Instead of the scent of pine and earth, she smelled the Duke of Welton. Instead of the rustle of leaves, she heard the rough, broken edge of his voice as he apologized for being ungentlemanly.
Ungentlemanly.
The word felt like a slap. He had retreated behind his title as if it were a shield, using his regal tone to re-erect the walls she thought they had torn down. He spoke of her position, her safety, as if she were a fragile porcelain doll he had nearlyknocked off a shelf. She was a woman, one who had met his fire with her own.
She rolled onto her side, clutching the pillow to her chest and hugging it tight.
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, the tall clocks in the hallway ticked with a sharpness that grated against the silence and Ambrose’s last nerve. He stood by the sideboard in the dining room, his hand hovering over the silver coffee pot as his mind dared to wander to the taste of her lips. He shook it off, picking up the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup.
Bitter coffee should do the trick.
Yet, against his will, his mind began to drift once more. This time, he recalled the feeling of Imogen’s full breasts pressed against his chest, and he froze. The soft swish of a woman’s dress neared the doorway, and he realized the coffee was beginning to flow over the sides.
“Damn it,” he whispered angrily to himself as he grabbed a napkin to dab at it.
“Is there anyone about, Mrs. Higgins?” Imogen’s voice drifted in from the foyer, hushed and urgent.
“If you mean His Grace, he is currently in the breakfast room, Miss Lewis,” the housekeeper replied. “Is something the matter? May I be of some assistance?”
Imogen’s shadow touched the doorway as Ambrose leaned closer, then watched it pivot instantly. “There is nothing the matter, nothing at all, Mrs. Higgins! All is fine. Great. Grand! Splendid even!”
Ambrose’s lips lifted at the corners then, a small smile escaping his mouth as he fought back the sudden urge to laugh.
So, she is as unraveled as I am.
“Very well, Miss Lewis… Is there anything I can do to be of service to the children today, then?”
“Umm… the children and I shall take our tea in the schoolroom today. Yes! Please, bring a tray up later,” Imogen said as she began to walk away. “Then we will take our afternoon walk.”
Ambrose still gripped the handle of the pot, his knuckles white. “Mrs. Higgins,” he called out, his voice dark. “Please come at once.”
The light footsteps in the hall stopped dead.
“Yes, Your Grace?” the housekeeper asked, glancing between the dining room and the shadow hiding just out of sight in the hall with a curious look. “How may I be of serviceto you, Your Grace?”
“Please inform Miss Lewis that she needn’t hide in the rafters,” Ambrose said to the empty air, loud enough to carry. “If they wish to dine in the breakfast room, I am retreating to the study in a moment. I have correspondence and then business with my solicitor and no time for… small talk.”
A long beat of silence followed. Then, Imogen’s voice came again, but not to him.
“Please, Mrs. Higgins… will you tell His Grace that the children are practicing their choral recitations this morning. It will be quite loud. It would be best if he stayed behind the heavy doors of the library so as not to be disturbed, as opposed to his study in the very same wing.”
“I shall… relay that message, Miss Lewis,” Mrs. Higgins murmured, her brow raised as she scratched her head.
“Oh, and Higgins?” Ambrose added, his shadow lengthening across the threshold, but his feet were staying rooted to the carpet. “If she requires anything from the larder, see that it is brought to her. There is no need for anyone to cross the main gallery today either. With the work I have, it is best we keep?—”
“I’ll be in the schoolroom. Lord Philip! Lord Arthur! Quickly now!” Imogen’s voice was higher-pitched than usual. She wasnot shouting exactly, but her tone indicated that she was slightly harried. “We have three chapters of Virgil to finish before lunch and then our afternoon walk. We haven’t a moment to spare for anything else.”
A few moments later, the latch of the library door clicked shut from the west wing. Seconds after that, the schoolroom door slammed shut from the east.
We are behaving like children, Ambrose thought to himself as he set to work, or at least pretended to.
“Come now, boys,” Imogen said softly, leading Arthur and Philip down the secondary gallery toward the gardens for their afternoon walk around the grounds after lunch. “Let’s be quick about it!”
“I’ll race you, Philip!” Arthur shouted as he rounded past her.
“I’ll beat you, Arthur!” He replied as they bounded through the doorway.
