“I should have gone with her,” Meg said.
James shook his head. “Mother had Miss Watson with her,” he said, referring to their mother’s lady’s companion. “And she was so apologetic that she allowed Mother to drink too much, I’m certain she will take good care of her.”
“Your carriage may not survive the trip home,” Meg mused, though her tone was anything but humorous.
“It can be cleaned if she casts up her accounts,” he said with another frown. “Are you all right?”
“She hasn’t made a scene in public like that in years,” Meg whispered. “Thank God Miss Liston was there. She helped me enormously.”
James nodded as he thought of Emma Liston. He’d seen her before at these things, though he had to admit she’d never caught his eye. He generally turned his attention toward showy women, ones who played along with the games of Society.
Miss Liston was a wallflower. He knew that about her. Her brown hair and her slender frame weren’t the kind of physical attributes he normally swung toward when he felt like flirting. But there had been one thing about her that had stood out. She had blue-green eyes. He’d never seen a color quite like them before. Lovely eyes.
“Is she the kind who would talk?” he asked, drawing his mind back to the matter at hand. “That little scene Mother created could easily gain a woman like that some interest if she chose to share it.”
Meg wrinkled her brow. “I don’t think so. I admit, I don’t know her very well, but there was nothing but kindness in the way she handled it. She even took the attention off Mother as we were moving through the crowd.”
James nodded slowly. “Then we owe her our thanks. But please don’t let Mother ruin your night, Meg. Go dance with Graham.”
Meg stiffened ever so slightly. “Northfield doesn’t care to dance, you know that.”
James frowned. “Then dance with Simon. He’s always up for a turn.”
Meg turned her face away a moment. “Very well, I shall see if Simon will dance. But only if you make me a promise.”
“What is that?” he asked, smiling at her. “You know it is almost impossible for me to refuse you.”
“Almost,” she repeated with a small smile of her own. “Will you dance with Emma?”
“Meg—” he began.
She lifted her eyebrow in accusation. “After what she just did to help us, you would refuse her? Honestly, James, it’s a dance. You know if you do it, her card will likely fill for the night. We owe her that, don’t we?”
He nodded slowly. “Very well, I shall dance with Miss Emma Liston. At the very least, it will give me a chance to determine if she will say anything about Mother’s…state tonight.”
Meg frowned as they two of them fell into step back toward the ballroom. “If you need an ulterior motive, then by all means, James.”
He caught her arm before she moved into the crowd to find Simon. “Save one for me, too, will you?”
The tightness in his sister’s face faded and she leaned up to kiss his cheek lightly. “Always.”
She turned away and moved into the crowd, leaving James standing at the edge of the room. He looked into the milling group of people, all dressed in their finery. Right now, after that scene with his mother, he wanted nothing more than to go home to his bed.
But he had a part to play and a promise to keep to his sister. So he stepped out into the crowd to find Emma Liston. He did so quickly enough. She was standing in the corner, at the wall, her face taut with emotion. He set his shoulders back as he made his way across the room toward her.
The closer he got, the more he paid attention to her. It wasn’t just her eyes that were pretty. She had a fine mouth, as well, with full lips. Lips that parted when she turned her head to find him coming toward her.
She straightened up as he reached her. “Y-Your Grace,” she stammered.
“Miss Liston,” he said with a nod of his head. “I wondered if you’d like to have a dance with me, if your card is not already full.”
She stiffened at that statement and a guard lifted between them. Her tone became cool as she said, “This dance is open, yes.”
He held out an arm and she hesitated slightly before she slid her slender hand into the crook of his elbow. He was surprised by the shock of awareness that crackled through him at the action. He felt every single one of her fingers against his body, smelled a faint scent of lilac from her hair, heard the swish of her skirt as it brushed his leg.
He blinked. He was on edge if he was noticing such things. He pushed them away and guided her to the dancefloor for the first waltz of the evening. Immediately, he felt dozens of pairs of eyes swing toward them and a ripple went through the crowd.
Miss Liston seemed to notice it, too, for she stumbled in the first step and he tightened his grip of her to keep her from falling.
She looked up apologetically. “I don’t often waltz,” she explained.
He ignored the statement as they turned through the crowd. “You were a great help with the…situation with my mother tonight,” he said softly.
Her lips parted again in surprise and he had a flash of a moment where he wondered what they would taste like. He shook his head again to clear his mind. Damn, but he was rattled by his mother’s actions.
“Everyone gets overheated from time to time at a ball,” Miss Liston said carefully. “I was happy to be of assistance. I hope she is feeling better.”
“She is going home,” he said. “And we both know she wasn’t merely overheated.”
She swallowed hard and looked up to meet his gaze. Once again he was struck by how stunning her eyes were. He didn’t think he’d ever seen such a combination of blue and green before.
“If anyone asked me,” she said slowly, “that would be what I would tell them. It is all I recall, at any rate.”
