Chapter Sixteen

The weeks passed quickly, once Amelia fell into a routine. She spent the majority of her day with Mrs. Bodkin, attending to matters of the household. In the afternoon, she took some time for correspondence, making arrangements for their journey and their stay at Briarbank. Sometimes she found a stray hour or two for a walk through Braxton Hall’s park or gardens.

By night, she went to Spencer’s bed. They did not talk a great deal there, and almost never otherwise. It was all very much as a marriage of convenience should be. There were no more cards, no more discussions of books. No more arguments, and no more dangerous emotions. Just separate days, and temperate bedding, and polite distance. With every day of relative silence that passed, the number of things left unsaid grew—until that heap of unspoken remarks made a formidable wall of protection around Amelia’s heart.

And she needed to protect her heart, or what pieces of it remained. For one passionate night and perfect morning, she’d made the mistake of surrendering it to Spencer, and he’d stomped it to bits. If he cared anything for her, how could he cut her off from her own brother? She couldn’t begin to understand it, and Spencer showed no willingness to explain.

So silence it was.

Claudia remained aloof, as ever. Her presence at meals was unpredictable, as was her mood at any given moment. She rebuffed every one of Amelia’s attempts at friendship, and eventually Amelia ceased making them. The girl would doubtless come around in time, but in the interim, a duchess had more pressing matters demanding her attention. Such as writing invitations to her guests, and sending servants ahead to Briarbank with supply ledgers and lists of cleaning tasks and heaps of crisp linens.

She was so busy, the appointed date for their departure arrived before she expected it. Rather than take the longer route through London, Spencer had decided they would travel directly west, to Oxford and then Gloucester. But the roads were smaller and poorer, which made for slow and nauseating travel. Both Amelia and Claudia spent their time jouncing about the coach and trading the basin between them.

As they crossed into Oxfordshire on the third morning, Amelia perked up. She’d written to her second cousin, now styled Lady Grantham, and arranged for the party to break their journey at Grantham Lodge. Amelia had never been particularly close to Venetia, nor even particularly fond of her. But she did keep a lovely home in Town and had a rapacious taste for the society of nobility, so Amelia had hopes for warm hospitality.

The sun was still high in the sky when Grantham Lodge came into view. It was a friendly looking manor house, quite modern in its architecture. The shallow reflecting pool before the house provided a mirror image of the white façade and its many glazed windows. A swan or two paddled idly about. Sir Russell must be doing rather well for himself, Amelia mused. But then, the Granthams had always been an ambitious couple.

The carriages rolled to a halt in the drive. When she and Claudia alighted, Sir Russell and Lady Grantham were waiting to greet them. Venetia wore apricot silk and that same strange, thin smile Amelia remembered. Her cousin had elaborate theories about too-wide smiles causing premature wrinkles. Amelia thought she would rather look wrinkled and happy than smooth-skinned and camphorized.

“Amelia, dear child. It’s been far too long.”

It had barely been two months by Amelia’s counting, but she embraced her cousin and accepted a kiss on the cheek.

“Oh!” the lady gasped and gave a little laugh. “But I must call you Your Grace now, mustn’t I?”

“Of course not,” Amelia assured her. “We are family.” Internally, though, she couldn’t help but wonder if Lady Grantham’s slip were truly an accident. Was she destined never to be recognized as a duchess? Always taken for some impoverished relation or lady’s maid?

She introduced Claudia, whose ill pallor provided a convenient excuse for her usual withdrawn demeanor. Soon Spencer joined the group, having dismounted and passed his reins to a waiting groom.

“Your Grace,” Lady Grantham said, dropping a graceful curtsy. “We are honored to welcome you to Grantham Lodge.”

No one ever mistook Spencer for anything less than a duke. Well, and why would they? He looked magnificent, as always. Tall, handsome, noble, perfect, and only improved by a day spent in the sun. He acquitted himself as well as could be expected in the introductions, which was to say he nodded curtly and refrained from making any outright rude remarks.

