James moved past her into the breakfast room and she felt him subtly draw his hand across her back as he did so. The warmth of his fingers as they brushed her spine made her sink momentarily into his comfort.
But then he was gone, talking to those in the room, obviously trying to divert some attention from the return of her wayward and publicly troubled father. She appreciated the effort, though it clearly did no good. As she entered the room, she felt the eyes on her. She heard the little whispers.
Though she wasn’t hungry, she joined her parents at the sideboard and dished herself a small plate, then moved to the table. Meg was sitting at one end and motioned to her, so Emma followed the directive and sat beside her friend. Beneath the table, Meg threaded her fingers into Emma’s and squeezed gently. Yet another place of support to be found in this family.
One she would lose if her father destroyed her at last.
Mr. Liston set both his plate and her mother’s down and flopped into a chair just a few places down from Emma’s. He began talking—too loudly, as always—and her heart sank.
“Chin up,” Meg whispered. “It’s always best to pretend you don’t even notice the humiliation.”
Emma shot her a look, thinking of that night at the ball when the Duchess of Abernathe had been so very drunk. Of course Meg understood what she was going through. Slowly she straightened in her chair and smiled at her friend.
She was going to get through this with her dignity intact, even if her social standing at last collapsed completely at her feet. Dignity had value.
“And what brought you as such a late addition to our party, Mr. Liston?” the duchess was asking as she heavily sugared a cup of coffee and drank it with a heavy sigh.
He grinned and his gaze flashed toward Emma. “I have news for Emma. Good news, in fact. And what better time to share it?”
James speared him with a glare. “Perhaps your news would better be given to your daughter in private, Liston.”
The crowd bounced their attention from Emma’s father to James in a heartbeat, then back to Mr. Liston as they awaited the response to the duke’s quiet admonishment.
“We’re amongst friends,” Liston said. “Aren’t we, Emma?”
Emma swallowed hard. Her father wanted to share whatever news he had right now because it was going upset her. That was the only reason he could possibly have for wanting to do this in a public forum. In this room, with all these people watching, she would not be able to show her upset in order to maintain a semblance of decorum. Nor would she be able to refuse him whatever he had arranged for her.
“Of course we are,” Mrs. Liston said, still staring at him in adoration, though her voice trembled a fraction and she shot Emma a concerned look.
“You are to marry, Emma,” Mr. Liston said with a wide grin when she didn’t answer his question. “I have arranged for you to wed Sir Archibald.”
Once again Emma felt as though her head had been dunked under water. Blood rushed to her ears and she swayed in her seat as the room erupted in surprised sounds. Meg held her hand tighter, Emma could feel each of her friend’s fingers against her skin, but she didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She didn’t breathe.
She just stared at her father and saw the flicker of guilt in his eyes. Something had happened that had forced his doing this. Something where he had traded her hand to save his own skin.
“Archibald was a guest here, I believe. Took quite a notion to you and came straight to me to make the arrangements. He’ll be rejoining the party shortly. I’m sure you don’t mind, Abernathe.” When Emma still could find no words, her father shook his head. “Well, come then, girl, say something,” Mr. Liston said with a chuckle. “I’ve arranged a good match for you, you must have something to say.”
“She is silent because Emma has been keeping secret her own news, Mr. Liston,” James said as he slowly rose to his feet. Emma watched him, well aware of his tall, strong body as he unfolded it. As he positioned himself toward her father, it was a subtle threat of his superior position and strength.
“J-James,” she whispered, not even caring that she was addressing him inappropriately in front of people who would gleefully talk about it. They had enough fodder now, what was a little more?
“News?” Mr. Liston repeated, giving Emma a concerned glance. “What news does my daughter have?”
James locked eyes with her, and in a split second, Emma saw what he would do. Meg must have sensed it too, for she sucked in a long gulp of air before he spoke again.
“Though Emma may appreciate the work you have done on her behalf to match her,” James said. “I’m afraid it is impossible. You see, Emma has already agreed to marry me.”
She pushed to her feet. “James,” she repeated.
“Yesterday,” he continued softly as he looked at her evenly. “I intended to officially ask her mother for her hand this morning when you made your arrival.”
At that, the room erupted in complete chaos and Emma felt blackness filling her vision. In the distance, she heard James shout out, “Catch her!”
And then the room went very dark.
Chapter Seventeen
James carried Emma’s limp frame into a parlor and laid her out on the settee. A trail of people followed him, keeping him from privacy as he knelt beside her and looked into her pale face with concern. There was his mother, Meg, Mr. and Mrs. Liston and of course four of the five members of the 1797 Club in attendance. Only Simon did not join them, for he had not returned from his ride to be present for the announcement of the “engagement”.
James glanced up and met Baldwin’s eyes. “Thank you, Sheffield,” he said softly. “She might have struck her head if you didn’t move so quickly to catch her.”
Sheffield arched a brow. “I could not risk injury to the future wife of one of my best friends, could I?”
He heard the question in Sheffield’s tone. He saw it on the faces of Brighthollow, Roseford and Graham, as well. But there would be time to open a discussion on that subject soon enough.
