul of my kid boots.”

“May I?” Colin waved a hand toward her foot.

“No, no.” Her cheeks turned a brilliant shade of red. “That won’t be necessary. Philip can help me to the house.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harthorne grumbled. “You are not hobbling all the way to the house. Aversley is not a delicate flower. Are you, Aversley?”

“Not the last time I checked.” Colin kneeled down and held out his hand for Lady Amelia to hold out her foot.

“I don’t suppose this day can get any worse or more embarrassing,” Lady Amelia mumbled under her breath.

“I would not say that,” Colin replied as he struggled not to slide his hand up her delicate ankle to her inviting slender calve. “Whenever I’ve declared a day cannot get worse it invariably does.” With determination, he focused his gaze on the sole of her shoe, which was in a sad, threadbare state. Damnation. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to get Harthorne to borrow some money from him. Better yet, if he could think of a way to give it to his friend and make it not seem a gift, so Harthorne would take it, Colin would. He gripped the stone lodged in Lady Amelia’s shoe and yanked it out before gently setting her foot down. As he released her ankle, his fingers brushed across her silken skin.

When he raised his gaze, he found her staring at him, mouth parted slightly and eyes wide. Heat rose in his body. Clenching his teeth at the reaction, he rose and held the stone out to her. “I believe this is yours.”

“Yes, it’s my favorite stone. Silly of me to try to keep it there,” she said with a laugh that made him smile in return.

“I fear the stone left a hole in your boot. You may want to get rid of that pair.”

She bit her lip, confirming his suspicion that it was likely her only pair. Releasing her bother’s arm, she shook out her skirts and raised a hand to her half-dry hair, a frown tugging at her lips. “I must look a fright. I’ll go make myself presentable.”

“You look lovely,” Colin said, meaning it. He couldn’t believe he had not recognized her beauty right away. Here in the bright sunlight there was no denying her exquisite bone structure.

“I do believe your eyesight must be deteriorating, Your Grace,” she said, turning to leave.

“I see perfectly,” he said to her back and chuckled when she faltered in her step but then continued on.

He turned to find Harthorne studying him. “What?” Colin demanded, feeling as if he had just been caught flirting like a school boy with Harthorne’s sister, yet Harthorne’s face held an inquisitive look, not an angry one.

“You’re slipping, Aversley.”

“I don’t have any idea what you mean,” Colin snapped, though he suspected it had to do with Lady Amelia.

Harthorne grinned. “You just showed your kind side to my sister. Your act as a cold-hearted duke is slipping.”

“It’s not an act,” Colin replied. “My heart is cold, but my bed is warm.”

“I see you’re back to your performance, but I suspect the play of the Tortured Duke will end soon. I see flaws in the script, and I know you do to. And eventually a woman―probably one exactly like my sister―is going to come along and sweep you away and make you want to step out of that role you have embraced for so long and take on a new one of the Besotted Fool and eventually the Worshipful Husband.”

Colin scowled. He was going to have to be a husband thanks to his father, but he’d never be besotted or loving. Loyal, yes. Besotted, no. “It’s entirely too bad you were born a lord, Harthorne, and have lands to be tended and women to be fed. You and all your sappy thoughts are much more suited to the life of a poet.”

“For once, I could not agree more. But then, we all have obligations that dictate our lives, don’t we?”

Colin immediately thought of his father’s damned will, which he did not want to discuss right now.

“What happened to your sister?” he asked, wishing to hear the details and to turn the subject. “She looked livid.”

“Oh, she is. She says Lady Georgiana shoved her in the lake at the picnic and then pretended she had not. It seems the two of them both have their hearts set on catching Worthington, and Amelia is fuming that Worthington―in her words―is acting like a puppet, allowing his mother to pull his strings and forgetting that he is better suited to have a wife with brains than a lovely face.”

“All men are fools,” Colin replied. “Worthington more than others. And apparently he is blind if he does not see how lovely your sister is.”

“You are slipping again, Aversley. Before long, everyone will know you for a good man like I do.”

The muscles in Colin’s neck bunched under Harthorne’s words and not-so-hidden scrutiny.