Page 42 of The Duchess’ Second Chance

“I thought you didn’t care that much for balls.” She looked around for her dressing gown. The sleeves of the dress were slipping down her shoulders, and she felt vulnerable and exposed. She couldn’t tell Sampson to leave.

No, that wasn’t right. He was the duke; this was his manor, but it was her bedroom. She could ask him to leave. She was sure he would respect such a request if she were to make it.

That wasn’t the problem.

She didn’t want him to leave.

His presence was too intriguing. She wanted to know what else he might say to her. She wanted the feeling of a pounding heart and blood rushing through her veins, and if he left, all that would be over.

And maybe he understood her dilemma, for he was now shrugging out of his coat. Was he undressing, too? Trying to make things more equal between them? What is happening?

And why didn’t she want it to stop?

He held the jacket out to her. For a moment, she didn’t understand, and then all at once she did. She accepted it and put it on. It covered her shoulders, and the structure of it held the gown in place so that it wouldn’t fall. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“You can return it to me at your convenience,” he told her. “No hurry.”

She nodded. “The…the dress did turn out well.”

“And it fits you?”

“When it isn’t untied it fits me very well indeed.”

She was surprised at her own ability to make a joke under the circumstances, and apparently, he was, too, for he let out a shocked laugh. “That’s funny,” he said. “Why hadn’t I realized until now how funny you can be?”

“Perhaps my wit is stronger when the stays of my dress are looser.”

“And bold as well. I must say, even if it hadn’t been for my promise to George, I would be tempted by a lady such as yourself.”

She could hardly breathe. What a thing to say while she was in this state!

And bringing up his promise to George again…but no, she couldn’t ask about it now. She was barely holding herself together. To make an accusation, to ask him whether he was concealing something…it would be more than she could handle at a time like this. That was a conversation for a moment when she felt fully in control of her faculties, and she had never felt farther from full control than she did at this moment.

He gave her a fraction of a smile. “Do you need assistance with anything else? Or should I be on my way so that you can finish changing out of that magnificent dress?”

She didn’t want him to go on his way. She’d have liked to ask him to stay. That was what she would have done if she had felt free to do so.

But there was something heinous and embarrassing about the very idea of it. She couldn’t ask him to stand here with her while her gown was on the verge of falling off. If what had happened so far had verged on inappropriate, to make such a request of a man would have been beyond the pale. She didn’t understand what was happening, but she knew that much. He’d never look at her in the same way again.

And so? Maybe I don’t want him to look at me in the same way. He said himself that he sees me differently, that he’s just realized that I can be funny…and that he might have been interested in me even if George had not been a part of the picture.

She swallowed hard. “I don’t need anything more,” she said. “I should change out of this before something happens to it.”

“Quite right.” He cleared his throat and stepped back, and suddenly Amanda thought that he seemed as uncomfortable as she had been the whole time—could that possibly be true? “I’ll be in my study, then, if…if anything should arise that you might require assistance with.”

I won’t need anything. And yet, for a moment, she entertained the delicious idea of going to the study once she was back in her everyday clothes. Sitting down opposite him, thanking him for his help, giving him her most charming smile, and…

And what?

She turned away and held her breath, unable to bear the intensity of this moment any longer. After a moment, she heard the sound of the door closing and knew that he had gone.

She ran over and threw the lock on the door, then pressed both hands against the wood to try to steady herself.

How had that just happened? How had she allowed a man—even if he was her husband—to undo her dress like that?

He’s not even a true husband. If we were in love with one another, things might be different, but it isn’t that way. He married me out of a sense of duty, nothing more. So why would he have wanted to do what he just did? What was the purpose?

The only thing Amanda could say with certainty was that she understood absolutely nothing about her life or the relationship in which she had found herself.