Right now, he had to focus on Emma.
“Emma,” he said, smoothing his hand along her cheek. “Emma?”
Her eyes fluttered and slowly opened. For a moment, she only stared up into his face and he saw just the hint of a smile on her lips. A smile just for him, and his heart throbbed at it. But then her gaze shifted to the rest of the room, to the crowd of people staring at her, and the smile faded as she struggled to sit up.
“Oh no,” she moaned.
He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You fainted, Emma, so lay still. Just rest a moment before you pop up and repeat the action all over again. I might not catch you so easily as the Duke of Sheffield did.”
He was teasing, but she didn’t register any pleasure at it. She just kept staring around the room at those in attendance.
“James,” she whispered.
He nodded. “It’s all right.”
“This is all very dramatic,” his mother said with a sniff.
“Hush, Mother,” Meg snapped, her concern for Emma clear. “Emma had every right to lose her senses after that awful scene in the breakfast room.”
James held Emma’s gaze for a moment, hating the pain he saw there, the humiliation, but worst of all…the resignation. She was resigned to a heartbreaking fate, despite his attempt to save her with his announcement. But he was not going to allow that now any more than he had been willing to allow it a moment before. He was going to fight for this woman.
Somehow she had managed to inspire that in him.
“Everyone out,” he said, his tone firm. “Everyone but Mr. and Mrs. Liston.”
He lifted his gaze and met that of each of his friends. And, of course, they understood him. Quietly, they began to hustle his mother and the servants who had trailed in to help to the door. In the end, only Meg stayed of those who had been ordered to leave.
She moved forward and edged James out of the way to knee
l beside Emma on the settee. Emma’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry I’ve spoiled everything.”
Meg’s lips parted and she grasped Emma’s hand with both of hers. “You’ve spoiled nothing. So there is no need to be sorry. Ever.”
She leaned in to kiss Emma’s cheek, then turned and did the same for James. He read her pointed stare as she did so. The one that begged him to follow through on what he’d claimed in the breakfast room, the one that told him, without words, that he should marry Emma. And marry her quickly.
And perhaps not just for her own good.
He nodded slightly and Meg pushed to her feet. She whispered, “Where is Simon? He wasn’t with the others.”
“Crestwood took a ride,” he said, thinking briefly to his friend’s troubled behavior in the garden just before James’s entire life had been blown to pieces. “He needed to clear his head.”
“Clear his head?” Meg repeated, her gaze lighting with concern. Then she nodded once. “I’ll find him and explain what’s happened. I know you’ll want him to know and to be here with us. With you.”
James smiled at her before she left, closing the door behind herself and leaving him alone at last with Emma and her parents. Emma sat up, waving him off as she slowly got to her feet. When she seemed steady, he spun on Mr. and Mrs. Liston.
“Out with it,” he snarled, barely keeping himself in check. “What did you do, Liston?”
“James,” Emma whispered, and he turned toward her to find her staring at him, eyes wide and filled with fear.
“I’m not going to let him hurt you,” he declared, holding her gaze so that she would see he was utterly serious. She swallowed, her face filled with disbelief that he would champion her, which of course made him want to do it all the more.
He retook his position facing Harold Liston and glared at him. “Talk.”
“He didn’t do anything,” Mrs. Liston said, gripping her husband’s arm tightly. James shook his head, disgusted that this woman would take her wayward husband’s side over her daughter’s. “Tell him, Harold. Tell him that you only made a good arrangement for Emma, not realizing she had another suitor in the wings.”
Liston’s gaze darted away. “Sir Archibald approached me in the past few days, that’s all. He just wanted to discuss Emma with me.”
It was obvious he was lying. His gaze couldn’t focus, his cheeks filled with color, he was sweating and he drew his arm away from his wife and paced the room restlessly.
James was about to press harder, but Emma stepped forward. Her hands were shaking, but she didn’t look like she would faint again. No, in that moment she looked angry. Righteously angry and utterly beautiful in it.
“What did you do, Father?” she demanded. “Stop lying to James. Stop trying to look like the hero for Mama and tell me the truth. Look at me and tell me what exactly you did!”
“He gambled with you,” came a voice from the door. They all turned and found that Sir Archibald himself was now standing in the parlor entryway. He smiled at the group at large and continued, “And it wasn’t the first time. Just the first time he lost.”
Emma felt an urge to scream. Just sit down on the floor, clench her fists and scream out her rage and pain until it emptied out of her chest and allowed her to take a full breath again. But as she stared from Sir Archibald and his smug smile and back to her father and his sheepish look, she didn’t do that.
Instead she folded her arms and took a long step toward Mr. Liston. She held his gaze—she refused to let him look away—and then she said, “For once in your life, tell me the truth.”
“It isn’t my fault this happened,” her father responded, throwing up his hands as he whined. “He wanted to play cards, what was I to do?”
“Say no,” James said softly as he stepped up beside her and gently placed a hand on the small of her back.
She looked up at him, thinking of what he’d said in the breakfast room. What he’d claimed he’d asked her, how he’d claimed she’d responded. But he couldn’t really intend to follow through on wedding her. That was madness.
