Emma felt a fissure of jealousy at those words. She had grown up alone with a volatile father and a pushing, prodding mother. She’d often longed for a sibling to share her woes and her fun.
“It’s hard to picture Abernathe as a child,” she admitted. “He is such a…a man.”
The moment she said the words, she clapped a hand over her mouth and stared at Meg. But Meg didn’t seem to be offended by her overstep. In fact, she was laughing.
“He is a good pretender then,” she said when she’d regained her composure. “For sometimes I look at him and all I see is that same little boy who used to walk tightropes and play matador with the bulls in the paddock.”
Emma’s eyes went wide at that image. “So he was always a daredevil?”
Meg nodded. “There was never a wager he didn’t take. And somehow he always comes out unscathed.”
“Some people are golden,” Emma said with a shrug. “They never suffer.”
Meg’s laughter faded and her face became more serious. “Well, I wouldn’t say that,” she said softly.
There was something about her tone that made Emma cock her head in interest. The great Duke of Abernathe had suffered? The man who seemed to be able to do no wrong and led a gaggle of dukes? A gaggle seemed the best classification for a group of them.
It seemed unlikely. But then again, there was that hint of sadness in his eyes. The one she knew she wasn’t supposed to see.
“Your brother has been kind to me,” Emma admitted.
“Good,” Meg replied with a sly smile. “Then you’ll be happy to be sitting beside him at supper tonight.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “What? Oh Meg! You shouldn’t have!”
Meg drew back. “Why ever not?”
“Because Abernathe is the host and he is terribly important. Having the seat beside his at supper is a place of prestige. Everyone will whisper if a person like me has that spot of honor.”
Meg rolled her eyes. “You worry too much. And if people look and talk, isn’t that a good thing? You want interest, don’t you?”
Emma froze at that statement, so close to the very words she’d said to Abernathe in his garden in London not a week before. “Did…did Abernathe say something to you?”
“About what?” Meg asked, blinking in what appeared to be true confusion at the question and the sharpness with which it was asked.
“About me. My position,” Emma breathed. She’d spilled out so many things to him in that day. And then she’d made her ridiculous joke about him courting her to gain favor. Her cheeks flamed just thinking about it.
“He didn’t say anything to me,” Meg said gently.
Emma let out a sigh of relief. At least her humiliation wasn’t entirely complete. “Still, you shouldn’t have arranged for such a thing, Meg. Truly.”
“Your opposition is duly noted. Now I should go. I need to check on my mother and say a longer hello to a few other friends.” Meg moved to the door and there she smiled. “Oh, and you should know that I didn’t make the seating arrangements. He did.”
Emma stared at her in mute shock as Meg left with a bright farewell. Then she sank down on the nearest chair. Abernathe had insisted she be seated beside him? That was unexpected news, indeed. As was the thrill that worked through her at the notion.
One she would have to tamp down entirely before supper began.
James leaned back in his seat, ignoring what was left of the supper on his plate. He looked to his left, to Emma. She was looking at her food, but she wasn’t eating much, just pushing it around to make it look as if she’d eaten. But she was so focused on the act that it allowed him time to observe her.
In the week since she’d made her intriguing little joke about courting to garner attention, he’d done a bit of research into her and her family. What Graham had told him during their billiards game was just the beginning, for it was dark stuff. He found himself impressed by how little Emma reflected what she’d endured in either her words or actions.
But now he knew the truth and it made him examine her more closely. She wore fine gowns, not the finest, but definitely not inexpensive. And they had to take up a goodly amount of the funds she and her mother possessed, because he knew they had little money. Watching Emma, knowing how she felt about Society, he couldn’t believe that was her choice.
Which meant she was being dragged forward to a life of her mother’s choosing. Something he understood very well, if he replaced her mother with his father.
Emma was also known as something of a bluestocking. When the subject was broached, one gentleman had said something like “too smart for her own good or anyone else’s”. James supposed that was meant to put him off, but in truth it increased his interest. There was nothing he hated more than to spend time with some empty-headed chit. One who only mirrored his own opinions in some ridiculous attempt to get closer to him.
The one thing that no one talked about, which he noticed sitting next to her, was how pretty she was. Oh, she wasn’t showy. She didn’t try to be a diamond, not in word, action or look. But there was something about her that was undeniably attractive. And it wasn’t just her stunning eyes and full lips. She was just…pretty.
He leaned forward and lowered his voice so only she would be able to hear him. “You know, that poor cow was killed once already, Emma.”
She jerked her gaze to him, eyes suddenly wide as she stammered, “I-I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”
“I said the poor cow was already killed once and you are murdering it all over again by dragging it around your plate with that fork.”
She looked down at the tracks she’d made in her food and then back up to him. And to his great surprise and utter triumph, she smiled. It was a broad, utterly honest expression, and for a moment he could hardly breathe. Her entire face lit up with it and there he saw the diamond she never allowed herself to be.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, completely oblivious to his thoughts. “The food is wonderful, I’m just…”
She trailed off and he cocked his head. “Just?”
