The Duke’s Twin Lust by Lorena Owen
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Amelia was going through one of the account books when she heard a knock on the door.
“Come in,” she said, wondering if it was Mary or Rebecca. For the past two days, they had been the only people who had been to visit her. She still could not understand how Rebecca had gotten access to her, because she rather thought Ernest would have prevented her from visiting.
The door opened, and Amelia looked up, expecting to see Mary with a lunch tray.
But it was not Mary. It was Ernest.
She felt her breath catch in her throat. She could not quite remember scrambling out of bed, but the next thing she knew, she was standing, shrivelling from embarrassment as she realised she had not taken the time to dress up that day, and was still in her chemise.
Ernest seemed to have noticed her state of undress. His eyes took in her body, and she saw them darken as they focused on the tight buds of her nipples underneath her chemise. “Shall I return when you’re presentable?” he asked.
“No,” she said quickly. The last two days had been hell for her, and seeing him was the first thing she’d been grateful for since he’d found out the truth.
He looked into her eyes, and Amelia felt herself wilt. It was taking everything in her power not to go to him and throw her hands around him. She had missed him dearly. It did not matter to her whether he had forgiven her for keeping such a monumental secret. All she cared about was having him only inches from her once more.
“You look well,” he said tightly.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she replied. Now that she was no longer masquerading as his wife, she was just another commoner to him. And, as such, she had to refer to him by his title.
Still, Amelia knew whatever he said about her looking well was definitely far from the truth. She had cried herself to sleep since the night he found out, and during the days, she did nothing but look over the accounts absentmindedly. Mary brought in meals and returned them without Amelia having taken even a bite, and even Rebecca’s entreaties had not made Amelia any more interested in doing much, from eating to grooming herself.
Looking at Ernest, she saw he did not look much better. His eyes were sunken, and the skin underneath them was blackened. He looked thinner than he had the last time she’d seen him. He was beginning to grow out a beard, and the blond stubble caressed his jaw. He looked quite different from his usual self.
Amelia felt a pang of guilt. This was all her fault, she knew. Ernest had been going through a lot the past few days. He’d had to deal with his estate’s poor finances, his tenant’s poor harvest, and the fire that had been started in his constituency. And none of the above had made him look quite as terrible as he did now.
But, Amelia had to admit she wanted to know why he looked the way he did. Was he reeling from his wife’s deceit? Did he find it unimaginable that she had left him alone to go off with Bruce? Or, Amelia thought, her heart zinging with hope, did a part of his appearance have to do with not seeing her?
“Rebecca informs me that you would like to attend to the ball,” Ernest said. Amelia could not tell if it was her imagination, or he did look uncomfortable in her presence.
She squinted up at him. Over the past two days, she had not so much as discussed the ball with Rebecca. In fact, she had all but forgotten about it. Did Rebecca have a plan that involved getting Amelia to the ball?
“You don’t seem to know about any of this,” Ernest said. She saw that he had been watching her carefully.
Amelia swallowed. She wanted very much to claim the opposite, but she wanted to stop lying to him, especially if she could help him.
“Rebecca and I did not discuss the ball,” she admitted.
Ernest raised a brow. “I see,” he said. “I suppose you have spent the time talking about how gifted you are at being an imposter.” His words contained a level of bitterness that had been absent before.
Amelia felt hurt rise in her heart at his words. Every single moment she had spent at the manor had been marred by the difficult experience of keeping Lady Gillingham’s deceit a secret. Although Amelia knew Ernest had every right to be hurt, she did not think he was quite right in blaming her.
And so, she said, “None of this is my fault, Your Grace.”
When Ernest looked back at her, his eyes were blazing. “You could have chosen to tell me,” he said, in a voice that rang deep with hurt. “I would have understood you. I would have protected you. You know that as well as anyone.”
Amelia stared at him. Tears were fast falling from her eyes, both from his accusations and his hurt. She wiped them away angrily. “How exactly did you expect me to trust you, Ernest?” she asked. “Your wife threatened to have me arrested if I didn’t go along with her plans. How was I to believe you wouldn’t do the same?”
