The Duke’s Twin Lust by Lorena Owen

Chapter Thirty-One

Amelia had not known it was possible for a person to feel this much happiness.

She woke up with a smile on her face, immediately turning to look at Ernest, who was still breathing deeply. He looked even more handsome in the sunlight coming in through the windows, and Amelia lifted a finger, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw.

She had tried to deny it for a long time, but right now, she knew she couldn’t hold it in any longer. She was in love with Ernest, more in love than she’d ever thought she could be. And it hurt her more than she thought possible, knowing that she would have to give all of this up in a little while.

“It is quite rude to stare at someone, you know,” Ernest suddenly said, giving her a huge fright.

“Ernest!” she screamed, staring as he opened his eyes and started to smile at her. “Were you awake this whole time?”

“Why, yes, I was,” Ernest said, sitting up. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist touching me, and so I thought to wait.”

Amelia glared at him. “I wasn’t staring,” she said. “You just happened to have a bit of lint on your jaw.”

“You, my lady, are a bad liar,” Ernest said, prodding her nose playfully.

Amelia rolled her eyes. “Alright,” she said, giving up. “But is it unimaginable for me to want to stare at you?”

“I quite prefer you staring at me than staring at other men,” Ernest said. “Lord Hastings, for instance.”

Amelia laughed. “Not Lord Hastings again.”

Her laughter dissipated into nothing as Ernest stared at her. She felt her breath catch in her throat under his intense gaze. She could tell he was thinking of something, and she was almost scared to ask what it was.

“Amelia,” Ernest whispered under his breath, seizing a lock of her hair.

“What is it?” Amelia asked, suddenly breathless.

“I want you as my wife,” he said, looking deep into her eyes. “I’ve never cared for anyone like I care for you. And hell will freeze over before I let you walk out of this manor.”

Amelia felt her heart explode with a bevy of emotions, before it started to pound loudly and harshly. “Ernest,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. There were a lot of thoughts running through her mind, most of them questions. What did this mean for Christiana? Could Ernest really wed a commoner? And how would they explain to everyone that she was not Christiana after all?

But, before she could ask, there was a knock on the door.

They dressed quickly, Amelia wearing her chemise, Ernest pulling on his breeches. Ernest sat up in bed, inches away from Amelia as he said, “Come in.”

The door opened. It was Mary, whose eyes seemed to widen with surprise and glee when she saw them.

Amelia swallowed. She felt slightly embarrassed. Mary was quite aware of the fact that she was not really Ernest’s wife, and so, this was a little shameful. But, her embarrassment was slightly relieved by the fact that Mary did not seem to bear any ill will towards the pairing.

“What is it, Mary?” Ernest asked. He did not seem to feel anything about Christiana’s maid seeing him in bed with Amelia.

“Your Grace,” Mary said, and the glee on her face disappeared as she looked at Ernest, only to be replaced by a worried frown. “Lady Gillingham has returned.”

* * *

Ernest felt his brows knit in confusion. “Christiana?” he asked, barely daring to believe.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Mary said. “She awaits your presence along with Bruce and a few of his men in the first-floor drawing room.”

Before Ernest could react to that statement, he felt a sharp movement behind him. Looking around, he saw that Amelia was sitting up.. “I’m coming with you,” she said.

It was quite difficult to focus on anything other than the outline of her breasts in the chemise she had donned, but Ernest forced his mind to stay on track. “No,” he said shortly. He had not been able to keep his wife from Bruce’s paws, but he would damn well make sure Amelia was not within breathing distance of the man.

“I won’t let you face them alone,” Amelia continued, determination written across her face.

Ernest felt a smile tugging at his lips. “My wife ran away with her lover and put you in her place,” he said. “I would rather have my first meeting with her after her betrayal not be witnessed by the woman I want to be with.”

The last few words seemed to soften her resolve, and Ernest watched as her shoulders sagged and she retreated under the covers once more.

“I’ll be down soon,” Ernest said to Mary, and the old maid curtseyed and closed the door behind her.

Ernest dressed quickly, aware of Amelia’s probing eyes on him. When he looked up at her, he saw that she looked quite worried. “What’s wrong?” he asked her.

She bit her lip, looking even more agitated. “I do not want you hurt,” she said in a small voice.

Ernest let out a bark of laughter. “Have no fear on that, my lady. Bruce has never been a match for me, even when he had his horde behind him.”

Amelia looked up at him, and he saw how the worry darkened the blue of her eyes. “But, what if—?”