She ducked her chin. “Nervous,” she said so softly that he barely heard her.
“Why?” he pressed gently.
She lifted her gaze and met his, holding it there for a beat, then two. Until it became too long, until something heated flared low in his belly.
“Because of me?” he asked, his voice now rough.
She swallowed and he watched her delicate throat work with the action. “Yes,” she murmured, her own tone much lower and huskier.
“Abernathe?”
He jolted at the sound of his name, said loudly from the other end of the table where Meg was holding court. He jerked his gaze to her and found that virtually every eye at the table was focused on him. On Emma.
Emma seemed to recognize it too in that moment and she blushed as she ducked her head a second time.
“Yes?” he said.
“I said perhaps it’s time to end supper so everyone can ready for the ball.” Meg lifted both eyebrows as she stared first at him, then at Emma.
“Excellent notion,” he said, pushing to his feet. “Ladies and gentlemen, please join us in an hour in the ballroom.”
The others began to rise, their talking filling the room as they began to roam out in pairs or small groups. Emma took a long moment to stand and her hands shook as she placed her napkin on the table. James saw her mother waiting, attention focused entirely too closely on the pair of them. They only had a moment before she approached.
“Emma,” he said, barely resisting the urge to take her hand.
She glanced up at him. “Yes?”
“Will you walk with me in the garden?”
She blinked as if she didn’t understand the question. “Walk with you? Now?”
He nodded. “There’s an hour to the ball and I would have you back in time to get ready. Please, walk with me.”
Her lips parted and she whispered, �
�Why—”
But before she could finish whatever she was going to say, her mother rushed up to them, her eyes lit up with frenzied pleasure. “Yes! Of course she’ll walk with you, Your Grace.”
James pursed his lips, for he didn’t want Mrs. Liston’s acquiescence. He wanted Emma’s. Even though what he wished to discuss with her was little more than a business arrangement, he still wanted her…surrender.
A realization that put him a little off kilter.
“Is that a yes from you, Emma?” he asked.
She shot her mother a look and her cheeks were flame red as she nodded. “Of course, Your Grace. I would very much like that.”
He wasn’t certain if she was being honest with him in that statement, or just trying to appease her mother, who stood by them now, practically bouncing. Meg also stood near the exit, watching them with interest bright in her dark eyes.
In that moment, he didn’t care. He was going to get his way. And as he took her arm and led her from the dining room, he felt a thrill of excitement he hadn’t experienced for a long time.
Chapter Seven
Emma gripped her free hand at her side and tried to ignore the fact that her opposite one was locked around the Duke of Abernathe’s bicep. His very muscular bicep. And he smelled good, too, damn him. Like cloves and leather. It was entirely unfair.
He guided her down the stairs, into the garden and through the winding pathway. They had not spoken since they left the dining room a few moments ago, and Emma finally pulled away from him and turned to face him on the path.
His face was lit by both the moon and a few lanterns that guided their way. In that soft half-light, she caught her breath. God, but he was all angles and curves. All hard maleness and it made her feel small and soft standing beside him.
But she didn’t want to feel small and soft, because that meant vulnerable and foolish. She felt that quite enough already in this life she had so little control over.
She drew in a harsh breath and tried to forget that he was close and watching her with those intense eyes. She released his arm, placed her hands on her hips and snapped, “Why did you do that?”
He drew back in surprise at her tone and stared at her with exactly zero understanding on his face. “Do what?”
She huffed out a frustrated breath. “Make me sit by you at supper. Lean in and talk to me like we were discussing something intimate. Single me out to walk with you in the garden. Everyone was looking at us…at me, Abernathe.”
His lips pressed together. “James.”
She had more to say, but his soft admonishment brought her to a halt. “I beg your pardon? Did you just tell me that I should call you James?”
He nodded. “I would prefer it. I’ve never liked my title. It’s a necessary evil to me.”
She hesitated, for that statement made her wonder. Most dukes wore their title like a badge of honor, even though none of them had done anything to earn it except be a first son of someone else’s first son. But Abernathe did truly look uncomfortable as he stood there.
And none of that had anything to do with her, yet here she was, pondering it. She scowled at him. “I cannot call the Duke of Abernathe by his Christian name. It would be wildly inappropriate.”
“I call you Emma,” he said with a slight smile.
“Yes, I’ve noticed that,” she said, shivering at the way his lips formed her name. “And it is equally inappropriate, for I am an unmarried miss with no connection to you or to your family. All it does is place a false sense of—”
“You have a connection to my family,” he interrupted, folding his arms and making his jacket strain back across his ridiculously broad chest. The one she couldn’t stop staring at, even as she tried to admonish him for being too familiar.
“What connection?” she asked, fighting wildly for focus.
He arched a brow. “My sister adores you. You are her friend.”
Emma stared at him, some of the fire going out of her at that statement. “Well, yes. Meg and I have become friends.”