“Because you knew me,” Ernest thundered, and Amelia took a step back, burned by the fury of his words. He advanced towards her, liquid fire in his eyes. “You knew me. I told you how glad I was we were becoming friends, and you swallowed my words without a shred of guilt. You could have told me about Christiana’s dastardly plot, could have told me about what she’d done to you. But you chose to tell Rebecca rather than me.”
Amelia felt tears pooling in her eyes again. It sent daggers to her heart to realise Ernest was in this much pain because of her. “I wanted to tell you,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “But I didn’t know if I could.”
“You mean you didn’t trust me,” Ernest said quietly.
“I wasn’t certain about anything,” Amelia said. “I have been working as a maid for years, and I have seen how noblemen and noblewomen treat commoners. I didn’t know what you would think if you realised I was just another commoner.”
Ernest’s eyes grew cold. “You knew a lot of noblemen,” he said, “But you also knew me. And you know as well as I do that I don’t treat commoners like dirt under my sole.”
“I know that now,” Amelia said, “but I also know you are a duke who likes to do the right thing. And, whether or not you want to admit it, Your Grace, what Lady Gillingham asked of me was an unforgivable crime. I am nothing to you. You wouldn’t have had any problem sending me off to the magistrate.”
Each word she spoke left her heart bleeding until she thought she could not go on anymore. Still, she knew she was right. Ernest had been elated when he’d thought she was his wife and they were turning things around in their marriage. As a commoner, she meant less than nothing to him. She was simply the lowly maid who’d deceived him.
She looked up at him, wanting him with everything in her to deny that. She wanted him to cross the room, take her in his arms, and say, “You mean everything to me.”
But all Ernest did was stare at her for a few seconds, before his gaze fell onto the account books.
“I see you have been busy,” he said, gesturing to the books.
Amelia felt hurt cascade through her body. She had forced herself to believe she meant nothing to Ernest for the past few days, but it was quite different trying to believe something and actually knowing it.
She pushed her hurt away quickly. It did not matter, she told herself. Ernest had not said a word about punishing her, and so, she could only assume he meant to let her go in a little while. Perhaps in a few days, Amelia would finally say goodbye to all of this, to Mary, to Rebecca, and to Ernest.
And that made her heart ache even more.
“Amelia?” Ernest suddenly called, and she jumped.
“Yes, I’ve been quite busy,” she said quickly. “I think I might have figured out what is wrong with the estate’s finances, Your Grace.”
Ernest’s lips pursed into a thin line. “Kindly explain,” he said.
She reached for one of the books. It was quite heavy, and she had to use both hands in lifting it up. “The prices for all expenditures have been varying ever so slightly from month to month,” she said. Lifting a hand from underneath the book, she made to trace the numbers. In the past, she had assisted Sarah in sorting out the finances for the inn, and so looking over the numbers had felt quite familiar. “For instance, the amount the steward put in for buying saddle equipment was slightly higher last month than this. This was quite surprising, especially since more saddle equipment was only purchased every quarter during the last steward’s administration.” She was now panting slightly from the effort of holding the book.
Just then, Ernest pushed his hand underneath the book, holding it up. Their fingers grazed, and Amelia felt a spark combust within her. She looked up at him, her heart beating rather fast, and saw that he was looking down at her with an unreadable expression.
She wanted more than anything to bridge the distance between them. She wanted him to bend his head down to hers as he flung the book to one corner of the room. She wanted him to kiss her the way he had done at the lake, lift her into his arms, and lay her onto her bed. And she wanted him to make her his in the way she’d never been anyone’s before.
It was ridiculous to want this, especially now, but Amelia found out she could not help herself. She wanted him, so badly that the mound between her legs was quivering with anticipation, and she could already feel the wetness staining her thighs. She was not supposed to want to give her virtue to anyone but her husband, but Amelia knew that even if Ernest would never truly be hers, she wanted him to be the first man she lay with.
“Amelia?” Ernest said, as though from far away.
Amelia jumped guiltily. She could feel a blush creeping up her cheeks. She felt more embarrassed than she’d ever been. She could hardly believe she had let herself drift away like that. Even more appalling was the physical evidence of her arousal. Her nipples had been drawn tight, and she felt herself blush some more as Ernest’s eyes descended on her breasts.
