Amelia was just staring at the lady, and then she lifted her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle at the unexpected and rather blunt assessment of their situation. It was decided now. She liked the duchess…Diana. Even if she still had no idea why the woman wanted to be friends.
“Come and sit,” Diana said, motioning to a pair of chairs before the fire. “We can get to know each other.”
Amelia nodded, and soon they were warming themselves by the fire, chatting like old friends. Diana was a quick wit, sincere and kind, and she liked many of the same authors that Amelia did. She was growing more comfortable by the moment and her worries about why the lady had invited her here were beginning to fade.
Suddenly Diana glanced at the clock on the mantel and her smile fell. “Goodness,” she said. “I have lost track entirely chatting with you. I needed to speak to my cook about supper. Would you excuse me just a moment?”
Amelia wrinkled her brow at the odd pretext but nodded. “Of course. Though if you are busy, I can go.”
Diana reached out to catch her hand as she stood. “Don’t be silly. Stay and I’ll be back in an instant.”
Amelia let out a sigh as her new friend exited the parlor. She got to her feet and crossed the room toward a portrait that hung on the opposite wall. It was of the duke and duchess. It was a good likeness of them both, and though it was formal, it captured the twinkle in Diana’s eye and the rugged handsomeness of the duke. From the way their hands were clasped, it was clear their hearts were bound, and she tilted her head to look a little closer at their expressions.
She heard the movement behind her as she did and turned, expecting to find Diana returning after her errand. But it was not her new friend. Instead, the same man who had called on her father the day before now stood just inside the parlor. The Duke of Brighthollow—that was what Fielding had said.
His long hair was bound back again, but a lock had fallen away, curling around finely cut cheekbones and framing his full lips almost as if he’d meant it to.
Her own lips parted, and suddenly it felt as though all the air had been sucked from the room. He stood there, staring at her, his dark eyes holding hers far too firmly, his hands clenched at his sides. The door was open behind him—there was nothing improper about them being together, aside from the fact that they had never been formally introduced.
And yet everything about the unexpected moment felt very improper. The man filled all the space around her, and even though he was at least five long paces away, she felt crowded by his mere presence.
She swallowed hard. “G-good afternoon,” she managed to squeak out.
He inclined his head slightly. “Good afternoon, Miss Quinton.”
She blinked. Why did he know her name? Why did he act like they were already acquainted? “I—” she stammered, uncertain what she should say next. Even more uncertain why the wildly twisting feeling in her stomach was telling her to run away from this man. From the odd sensations he created in her.
“I apologize,” he said, taking a step closer and raising the riot in her body even higher. His voice was very…soothing. No, that wasn’t the word for it. Mesmerizing. “We have not been introduced. I am the Duke of Brighthollow. I’m a friend of the Duke of Willowby.”
She nodded, mostly out of habit. And what else could she do? She was staring at him like a ninny already—if she didn’t respond in some way she would look like an utter dolt.
“I—yes,” she said. “I remember you. You came to call on my father yesterday, did you not?”
His eyes went wide. “You saw me there.”
The strength of his reaction surprised her, and she wrinkled her brow. “Yes, in the hallway. I was about to meet him for tea when you arrived.”
“Ah.” Some of the tension went out of his face.
She waited for him to speak further. To say anything, but he didn’t. He just continued to watch her. It wasn’t lecherous at all, not like many men looked at her. There wasn’t anything threatening about it. But his expression was so very focused. Almost intimate. Like they knew each other, though they didn’t. Her stomach fluttered and she hated herself for that.
Her stomach was only supposed to flutter for one man. It wasn’t this one.
“Did you…did you need something?” she burst out, if only to break the tension.
He blinked, almost as if he didn’t realize he’d been simply staring at her. “No,” he said. “I was just passing by the room. My apologies for the intrusion, my lady. A very good day to you.”
With that, he executed a formal bow and turned on his heel to walk away. She stared after him, her hands shaking and her breath short. What was it about that man that set her on her heels so completely?
And how could she make that stop?
“I do not approve of this foolishness,” Lucas said as Hugh returned to his friend’s study.
Hugh glared at him as he shut the door behind himself and leaned back into it with all his weight. “Yes, that was what you said before I went to meet Miss Quinton,” he growled. “I did not think your mind had changed in the time I was away—you do not need to keep reminding me of it.”
“I think I do,” Lucas snapped as he pushed up from his desk. “So, you have met the girl now. Please tell me this puts an end to any consideration you have of this ridiculous notion of marrying her in some attempt to save her.”
Hugh flinched as he strode to the sideboard and poured himself a stiff drink. He downed the entire tumbler in one breathless gulp and thought of his encounter with Amelia. She was even more beautiful up close, if that were possible. She had an intelligence to her eyes, a brightness that he had not had in his life for a very long time. And she smelled of vanilla and something spicy, heady. Something a man could drown himself in.