“Then what is the harm in me calling one of my sister’s closest friends by her first name and her calling me by the same? Especially when we are in the privacy of a garden where no one else is around. It’s not like I’m asking you to call me James in other places.”
“So calling you James is a garden-specific request?” she asked, and then shook her head. What was she doing? Was she flirting with this man? This god? This golden child who didn’t know the first thing about what it meant to be outside?
The very kind of man she had been avoiding her entire adult life?
He laughed, and the sound hit her right in the gut. Lower, actually. Significantly and inappropriately lower. Now she felt all…hot…and…and…tingly.
“Privacy-specific,” he corrected. “When we are in private, I want you to call me James.”
She shivered at the idea, foolish as it was. “James, do you really think we shall ever be in private with each other ever again?”
He looked at her closely and something in his gaze shifted. His lids narrowed and his pupils dilated as he stared at her. That hot and tingly feeling increased and she shifted, but her legs rubbing together only made it worse.
“Why not?” he asked softly.
There was a moment when she wanted to believe that a man like this could have any interest whatsoever in her. That he was different and could see past the issues that came along with courting her. That he could see past the intelligence that was a hindrance with so many men, that he could see past her lack of funds, that he could see past everything that made her unwanted.
But then reality returned and she glared at him.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Why are you pretending that you could have any interest in me? What does it gain for you?”
“You are direct,” he said with a shake of his head. “One more thing to like about you.”
All her guards were raised now and she stepped back from him. “But you are not direct, Your Grace. Which makes me wonder what kind of game you are playing. Are you making sport with me?”
His lips parted as all humor and teasing went out of his stare, his voice, his stance. “No,” he said, almost in horror. “No, of course not. Why would you ask that?”
She flinched, a nerve exposed by his question, and it began to throb deep inside of her. She turned away from him. “You would not be the first, Your Grace. It doesn’t matter.”
She expected him to say something glib then. To find a way to escape the discomfort of this exchange. Instead she heard him move, she felt his presence just at her back. Her breath caught as his hand closed around her upper arm gently. He turned her and she stared up at him, so close that if she edged forward just an inch, she would be in his arms.
His fingers glided up her arm, across her shoulder, and then they brushed her cheek. She could hardly breathe as he took away that last inch between them. Her chest and thighs brushed his and she began to tremble.
“It does matter, Emma,” he whispered. He was so close, his breath touched her lips.
She found herself lifting her chin, found her eyes fluttering closed as if some ancient instinct drove her to do so. And then his mouth brushed over hers and every thought, every hesitation, everything else in the world, faded from her mind.
His arms came around her and she gasped. He took advantage of her lips parting and traced his tongue across the opening. She froze. She’d never been kissed before—she had no idea what to do. But he didn’t relent, he just tilted his head for better access.
And she gave it. Her body responded where her mind didn’t know how and she opened to him, darting her own tongue out to touch his with hesitation. But hesitation soon gave way to other things. She lost herself in the sensation of his arms around her, his mouth on hers, his tongue brushing hers. It all made her come alive. Made her utterly aware of every flutter and tingle in her body…and in this moment there were plenty o
f them. It seemed she had found nerve endings where she never knew they existed and all of them throbbed in time to his kiss.
She clutched his arms and lifted into him, feeling her hips bump his. He let out a strangled sound when she did that and then he drew himself away. She stood, dizzy, staring at him, and he stared right back, his breath short and his eyes wide.
Finally, she managed to find her voice and whispered, “Why—why did you do that?”
He blinked. “I didn’t intend to,” he said, just as soft as she had.
She frowned. The kiss had meant something to her and the idea that it had just been a mistake on his part was disheartening to say the least.
“Oh,” she said.
“But I’m glad I did it,” he continued, locking gazes with her. “Are you?”
She wanted desperately to deny him. To be able to say she didn’t like it and walk away. To be able to pretend this man didn’t move her. But she couldn’t.
“Yes,” she admitted. Heat filled her cheeks and she turned from him. “Oh, I should go inside. I should get ready.”
“Wait, Emma!” he called out as she took a few steps away.
She froze, and slowly turned. God, he was devilishly handsome. Right now he looked so earnest, so driven.
“Yes?”
“I have a thought,” he said. “A plan. It could help us both. That was why I wanted to talk to you out here tonight.”
Disappointment she didn’t want to feel filled her chest. In some small part of her she’d hoped he’d called her back for some more personal reason. Not a plan. Though what kind of plan that could be was completely unknown to her.
“A plan? I don’t understand.”
“You said something to me last week when we parted ways after Meg’s garden party. It has stuck with me ever since,” he said.
She took a step toward him as her mind turned back to their previous time alone together, in a different garden. She knew exactly what foolish things she’d said to him then. How she’d opened her soul to him the same way she’d opened her body a moment before. Somehow this man inspired that, as foolish as it was.
The Daring Duke Page 7
