It was the seventh time Amelia had read her sister’s letter, and each time, fresh tears welled in her eyes. She released a groan of frustration as she balled another sheet of paper before her, tossing it into the wastebasket to join the other failed attempts. She didn’t know what to write back. The only thing that came to her mind was to ask Dorothy how she fared, to tell her that help would be coming soon. But she didn’t want to risk the letter—and her plan—falling into the wrong hands.
Nor did she want Dorothy to know the extent she had gone to save her.
How could she explain to her sister that she’d gotten married to the Masked Rogue, the veryMasked Roguewho had ruined their family, who was the cause of their present woes, and who was now capable of stirring foreign feelings in her, all for Dorothy’s sake? Amelia was at a loss for where to even start.
Lewis’ plea came rushing back to her and she sighed. After she’d left the billiards room, once she was certain that the coast was clear, she’d quickly made her way to the library to fetch a book and additional stationery before she headed back to her bedchamber to hide away for the rest of the evening. The book hadn’t done much to distract her mind from everything she had been told, though. The Duke weighed heavily on her thoughts, a feat that seemed to plague her constantly ever since she moved into the castle.
Her thoughts drifted back to the night of the soiree. For a fleeting moment, she had almost convinced herself that the duke had interrupted her conversation with the Baron Fenton because he had been jealous. Now, she knew how foolish she had been for even considering the thought. A man as handsome and as sought-after as he was would never care about staking his claim on her, even if she was his wife. He must have done that to keep her from saying anything she shouldn’t.
It makes no sense for me to feel like this then, she thought ruefully. Her mind relentlessly replayed the way he’d held her during their dance, how perfectly her hand had fit in his.
And the way his fingers had tenderly grazed her heated skin as he’d helped her get dressed…
That particular memory constantly pursued her into her dreams, its imprint on her as intoxicating as the finest wine. Amelia squirmed in her chair, her hands drifting to her peaking nipples. Her eyelids fluttered shut. She imagined they were her husband’s hands. Just a few nights ago, they were. Something stirred within her and, for a careless moment, she allowed herself to delve down that line of imagination.
Thinking of how it would feel to have his hands on her bare skin, to feel his lips brush her neck, to hear her name flow huskily from his lips. The bulge she had felt pressed against her rear that evening had filled her mind with lust and wonder, with the insatiable urge to reach behind her and feel it in her hands. The urge had alarmed her but now that she was alone, Amelia let herself give in to that sensual need.
A sudden knock at the door had her jolting from her chair, heart racing. Amelia swallowed, taking slow breaths to calm herself. If that was Gideon…
“Y-yes?” she called, her voice a little shaky.
“May I enter, Your Grace?” Jenny’s voice filtered through and Amelia felt varying waves of disappointment and relief.
“Yes, please come in,” she responded, sagging against the table.
Jenny entered the room quietly, cradling a violet gown in her arms. “His Grace has requested to dine with you this evening,” Jenny explained. “And he requested for you to wear this dress, Your Grace”
“Oh, I see.” Of course, Gideon would exert his dominance by dressing her like a doll. Right on cue, Amelia’s stomach rumbled. She hadn’t been eating very well this past week and her neglect was already catching up to her. She stared suspiciously at the dress, temptation pulling her in one direction.
“Oh! His Grace has also requested I hand you this.” Jenny held out a small note.
Amelia accepted it with a frown. The message was short and to the point.
It has come to my attention that you have not been eating well since arriving at the castle. I wish to remedy that. Why don’t you dine with me tonight?
–Gideon
Amelia read the note over and over again. Was he being… kind? The rakehell Masked Rogue whom she knew better than to trust? Amelia softened more and more as she reread the note, a smile almost gracing her lips at one point. Remembering Jenny was still present, she held back the urge and set the folded note to a side.
“Very well then,” she said at last. She moved to the center of the room, readying herself. “I suppose I should not keep him waiting.”
“Indeed, Your Grace,” Jenny agreed, eagerly coming to her side. She deftly began the task of helping Amelia out of her current dress.
Amelia let a few more seconds of silence go by before she spoke again. “Jenny, may I pose a question to you? And please, feel free to speak candidly.”
Jenny instantly seemed apprehensive at that. “Of course, Your Grace.”
“You do not need to answer if you are not comfortable,” Amelia hastened to add. “I am simply curious to know your opinion of the Duke.”
“My opinion?” Jenny stared at her as if Amelia was speaking a foreign language.
“Yes, what do you think about him?” Amelia rephrased.
Jenny pondered for a moment, though her hands remained steady as she aided Amelia out of her dress. Soon enough, Amelia stood only in her chemise.
“I cannot answer that question, Your Grace,” she finally said, choosing her words carefully. “This is the longest His Grace has ever remained in the castle.”
“He doesn’t usually stay here?” Amelia inquired, surprised.
