They were so close now.
Dorian continued, “And if you think I’d lay a harmful hand upon you, then you never knew me as well as I knew you.”
With that, he turned on his heel and stormed from the room.
Amelia placed ahand to her throat and released the breath she hadn’t realized was lodged in her chest. She’d known allowing Kempton to reside beneath her roof was a terrible idea, but, judging from her frantic pulse, it might just be a downright dangerous decision.
Hearing him say aloud how he’d once loved her brought back a thousand memories of a time when she’d given her own heart away, along with her trust. It reminded her how she’d desired him, mind, body, and soul, with the overwhelming need of young love. Even though he’d all but spat upon her offering of her heart with his infidelity, there was no denying she’d also always felt anything but indifferent toward him.
The man unleashed a torrent of things within her; he stirred up long-buried emotions and dreams. His presence reopened old scars and unleashed fresh waves of feelings, both physical and emotional, that she was unable to name.
Amelia waited, entirely immobile, for several more minutes until she was certain she wouldn’t encounter Kempton on her way to her chambers.
“Faye,” she whispered, and the dog immediately lurched to her feet and trotted over from where she’d lain by the hearth. Together, they walked side by side and made their way to bed, where, undoubtedly, Amelia would spend long hours staring at the ceiling beams.
Chapter Three
The next morningdawned cool and mostly clear. One glance from the window of her bedchamber told Amelia that she should have at least a few hours of sunshine before the grey clouds on the horizon reached them. The weather could be fickle in this part of the country, but she was used to it.
After dressing, Amelia left her chambers after a restless night, unable to shake the knowledge that the infuriating Kempton was beneath her roof, in a bed just one wing over from where she lay—something she never would have considered a possibility even a few days prior. Had anyone suggested it, she would have believed them to be addled beyond help.
She and Faye descended the stairs, and she hated that she was so on edge in her own home. The halls were still quiet, and the scents of breakfast were not yet wafting up from the kitchens. She’d donned her specially-made riding habit and matching hat the color of burgundy wine, planning on finishing a quick letter before she went to the stables to ride and allow Faye to take her daily exercise. The last thing she expected to find was Kempton in his charcoal grey waistcoat and shirtsleeves, already shaved and impeccably groomed, leaning against her desk as if he owned it.
To be fair, he looked rather at home standing behind the enormous piece of furniture. He was posed like an imposing wartime general or a warrior prince, palms flat atop the polishedcherrywood surface, bracing himself as his head hung and his eyes devoured the words on the parchment before him. So absorbed in his task was he that he did not even notice her arrival until she cleared her throat.
His head snapped up, and he appeared momentarily confused by her presence, until he had the good grace to appear slightly abashed, however briefly. “Have you need of the desk?” he asked, motioning as if he were offering to relinquish it to her, but he did not apologize for his presumptive behavior in taking over the study.Herstudy.
She suddenly decided that her letter could wait—she’d much rather get away from the man—away from the sight of his broad, well-formed shoulders and the rakish curl of his richly dark hair.
“That will not be necessary,” she answered brusquely.
“I was not expecting you to be up and about so early.”
“I might say the same of you.”
“I daresay it will be just the two of us until luncheon; Clara does not usually rise until the day is already well underway. She has adopted London hours.”
Amelia barely resisted a groan of disappointment. “No matter. I was about to leave for my morning ride anyway.” That would give her at least an hour or two of freedom from the man.
Unfortunately, her stomach made a helpless flip when he grinned.
“Perfect. I shall accompany you.” He proceeded to tidy the papers and set the neat stack on the far corner of the desk. Amelia couldn’t help but stare. It felt startlingly intimate to have their correspondence share a space.
She shook off that notion and said, “I do not have time to waste waiting for you to prepare yourself to ride. Faye is restless for her outing.” The hulking beast calmly blinked up at her master at the sound of her name. The dog was anything but anxious. Yes, she looked forward to stretching her legs, but shewas far from an unruly pup bounding in excitement. Amelia’s teeth clenched; leave it to Faye to be her usual unperturbed self.
“Then aren’t we lucky that I am already dressed appropriately?” He collected his deep blue riding coat from the chair and stepped out from behind the desk, revealing a pair of buff riding breeches and bespoke polished Hessians. He offered her no opportunity to form an additional protest when he crossed the room, took her arm, and led her out the main door to the nearby stables.
The building was long and low, having undergone few changes over the decades, other than a few necessary repairs and improvements. It had space for nearly two dozen horses, though it currently housed less than one-third of that amount. James had adored horses and riding, and he’d amassed a collection of beautiful, pampered horseflesh. Many of them had been sold off after James’s death, though. It hadn’t been a decision Amelia made lightly, but she knew her husband would have preferred the animals go to owners who would appreciate them and give them the time they deserved. Amelia was only one woman, after all, and even with her staff, that number of horses made no sense. She did not host hunting parties, and she had no need to keep a stable full of horses for guests’ use; she had her favorite bay gelding, Rory, and he was all she needed.
If Kempton insisted upon accompanying her, Amelia was bound and determined to ignore his presence as much as possible. Instead, she paid attention to her dog, who, realizing her routine was not going to be interrupted by their houseguests, began to perk up some. As was customary, Amelia’s horse had been readied. The gelding stood excitedly beside the groom, his ears twitching and as he worked the bit in his mouth. His giant hooves thumped from side to side in anticipation, affording Amelia one more opportunity to brush off the marquess. “Rory does not do well standing about after he has already beensaddled; I will be unable to wait for you to have your mount readied,” she said to Kempton. Just as she finished speaking, however, an enormous, dappled stallion was led out from the stables, his polished black leather tack already in place.
Drat.
“Shouldn’t your mount be allowed to rest after your journey? You wouldn’t want to overtax him.” It was a weak effort, but she had to try.
“Nonsense,” Kempton said. “Maximus grows anxious if he does not have at least one good, hard ride every day.” He winked.
He actuallywinkedat her.
