The Duke’s Twin Lust by Lorena Owen

Chapter Twenty-Five

Amelia could not believe her ears.

She had refused Ernest only days before, and it had seemed like he had understood her. So, why was he here right now, asking her to lay with him?

There was something in his eyes that Amelia distrusted, a mixture of hunger and agitation. Amelia had never seen him look like that before.

She knew she had known Ernest for less than two weeks, but she was still more certain than ever.

Something was wrong.

Lifting her hands, she pried his fingers from her body.

“What’s going on, Ernest?” she asked.

Ernest did not reply. He was breathing harshly down her neck, and she felt herself shiver as he leaned over and placed a heated kiss just below her chin.

“Ernest,” she said, half-confused, half-aroused.

“I want you right now, Christiana,” Ernest said harshly. And, before she could stop him, he was yanking at the top of her dress.

Amelia yelled, rolling out from under him and scrambling away to the other side of the room. She wanted him, she knew, but her instincts were far more than her passion in that instant. And so, she was well aware that she could not let Ernest have his way with her.

Ernest scrambled up the bed. The hungry look in his eyes was gone, replaced by one of smouldering lust. And in any other circumstance, Amelia admitted that the way he looked right now would have sent her rushing to him. But now, when she was more than certain something was wrong, all she wanted to do was leave.

“You don’t want me to lay with you,” Ernest stated. It was not a question.

Amelia stared at him, confused. He had known she was not ready for a while now. Why did it bother him so much right now?

“I know you want to do this,” Ernest said. His eyes were still burning, but it looked like he was more angry now than aroused. “But yet, you refuse me at every turn. Why?”

Amelia felt her heart miss a beat and she knew she had to think carefully on how to answer. He was close, so close to figuring her out. She felt her heart starting to pound with full force, so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

How could she reply to him?

“It’s scary,” she murmured in a low voice, avoiding his face. If she looked up at him she would definitely falter. “I am a maiden, and I know how painful it is for women on their first night.”

She could feel Ernest’s gaze burning into her. “I don’t believe that,” he said flatly. “Surely you have heard of women whose virtue was taken from them forcefully from their husbands. But you must have also heard of women whose husbands made their first experience pleasurable. You know I’m one of the latter. So, what is stopping you?”

Amelia felt her heart twinge with despair. She could not believe this was happening.

Thoughts were running through her mind, threatening to upend her with their speed. This was all her fault, she knew. If she had done exactly what Lady Gillingham had said, if she had not made friends with Rebecca and Ernest, none of this would have happened. To Ernest, all she would be was the rude, unyielding wife who would never let him into her bed.

She had to admit he was right. To him, there was no plausible reason for her to avoid wanting to lay with him. It made no sense anymore.

But Amelia knew she could not tell him the truth. No matter what, she had to defend her prior reason, even if it sounded ridiculous.

“You don’t have to believe me,” she said, trying to summon Lady Gillingham’s character. “But what other reason could I have for not wanting you to bed me?”

“Perhaps…” Ernest said, and when she looked up, the look on his face was enough to set a fire ablaze in the pit of her stomach. “Perhaps you have a lover.”

Amelia felt a laugh stir up from the bottom of her stomach. She did not feel particularly amused, but she forced out a sprout of laughter. “A lover?”

Ernest nodded. Something about his expression made Amelia realise he believed every word he was saying.

Her disquiet increased. “Ernest, I don’t have a lover,” she stated as calmly as she could. “I would never betray our marriage vows—or you—like that.”

Ernest crossed his arms. “You’re lying… again. I met your lover just this afternoon.”

Amelia’s eyes widened. What was he talking about?

And then, as ice slipped down her stomach, she realised.

Bruce.

She had not put it together before, but the Bruce in Mary’s story and the Bruce he had gone out to meet were one and the same. They had to be.

Amelia suddenly felt unsteady. She wanted very much to go to the bed and sit down, to calm her spinning head. She stared up at Ernest, watching the anger on his face grow.

How had she not realised this sooner? Now that she thought of it, it made perfect sense. Lady Gillingham had definitely gone to be with Bruce. And Bruce had set fire to the Highsmith’s cottage to get Ernest’s attention. He had probably given a hint to Ernest, and now Ernest was certain she was betraying him.

Amelia felt tears running down her cheeks. There was no way out of this anymore. No matter how she looked at things, she was caught in a bind. It was either Ernest thought of her as unfaithful, which did not bode well for her or Lady Gillingham, or he found out the truth, which would still mean trouble for her and Lady Gillingham.

There was no way out of this.

“Was the accident real, or did you fancy a week with your lover?” Ernest asked.

When she looked back up at him, she saw something she had not seen before.

Ernest was in pain.

He thought she had lied to him, and he was heartbroken. Amelia felt her own heart ache. She could not bear him thinking that.

“Ernest, I don’t have a lover. I really don’t,” she said, wiping tears away as she made for him.

Ernest took a step backwards. He looked as furious as she’d ever seen him. “Why would I believe you, Christiana? You lied about your ring. You might have lied about everything else, including your name.”

“My ring?” she asked, confused.

“I found your ring with Bruce, the gaming hell owner. He claimed he was with you. Were you with him for the week you claimed to be with your father?”

Amelia shook her head vigorously. “I promise you, Ernest. I wasn’t with him. I swear on my life. I’ve never met Bruce.”

Ernest raised his brows. “Perhaps you can explain to me how he has your ring, then.”

Amelia stared up at him, feeling her heart shrivel into bits. She could not bear to be the cause of Ernest’s pain, but how could she tell him any of the truth?

Ernest seemed to have taken her refusal to speak as a concession. “You’re good at living a double life, Christiana,” he said before he turned away to leave.

