Because then it became an easy thing to imagine she trusted him. Not only trusted him, but needed him. Relied upon him. He liked imagining that, because he was beginning to worry, in some rogue corner of his mind, that the truth was quite the other way around.
Then something changed. She stiffened in his arms, breaking the kiss.
“On second thought”—her gaze focused—“perhaps you are merely a fool. Has it occurred to you, that instead of bankrupting my brother in pursuit of this stallion, not to mention enduring suspicions of murder, you might simply be honest with Lord Ashworth and Mr. Bellamy?”
“I tried,” he said. “I offered to stop pursuing the remaining tokens if they would let me stable Osiris here. They refused.”
“Did you tell them your true reasons for wanting him?”
He snorted. Oh, yes. Because it was his life’s ambition to hear Bellamy and Ashworth deem him a romantic, sentimental fool. “They won’t give a damn. Why should they do a thing for me, much less an old, maltreated mare?”
“Because they’re your friends.”
“Precisely what gave you that impression? The part where Bellamy accused me of murder? Or the part where I ground him into the carpet? I took my swings at Ashworth years ago, no need to revisit those.”
“No,” she said evenly. “The part where I asked if you’d nothing more important in your lives than a silly club and a handful of tokens, and the three of you discovered a sudden fascination with your boots.” Her arms tightened around his waist. “Maybe you’re not friends, not yet. But if you expend the time and effort to make friends with them, they’ll give you what you want.”
“Are you mad? They believe I killed Leo.”
“Lord Ashworth doesn’t. And Mr. Bellamy’s investigation will clear your name any day now.”
“It may not. Amelia, I turned that neighborhood upside down and shook it with vigor. There’s a very real possibility Leo’s killers will never be found.”
“Then you will prove yourself and earn their trust. Just give them a chance to know you, the same as you’ve done with me.” Her lips curved in a smile. “Much as it might pain you to do it, you’d save yourself a great deal of trouble simply by revealing your most deeply buried secret of all.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
She touched his cheek with the back of her hand. “That against all reports to the contrary, you’re a decent, kind, shockingly likable man. At least …” She paused. “I know I’m coming to like you, a great deal.”
What a sweet thing she was. Not innocent or naïve, just … truly good-hearted. Only the most generous of souls could conceive of such a thing—three men putting aside class, fortune, hatred, and suspicion and becoming the sort of friends who traded heartfelt secrets over port. Even men who weren’t divided by class, fortune, hatred, and suspicion didn’t trade heartfelt secrets over port. That’s what made them men.
But staring into those clear blue eyes, he almost wished he could make it happen, just for her.
And suddenly, a thought came to him. The best idea he’d had since proposing to this woman. By God, every once in a while he scared himself with his own brilliance.
He couldn’t help but grin with self-satisfaction as he asked, “Would you do me a very great favor?”
“Ask me, and see.”
“I want to have a house party. Just a small one,” he added in a rush, before her eager gasp of excitement carried her away. “I’ll invite both Ashworth and Bellamy, and the three of us will hash out this business once and for all.” Not in the way Amelia was envisioning, but she need never know. That part would take place behind closed doors. But to execute his plan, he needed the other men loosened up first. Relaxed, well fed, content, and complacent. “I need a hostess. Do you mind?”
“I’d be delighted, and you know it. But only two guests, in such a grand house as Braxton Hall?”
“No, not here. I think it’s best if we meet on neutral ground.” Here was the truly brilliant part. “I’m thinking of renting a summer property. I’ve heard there’s a cottage for lease, in Gloucestershire.”
Gripping his shoulders, she pulled back to stare at him.
“The rent’s horribly inflated,” he went on. “Four hundred pounds, for a summer cottage? For that price, it had better not be drafty.”
Her fingers laced behind his neck. “Briarbank is the loveliest cottage you ever saw. And only the slightest bit drafty.” She launched herself into his arms. “Oh, Spencer. You’ll love it there. It’s beautiful country, with the valley and the river. You can take the men angling. May I invite Lily? She told me she’d be returning to Harcliffe Manor, and it’s quite nearby. I’m sure she’d be glad for the company.”
“I don’t see why not.” In fact, the idea struck him as fortuitous. If anyone could make that idiot Bellamy see sense, it might be Lily Chatwick.
“Will Claudia go with us?”
“Yes, of course.” There was no way he could leave her behind.
“Oh, good. Then my dinner table will have equal numbers of ladies and gentlemen. And it will be so good for her. For you both. No one can be unhappy at Briarbank, it simply isn’t possible.” She slid back to the ground. “When can we leave?”
He laughed at her impatience. “Not for a few weeks, at least. I’ll need to make arrangements, and so will you, I imagine. And in the meantime”—he stroked her back—“we’ll be occupied with your riding lessons. It’s three days by carriage to Gloucestershire, and you’ll be miserable if you can’t ride part of the way.”
She nodded in acquiescence, catching her plump lower lip between her teeth. Oh, how he needed to kiss that mouth.