He wrinkled his brow at her reassurance, kindly made and somehow unexpected. “If you said something else, it might bring you a little renown.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Please don’t presume you know me well enough to believe I would trade renown for someone else’s reputation, Your Grace. I didn’t help your sister or your mother in order to gain something from the act. There is decency without price in this world. If you do not know that, I am sorry for you.”
James arched a brow at her heated response. When she was emotional, she was far more animated and a blush crept into her cheeks and down her neck, disappearing into the bust of her gown.
“I apologize, Miss Liston,” he said, inclining his head. “I did not mean to imply that you would be mercenary. Truly.”
Her expression softened a touch. “I’m sure there are some who might be. I’m simply not one of them.”
“Then we are lucky you were the friend my sister was with,” he said. “And once again, I thank you.”
“Your sister is lovely,” Miss Liston said, looking over his shoulder into the crowd of other dancers.
When he turned her, he saw that Meg was dancing with Simon. She was smiling and laughing, and his heart got lighter seeing it.
“She is, indeed,” he said. “She likes you.”
The music had begun to slow and Miss Liston looked up at him with wide eyes. “Does she? I cannot imagine why. We do not have anything in common.”
He laughed at her candor, even if he didn’t believe her words. “You are both clever. And clearly you are both kind. That is the foundation of many a friendship, Miss Liston.”
The music stopped and he bowed to her, then offered her a hand to escort her from the floor. When they reached the edge, he swept the cloak of his personality around him and said, “It was a great pleasure to dance with you, Miss Liston. I hope you will allow me the pleasure again.”
To his surprise, she didn’t titter as other women might have. Instead, she folded her arms across her chest like a shield and pressed those surprisingly full lips together until they were a tight line.
“Your Grace
, we both know this was a pity dance, thrown at me as some kind of reward for my help. And clearly it was also a way to determine if I would use whatever I saw tonight against you. Please don’t pretend it was something more. I understand the way the world works.”
He drew back. “You are direct.”
Panic flooded her face and she shifted with discomfort. “Well, a woman of my position must be practical and not allow herself to get swept away by foolish notions.”
“Like that I could have actually enjoyed dancing with you?” he asked with a slight smile. “It is so hard for you to believe.”
She shrugged. “I’m not exactly in your sphere, Your Grace.”
“Miss Liston, whether you believe it or not, I did truly enjoy my time with you,” he said, and was surprised to find he actually meant those words. Normally when he danced with ladies, he went through the motions, trying to be polite while he awaited escape. This dance had been different. Emma Liston was…interesting.
She bent her head. “Well, I…I…thank you. Now I should go find my mother. Good night, Your Grace.”
He inclined his head. “Good night, Emma.”
She stiffened at the use of her given name, but she didn’t correct him before she turned away and rushed off through the crowd, leaving James alone to watch her. And watch her he did, until she vanished into the crowd and left him entirely confused by their encounter.
Chapter Three
Emma stared at her plate with unseeing eyes. What did her rapidly cooling food matter when all she could do was relive her dance with the Duke of Abernathe again and again? Like a fool, she kept thinking of his strong arms around her, the warmth of his body as they spun around the floor, the focus of his dark stare as he spoke to her.
Of course, she’d ruined it all by being so damned direct with him.
“Emma!”
She jerked her head up to find her mother leaning across the table, eyes locked on her. Emma sighed. She knew that look. It was the marry, marry, marry look that made her mother so crazed sometimes.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Emma said. “I was woolgathering.”
Violet Liston smiled. “Daydreaming about the Duke of Abernathe? Oh, Emma, I cannot tell you how thrilled I am that you caught his attention.”
Emma pursed her lips before she muttered, “Really? I wasn’t aware when you mentioned it ten times last night and at least four this morning.”
“No need to be cheeky,” Mrs. Liston scolded. “The night was a smashing success. You haven’t had so much attention in years.”
Emma frowned, for she couldn’t deny her mother’s charge. After Abernathe had left her, she had been approached by several other gentlemen. Not of Abernathe’s stature, of course, but what her mother would call “viable options.” It had been a long time since her dance card had more than two names on it. Last night, she had ended up with five.
“It was just a few dances, Mama,” she said, pushing her plate away since she had no appetite.
“A few dances is the path to a marriage,” her mother insisted, fisting her napkin in her hand on the tabletop. Emma saw how white her knuckles were, and her frown deepened.
“Don’t buy my trousseau too soon, Mama,” she said gently. “I am still a spinster.”
Her mother turned her face as if that word were a curse. In this house, it sometimes felt like it was. “How can you be so cavalier, Emma,” she snapped. “You know our circumstances. Your father—”
“Is not here,” Emma interrupted. “And has not been here for six months.”
“But he always returns,” Mrs. Liston said, rising to her feet and pacing the dining room restlessly. “And when he does, he regularly brings a scandal with him. We’ve done well covering them up, keeping their glare off you, but there will come a point when I cannot protect you anymore. But if you are already safely married before his next…outburst, then it won’t matter. You must see how important that is, Emma.”
Emma closed her eyes and let out a long breath before she looked at her mother again. “I see how important you feel it is,” she whispered. “But Mama, what would happen if I simply remained an old maid?”