“Do come inside.” Sir Russell’s waistcoat could barely contain his excitement as he made a beneficent sweep of his arm.

Venetia cozied up to Amelia, taking her arm as they followed the men toward the door. “It’s so good to see you, my dear. When we heard of your marriage, we were so disappointed to have missed the chance to celebrate. And I knew you must have been disappointed as well, long as you’ve waited. But now you are here, and everyone is so excited to welcome you both.”

“Everyone?” Amelia asked, as they breached the entrance hall.

Lady Grantham made an expansive gesture by way of a reply, and Amelia looked around her to see …

Everyone.

Or at least, the better part of the population of Oxfordshire.

Applause broke out amongst the assembled guests, mingled with cheers. Good heavens, there were dozens of them. A few Amelia recognized as relations or old acquaintances, but the majority she assumed to be the neighborhood gentry, all drawn by the promise of a newlywed duke and duchess.

She caught Claudia’s eye. The girl swallowed hard, looking positively ill.

Spencer blinked disdainfully at the crowd, which was typical Spencer behavior.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Venetia whispered, gripping her arm. “I know you were cheated out of an engagement ball or a proper wedding breakfast, but never despair. Lady Grantham is here to put matters to rights. We’ve a whole evening planned. Dinner, music, dancing.”

“How … how very kind of you,” Amelia said, allowing her cousin to draw her to the center of the room, but at the same time trying to keep Claudia close. The girl needed protection from this horde.

“Come now, you must meet everyone,” Venetia said. “It will take the footmen some time to bring in your trunks, at any rate.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Amelia saw Sir Russell give Spencer a hearty slap on the back, propelling him forward into the crowd. The introductions began. And went on. And went on. Amelia pasted a polite smile on her face and warmly greeted each old and new acquaintance. She kept a watchful eye on Spencer, who clearly did not appreciate Sir Russell’s bold familiarity. Amelia couldn’t make out their words in the din of conversation, but by appearances, Spencer was about as happy to greet the assembled guests as he would be to devour their hats and bonnets, plumes and all. Amelia sighed. She knew this sort of gathering didn’t appeal to him, but couldn’t he at least make the pretense of etiquette?

Lady Grantham took her arm again to steer her toward another group of waiting ladies. Craning her neck to keep watching Spencer, Amelia looked on as a tall, elderly man smiled and nodded through Sir Russell’s fulsome introduction, then made a sweeping, elegant bow as was once the style at Court. While the man was still doubled over his extended calf, Spencer turned on his heel and quit the room.

Oh, now Amelia was incensed. Had he truly just cut that elderly gentleman, mid-bow? Without very good reason, such a move was the height of rudeness. And here they were guests in her cousins’ home … His complete disregard for her relations was insupportable.

A murmur of dismay made a small ripple through the assembled guests, only increasing Amelia’s mortification.

“Lady Grantham,” she said, “will you please forgive me? I’ve realized there’s an important parcel amongst my things that requires very special attention. I meant to mention it to the footman, but it slipped my mind. I’ll just go out and see to it, and then I’ll return in a moment.” Before the lady could object, Amelia pulled away. “Won’t you introduce Claudia to your daughter Beatrice? She’s fifteen and eager for new friends.”

Leaving Claudia in the hands of her cousin, Amelia hurried out the door the way Spencer had left. Not seeing him immediately, she turned left and followed the drive that led toward the coach house and stables. No doubt he’d spurned human company to look after the horses again.

She hadn’t gone but twenty paces before a harsh, choked cough drew her eye to a side garden. Surprised, Amelia walked toward the sound, passing through a shaded arbor.

What she found astonished her.

“Spencer, is that you?”

Oh, Christ. He knew he should have gone farther from the house.

He tugged fiercely at his cravat, pulling the cloth loose from his neck. He cleared his throat. “It’s nothing. Just needed some air,” he said, striving for a calm, collected tone. “Bloody hot in there.”

“Really? I didn’t think it warm at all.” Her voice was crisp. “If there was anything intolerable in the room, it was your attitude.”

