He brightened instantly.
“Perhaps you will find something in the country that has more appeal.” He looked down upon Emily with an expression that begged her to open her mind to the possibilities that she had previously refused to consider. “I will not deny that I have long wished for your return.”
Ever so gently, he took her packages and placed her opposite hand into the crook of his elbow. His eyes strayed to Anne and Eliza who were hovering a short distance away, having completed their own purchases.
“Allow me to escort you ladies wherever you are bound.”
“But you did not get your sweets, Your Grace,” Eliza said.
“On the contrary,” he said smiling down at Emily.
“Your Grace…” Emily began but could not know how to express what she was feeling.
Any chill that she had felt prior was gone even as they stepped out into the cold street. With the duke beside her, it was as if a flame had lit beneath her skin and the winter air had begun to stifle. Emily wanted to speak of her emotions, and yet, at the same time it was terrifying. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. It was one thing to care for him in her mind and quite another to say it aloud. Perhaps another day would be a better time for it.
“I do hope to see more of you during your stay,” the duke continued as they walked back towards the carriage. A slight pressure on her hand was the only difference from what had previously been an ordinary conversation. “There are pleasures in the country, as well as the city,” he said, his voice low and deep.
She was unable to answer him. Was he wondering if she would be happier here, in Northwick, or at Bramblewood, with him? The thought suffused her with heat.
“Tomorrow,” the duke said in an abrupt whisper before they parted. “Might I call upon you, tomorrow?”
Emily nodded and offered a small smile before he hurried away, nodding to the Albright ladies as they passed. She felt as if she might burst with excitement.
“Well, about time!” Anne covered her mouth with her hand and then said more softly, “I thought it would never happen.”
The others were coming into view. Susanna’s features were alight with the merriment of the season, but Emily took no notice of her friends as Eliza waved to her mother and sister across the way. They were soon joined by Aunt Agnes, Lady Aldbrick and the other girls, all chattering about the ribbons and lace they purchased for their Christmas dresses.
“Shall we get something warm to drink before we head home?” Aunt Agnes asked, but Emily was warmed through already. The duke had asked to call upon her. He had called her sweet. She felt rather gooey inside, as if she were made of melted chocolate.
18
The morning crept by at a cumbersome pace while Emily and Aunt Agnes tried to teach Cousin Caroline how to make a Christmas sampler. Her needlework was crooked and knotted which precipitated much picking of stitches which was doubly tedious as they were pulled too tight as beginners might do.
“Caroline has always been awful at needlepoint,” Claire offered while Emily tried to help the younger girl. “Mother says…” Claire stopped suddenly with the remembrance that their mother was gone. Her breath hitched and her lower lip trembled.
Aunt Agnes embraced the older girl which left Emily to help Caroline. Emily remembered when her mother had taught her to sew. She was very young; much younger than Claire and Caroline.
She couldn’t even remember it properly, but she remembered practicing buttons, attaching them quite permanently to a spare piece of cloth. Quite a lot of buttons, she was sure were purchased expressly for her distraction.
The thread was doubled so that she did not misplace the needle with clumsy childish fingers and she had made a heap of tangled thread, but that was the way of young children. They made a mess. That was how they learned.
Emily did not think that long ago button sewing elicited a more tangled mass of thread than Caroline’s excuse for needlepoint. Eventually, she decided there was no help for it. She cut loose a particularly tight knot on Claire’s sewing, and pulled out what could not be saved. Had she ever been this horrible at the craft Emily wondered?
“I hate sewing,” Caroline said with a sigh as she watched Emily trying to save at least part of the pattern.
“You will get better at it with practice,” Emily promised.
“No, I won’t. I would much rather be riding,” Caroline confessed.
Emily had often felt the same. Truthfully, she still often wished she was with her brother out of doors, but she only said, “There is a great accomplishment in finishing a project.”
Caroline sighed and tossed back her braids. She obviously did not believe her elder cousin.
It was nearly noon when the duke came to call. A thrill soared through Emily as he entered the room.
“Look who I found,” Edmund announced coming into the sitting room with the duke by his side.
Emily stood. “Your Grace,” she said as she curtseyed and the younger girls awkwardly followed suit.
“Miss Ingram. Ladies.” He bowed to Aunt Agnes and the girls. Caroline giggled, but Claire was very serious.
The duke turned back to Emily. “The true purpose of my call was to see if you might be willing to accompany me for a ride?”
“Ride with you?” she gasped. She cursed the breathiness of her voice. It was not so shocking. She and Alexander had used to ride together quite often. Yet, this felt different. It was intentional and their age made it seem most romantic.
He had said he wanted to call upon her. She had not quite credited it. She supposed they would sit under Aunt Agnes watchful eye, but riding, riding would allow them time to talk.
“Yes,” he laughed. “Unless your schedule is full.”
“Can I come?” Caroline piped up.
“May I,” Aunt Agnes corrected, “and the answer is no.”
The girl went into a pout.
“No,” Emily stammered in answer to the duke’s question of her full schedule. “What I mean is, no, it is not full. I will ride with you.”
