Denying The Duke (Strong Women Find True Love 3)

He stumbled at the force of the startling idea that he was lusting after her. The woman who had, in the little time of their acquaintance, insulted him, misconstrued his intentions, told him he was no gentleman, and then ignored him, even if it was hidden beneath a thin veneer of civility.

He couldn’t be lusting after her. He only had only wanted to offer for her hand. He had no intentions on her person at all, but his body was betraying him with traitorous imaginations. That wouldn’t do at all.

He staggered back and stumbled into a conveniently placed stone seat. He took a seat on the damp stone, too lost in thought to register the cold. By Jove, he had damned himself beyond redemption. It wouldn’t do to rescue her and then make carnal demands on her person, even if they were by law his conjugal rights. He was under no illusion that theirs would be more than a marriage of convenience, but he was most unwilling to set his wife against him. He sighed at the directions of his thought. The lady in question was most unlikely to accept his suit in any event. It wouldn’t do to cast her in the role just yet.

“Your Grace, I am sorry if I am the cause of so thunderous a scowl.” He startled badly and scrambled to his feet to regard the one person who currently possessed his thoughts. She looked beautiful. Her skin was clear and faintly rosy and her hair was a sheet of black that complemented her bright green eyes. It only added to the fear running through him. He wondered if his expression gave away the direction his mind had taken. In a trice his face cleared as he came to his feet.

Amelia had gone looking for Lord Windon after he had excused himself. She had followed him toward the garden only to find him several minutes later, sitting on a damp stone bench and scowling at the roses. The roses were definitely innocent.

“Lady Amelia.” He answered her puzzled looks

“Your Grace.” She started.

“Robert.” He corrected gently.

She waited a moment then nodded “Robert. I do need to speak with you about something.”

“I gathered. Somehow a chance meeting in the gardens was too contrived,” he murmured.

She deflated suddenly. Her eyes fastened on her own wildly gesticulating fingers. “I am sorry, Your Grace. If you found the countryside wanting for excitement, it is no reason to behave the harridan. You are entitled to your opinion no matter how much it differs from mine.”

She looked up at and looked away. The guilt bringing stinging blood to her cheeks. He looked at her with an expression that could be termed benevolent, only the amusement in his smile belied that. “I find, Lady Amelia...”

“Amelia.” It was only fair that she give him use of her Christian name.

He paused and nodded, mirroring her own reactions. “Amelia. I find that in our brief acquaintance you have expressed your displeasure with me twice. I wouldn't care to make it thrice.”

She blushed. He must think her without restraint. “I must confess I used to be consider quite even tempered, yet I have lost my composure twice with you. It baffles me, Robert.”

“Might I ask a favor of you then?” When he stopped, she raised her head in question. “That you allow me chance to understand my errors and make amends for them.”

“It is I who must make amends for my hasty speech for yesterday and at the first dinner party,” she insisted.

“In truth, you wounded me.” The words stopped her.

“Your Grace?” He turned to her with an arch expression. She corrected her error without reminder. “Robert.”

“Yesterday I was trying to inform you that the quiet of Mossford appeals greatly to me. No invitation to a hunting party or all manners of promised revelry could please me as much as it did.” Now he smiled wryly, amused now that the matter was behind them.

She gasped then, drawing his attention to her contrite features. There was nothing that compared to the soft moue of her semi-pouted lips, a pale pink that stole his attention. He realised she had been talking when he was lost in his reverie. “I beg your forgiveness, Your Grace,” she continued, looking appropriately chastened.

“Robert. You will find it easier with frequent use.”

Now she smiled sadly. “Robert.” He nodded and gestured for her to continue.

“I must beg your forgiveness, Robert. I was overwrought. My father may have manipulated us both. He did not inform me of your impending arrival until your outrider was at our gates announcing your carriage from the distance of a mile away. I was ill prepared.” The excuses would do for a bystander. and even her father, but they sounded weak in her ears just as she knew they truly were.

“I thought your attire quite fetching.” She had braced herself for an insult and was shocked when none was forthcoming.

“I think you are teasing me, Robert. The stink of the stables was about me,” she countered.

“I didn’t notice,” he concluded with uncommon chivalry.

“Now I know you are teasing me,” she finished in the tones of one who was being treated badly.

“Will you not have a seat? The stone is cold but the sun is surely warm and not to be missed. It is too weak to ruin your complexion and the gardens are beautiful,” he

offered magnanimously.