He dropped his head in his hands and exhaled slowly, trying to subdue the pounding in his chest. “You didn’t tell me they would be having a goddamn party, Amelia.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t you?” He hated the accusation in his voice.

“No. I didn’t.” She crossed her arms. “But what if they are? I know it’s not precisely the cream of London society in there, but they are earnest, well-intentioned people. What have they done, to earn your disdain?”

“Nothing. Nothing.”

She didn’t understand. And even if he wished to explain it to her, he was in no condition to do so. His head was spinning. He didn’t even think he could stand. So many people, such a small space … and he hadn’t been prepared. When he attended balls in Town, he spent hours preparing himself beforehand—physically, mentally. And he brought brandy. God, what he wouldn’t give for a brandy right now.

“Just go on,” he said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

A bit of solitude was all he needed to get put to rights. Although a minute of it might not be quite enough. Hours worked better.

She dropped onto the bench next to him. “You’re truly ill, aren’t you?”

“No,” he said, far too quickly to sound credible.

Damn, damn, damn.

“You’re trembling. And so pale.”

“I’m fine.”

“Spencer …”

The quality of her voice had changed, from scolding to concerned. He would far rather have the scolding. He quite liked the Amelia who scolded him. He’d missed her, in the past few weeks.

“You look as you did that night,” she said, “on the Bunscombes’ terrace. What is it? What’s wrong?”

Bloody wonderful. Why did he have to marry a clever, inquisitive woman? He had two choices now. Let her drag it out of him slowly, or just have out with it on his own terms.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, burying his face in his hands. “It’s just … something that happens sometimes, when there are too many people about. I don’t like crowds.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t like crowds.”

“I can’t abide them, actually. Never have been able to. They make me ill. Physically ill.” There, he’d said it. He’d never said that aloud to anyone in his life. He wasn’t even sure he’d fully admitted it to himself. Oddly, a sense of relief accompanied the admission. His thumping pulse began to slow, and he lifted his head. He’d never been able to comprehend his reaction in these situations. He was a strong, competent, intelligent person in every other respect, and his whole life, this one weakness had maddened him. Perhaps Amelia could help him understand it.

“If I’m prepared in advance,” he said, “I’m fine for a time. A half hour or so, at most. If I stay any longer, or I’m taken by surprise … something happens to me. I don’t know how to describe it. I get warm. My head spins; my heart pounds. The air is suddenly too thick to breathe. It’s as if my whole body insists that I must leave, immediately.”

“So you do.”

“Yes.”

“Even if you have to sweep an impertinent spinster off her feet and take her with you.”

Smiling a little, he arched a brow at her. “You asked for that.” Clearing his throat, he went on, “So long as I’m prepared, I can attend these things. I just make sure to leave before the scene goes bad.”

“Yes,” she said. “I think you told me that. The key is all in knowing when to walk away. So this is why you only stayed for one set of dances? That whole ‘Duke of Midnight’ routine …”

“Was not my idea. I just wanted to keep my appearances brief, and it’s easiest to leave after the supper set. But the whole thing mushroomed, and …”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “All that gossip and rumor. All that speculation. For nothing.”

“Not for nothing.” He scratched his neck, and her hand slid from his shoulder. “I don’t mind the gossip. I’ve never given a damn what people think of me. It’s amusing—and sometimes useful—to be feared.”

Or at least it had been, until talk of murder was added to the mix, and he’d lost the trust of his wife before he’d any real opportunity to earn it.

“Spencer?” She took one of his hands in hers. “As we are baring our secrets, I feel I should confess something. I may have been responsible for starting a most pernicious rumor about you. Worse than any other.”

“Oh, really?” he asked, intrigued.

“Yes.” Biting her lip, she gave him a doleful look. “I may have told a group of impressionable young ladies that by the light of the full moon, you transform into a ravening hedgehog.”

He struggled to maintain a reproachful silence.

She continued, “Well, if it helps, I do regret it now.”

“Do you?”

“Oh, yes. It was an insult to hedgehogs everywhere.”