“I will see the horses saddled,” Edmund said while Emily returned to her room to don her winter habit. Each day grew colder than the last and she did not wish to catch a chill before all of the best activities.
She pinched her cheeks for color and then chastised herself for doing so. Firstly, they would be reddened by the wind soon enough. Secondly, she had no reason to care how she looked in the presence of the duke. It was not as if she meant to encourage his suit, did she? This was Alexander. Alexander all grown up who made her insides turn to liquid heat.
She returned downstairs to find the duke praising young Caroline’s choice of color in her sampler. The truth was, there was not much else to praise, but the thought was a sweet one. She paused a moment in the doorway to consider him. He did, at moments like this, seem to be the old Alexander; the friend she had known.
He saw her in the doorway and straightened. “Shall we go?” he asked, offering her his arm.
“I need not tell you to be back before teatime, do I?” Aunt Agnes said.
“We will be back soon, Auntie.” Emily promised.
Emily stepped out into the brisk air and thought her fashionable London riding hat did little to protect her from the chill and she knew her cheeks would redden in a moment. Still, it did not matter. She looked down to hide the flustered expression that the duke seemed so skilled at drawing forth whether she willed it or no. Once they were sheltered by the trees the wind would not be so biting.
The stable boy held both leads and was a far cry too young to hand her up. Edmund had already mounted and was some distance away walking his horse at an ambling pace. She looked around and told the boy to lead her mount to the mounting block. Where was Gerald? She wondered.
“Belay that,” the duke said, and the stable boy hesitated uncertain. She was a guest in the house, but the duke was the duke.
She raised an eyebrow. “What are you about?”
But his meaning wa
s clear. There was only the duke to do the job of seating her on her mount. Drat, she thought as a little thrill raced through her.
“Are you ready?” he asked as he stepped close.
“As I shall ever be,” she replied with a tensing of her shoulders.
He looked crestfallen at her response. “We do not have to ride, if you do not wish it,” he whispered for her ears only.
She blushed. Of course, she wanted to ride with him and moreso, she wanted him to hand her up, but that very desire was where the problem lay.
“Do not be silly,” she said, not meeting his eye.
The stable boy hovered, holding the horses, still uncertain.
“Come along you two,” Edmund called, and Emily had to smile.
Emily knew she ought not to feel such pangs and fluttering around a gentleman who could very well be a rake and philanderer like his father.
Could such things be passed from father to son? She wondered how many a lady had fallen, or would fall, prey to his charms. If not his charms, then his title. This power that he possessed over her should have her falling in to his arms or send her running back to the manor and to lock the door firmly between them.
Robert Hawthorne would never dare to make her feel so out of control. He was steady, and she felt steady beside him. This… this was something different: a nervous anticipation like a horse that stamped its hoof as it prepared for the run. It made her feel altogether off balance.
The air fairly crackled between them like a storm brewing, and when she brought her eyes to his deep blue gaze, she could not look away. She wanted his hands on her.
Why shouldn’t I? She thought with a firm set of her jaw. We are friends; are we not? I should have no reason to decline. So long as the gossips did not paint her in a sour light, one of what must be his many exploits, but no one was here except Uncle Cecil’s stable lads and Edmund waiting impatiently on his own mount.
“Are you going to take all day?” Edmund called.
Emily gave the duke a nod. She placed her gloved hand in his out stretched palm and then upon his shoulders as he lifted her. Those shoulders were so impossibly broad. A thrill shot through her as he put his hands upon her waist and lifted her into the saddle.
His hands nearly spanned her waist, she thought with wonder. He lifted her so easily. Propriety told her to look away, to turn her head in modesty during the contact, but she could not. Rather, their eyes held and her breath caught. She imagined she could feel his hands on her skin through his gloves and her riding attire. It was ridiculous, of course, but when he had seated her in her side saddle and took his hands from her waist, she felt the loss.
The duke handed her the reins, and turned to take his own mount.
When Emily was secure, she turned her mount and herself away from the duke’s heated eyes. She did not need him trying to read her, as he used to do. She was afraid at what he might find. She did not want to look too closely herself.
Robert Hawthorne she repeated in her mind, but the words fell flat. There was nothing that flared her interest about the gentleman, especially not when she was seated a mere arm’s length away from someone who did possess the ability to rouse her blood.
They rode on in companionable silence. Emily looked about and soaked up the wonderment of the countryside. She would miss this when she returned to London, and all the more if she were to be restricted from this beautiful land in due time. It was, very likely, her last visit, especially if she married Hawthorne. The thought filled her with sudden dread.
“There is a patch of winter berries up ahead,” the duke said.
“Only holly berries, not blueberries,” she said.
“That is true,” he said. “You would have to be here in summer or at least autumn to pick blueberries.”
“I no longer pluck them from the bush,” she said.
“Could you not be persuaded?” he asked.
“Absolutely not,” she teased.
“I shall remember,” he said with a curt nod. “Then I shall have to pick them myself and feed them to you one by one, dipped in cream, while you sit at your leisure.”
