Without planning to ever rise from her bed again, Amelia rolled onto her side and covered her head with her pillow when she woke the next morning. Coventry had kissed her, and it had been the most spectacular thing in the world.

Until it hadn’t been.

She groaned as she recalled what had happened and the manner in which he’d apologized for his regrettable behavior. I don’t know what came over me. He might as well have been speaking of some hideous hat he’d bought on a whim.

Pulling her duvet higher, Amelia snuggled into its warmth. She had no desire to do anything today or to see anyone or go anywhere. She simply wished to remain here alone until she forgot about that wonderful kiss and the awful way in which it had ended.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Go away. I’m still sleeping.”

Footsteps padded across the floor.

Amelia groaned. “Juliette, I am warning you. I wish to—”

“It is not Juliette.” Lady Everly’s voice was warm and kind. “I thought I would come and check on you since it is rare for you to sleep so long.”

“We had a late night,” Amelia explained.

“And it is now two o’clock in the afternoon. The duke is waiting for you downstairs.”

That got Amelia to sit up straight, her hair falling about her face in wild disarray. “Why?” She honestly hadn’t thought he would come today of all days, inconsiderate man.

“He claims the two of you agreed to go and check on the building site.”

Amelia stared at Lady Everly’s expectant gaze. “I never . . .” She shook her head and let the words die. Accusing him of lying would not be very helpful to anyone since such a statement would likely lead to a series of other deductions that would invariably reveal what had happened in the Falconrich parlor the previous evening. So she gritted her teeth and resolved to get through the day as best as she could. “Sorry. I should have asked my maid to wake me earlier.”

“I will ring for her now so she may help you dress.” Lady Everly moved to the bellpull and then to the door. “Do try to hurry. I believe His Grace is quite eager to be on his way.”

Amelia grimaced as Lady Everly departed the room. It was just her luck to have to endure the company of a man she loved when he did not love her in return, and his lack of love for her was making her hate him enough to go mad. Thankfully, the maid brought tea and sandwiches with her when she arrived so Amelia was able to eat while having her hair combed and set. She gave herself one quick look in the mirror once she was ready, deciding the rich lavender color of her simple day dress was quite acceptable—especially since she was not trying to impress anyone. Far from it.

“Good afternoon, Lady Amelia,” Coventry said, greeting her when she strolled into the parlor.

She forced a smile that felt tight around the edges. “Your Grace,” she said, deliberately using the honorific.

He frowned for a second, then seemed to recover. He produced a pleasant smile. “Are you ready to depart?”

“Certainly.” She turned and strode toward the foyer with him on her heels. Even now, as irritated as she was, she could not deny the awareness she had of him. His masculinity was so overwhelming that escaping it would be impossible. Which only served to annoy her even further.

Tempted to scream, she clamped her mouth shut and allowed him to hand her up into the carriage. Climbing in after her, he took a seat on the opposite bench, his every move alerting her to his presence though she refused to look in his direction. Her eyes were stubbornly trained on a tree she was able to see out in the street.

“May I say that you look radiant today?”

No, you may not.

She forced back the tart remark and muttered a thank-you, instead.

The carriage jerked into motion and the tree vanished from sight. An awkward silence flooded the carriage, interspersed only by the faint rattle of wheels and clanking of hooves.

“Amelia.”

Coventry’s voice beseeched her to listen, though she still refused to look his way.

“Yes?”

“I am sorry about what happened yesterday.”

Her hand clutched at the edge of her seat while her fingertips dug into the upholstery. “Stop saying that!” She couldn’t bear to hear him apologize again.

“Considering your mood, I feel that I must.”

That did it.

She snapped her head around to meet his gaze, ignoring the way his brow furrowed with concern. “My mood?” He just stared at her, no doubt taken aback by her cutting tone. “Is it not to your liking? Would you perhaps prefer it if I pretended that nothing has changed between us?”

He seemed to consider that and then finally said the last thing she’d expected him to say. “Yes. I believe I would.”

Anger clutched at her brain, threatening to dismantle it with its overpowering strength. “You . . . ass!”

“I should not have kissed you, Amelia. It was a mistake to do so and I am—”

“Tell me you’re sorry one more time, and I will never speak to you again.”

He closed his mouth and stared at her with contriteness. Eventually, he blew out a breath and ran one hand through his hair, scattering the neatly combed locks. “How do I fix this?”

“I don’t know. Ordinarily you should probably ask for my hand.”

His eyes widened with dismay. “You know I cannot marry you. My life is—”

“Complicated. So you have said, but you are also a man of honor and duty—the sort of man who does the right thing. Ordinarily.”