A throaty laugh shook free from his chest, and it felt damned good. He squeezed her hand in silent thanks.

“So …” she said, “this has been the case all your life?”

He nodded. “For as long as I recall.”

“And it’s not just ballrooms?”

“No.” He only wished it were so simple. “Anywhere with too many people and not enough space. Arenas. The theater.” He gave her a meaningful look. “Weddings. Musicales.”

“Oh.” Her face softened. “And schoolrooms? Those, too?”

He gave a tense shrug. Damn, but it galled him to realize how much he’d sacrificed over the years. It hurt worse that she’d realized it, too. “I know, I know. Everyone else seems to manage those settings with ease. That only makes it more irritating. I don’t know what the devil is wrong with me. I’ve spent my whole life feeling like … like a fish with no talent for swimming.”

Her fingers went to his temple, feathering through his hair. “Oh, Spencer …”

“No.” He batted her hand away. “Amelia, don’t. For God’s sake, don’t pity me. I can bear anything but that. It’s an annoyance, I’ll grant you, but not a deprivation. In the absence of attending frivolous parties, I’ve mastered some very useful talents. Cards. Horsemanship.”

“You’ve read a great many books.”

“Yes. That, too. I’m happy with my life as it is.”

“Are you?” She looked doubtful.

“Yes,” he told her honestly. Because at this particular moment of his life, he was. Things had been strained between them, to put it mildly, since Jack’s visit. He’d almost forgotten how much he enjoyed simply talking with her. He’d forgotten how good it felt to laugh. She had a way of dragging his demons out of the shadows and … not ignoring them, or making them over into gleeful cherubs … but simply tweaking their ears. Looking them in the eye with that oh-so-Amelia combination of good sense and dry humor.

“Yes, I’m happy,” he repeated. “I’m happy with my life as it is. Right now.”

Footsteps crunched on gravel nearby.

“I think someone’s coming,” she whispered. “Perhaps we should—”

He kissed her. Firmly at first—until the shock wore off and she realized that she was being kissed. And then sweetly, tenderly—because she deserved his care. Holding her chin between the pads of his thumb and second finger, he urged her close. He explored her mouth with his lips and tongue, patiently coaxing her to open for him. Wooing her into full participation. Because she was worth that effort, too. This was a woman who ought to have been courted by a legion of suitors. How was it she’d remained unmarried all those years, standing on the fringes of ballrooms? How was it he’d never picked her out from the crowd himself and asked her to dance?

God damn, he was a fool. But a very lucky one.

All too soon, she pulled back. “I think they’re gone.” She flashed a look over her shoulder, and her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “Quick thinking, that. You really are brilliant at disguising this problem. Honeymooners are forgiven all manner of rude behavior.”

“Well, then there’s the solution. We’ll spend the rest of our lives on permanent honeymoon.”

She laughed, as though it were a ridiculous notion. He wished it weren’t.

“Honestly, Spencer. I can’t help but wonder … Surely something can be done. Have you tried—?”

“Yes.”

“But I didn’t finish my …”

“It doesn’t matter. If there’s something you can think of to try, I’ve tried it. Nothing has worked. This is just part of who I am, Amelia. I reconciled myself to it long ago.”

“Oh.” Her chin ducked in disappointment. “I see.”

Frustrated, Spencer rubbed his face with his palm. Of course, this was now—not some long-ago time. He was married. He had a ward. And as much as he might have reconciled himself to a life without social events, was it fair of him to ask Amelia to reconcile herself to it, too? Hospitality and friendship … those things were part of who she was. Not to mention the obligations they would have for Claudia’s season. A bitter taste filled his mouth, making him grimace.

“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?”

As balls went, this was a much more forgiving assembly than a London rout. The country setting not only afforded more spacious rooms, but also kept the guests to a reasonable number.

Still, as they entered the Granthams’ modest hall, Amelia felt her husband’s arm tense against hers. She had the urge to murmur something encouraging, or give him a soothing touch—but she checked the impulse, knowing it would only add to his annoyance. The last thing he would want was to be fussed over. He just wanted to be let alone.