“He’s never been able to say no,” Archibald laughed. “So we played until he’d lost his blunt, and then his horse, and then I suggested a new wager. Emma’s hand.”
Mrs. Liston covered her mouth with both hands, her breath coming hard and harsh now. Emma could see that her mother wanted Emma to come to her, to comfort her, but Emma didn’t. She couldn’t. She’d spent a lifetime doing so, a lifetime wiping her mother’s tears as she swallowed her own. In this moment, she had no strength for it anymore.
“Well played, I suppose,” James said, but there was nothing pleasant in his tone. He sounded like he could kill Archibald.
“Yes. You can’t always win, Abernathe,” Archibald said with another of those sneers that made Emma’s stomach turned. This was the man her father would have her marry. This…bastard. She could only imagine the hell her life would be if they had their way.
James’s face had grown even harder. “You did all this just to get back at me?”
“You humiliated me,” Archibald snapped, folding his arms. “In front of a party full of people, over some chit.”
James took a long step forward. “So you wanted to swing on me and you wanted a bride, and you thought you got both in one fell swoop. But you don’t know our news, Sir Archibald.”
Sir Archibald blinked. “News?”
“Aye,” James said, and now he slipped an arm around Emma. He drew her to his side, his fingers tightening at her ribcage, warmth threading through her entire body at the gentle, soothing touch. “Emma has already agreed to marry me.”
Sir Archibald’s face fell and he spun on Mr. Liston. “What?”
Liston held up his hands. “It’s not my fault, I didn’t know there had been arrangements made.”
Sir Archibald gulped at air and faced James again. “You cannot thwart the desires of her father, Abernathe. You cannot subvert a contract made between us.”
“And after I announced the arrangement with Sir Archibald publicly,” Mr. Liston added weakly, clearly feeling trapped between two powerful men.
James squeezed Emma gently before he stepped away, staring down at Sir Archibald. The old man actually flinched, and she couldn’t help her smile.
“I’m the Duke of Abernathe,” James said softly. “With more power and money and influence than the two of you sorry lot put together. I am the Duke of Abernathe and I can do whatever the bloody hell I want. I’m marrying Emma Liston and there is nothing you can do about it.”
Sir Archibald sputtered, then glared first at Mr. Liston before he turned his attention to Emma. His face was red, his eyes lit up with pure hatred. “No one humiliates me twice. This is not done.”
He raced from the room just as James took another step toward him. Emma let out a wavering sigh and covered her face with her hands as emotion flooded her.
James had saved her. But at what cost?
Her father and mother didn’t seem to care, though. Both stepped forward, and it was her father who spoke. “Well played, Abernathe! Obviously you are a far better match for Emma and we support it wholeheartedly.”
“Wholeheartedly,” Mrs. Liston mimicked as she turned her attention on Emma. “Oh, Emma, a duchess! You’ll be a duchess. What a coup!”
Emma lowered her hands, staring at both of them. Her parents, the grasping twosome. A man who never stayed for any hard time in his life. A man who had apparently gambled with her future more than once. A man who took no responsibility for the damage he did.
And his wife, a woman who had depended upon Emma to save her rather than doing her duty as a mother. A woman who manipulated through tears and accusations. A woman who saw love as a weapon.
“How could you?” Emma whispered. Then her voice elevated. “How could you?”
“Well, that’s a fine reaction,” Mr. Liston responded, actually daring to look shocke
d. “I bring you not one husband but two, and you’re angry with me?”
James lunged at him then. He caught him by the collar and hauled him toward the parlor door. He opened it and tossed him out, then turned toward Mrs. Liston. “You too,” he growled.
She followed, sending Emma expectant and worried looks that were at last cut off when she stepped into the hallway and James slammed the door in her face.
He turned, and Emma looked up at him. She stared at his handsome face, the face of this man she loved. The man who would throw away the future he’d planned to protect her. A man who would certainly one day look at her with regret, and she bent her head.
He said nothing, but simply crossed the room to her and folded her into his arms. She sank into the touch, into the comfort he provided, digging her fingers into his back as he smoothed his hand along her hair and whispered empty platitudes. She let him for she didn’t know how long, drinking in his strength and his warmth and his tenderness. But at last she opened her eyes and took the hardest step she’d ever taken.
The one away from him.
She would not be her mother. She would not destroy someone else to save herself.
“James, you do not know how much I appreciate your words in the breakfast room and your defense of me just now,” she began, her voice trembling.
He made to step toward her, but she held up her hand to stop him. “Emma.”
She shook her head. “Please let me finish, James. I—you cannot marry me.”
He arched a brow. “Do I need to make the speech about being the Duke of Abernathe again, of getting to do whatever I want?”
He was teasing, but she didn’t smile. This was too serious to allow him to make it less. She shook her head slowly. “There are a dozen reasons I am not fit to be your bride, James.”
“A dozen?” he repeated. “I doubt that. Name them.”
She huffed out a breath. “First, I am not anywhere close to your rank. Marrying me will link you to a minor viscountcy, and one that doesn’t even acknowledge me as their family.”
The Daring Duke Page 16