Amelia watched as he took one step, and then another. Lady Gillingham was indeed sleeping with another man, she knew. It was really no concern of hers, especially since Lady Gillingham was sure to return to the estate soon. Perhaps what Amelia needed to do was serve the punishment in Lady Gillingham’s stead, and then wait for Lady Gillingham to come back so the lady could sort all of this out by herself.

This was the most logical option, except for the fact that Amelia could feel her heart ache when she thought of that. She did not want to break Ernest’s heart and disappear forever, without him ever knowing her, with him always thinking she was one and the same with his manipulative, rude wife.

No matter what happened next, Amelia knew she could not bear that happening.

“Ernest, wait,” she called, just as he reached for the doorknob.

Ernest turned back to her. His eyes were red with pain, and Amelia felt her own hurt double as she realised she was about to increase his angst.

She took a deep breath. Was she really sure she wanted to do this? She knew she didn’t have to. She could go on living Lady Gillingham’s life until she had to give it up.

Except she realised she didn’t want to anymore.

Ernest had become more than Lady Gillingham’s husband to her. Her feelings for him were increasing every day, and she wanted him to know who she was. She needed him to know.

“What is it?” Ernest asked, his gaze still burning.

“There was no incident,” she said in a small voice.

Ernest did not say anything, but the fury on his face went up several degrees.

“During the week Lady Gillingham went to visit her father, I was a maid working at an inn on the outskirts of London.”

She watched as Ernest’s eyes narrow.

“What in God’s name are you talking about?” he asked, looking like his patience was running out.

“I’m not Lady Gillingham,” she said. “My name is Amelia. I was working at my inn when Lady Gillingham made me come here, to take her place in your home.”

* * *

Christiana’s words seemed to travel slowly to Ernest’s brain.

At first, he could not make sense of them. And then, finally, he realised what she was saying.

Christiana—the woman standing in front of him—was not Christiana at all.

His first reaction was disbelief. It made no sense. Besides, it seemed too easy. How the hell had Christiana found a maid who looked exactly like her to play her? Also, how was it possible that the maid had been able to infiltrate their lives and no one had been able to figure it out?

But, his disbelief gave way as little memories came surging through his mind. He remembered the first night after the “incident,” when he had wondered why “Christiana’s” hand looked so worn. He remembered the days after, how she had seemed nicer, more welcoming. He remembered how even Rebecca had noticed the difference.

He stared at the woman. Amelia, she had said. He did not know how he had not seen what was so clearly in front of him. The woman with him now was definitely not his wife. She had not known how to ride a horse. She had been very inept at responding to Rebecca’s taunts. And more than that, she had let him touch her.

Ernest cast his mind back to the first weeks of his marriage, how distant the real Christiana had been. That woman would never have allowed him to touch her, no matter how much her accident had changed her. She would never have tried to patch things up with Rebecca. And she definitely wouldn’t have become friends with Ernest.

Since the meeting with Bruce, Ernest had had the suspicion that something like this could have happened. But now that he had realised he was right, it was harder to come to terms with.

He had been beginning to think his wife was someone he could build a future with. Someone he would look forward to seeing every day. Someone he could raise his children with and not feel as if he was missing something.

But he had been wrong. This woman, Amelia, had come into his life and pretended to be his wife. She had woven her way into his home and his hearth. And he had fallen for it all.

“Amelia,” he said, tasting the name on his lips.

Now that he’d said it, he realised how much more her name suited her than “Christiana.” How could he have been blind for so long?

“I am so sorry,” Amelia said, brushing tears from her eyes. “I wanted to tell you. But Lady Gillingham told me not to tell anyone. She threatened me.”

“And so you would have gone on for months leaving me in the dark?” Ernest asked quietly.

More tears were spilling down Amelia’s cheeks. Ernest felt his heart give an involuntary contraction. No matter what, he hated seeing her cry.

But he steeled his heart and looked away. He could not let her tears blind him. She was an imposter, and he knew as well as she probably did what the punishment for that was.

“I know what you must feel,” Amelia said.

Ernest shook his head, a wan smile at the corner of his lips. This was the most confusing situation he’d ever been a part of. His wife had aquired a double to play her, and Ernest had ended up enjoying the double’s company more than he’d ever enjoyed his wife’s.

And what was more, it meant his wife was indeed now with Bruce. Bruce had not been lying after all.

But Ernest was not inclined to believe Christiana was his prisoner. She had intentionally switched places with Amelia, and that meant that she had been indeed planning to take this trip with her lover. Ernest was surprised to realise that this information did not much bother him. He had been much more concerned when he had thought it was the woman he had known for the past few days who had been unfaithful. With the real Christiana, he was definitely not surprised.

Ernest sighed. He did not know what to do, what to feel. He needed time to sort his thoughts out.

And so, without saying anything, he turned back to the door. He heard her call his name but he ignored it, banging the door shut behind him and striding along the corridor.

It did not take him long to find what he was looking for. Two footmen were strolling the length of the corridor, armed with pistols. He had had his staff on high alert since his encounter with Bruce.

“Your Grace,” they greeted, bowing.

“Ensure Lady Gillingham is confined to her chambers, day and night,” he said. “She is not allowed to depart her chambers until I give leave.”

He walked away, not wanting to linger and see the stupefied expressions on their faces.

He knew that banning her from every other part of the manor would not be a severe enough punishment in the eyes of many. According to law, the punishment for impersonated nobility was death.

But Ernest could not bring himself to call the magistrate.

Because, even though he wanted to deny it with every fibre of his being, he knew why he couldn’t do anything to harm her.

He was in love with her.