Mrs. Liston’s mouth twisted in horror and she stepped toward Emma. Her tone grew loud and wild as she cried, “Are you so naïve? The money we have cannot stretch forever.”
“Not in the lifestyle we maintain now, no,” Emma conceded. “But if we stopped focusing on my Seasons and took a smaller home in the countryside—”
Her mother folded her arms. “You do not care about me,” she interrupted, her lip trembling and her eyes welling with tears. “You don’t want to take care of me. You don’t care if I am humiliated.”
With that her mother rushed from the room, wailing all the way up the stairs. The sound faded away until there was a great slamming of Mrs. Liston’s chamber door. Emma placed her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands.
She was accustomed to these outbursts from her mother. Mrs. Liston had married the third son of an important family and they had a complicated relationship. When Harold Liston was around, Emma’s mother cooed and purred over him. He could do no wrong.
But when he left, Mrs. Liston suddenly recalled all his many faults. It had never been a secret that she had hoped to elevate herself with the match. But Emma’s father had long ago been cut off from his influential relatives. She and her mother were only on the fringes of good Society.
Emma had always accepted that fact. Her mother could not, and more and more over the years, she had pinned her hopes on Emma’s own future match. The longer Emma stayed unwed, the more frustrated her mother became.
It wasn’t that Emma never wanted to marry from the beginning. She’d had dreams of finding someone nice, someone who cared for her and who she could care for. But the truth of Society had crushed that out of her within her first Season.
Most men cared about what they could obtain from a match. Most women knew how to play the game better than she did. And so her spinsterhood had begun.
If it were just her, she could live with it. She would do exactly as she’d just suggested to her mother and move to a smaller home, stop investing in gowns and other frivolity and live out her life with books and a cat and a good friend or two to call on from time to time.
But the idea of a life lived with her mother haranguing her over her failure to make a good match was not a pleasant idea.
She stood up and paced to the fire. As she did so, her maid, Sally, entered the room. Emma faced her with a sigh. “Let me guess, my mother sent you to me with a message that I’ve broken her heart.”
Sally nodded with a tight smile. “Yes, miss.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Great God, it’s so predictable.”
“She only wants to see you settled, miss. Happy.”
Emma wasn’t certain that was exactly true, but she didn’t argue. “I suppose.”
“Is it true you danced with the Duke of Abernathe?” Sally asked.
Emma shook her head. Abernathe was so powerful, so charismatic, even the servants got a flutter to their voices when he was discussed. “I did. And a few others.”
She paused as she considered those words. Her mother had said something about the attention Emma had gotten thanks to Abernathe. And while Emma had dismissed it aloud, she couldn’t pretend that Mrs. Liston wasn’t right. What Abernathe wanted, paid attention to, became fashion. Clothes, drinks…women.
Was it possible she could leverage his temporary regard into a match of some kind?
Before she could ponder the idea much further, their butler, Kendall, entered the breakfast room. “Miss Liston, a missive for you.”
Emma crossed the room to take it. She turned it over and caught her breath. It was the seal of the House of Abernathe. Her hands shook a little as she broke it and unfolded the pages.
It was an invitation to a garden party in two days’ time and scrawled across the more formal page was a note from Meg. Ple
ase do come!
Emma drew in a long breath as the butler left the room. “How long will it take Kendall to report this to my mother?”
Sally laughed. “Three minutes,” she guessed. “And that’s only because he’s slow climbing the stairs.”
Emma stared at the looping, friendly message from Meg. Meg, who claimed to like her. And she shook her head.
“Well, then I suppose I’m going to a garden party,” she said.
“Excellent,” Sally said. “I’ll be sure you have a few gowns to pick from. And your mother will be pleased.”
Her maid slipped from the room and left Emma alone. She rubbed her eyes and sighed. “Oh yes, Mama will be over the moon.”
But as for herself, she was left with a restless feeling. One that had nothing to do with gardens or parties or Meg. One that had everything to do with Abernathe.
As Meg entered his office, James looked up from his pile of paperwork and smiled at her. When he saw her face, pale and pinched, his expression fell and he rose to his feet.
“What is it?” he asked.
Meg reached behind her, sliding his door shut before she leaned on it with a sigh. “My garden party starts in half an hour,” she said.
He nodded. “Yes?”
“And Mother is drunk. Again.”
He shut his eyes and shook his head. Anger rose up in his chest, but he tamped it down and instead looked at his sister. “I’m sorry, Meg.”
She let her head rest against the door a moment and he could see she was fighting frustrated tears. “She does well for months at a time and then she spirals into this. I know her life has not been happy, I know Father was…Father. He made it plain to all of us how much he despised us and wished we were those he truly loved. I want to have understanding for how broken that made her, but I am so incredibly frustrated by her behavior.”
James moved around the desk and came to fold his arms around her. He felt her go limp for a moment before she regained her strength. She looked up at him with a sad smile.
The Daring Duke Page 3