He cut her off with a kiss on her lips. “Do not worry, Amelia. It’s just going to be a conversation. I have nothing to do with Bruce, anyway. All my impending questions are reserved for Christiana.”

Amelia nodded, but she did not look entirely convinced.

Ernest smiled at her. “I will see you soon, Amelia,” he said, before he pushed open the door and walked out.

He strode down the corridors, deep in thought, hardly hearing the greetings of the maids that passed him. He recalled his conversation with Bruce, when the man had asked for a ransom. Why would he return Christiana now? Had he grown bored of playing a tired old game? Or had Christiana decided she no longer wanted Bruce after all, that living as the mistress of a gaming hell owner was not quite as pleasurable as she’d hoped? If so, why had Bruce come with her?

At the doorway of the drawing room, Ernest hesitated before he went in. Finally, he took a step in, and the sight he saw struck him.

There was Bruce, grinning from ear to ear, flanked by two of his men, who were armed. And then there was a thin, frail woman who was held roughly by two other men. She seemed to be coughing every few seconds into a handkerchief soaked with blood. Her hair was matted and lank around her face. Ernest wondered who she was, until she gazed up at him and he took a hasty step backwards in shock.

It was Christiana.

He could not believe his eyes. The woman who had left his manor almost a month ago had been quite different from the woman that had returned. She had been full of life, as beautiful as she was scornful. But, this woman looked ten years older, and only the thin mocking smile on her face was reminiscent of the former Christiana.

“Your Grace,” she said with that smile Ernest hated so much. “I would curtsey, but…” she coughed into her handkerchief once more.

Ernest turned to the men holding her, fury spreading to every part of his body. “Release her,” he said. “Now.”

“Now, I know you are the duke of this manor and all,” Bruce interjected, grinning at Ernest. “But they are my men, and they only obey my manners.”

“I could have you seized and arrested within minutes,” Ernest said through gritted teeth.

“But you won’t, will you?” Bruce said. “Because you are all so honourable, aren’t you? The Gillingham men.”

There was a tone of bitterness in Bruce’s voice that Ernest did not completely understand. Not quite caring, he turned back to Christiana.

Even with everything she had done to him, he still felt his heartstrings tug with pity at the sight of her like that. She was still his wife, after all—for now. He couldn’t let her get treated in that way.

“Let her go,” Ernest ordered.

The two men holding her turned questioningly to Bruce, who gave a brusque nod. They let go of her immediately, and Christiana collapsed to the floor, still coughing.

Ernest stared down at her. He knew he was meant to go to her and help her to her feet, but something inside him revolted at the idea. Thankfully, Mary, who had been perched in the doorway, ran to her mistress and helped her to her feet.

“Mary,” Christiana said faintly. “It’s good to see you. I’m sure you have a lot of things to tell me.”

Ernest turned to Bruce, who had his eyes fixed on him.

“I would collect the payment forthwith,” Bruce said, his arms crossed.

Ernest let out a bark of laughter. “Your payment is not having your head removed from your neck. Now, get out of my home and don’t return ever again.”

Bruce’s mouth was still grinning, but his eyes had a certain hardness to it. “I returned your wife, Your Grace. I deserve a reward. Or…” he paused, his eyes glittering suspiciously. “Perhaps you no longer care about her. Word has it you have taken to a certain wench who looks exactly like Christiana. Perhaps if I seize her, you would be more concerned.”

Ernest felt hot anger spread to his arms, clenching his fists. He dove for Bruce before he could stop himself, landing a punch on the man’s jaw. He could feel bones splinter underneath his fists, but he drew his hand back, ready to punch again, till Bruce’s men leaped forward and formed a barricade in front of him.

“The next time you talk about Amelia like that, I will kill you,” Ernest said, breathing hard.

Bruce was still visible behind his human barricade. His jaw was bloody, and he held it as he spoke to Ernest. “The honourable Gillingham men. Perhaps your father taught you how to throw punches at defenceless men.”

“You are a defenceless man?” Ernest asked with mirth.

“My father was,” Bruce spat. “I have learned to be smarter, wiser, more cunning.”

“I congratulate you on your achievement,” Ernest said, turning away.

“Don’t you even wish to know why, Your Grace?” Bruce asked all of a sudden. “You do not wish to know why I would go through the gruesome trouble of taking your wife, why I wanted us to meet so badly?”

Ernest turned back to Bruce, his brows raised. “Very well, then,” he said, crossing his arms. “Tell me why.”

