His gaze swept over her slowly, lingering on her mouth, her breasts, and she felt the memory of him touching her all the way down to her toes. For one dizzy, reckless moment, Amelia considered throwing herself across the table right then and there, in full view of everyone, just to feel his hands on her skin again.

  But then his gaze dropped and he shook his head reminding her that the children were present. And the duke and duchess, too.

  Lady Ashcroft seized the moment to draw Chatham’s attention back to her. Everyone else ignored her rival’s rather obvious attempt to monopolize her husband’s attention.

  Amelia was a sensible woman, always knew she would have to wait for her turn, and yet…she wasn’t feeling sensible at all that morning. She was feeling selfish.

  Chatham should be looking at her. His wife. The woman he’d chosen to marry.

  She folded her hands in her lap as a servant offered her more food, which she refused. She was too busy trying to quiet the pounding of her heart. She craved her husband’s attention more than anything in the world.

  The thought was appalling.

  “Lady Chatham,” the duke said suddenly. “Is everything all right?”

  His gaze cut to his son.

  “Of course, Your Grace,” she answered calmly.

  But she was not truly. She was changing, evolving into a wanton creature she’d never imagined she could become. One glance from Chatham and her thoughts were to get him alone. One touch from of his hands and she’d do anything to keep them there.

  She had never felt this way before.

  She glanced around the table and her gaze landed on the duchess, the only friend she might have in the room. While she might wish for someone to talk to about marriage and desire, she could not trust the duchess to keep her conversation private until she knew her better. No matter what the duchess might promise, there was always a risk that her words would be repeated to the duke, or her husband. And that would be mortifying.

  Lady Ashcroft was watching her again, too. The brief pause in her fawning over Chatham made Amelia nauseous.

  She should not care if another woman wanted to capture his attention. And yet, she did mind it a great deal. She pressed her hands to her belly as her stomach churned uneasily with dread and something even more unpleasant.

  She was not jealous.

  She couldn’t be.

  The duke leaned forward again, frowning at her. “Lady Chatham, are you sure you’re well?”

  Her breath caught as Lady Ashcroft fluttered her lashes at Chatham. Amelia was not unwell, but she might cast up her accounts at any moment if the woman continued playing with her neckline to draw Chatham’s eyes to her larger bosom.

  She might also want to scratch out her eyes soon.

  She wet her lips. “I am perfectly well I assure you.”

  Chatham glanced her way at last, frowning, and she lowered her gaze immediately as her cheeks warmed with a blush. She hated drawing attention to herself in front of others. She had spent her life since the scandal trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

  Today she was failing.

  A servant took her plate, but she kept her teacup. Toying with it as she wondered about her earlier queasiness and lack of appetite this morning. There were reasons for queasiness besides jealousy.

  Her heart lurched in hope at the idea of what could ail her. She highly doubted she could be increasing already, and yet, she had to wonder. And wonder led to hope and unbearable excitement.

  They had made love frequently since the day they wed. Amelia had only had a few weeks to imagine motherhood and a pregnancy. She glanced across the table discreetly and exhaled. She admired her husband more and more. He had truly dedicated himself to the task of fathering her first child.

  She caught his gaze and smiled at him. She was truly satisfied with the marriage she’d made with Chatham…unless Lady Ashcroft happened to be flirting with him.

  If she was pregnant with his child, they would truly be a family.

  She would have the love she’d always dreamed of.

  Chatham would give her everything her heart desired one day soon.

  He looked away and suddenly laughed at something Lady Ashcroft told him.

  Amelia frowned down at her cup, troubled by their long friendship. She remembered all too well the deception played against her by her own sister, flirting with her beau Norris. But with the benefit of distance and time, she hardly felt the sting anymore. She had fallen in love with Norris slowly, seeing him in secret, and not seeing what else he was doing. And now…

  She raised her gaze to look at Chatham and Lady Ashcroft talking together, and dread filled her that he might leave her for the woman one day. But how could Chatham betray her when he was so passionate when they were alone?

  Attraction and commitment were not the same thing, though. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.

  The first time, she’d been foolishly unprepared for the betrayal. But this is how it started. Little flirtations, shared laughter and a closeness mistaken for harmless friendship…then came the hardest fall of all.

  Love hurts when it isn’t returned.

  She turned her attention to Lucy and Adam across the table. Her children were all she needed to love. Lucy would like her one day. She was sure of that. Adam liked her already.

  And Chatham? He depended on her. He had completely changed her life.

  “We shall have a very busy morning,” the duchess said abruptly, oblivious to the longing that filled her. “A few of the guests will be leaving soon. But the house will remain quite full, and of course, Lady Ashcroft will remain as our guest.”

  “Yes, of course,” Chatham replied, though his gaze flickered toward Amelia, then Lady Ashcroft, again and again, as though he had started to compare them.

  Her belly flipped alarmingly, feeling as if each glance diminished her importance to him. What was he thinking? What was he feeling?

  She couldn’t ask. He did not want to feel anything for her.

  The butler entered with a small stack of letters on a silver tray.