And of course, they were instantly beset. Fortunately, she’d become acquainted with several of the guests earlier that day. She made quick introductions, and once Spencer had made his typically gruff acknowledgments, she took over the burden of making conversation. They made their circuit of the entire room this way, moving from small group to small group. Spencer made his terse, barely civil greetings, and Amelia gladly did the rest. She inquired after distant relatives’ health, exchanged sympathies with those who’d known Leo, deflected impertinent questions about their hasty marriage, and accepted well-intentioned wishes of joy with equal grace. By pushing herself to the forefront, she was able to spare Spencer an undue burden of curiosity.

And as the evening wore on, she found herself enjoying the attention. This was their first public appearance together, and it was really something, to be the lady on the Duke of Morland’s arm. Despite his faint, persistent frown, Spencer hadn’t touched his top waistcoat button yet, nor tossed her over his shoulder to cart her from the room. The evening was going quite surprisingly well, and Amelia reveled in the freedom to laugh, converse, and joke as boldly as she wished.

In fact, she was having the time of her life.

When she looked up from a conversation to find her father’s old friend Mr. Twither had cornered Spencer to question him mercilessly on farriers, Amelia even resorted to a new tactic: shameless flirtation. She sidled up to the old man, complimented the turn of his legs, remarked upon his youthful vigor, praised the delightful shape of his spectacles, and then discreetly pulled Spencer away, leaving a flushed, stammering, and quite-pleased-with-himself Mr. Twither in their wake.

And then, before anyone else could approach them, she loudly decried the heat and closeness of the room, gathered two glasses of cordial from a passing servant’s tray, and beckoned Spencer aside.

“There’s an alcove just there,” she whispered, pretending to sip from her glass as she indicated a paneled screen.

He took the other glass from her hand. “After you.”

The musicians picked a fortuitous moment to strike up the first chords of the quadrille, and amidst the excitement of partnering and queuing up, Amelia and Spencer slipped behind the screen. The triangular space was small and mostly occupied by a forlorn-looking potted palm.

Spencer drained his cordial in one draught, then grimaced and wiped his mouth.

“Well …?” she asked cautiously, scanning his appearance for any signs of unease.

“This cordial is abominable.” He glowered at the glass before setting it on a ledge behind them. His eyes slanted toward the screen. “And the musicians aren’t much better.”

“Yes, but how are you? I’m so sorry about Mr. Twither. He’s harmless, you know, but he holds his end of a conversation like a dog holds a bone. Oh, and those dreadful Wexler twins.” She shook her head. “They’re shameless. Did Flora truly pinch your bottom, or did it just look that way?”

He didn’t answer. Just smiled a little, in that devastatingly handsome and seductive way he smiled on rare occasions. Between that smile and the cordial, a very pleasant tingle warmed her insides.

“You’re enjoying yourself,” he said.

“I am.” She sipped her drink. “I know you hate this sort of thing, and this must be the most trying evening imaginable—”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

Something thumped against the screen from the other side, startling her. Spencer’s arm slid about her waist, drawing her back. She pivoted to face him, and his hand slid over her waist as she turned, until his palm settled at the base of her spine. A palm frond tickled against her neck. Suddenly stricken with a girlish flutter of nerves, she stared hard at his cravat.

“Are you truly enjoying tonight?” she asked.

“I’m enjoying right now.”

“You’ve—” Quiet, you ninny. He’s here for you. This night is going so much better than you have any right to expect. Don’t ruin it.

“What?” he prompted, absently stroking his thumb over the small of her back.

She forced her gaze up to his and swallowed hard. The cordial must have made her bold. Or stupid. Likely both. “You’ve been staring at me so strangely all evening. I’m afraid you’re disappointed, somehow. With me.”

That mild frown he’d been wearing now etched itself into a stern mask of censure.

