Amelia awoke with a start, her stomach rumbling in protest. She groaned, rolling onto her side—only to discover something strange.
Claude was touching her leg.
She blinked, dazed, as she eased her head upward. There, at the bottom of the bed, was Claude Everthorne—Duke, dark brooder, and seeming night-time calf masseur—kneeling over her, his fingers working her calf with unexpected tenderness.
Amelia simply stared for a moment.
"…What the hell are you doing?"
Claude, totally unruffled to be discovered, looked up at her with a maddeningly serene face. "You were in pain."
Amelia's sleep-fogged brain caught up a little late. "I was?"
His fingers pushed on a very tender area, and she gasped.
Claude nodded. "You were thrashing around half the night. I could see you were hurting."
Amelia had no more shocking idea—that he noticed, or that he cared enough to do something about it.
She glared. "Your 'solution' was to rub my leg in the middle of the night?"
Claude smiled. "Would you have liked me to let you suffer?
Amelia glared, but before she could even think of a comeback, her stomach emitted another loud, unmistakable growl.
Claude stiffened.
Amelia stiffened.
The sound rang out across the room like a death knell to her pride.
Claude's smirk spread into a full-blown grin. "Are you starving, Amelia?"
"No," she lied at once, tugging the blanket up as if that would somehow muffle her stomach.
Claude settled back, folding his arms over his chest, and grinned far too much for her comfort. "You're certain? Because you sound on the brink of death."
Amelia scoffed, folding her arms. "It's your fault. You had me stuck in here faking to be a doting wife. I hardly ate anything for dinner."
Claude arched an eyebrow. "You expect me to go and call the servants to bring you food?"
Amelia gave him a look. "I'd sooner starve than have to tell them why I, the Duchess of Everthorne, need a midnight snack like a sulky child who wouldn't eat her greens."
Claude pursed his lips in thought. "That does put you in a bit of a spot, doesn't it?"
She glared at him. "I hate you."
His smirk grew even more pronounced. "No, you don't."
Amelia was ready to protest, but another great grumble from her belly betrayed her once more. She sighed and finally gave in.
"Fine. We're going into the kitchen by stealth."
Claude blinked. "We?"
"Yes, we," Amelia declared firmly, tossing the blankets aside. "You're already awake, and I will not suffer alone.
Claude rolled his eyes. "And here I thought my nights of sneaking around were over."
Amelia snorted. "Oh, please. I highly doubt this is your first secret rendezvous in the middle of the night."
Claude smiled. "Certainly my first involving bread rolls.
Amelia raised an eyebrow and kicked her legs over the side of the bed. As she stood up, a shooting pain ran through her hurt leg and caused her to stumble slightly.
Claude took hold of her without delay. His hands circled her waist naturally, supporting her before she could topple over.
Both of them were still for an instant.
Amelia's breath caught as she sensed the heat of his hands through the delicate material of her nightdress. His face was near—too near—his black eyes flashing with an unreadable something.
"I'm fine," she grumbled, stepping away hastily.
Claude watched her briefly, then let her go, smiling more teasingly than worriedly. "If you say so, *your grace*.
Amelia brushed aside the burning of her face and hobbled to the door. "Come on, before I really faint with hunger."
Claude laughed and followed.
---
The corridors of Everthorne Manor at night were silently empty, the candelabra-cast shadows creeping long and phantom-like against the walls. Amelia crept down the corridor, the tap of her cane against the marble floor echoing softly.
Claude, on the other hand, moved soundlessly beside her.
Amelia glared at him. "Why are you so quiet? It's unnatural."
Claude smirked. "Years of experience."
"Experience in what?"
He leaned in slightly. "Sneaking out of women's chambers undetected."
Amelia gasped, shoving his shoulder. "You absolute scoundrel."
Claude let out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying her reaction. "You did ask."
She huffed. "Remind me to poison your tea tomorrow."
They walked on through the halls, walking by several closed doors. When they were getting close to the main staircase, Amelia unexpectedly grabbed Claude's arm and yanked him into the closest alcove.
He hardly had time to do anything before a pair of servants walked by, engrossed in conversation.
Claude arched an eyebrow. "You do know we own this house, don't you? We don't have to sneak around."
Amelia shushed him. "Do you want the whole household gossiping about the Duke and Duchess sneaking around at night together?"
Claude thought about it, then nodded. "Good point."
After the servants had departed, they resumed their task.
By the time they arrived at the kitchens, Amelia was almost salivating at the prospect of fresh bread, cheese, and perhaps even a pasty left over.
Claude, the traditionalist (*when it suited him*), opened the door for her.
They entered, and Amelia set to work immediately, rummaging through the pantry with all the skill of someone who had obviously done it many times before.
Claude leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "You seem oddly comfortable raiding your own kitchen."
Amelia shot him a look. "You think this is the first time I've had to feed myself?"
His expression shifted slightly, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him before.
She ignored him and grabbed a loaf of bread, a small wheel of cheese, and—miraculously—some leftover cherry tarts.
Claude, seeming to feel helpful, opened a bottle of wine.
Amelia arched an eyebrow. "Alcohol? Seriously?"
He grinned. "If we're going to break the rules, we might as well *completely* go for it."
She rolled her eyes but grabbed a tart from the plate, taking a bite with an almost obscene degree of satisfaction.
Claude observed her, something dark and inscrutable flashing in his eyes.
Amelia licked a bit of cherry filling off her thumb and frowned. "What?"
He shook his head. "Nothing."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're staring."
Claude smirked. "You're adorable when you're eating."
Amelia nearly choked.
She grabbed a piece of bread and threw it at him.
Claude caught it effortlessly, laughing.
And for the first time in a very, very long while—Amelia laughed too.