But before he could act on the impulse, she kissed him first, throwing her arms around his neck to pull him closer. Her tongue teased his, stoking wild sensations in his blood. Raw lust powered through him, sweeping away any vestige of restraint. Together they stumbled into an unused stall, and he threw an arm out to soften the impact as her back collided with the wall.So much for fragility. And tenderness be damned. Her fingernails raked his scalp, and the kiss was barely a kiss anymore, but more a series of hot, gasping clashes of mouth against open mouth. He slid his palms over all her velvet-cloaked curves—breasts, hips, bottom, thighs.
“Amelia. We shouldn’t begin this if …”
“I want you,” she breathed, rolling her hips against his.
Between the husky promise of her words and the grinding friction of her pelvis, Spencer thought he might spill right then and there. He fisted his hands in her skirts, lifting the folds of velvet above her knee and thrusting his fingers into the flurry of petticoats. She said she wanted him, but he wanted proof. He needed to feel it.
She sighed, biting her lip as his fingertips grazed her bare inner thigh.
The devil in him wanted to tease her, draw out the contact inch by torturous inch—but he’d expended his reserve of patience days ago. He cupped her sex in his palm. A low groan escaped him. God, was she ready. Her most feminine places were hot and wet and quivering under his touch, both erotic and innocent.
But much as he wanted to take her now, he hated to take her here. A sweaty tup against the wall, in a barn reeking of horses—on the second day of their true marriage? He’d planned to make love to her properly the next time, with patience and care. He’d spent the past several days caught up in a haze of his own unrelenting want, and he was beginning to realize, as the fog cleared, that Amelia might have wants of her own.
“Spencer?” Leaning forward, she licked the underside of his jaw and ground her moist heat against his palm. “Last night, when you threatened to take me against the wall, never mind the bed?”
Oh, Jesus.
“Could you do that now?”
Yes. Yes, if that was what she wanted, he most definitely could. And if she met him halfway with the buttons, they could be under way in seconds.
“Hullo?” A faraway voice echoed through the barn. “Hullo there! Amelia, are you in here?”
“Wh—?” Her eyes sparked like candles. Her hands instantly flew to her riding habit, redraping the skirts and smoothing the bodice. Craning her neck, she called to the rafters, “Yes. We’re just here!”
What the devil? Spencer jerked around, hastily running one hand through his hair and adjusting his breeches with the other. He knew that voice, but he couldn’t place it.
“Don’t tell me this is the duchess’s suite.” The voice and accompanying footfalls approached. “Marriages of convenience are all well and good, but I rather expected Morland to provide you finer accommodations than these.”
Spencer still didn’t know who it was, but whoever it was, he felt like hitting the man. But Amelia …
Amelia blushed. And laughed.
She dashed into the aisle to greet the newcomer, and Spencer followed her. When the owner of the irreverent comments came into view, he instantly understood. Understood that a very promising afternoon had just gone to hell.
Biting back a groan, he watched his wife embrace her brother.
“Jack,” she said warmly. “I’m so glad you’ve come.”
Chapter Fifteen
“I must admit,” Amelia said some time later, directing the servant to deposit the tea service on the table, “it’s quite a surprise to see you.”
“A happy one, I hope,” said Jack, shoving his blond hair back from his face. He shared Amelia’s fair coloring—all her brothers did—but he had a greater share of their mother’s refined features. He’d always been “the handsome brother,” long before he’d eagerly donned the black-fleece mantle of “the ne’er-do-well.”
“Yes, of course,” she replied. “Claudia, would you be so good as to pour?”
Even Spencer’s ward had made an appearance, obviously curious about the arrival of this impromptu house guest. The young lady accepted the tea-pouring duty with reluctance, but Amelia offered her no reprieve. Claudia needed the practice serving, and Amelia needed to think.
Why on earth was Jack here?
Of course she’d hoped he’d come out for a visit. She’d spent the last several months dreaming up methods of removing Jack from his debauched London life. That was why she’d sent him a hasty note the day of her marriage, extending him an open invitation to stay at Braxton Hall whenever he wished. But the very same week?
“I would have come even sooner, had I known what lovely scenery Cambridgeshire has to offer.” He gave Claudia a dashing smile, and worry twanged in Amelia’s gut. That quintessential Jack grin worked entirely too well on impressionable young ladies.
It did little for Claudia, however. The girl’s eyes widened a fraction, and then she simply turned her head.
Good for her.
Shrugging, Jack reached for a sandwich and bit into it eagerly. “Traveling all night on the mail coach leaves a man devilish hungry. The cooks in those posting inns have nothing to match your skill, Amelia.”
“It’s only a bit of cold ham. I’ve ordered all your favorites for luncheon, though.”
“Ah, I knew you would. Even removed to Cambridgeshire, you’re the best sister a fellow could hope to have.”
As Claudia busied herself with the tea things, Amelia leaned forward and addressed him in a low, confidential tone. “The duke will join us any moment. Dare I hope this visit means you’ve raised the funds to pay him?”
“Oh, that?” He reached for a second sandwich. “That debt’s been dispatched already. Rents from the cottage, you remember.”
“Oh.” Amelia blinked. “Yes, of course. That was … fast.”