  “For the duchess, and this one is for Lady Chatham.”

  Brown handed it over with a stately nod. “My lady.”

  “Thank you, Brown.” Amelia blinked at receiving another letter from her sister.

  Since the duchess opened her letter, Amelia felt obliged to open her sister’s.

  But the words made her stomach twist.

  “I cannot believe you ignored my letter. Everyone is writing to me about your scandalous behavior there at Stapleton. I do not condone what you have done. I cry for the example you set for those poor children. You make your poor husband suffer out of spite and jealousy. You are too cold and calculating to love the earl and it is no wonder he looks elsewhere already. I rue the day I ever loved you.”

  The only person Caroline had ever loved was herself and yet Amelia’s finger trembled at the injustice of Caroline’s accusations, when she had done so much worse in her acquisition of a husband. If she was alone, she would tear up that letter and burn it to dust.

  She folded the letter carefully so no one would see the vile contents and slipped it under the edge of her plate. But she must have given herself away. When she looked up, everyone was watching her.

  Chatham tapped his finger on the table. “More of the same?”

  “Not this time,” she lied, and smiled at everyone.

  Yet her heart was beating too fast to remain still. The cruel ink on the page pressed against the fears she’d carried for so long. When Chatham turned to answer Lady Ashcroft’s invitation to go riding with her, she felt his prolonged consideration of the question like a stab through the heart. “Yes, why not. The children can stay with my wife.”

  Amelia had always expected betrayal.

  Lucy cleared her throat. “Papa, can’t I go riding with you and Lady Ashcroft?”

  “Not today,” Chatham said.

  Amelia nearly cried over the child’s disappointment. She craved the attention of her father, just as Amelia did

  “Darling girl, you know I’d take you anywhere,” Lady Ashcroft crooned, bending her head toward Lucy as if she’d been waiting for a moment to mother her. “We will go together another day.”

  Lucy threw a cutting glance in Amelia’s direction, as if the decision was her fault.

  Lady Ashcroft raised a brow and smirked, superior and insufferably smug about riding out alone with Chatham. She reached out and brushed her hand possessively over Lucy’s hair.

  Amelia disliked the way the woman fawned over her daughter. It smacked as disingenuous when her eyes devoured Chatham over Lucy’s head.

  Chatham was hers, not Lady Ashcroft’s.

  She stilled as the possessive thought took root.

  Her stomach fluttered, like a traitorous and foolish bird, caught in a trap of her own making. She craved Chatham’s complete attention. The delicious thrill when his fingers tightened protectively around her elbow as they climbed the stairs together heading for their bedchamber. How he would look at her in that direct manner of his, and not as a stranger or a duty he must suffer—but as someone he wanted to be with.

  She wanted him to crave her, too.

  Yet, he promised he never would.

  And worse—far worse—was the echo of his words in the garden.

  With you, I feel…too much.

  You make me forget myself.

  Chatham spoke of his need to always control his emotions, his desires, and today, during their interlude in the greenhouse, he had lost control once more.

  Amelia could not control her passions or even begin try to. They were honest feelings she had for the man she’d married. They rang through her like a bell tolling for the beginning of something important, but fragile and precious.

  She pressed a trembling hand to her chest.

  She had known, of course. Known from the moment she’d accepted Chatham’s proposal; from the moment she’d placed her hand in his so confidently, where the danger would lie. Strived to fit herself to his life without being a burden but protested being forgotten.

  She had quickly discovered Chatham was a man of great passion—even if he denied himself having those stronger feelings that drove hers.

  She had also known he would not offer love to her. Had told herself not to imagine he might.

  But hope was stubborn. Wily.

  Hope sometimes flourished in a barren garden.

  That hope was hers alone, and it bloomed in her heart until it threatened to overwhelm her now.

  Oh no.

  This was the beginning of the end.

  She was falling for her husband.

  Had fallen.

  And that terrified her far more than the duke’s scowl or Lucy’s disdain or any romantic rival’s smirk.

  She needed air.

  Amelia burst to her feet. “There is something that needs my attention upstairs,” she explained, voice unsteady. “Do excuse me, Your Graces?”

  “Yes, of course,” the duchess murmured, with a kind smile.

  The duke nodded and said nothing.

  Chatham too did not inquire what could be so urgent upstairs and remained in his seat, silent and watchful. She paused a moment, hoping he might ask to come with her.

  He noticed her watching him. “I will remain here with the children instead.”

  Amelia felt her cheeks heating at the subtle dismissal. She had no other choice but to leave the room alone.

  She lifted her chin and did not let her step falter until she was out of the doors. When the footmen closed them behind her, she exhaled a shaky breath.

  “Milo,” she whispered, as though saying his name aloud might somehow summon him.

  It did not.

  She shook her head, recovering her ability to breathe in the process, and considered where to go so that Chatham could not find her until she had adjusted to the troubling discovery that she loved him.

  This was no idle fancy.

  It was a disaster.

  “My, my, aren’t you a pretty sight this morning,” someone drawled. “A blush always suits a lady.”