She looked away, not wanting to see what he thought of her hardened nipples. Perhaps he would think she was merely cold, she thought, hoping and praying for this to happen. She wanted him to think anything, anything but the truth.
“You were telling me about the records,” Ernest said calmly, returning his gaze back to the books.
Amelia felt relief descend upon her, mixed with disappointment. “Yes,” she said gratefully. “I tried to argue that Paul merely bought saddle equipment every month because he thought it was the better thing to do, especially as, when added up, the amount he spends every quarter is almost equal to the amount the last steward spent. But, I have noticed a lot of discrepancies over the months. From the amount assigned to clothing to the amount assigned to feeding and other amounts, there has definitely been a case of pilfering. The amount he adds to every purchase is quite inconsequential, merely pennies, really, but once added up, I know Paul has to be making a fortune.”
She felt the blush on her cheeks disappearing as she spoke. It was quite easy to explain all of this to Ernest, but the truth was that she’d had to pay very close attention to the books over the past few days. Paul appeared to be so good at writing the accounts that only the most trained eye could detect his crime.
Amelia had been surprised at how much she had enjoyed this, calculating and recalculating expenses until she became convinced something was wrong. She felt a pang as she watched Ernest look over the numbers. This was one more thing she was going to miss when she left the manor.
Ernest looked at the accounts for a long time. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “This is marvellous work, Amelia.”
Amelia felt her chest grow warm. “Thank you,” she said.
Ernest frowned. “Paul has been my steward for over a year. By your calculations, he has had a while to steal quite a lot of money from the manor. This is quite unbelievable.”
“I’m sorry,” Amelia said, feeling guilty again. It seemed that Ernest had been plagued only by betrayals lately, especially from those he considered trustworthy.
Ernest did not seem to hear her. “I am quite interested in knowing what a young lad without a family needs so much money for.”
Amelia stared down at the books. Although she did not much know Paul, she had passed him in the corridors sometimes, and she had rather thought he had a good character. She had been quite surprised to realise he was indeed responsible for siphoning the funds. A part of her had wanted to believe the poor funds had been because of the harvest.
“What do you think?” Ernest asked suddenly.
“About what, Your Grace?” Amelia asked. She knew he was staring right at her, and so she kept her attention solely on the book.
“About Paul,” Ernest said. “He’s a lying thief, yes, but he is only a lad. I do not know how to go about things.”
Amelia felt her heart fill with an emotion she could not name. She could not believe Ernest was asking her advice, particularly after she had spent the weeks lying to him about everything.
“I don’t know, Your Grace,” she said. Her head was too muddled up with thoughts to think clearly. “But, I know how much you trust him—”
“All for nought, it seems,” Ernest said bitterly, glancing down at the books.
Amelia felt her heart go out to him. “He’s hardly more than a lad,” she said. “I have not heard the stable boys talk of him frequenting brothels, so I do not think he spends the money on whores. He is not a drunkard, either. And, if he had gotten a piece of land with the money, I think that we would have learnt of it by now.”
Ernest squinted at her. “What are you getting at, Amelia?”
“I think he has a strong reason for stealing all of this behind your back,” Amelia said. She had not thought of that till she said it, but as the words left her mouth, she knew she quite believed them. Paul, even with the proof in front of them, seemed like an upstanding man. She wanted Ernest to give him a chance to explain himself.
Ernest gave a tight nod. “I suppose I could always take him in for questioning,” he muttered. He turned a page of the book over, before he looked up at her. And for the first time since he came to her chambers that day, his eyes bore no sign of hurt or fury. “Well done, Amelia. Without you, the manor would have been bankrupt by the time we were finished organizing the ball.”
Amelia felt pleasure spread through her body. She knew Ernest had not truly forgiven her, but she was glad he was no longer as hurt. “The pleasure is all mine,” she said.
Ernest sighed. He did not say anything for a second, and Amelia felt her heart starting to beat painfully again. She knew what she wanted him to do, but it felt as though Ernest was not quite thinking the same thing.
“Rebecca was right,” he said, in a voice so quiet she could not hear him at first.
“About what, Your Grace?” Amelia asked.
“About you,” he replied. “I have made up my mind. You’re now permitted free range of the manor. Also, you shall attend the ball as Lady Gillingham.”