Page 13 of Her Temporary Duke (Rakes and Roses #2)
His thoughts had begun to slide, soft around the edges. The brandy coiled warm and treacherous in his veins, turning sharp doubts into vague impressions and truths into something blurrier.
“I should prefer you to serve me,” he muttered, almost slurring the words as he leaned lazily in his chair.
Lady Prescott gasped, and her daughters tittered behind their hands.
“I will be happy to. When you’ve eaten something,” she replied with maddening poise, turning to the hovering maid with a sunny, “Could we have the first course, dear girl?”
The maid curtsied, wide-eyed with relief, casting anxious glances toward Seth as though unsure whether to flee or fetch the soup. It stung, more than he’d expected.
He squinted at the table. “The place settings are only half out…”
“Appropriate,” Amelia said, dimpling sweetly. “As you are only half sober.”
Her words should have stung, too, but instead they landed like a challenge—warm, teasing, and uncomfortably intoxicating.
Seth laughed, the sound rougher than it should have been. “You are not nearly as prim as you pretend to be, dearest.”
“No,” she said lightly. “And you are not nearly as drunk as you pretend to be.”
For a moment, he just looked at her. The brandy blurred the edges of the room, but she was clear as crystal—eyes too bright, mouth too quick, spine straight despite everything.
There was something… arresting about her.
Not just her beauty—he’d always known she was beautiful. But the spark. The confidence.
Had she always been like this?
He wasn’t sure. But for the first time, he found himself wondering—not what it would cost to marry her, but what it might cost him not to.
“True enough,” he coughed at last, after realizing he had been gawking at her like a bumbling youth. “I must apologize. I dislike hosting, and this is how I prepare myself for the onerous task.”
“You were not required to invite us, Your Grace,” one of the daughters whispered, only to be hushed by her mother.
“Ah, but I was. By virtue, if it can be called that, of being betrothed to your cousin, Miss Francis, or are you… Claire? I cannot remember for the life of me!” he forced a laugh, hoping to seem obnoxious.
“Is it so difficult to remember the names of the women you meet?” Amelia asked, sipping her sherry, “Are there so many?”
“Very many,” Seth chuckled with what he hoped was an ugly grin.
“As I have already mentioned, I intend to correct that,” Amelia replied primly.
“And if I do not wish to be corrected?”
“Then I shall be governess as well as wife and complete the education you should have received as a boy,” she declared with a challenging smile.
At that moment, Perkins returned, carrying plates of soup.
She managed to serve them all without spillage.
Seth found himself holding back the urge to shout at her under Amelia’s watchful eye.
Nothing seemed to faze the woman he was betrothed to, nothing caused her to lose control. He felt his plan coming undone.
As the meal progressed, he settled into a glowering silence, eating little and serving himself more brandy.
Perkins did a fine job for the rest of the evening, seeming to take heart from Amelia’s kind smile and encouragement.
A small kernel of satisfaction came from the look of disapproval Seth noticed from Amelia’s aunt.
She is at least coming around to the idea that I am not husband material. The evening was not a total washout.
He took his leave at dessert, striding from the room and slopping brandy from his glass. He congratulated himself on his ingenuity but did not feel satisfied. Amelia was a finer actor than he, refusing to allow her contempt to show. But it must be there, lurking below the surface.
For some bizarre reason, the thought of being actively disliked by Amelia did not please him, though it was what he needed and had sought out.
He walked out of the house, through the kitchen, and into the stable yard.
Outside, he hurled his glass away to smash it against the wall.
Looking around at the familiar sight of the house, he felt an overwhelming urge to escape these asphyxiating walls.
The same urge that had been there since he was a boy.
Get away. Far away. Find your freedom .
He turned away, unable to bear the sight of it any longer, and ran his hands through his long hair.
And was deluged in cold water.
“ Christ !”
Seth cried out in alarm, leaping almost out of his skin.
He whirled just in time to see Amelia putting down an empty bucket and struggling to lift a full one that stood at her feet.
Before Seth’s brandy-addled reactions could kick in, she tossed it into his face, too. The icy water took his breath away.
He gasped and spluttered. Then he lost his footing as he staggered on the wet cobbles and sat down heavily.
Amelia stood over him, hands on hips.
“That is the least you deserve for your behavior today, Your Grace,” she uttered angrily, “my family and I are going to retire for the evening and, in the morning, shall look to return home. I suggest that you sober yourself.”