  Amelia glanced around, revolted to discover Mr. Dunstan leering at her again.

  She inclined her head. “Excuse me, sir.”

  “Where are you going? What say you and I take a stroll and continue our conversation?” he suggested, his smile indicating a stroll was the least he had on his mind.

  “I have an urgent matter to attend to,” she told him.

  “With me. Absolutely urgent and highly satisfying.”

  Amelia gaped at his audacity, then recovered. “Definitely not with you. You have a wife.”

  “My wife sleeps like the dead and doesn’t rise until midday.” The bounder planted his hand on the wall beside her head, trapping her there and blocking her escape up the stairs. “There’s no need to act so coy, but I grow tired of waiting for an invitation. You won’t find a better man here.”

  “I’m not looking for a better man,” she said, straightening her shoulders. It had already been made clear that this man might have engaged in an affair with her predecessor. She wouldn’t be so foolish. Dunstan was a hound, a man without morals or scruples. “I already have the best.”

  “Wife,” Chatham murmured, and she turned to see her husband looking anything but pleased by the situation she was in. He passed over the letter that she’d foolishly left behind, but his eyes never left Dunstan. “You forgot this.”

  Amelia ducked under Dunstan’s arm and rushed to his side to collect her letter. “Thank you.”

  “You were going upstairs, I believe.”

  “I am.”

  “Go now,” he suggested. “Dunstan and I have things to discuss.

  Amelia took that as her cue to leave and fled up the stairs, head held high until she heard a loud grunt followed by another. She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder afraid her husband and Dunstan had come to blows over her.

  Amelia risked a glance over the railing but found the pair gone.

  She was disappointed Chatham had gone and returned to her room slowly, pondering her suspicions. It meant something that he might have defended her honor with his fists.

  She loved Chatham but her marriage was an endless confusion to her senses. She wanted a husband who would protect her honor from scoundrels like Dunstan. Someone who would wrap her in his arms, hold her tight, and keep her doubts at bay. Someone who never had to say she was important to them because their actions proved she was uppermost in their mind. Perhaps she was being selfish, but she’d only felt that way once, and it was brief. Never to return.

  Chatham never wanted to care about her that way.

  She let herself into their room and pressed her back against the door. She was in an impossible situation. But perhaps her feelings would go away if there was more distance between them.

  They had with her first love.

  Surely, if she tried hard enough, she could keep those feelings hidden from him.

  Of course, she wouldn’t abandon the promises she’d made to him when they had wed. Her vows were important to her. She would not betray Chatham for the world.

  She would not do that to someone she cared about.

  And she did care about him very much despite the bargain they’d made. Her breath caught again, accepting the truth that wouldn’t go away. She had developed deep feelings for her husband and they would only grow the longer they were together. The pain would be worse than she’d ever experienced before, too.

  She would have to distance herself from him—and the sooner the better.

  He was too perceptive not to notice, of course. So she had to find a way to make him believe her indifferent to love so she could keep to their bargain.

  Tell him she did not have to continue sharing the same room, the same bed, if she was with child already.

  She needed space, distance, and time.

  Although her belly roiled yet again. Intimacy only made her crave his attention more.

  Amelia closed her eyes, steadying herself at the thought of lying in bed longing for his arms about her at night. His breath ringing in her ears, telling she was no longer alone. “Oh. This is going to hurt.”

  She was about to break her own heart.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Milo hadn’t been able to concentrate on a single damned thing Phillipa said at breakfast, or that anyone else did for the rest of the morning.

  Every time he thought of Amelia, trapped by Dunstan, his blood boiled savagely. Amelia was his.

  He was jealous, possessive, two things he’d vowed never to be again with a wife. It was the only explanation for slamming Dunstan into a wall and threatening further violence on him if he so much as glanced at Amelia that way again.

  And when he considered the past few days, he knew it was not a new sensation.

  When Amelia entered a room, he sensed her before he saw her. Her light step, her gentle voice, the faint scent of rose water she favored always set him at ease. And each time she glanced his way, he lost the thread of whatever he was supposed to be talking about.

  That level of preoccupation went against everything their marriage was meant to be.

  It was infuriating for a man of his age and experience to be fumbling for words around others like some besotted fool. He had spent years taming his emotions, meeting the world and women with rigid detachment. Now, though, one soft sigh or word or smile from Amelia and his equilibrium was utterly shattered.

  Especially so when she was speaking with a male guest.

  He stalked through the manor, pretending to be going about tasks that did not require his attention. Anything to stop himself from seeking Amelia out again. To keep himself from thinking about the way she had felt against him in the greenhouse—or the far more dangerous desire in her eyes when he’d caught her hopeful gaze at breakfast.

  He could not forget the way she had looked at him directly after their aborted tryst, either, stunned and wary and…full of yearning.

  Milo knew that feeling well.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, unsettled and appalled at himself. He was getting far too involved with his wife when he’d meant to feel nothing but respect for her. And that respect had grown the more he learned about her difficulties in the past. He’d vowed not to be another, and yet, given how he felt right now, he doubted it was a promise he could easily keep anymore.