Page 71 of A Necessary Wife

A footman offered to take her cloak and she removed it, glad for the mundane task. Anything that would settle her nerves before sitting near Chatham again.

Yet when she turned, he was beyond her reach. Chatham was offering a seat to Lady Ashcroft, and then he sat himself between their two children.

Chatham did not glance in her direction, and she felt the sting of a rebuff she’d never expected would hurt so much. The only available chair for Amelia was on the opposite side of the table, beside the duchess.

She composed herself as best she could and smiled through the duchess’ polite greeting.

“Did I see you out walking earlier?”

“Yes, indeed. The gardens here are so soothing in the early hours.”

“I feel that way too, but I sometimes have difficulty slipping away. There is always someone wanting my attention,” the duchess whispered.

Amelia sympathized. She fell silent as a footman offered tea and started presenting plates of food for her to choose from. When she had made her selections, the duchess was engaged in conversation with the duke, and Amelia dared not interrupt them.

She paid attention to her breakfast but found she did not have much of an appetite anymore.

Adam, sitting opposite, had taken two of everything the footman offered and was currently holding a small meat pie in one hand. Amelia laughed softly at his expression when he took a savage bite. Milo was too engaged in conversation with Lady Ashcroft to notice his son’s enjoyment.

Amelia picked at some ham, nibbled some toasted bread while she sipped her tea, but everything made her feel a little queasy by the end. She finally pushed her plate away, puzzled by her lack of appetite that morning.

When Chatham finally looked across the table at her, the air between them shifted, turning immediately warm, charged, frighteningly intimate.

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?”