A look of terror entered his eyes. She would have pitied him if she hadn’t been so unbelievably angry and hurt. Swallowing, he seemed to prepare himself, then slowly leaned forward and reached for her hand. She allowed the gesture though she did not care for the pleasure it wrought. At the moment, she’d no desire to be overwhelmed by the profound effect he had on her. She didn’t want to revel in the gentle touch of his fingers or be infused with longing and want. She did not want to care, but she did so anyway. Desperately.

“Amelia.” He spoke hesitantly. “You ought to know that I have a son.”

Amelia sat as if frozen. She stared up at Thomas’s familiar face and saw caginess there. Her reaction to what he’d revealed mattered, and yet she wasn’t sure whether to hug him for being so honest or throttle him for keeping his son a secret for so long. Eventually, she just sank back against the squabs with a defeated sigh.

“Why would you keep that from us?” Not just from her but from Raphe, as well. Granted, they’d known each other for only a couple of months, but with all the events that had taken place since, Amelia knew Raphe considered Thomas a brother. He would never have kept something this important a secret.

There was also the way she felt about the matter. Their recent differences aside, it hurt her to imagine that he hadn’t trusted her with the fact that he was a father. But he’s doing so now, Amelia. Gazing into his dark brown eyes, she waited for him to answer.

“I have made a habit of never mentioning Jeremy to anyone,” he told her frankly. His palm rested against his thigh, producing a stiff posture of resolved control. “As a duke and an active member of parliament, I do not have the luxury of avoiding public scrutiny. With Jeremy’s illegitimacy in mind, I have always sought to protect him from that.”

She understood him immediately. Exposing a child to possible insults and unfavorable whispers before he was ready to either ignore them or respond in kind, would be cruel. But Thomas’s comment raised a whole new question.

“Who’s the mother?” Other questions followed until a stack of them formed in her mind: Do you love her? Why haven’t you married her? How could you be so reckless with your lovemaking?

“I cannot tell you that,” he said.

“But—”

“There are people in my life that I seek to protect at all cost.” Shifting, his foot scraped against the floor of the carriage. “All you need to know is that Jeremy’s mother died in childbirth and that I have pledged myself to raising Jeremy with the same opportunities available to legitimate children. It has taken up a great deal of my time these past five years, but I am determined.” His voice shook with emotion, and if she wasn’t mistaken, his eyes shone with a sheen of moisture.

Reaching out, Amelia clasped his hand in her own. “I respect and admire your decision.”

His jaw tightened. “Thank you.” A moment passed before he continued. “This is why I have decided not to pursue any woman in earnest.” He gave her a serious look. “Courtship and marriage take vast amounts of time and energy.”

“You’re a busy man.” She knew she stated the obvious but could think of nothing else.

He squeezed her hand. “The fact that I am accompanying you on outings and to balls at your brother’s request should tell you something about my high regard for you and your family. That being said, and especially in light of what transpired between us last night, I would urge you to refrain from hoping for a deeper connection with me. Because honestly, I do not have room for that right now.”

Doing her best to maintain a calm demeanor and hide her inward scream of frustration, Amelia slipped her hand from his and offered a pleasant smile that would never convey how she truly felt. “It was just a kiss. If you think it caused me to have expectations, then you are mistaken.”

“You’ve seemed to fluctuate between hurt and anger since it happened. You also suggested that I should ask for your hand, so I naturally assumed the kiss meant something to you and that my . . . withdrawal . . . caused you pain.”

“Then allow me to alleviate your concerns.” Deliberately, she thought of all the housework she’d had to do when she’d lived in St. Giles. It helped push aside her emotions. “I am neither hurt nor angry, simply worried that my lapse in judgment last night would give you cause to think less of me.”

A frown appeared upon his brow. “Amelia—”

“What happened between us was a mistake. I think we can both agree upon that.” And since they had now arrived at the house, she was saved from having to endure another second of this conversation. Exiting the carriage with his assistance, she proceeded up the steps and through the front door.

A group of hardworking men were reconstructing the stairs, the banging of hammers and loud chatter a thankful distraction from Amelia’s tumultuous emotions. “How are you progressing?” she asked as she went to take a closer look.

“Quite well, I’d say,” one man told her. “T’will be faster once the floors ’ave dried—that’s takin’ a right long time, that is. But once it’s done, we’ll be able to plane ’em an’ sand ’em before puttin’ in the fresh planks.”

“And the walls?” Amelia asked.

“We’ll get to those once the floors are good an’ sturdy.”

Thanking him for the update, Amelia continued through to other parts of the house while Coventry remained in the foyer. He probably had no desire to be alone with her again since that would require them to either talk or feel as though they ought to be talking. She was grateful she didn’t have to do either and silently thanked him for the consideration.