The image he conjured in her mind filled her with heat. He was flirting with her. The smug grin and way he glanced over his shoulder as he nudged his horse ahead to the location told her so.
“I shan’t,” she replied as she flew past him and Edmund as well. She knew these paths well. She urged her mount into a canter, and headed for the path which ran through the upper road. She knew that juniper and holly grew there.
Perhaps even some rowan if it had not been picked to make jelly earlier in the year, although she was not sure there were any sweet berries left. In any case, it felt wonderful to ride free, the wind in her face.
“You have not forgotten our Bramblewood,” the duke called as he caught up with her. As they reached the top of the hill, they brought their horses back to a walk. They rode for a while side by side.
“Of course not,” she agreed.
Edmund caught them up, but held back allowing them some privacy as if they were a courting couple.
As they wound down the path into the valley, they spoke of her time at finishing school, and his plans for Bramblewood in the coming spring; all safe topics. Conversation meandered on to some of their daring escapades as children.
She allowed herself a covert glance when he was not looking, and she could not help but think how attractive his form was. He had grown into a fine man, and it was very likely that he knew it. She smiled to herself at the curl of his hair that left a small bit of his boyish appeal in the grown man.
How many a lady would fall for that appeal? She could not forget the feeling of his hands on her waist and the decadent image he had conjured of him feeding her berries and cream.
They had eaten berries and cream many times as children. They had made quite a mess of themselves. The thought of such things should not put a flush to her face, and yet it did.
As they recounted old tales, at one feat of daring, the duke admitted, “I was in awe of you.” He looked at her with those passion-dark eyes. “I am in awe of you still,” he admitted softly.
She knew they were near to where the berry patch used to be, and she suddenly felt confused and hot. She urged her horse into a canter. “I shall race you,” she called over her shoulder. It was but a short run up the hill, and since she surprised the duke, she reached it first. They both left poor Edmund in the dust.
Emily dismounted with a leap before the duke could offer to hand her down. The last thing that her nerves needed in this moment was for him to touch her again. If he touched her, she would fall into his arms. She realized that she had never felt this way.
A number of times, various suitors had tried to maneuver her into walking alone along garden paths or leaving the ballroom for a breath of air. They had never moved her. She had never been tempted, before now. She knew the heat between them would not be denied. If she allowed him a single touch, she would go up in flames.
If she focused solely on the berries then she might not have to look at him. When Alexander reached her, she pretended to be busy searching.
“I think we are too late,” the duke said. “Birds have eaten them all leaving us bereft.”
Was he bereft as she was? Emily thought. She searched frantically for a safe subject.
In polite conversation, she would ask of one’s family, but that was a loaded topic considering his father. She asked after his butler, Mr. Barnes, of whom she had always had a fondness. She had not noticed the man at the dinner party. Another had greeted them.
“I have promoted Barnes to be my steward,” he said.
“And the previous steward?” she asked.
“Retired,” he said. “He was more my father’s man.” The implications were clear there. He was my father’s man; not mine. Still, she could not quite relax. She chattered on inanely sounding like the ninnies in town that she had despised. She had never had trouble holding a conversation, and yet somehow,
she could not keep the dialogue light. They stumbled upon innuendo and each innocent brush set fire between them.
There was a purpose in the duke’s every move and her own feelings were like kindling to each smoldering look. This ride was a mistake, she thought. This was dangerous; and where was Edmund? He was not taking his chaperoning duties seriously.
Emily told herself that she must focus on more important things, like Robert. She could not even picture his face. She saw only Alexander.
“I fear there are no berries,” she said inanely.
The duke murmured something soothing, but she was too on edge to hear the words. With gentle fingers he reached forward and tucked a stray lock behind her ear. She wanted to lean into his fingers but stood frozen and trembling. Then, as he had used to when she was a girl, he folded a sprig of holly berries into her tresses.
“You found some,” she said amazed.
“There,” he whispered, just as he had done so long ago. “Queen of the Yule.”
A dozen times when he had murmured similar words raced through her memory: Queen of the fairies, Queen of the May…mermaids…Lady of the Lake. She forgot to breathe.
He looked down upon her, his eyes searching her face for some answer that she refused to give, and she felt in the pit of her stomach that if she encouraged him in the least, he would kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her. She was trembled with the desire.
He brushed a gloved finger against her cheek. Then abruptly, he lifted the glove to his mouth and used his teeth to pull the offending fabric from his hand, dropping it on the ground. Again, he touched her cheek. His fingers were hot against her skin. She leaned into them as if they were the only warmth in the world.
“You are shivering,” he murmured as he ran his fingers from her cheek to her ears “And your ears are red with cold.” He pulled off the other glove and cupped his hands around her ears.
It was an oddly sensual feeling, the world held at bay while he cupped her ears, warming them with his hands. The rush of her own heartbeat was amplified, pounding in her ears and in his hands. She looked up at him and there was so much emotion in his eyes. She did not know how to read it: desire, need and uncertainty.
The Duke's Winter Promise: A Christmas Regency Romance Page 14