Bruce stared at him, all traces of a grin gone from his face. He looked as vile as Ernest had ever seen him. “Have you ever wondered where you got your family wealth from?” he asked.

Ernest did not know where the conversation was headed, but he thought he wasn’t quite interested. “We are highborn,” he answered still. “Our riches come from generations of wealth.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Your Grace,” Bruce said with an ugly smile. “During the time your father was alive, you ended up bankrupt. Your father, the calm, loving duke he was, sought for a way to get some more wealth. Finally, he decided on gambling.”

“No,” Ernest said softly. His father had been an upright, righteous man. He hated gambling and everyone who practiced it.

“I speak the truth, Your Grace,” Bruce said, and Ernest saw no trace of falsehood in his eyes. “Your father liked to gamble with my father. He was quite good at it, too. Or perhaps,” Bruce said, his eyes glinting with anger. “He was only good at cheating. So good, in fact, that my father emptied our family coffers trying to beat him.”

Ernest stared in disbelief. He had always looked up to his father, had always wondered what course of action his father would take on a particular problem before attempting a solution. To realise his father was the cause of Bruce’s bitterness towards him was baffling.

He looked at Bruce, hoping against hope he would see something in the gaming hell owner’s face that would suggest he was lying. But there was nothing. Bruce was certain he was telling the truth. Besides, Bruce had kidnapped a duchess and killed two people for his revenge. There was no other feasible reason for trying to undermine Ernest.

Ernest sighed. He did not know what to feel. The room was silent, interrupted only by the sound of Christiana’s coughing.

“I cannot hope to make amends for my father’s doings,” Ernest said, staring into Bruce’s face. “But we can only try to resolve the enmity between us. We can, moving forward, be better than our parents were.”

Bruce stared at him for a split second, before he started to laugh. “Be better?” he choked. “Why, my father was the best man I ever knew. Your father was a hypocrite and a scorn. And, best believe, Your Grace, that I will get my vengeance one day.”

“I am not my father,” Ernest said. “And you are not yours. We cannot live in the past. You have to realise you are hurting innocent people by trying to hurt me. I can’t justify what my father did. I can only hope you forgive and forget.”

Bruce sighed, looking into Ernest’s face, as though hoping to detect a falsehood. But Ernest kept his gaze, staring at him evenly. Finally, with a sound like a dog in pain, Bruce strode out of the room, his men in tow. Ernest watched him go. He could not tell whether Bruce had forgiven him, but he knew the man would hold off trying to hurt him for a while.

He turned to Christiana, who was being held up by Mary. “Clean up a new room for her and take her in,” he told Mary. “I’ll call the physician.”

Mary nodded, taking a hold of Christiana as they shuffled towards the door.

Finally, Ernest was alone in the room. He collapsed against a chair, his head buried in his hands. He could not believe the morning he had just had. And, even though Bruce had left, albeit temporarily, Ernest now knew he was faced with a greater conundrum: living in the same manor as his wife, but also the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

* * *

Alone in her chambers, Amelia was retracing her steps around the room.

As much as she wanted to make sure Ernest was safe, she had been dishonest when she told him that was all she was worried about.

She hated to admit it, but she was quite worried about Ernest seeing Christiana again.

Christiana had been his wife, after all. What if a little part of Ernest still wanted her? He had spoken of wanting Amelia to be his wife, but Amelia wondered whether the striking resemblance between herself and Christiana was the reason he was so enamoured with her.

She shook her head, wanting to get rid of those thoughts. She had to believe Ernest was as in love with her as she was with him. Any other conclusion she came to would be sure to send her spiralling.

Just then, she heard the noise of feet shuffling past her door, followed by indistinct chatter and a quiet, singular cough.

Amelia froze in her tracks. She knew that cough. She had heard it at the scariest moment of her life, and it had remained with her ever since.

She wondered what to do. Ernest had warned her against what she wanted to do, but she found out she didn’t quite feel like listening to his order. She wanted very much to confront the woman who had made her life a living hell.

She took in a deep breath. She did not think she could wait any longer.

Reaching for the doorknob, she opened the door and slipped out of the room. She followed the direction of the footsteps she’d heard, and was not surprised to find Mary just exiting a room down the corridor.

“Mary,” she said.

Mary merely blinked. Amelia realised what was happening. The real Lady Gillingham was back, and Mary did not owe Amelia any allegiance anymore. The old maid had retaken her spot as Christiana’s maid.

“Mary,” Amelia said again. “I wish to see Christiana.”