By the time he returned her to Huntley House, they’d said no more than a handful of words to each other, which was regrettable since it only increased her foul mood. What she truly wanted was to forget—to erase yesterday from her mind in order for her and Coventry to go on as friends. She missed their amicable repartees, but neither could she summon the courage required to get past the gaping hole in her chest. So when they arrived at her door, she bid him a good day and went inside, not offering him another glance.

When Thomas arrived home, he slammed the door so soundly behind him the entire house shook. Jones came running while his mother emerged from the parlor. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

He gritted his teeth. The last thing he wanted to do right now was explain himself. “I need a drink,” he muttered after handing his hat and gloves to Jones.

Striding past both of them, he entered the parlor and went straight to the sideboard. Pouring a large measure of brandy, he downed it in one swift gulp and then poured himself another.

“What happened?” His mother’s voice was gentle.

He turned to face her, aware that he probably wore a dark scowl. “I would rather not speak of it.”

“You went to see Lady Amelia though—to escort her to the house?”

Her probing question made him grimace. “Yes.” He drew in a breath and stared into his glass.

When he said nothing further, she asked, “Was the progress on the house not to your satisfaction?”

“It is not the damn house, Mama.” Wincing, he immediately apologized for the expletive, then pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to ward off an encroaching headache.

“Oh. I see.” She crossed the floor and lowered herself to the sofa while he watched her every movement.

Finally, when she said nothing further, he asked, “What do you mean by that?”

Tilting her head, she eyed him with no small amount of pity. “Only that Lady Amelia must be the cause of your annoyance. Yet again.”

“We had a disagreement,” he confessed. His mother just watched him, waiting for him to continue, so he did. “She believes I insulted her, which I may have done although doing so was not my intention.” On the contrary, his intention had leaned in a far more lascivious direction. “Naturally, I apologized, which she did not take kindly to at all. If anything, it only made matters worse, and now she refuses to speak with me at all.” He approached the sofa and dropped down into the chair closest to it. “Frankly, I am somewhat confounded by the whole thing—by her reaction and my response to it. I feel . . . uncharacteristically contentious.”

“Hmm . . .” Studying him for a long moment, she said, “The fact that you would insult her to begin with is very unlike you. I don’t suppose you would care to elaborate on your poor misjudgment?”

“Not especially.”

“I did not think so.” She met his gaze for a long moment during which he remained completely still. He feared she might uncover the truth in the depths of his eyes. “What I would advise,” she eventually continued, “is for you to take a good long think about what Lady Amelia means to you.”

He instinctively flinched. “She is a friend or, more precisely, the sister of a friend.”

“Is that all?”

“Of course it is.” She could be nothing more. It wouldn’t work if she were, which was why he wouldn’t allow it.

“Then there is really no hope for you, is there?”

He sat back, a little unnerved by that comment. “What do you mean?”

“As far as I am aware, it is uncommon to get all unhinged on account of a person that one does not care strongly for. Unless of course one is mad, which you must surely be since you deny any deep attachment to Lady Amelia. So, there is no hope for you. You clearly belong in Bedlam.”

He stared back at the petite woman who’d raised him—the woman who always spoke demurely—and he wondered how exactly he’d managed to make her go off on such a confounding tangent.

“Mama,” he said as he emptied the last of his brandy, “your logic is distressing.”

“That you would think so only proves my point even more.”

“And what exactly is your point, besides me being mad and belonging in an institution for the mentally insane?”

She smiled then—the sort of smile that a mother might give a child who was trying to learn how to walk. “You are obviously developing a tendre for her.”

He felt his entire body go numb. “I am not!”

“Very well then.” She stood and walked to the door. Pausing there, she looked back at him with warmth and more understanding than he possessed at that moment. “You will recognize the truth soon enough, Coventry, and when you do, I suggest you embrace it.”

He waited until she was gone, then muttered a series of curses.

She was wrong, damn it. He was not losing his head over Amelia. He would not lose his head over her. Except, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he had to recognize that he already had. His mother was right. Why else would he get so wound up over their falling-out?

The answer was simple. He missed how easy their relationship had been before he’d ruined it with a kiss. There was nothing easy about it now. She’d gotten beneath his skin and taken up residence in his heart. The hurt in her eyes when he’d disengaged from her had been palpable. It had twisted his gut and prompted him to voice his regret even though he regretted no part of what had transpired between them. On the contrary, he’d savored every exquisite moment. But she could not know that—not without promises being made.

With a heavy sigh, he stood and went to get changed. A good fight at the Black Swan was awfully tempting at the moment. Perhaps he could have his feelings for her punched out of him. At least then he would no longer suffer the wretched pain of caring about how thoroughly he’d managed to wound her.