Words spilled from her mouth. Silly, irrational, painfully truthful words. “You’re so handsome, you see. Just ridiculously so. I think you’re the finest-looking man I’ve ever known, and I know I just don’t look like your duchess. I know feigned affection wasn’t part of our bargain, and I know you don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks. But I do give a damn what they think. Just a little one; I can’t help it. And I seem to care a great deal … far too much, I fear … about what you think, so—”

“Shhh.” He laid a finger against her lips.

And then said nothing.

Did he not know what to say? What a fool she was.

Lie. Oh, please. Just lie to me. Just tell me I’m lovely, and I’ll pretend to believe you, and we can forget this ever happened.

He tilted his head toward the screen and mouthed, Listen.

“Yes, yes.” A matronly laugh resonated through the screen. “Rather a coup for Lady Grantham. Their first public appearance since the wedding, I understand.”

“Thank the Lord,” the unseen lady’s companion replied in a gruff voice. “Now you can cease nattering on about the ‘true’ reason behind the marriage.”

“Oh, yes. Obviously a love match. I never doubted it.”

A loud harrumph.

“Well, I didn’t!” came the protest. “Amelia always was a delightful girl, but marriage has been very kind to her. And anyone can see His Grace is completely besotted. He won’t be torn from her side.”

Behind the screen, Amelia nearly burst out laughing. Spencer covered her mouth with his palm.

The man snorted. “Yes, and any man with two eyes can see exactly which of her charms he’s drunk on. They’re on rather public display.”

Amelia felt her eyes go wide. Spencer just flicked a devilish glance at her breasts and kept his hand pressed to her lips.

The man lowered his voice, and she held her breath to make out his words. “I’d keep her close, too, were I the duke. If she flirts that shamelessly right in front of him, imagine what she’ll get up to when he’s not looking.”

“Oh, pish,” the lady said. “Amelia’s not like that. And what if they are in one another’s pockets? Nothing wrong with newlywed bliss.”

By this time Amelia was laughing so hard, her shoulders were shaking. Spencer gave her a quelling look, and she struggled to regain her composure. She failed. She giggled helplessly into his hand for a solid minute, tears rolling down her cheeks, until the musicians struck up a livelier tune and the gossiping couple drifted back into the crowd.

She still couldn’t stop laughing. If she stopped laughing—ceased acting like everything they’d just heard was patently ridiculous—she’d have to admit how desperately she wished it all were true. If she stopped shedding helpless tears of laughter, she would just be … crying.

Is it safe to release you? his expression asked, after a long moment.

She nodded.

“Oh, heavens,” she whispered, wiping her cheeks. “I’m sorry, but that was so …” Another inane giggle choked on a sob. “Imagine, if they only knew—”

“Knew what?” His hand shot out again. But this time he didn’t press a finger to her lips. He cupped her cheek instead, and tilted her face to his intense, searching gaze. “The truth?”

Suddenly, she wasn’t laughing anymore. She was barely breathing anymore.

“Amelia,” he whispered, “at this moment, I don’t think you’d recognize the truth if it pinched you on the bottom.”

He dropped a firm kiss on her forehead. She couldn’t decide what that kiss meant, or even whether she liked it or not.

“Here is what we’re going to do,” he said. “When this dance ends, we’re going to sneak back out of this alcove the way we came in, and we’re going to crawl out of one another’s pockets. I’m going to make my passing nod at etiquette by inviting one of those grabby Wexler twins to dance. Hopefully Flora.” She bit back a laugh, and he brushed a fingertip over her cheek. “And after that, I’m off to find a bit of brandy and quiet, and no one will notice. I’ll come back for you in an hour, and in the meantime, you’re to dance and enjoy every minute.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue. Just enjoy.”

The music ended, and he was gone before she could object. Not two seconds had passed, and she missed him already.

She remembered her half-drunk glass of cordial. After downing the remnants in one swallow, she patted her cheeks dry and slipped out from behind the screen. Without her most striking accessory—a duke on her arm—she prepared to spend the next hour resuming her life as Just Plain Amelia. Having a pleasant, if unspectacular time. Chatting with the ladies on the fringes of the ballroom.

Blending into the wallpaper.