Lady Cloris’s eyes grew wide and she gave a little shriek of delight. “How romantic! I just knew the dear boy would think of something.”
“Romantic? Fiddle-faddle ! More like attics-to-let if you ask me. Before the fool is finished, he’ll have ‘Montford’ as common a name in London households as ‘digestive biscuits’!”
“Well, I’m sure Miss Haliburton will think it romantic,” Lady Cloris declared, handing the paper to Emily.
The entire front page was blank except for a framed paragraph in bold letters in the very center
Let it be known to all citizens of London, indeed of all of England and unto such far flung regions as Ireland and Scotland, that I, Jared Neville Tremayne, Eighth Duke of Montford, do publicly declare that I love Miss Emily Haliburton and desire above all else to make her my wife.
Emily stared at the incredible statement in stunned amazement. She read it again and still couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
“Dear God, he loves me!” she exclaimed, laughing and crying at the same time. Clutching the paper in one hand, she pressed the other to the spot where her heart was thumping so madly against her ribs she could scarcely draw breath.
Lady Cloris beamed happily. “Of course he does, my dear. I have known that all along.”
“Humph! The arrogant puppy is monstrously sure of himself to risk the ridicule he’d face if the marriage didn’t come off,” Lady Sophia muttered.
Emily laughed softly. “There is no denying he is arrogant, my lady, but in this case I rather think I am the one of whom he is so sure. He must have seen through all the dreadful things I said to him and realized I was hopelessly in love with him.”
Lady Sophia’s smile had an ironic twist. “Perhaps you are right. As I can attest, Montford is devilish clever.”
She glanced toward the door and frowned. “Well, what is it this time, Finster?”
The butler held out a small silver tray on which one heavily embossed card rested. “The Duke of Montford presents his compliments, my lady, and requests the pleasure of Miss Haliburton’s presence in the music room.”
Lady Sophia raised an eyebrow. “What in the world is he doing in the music room?”
“Playing the pianoforte, my lady. A little known composition by Mr. Mozart, unless I am mistaken.”
“Well, I never. He is not acting himself at all. Has he lost all sense of decorum?”
The corners of Finster’s mouth twitched, which was as close to a smile as Emily had ever seen him come. “It would appear so, my lady. But I understand that is quite common with young men in love.”
Blushing furiously, Emily rose to her feet and, still clutching the newspaper to her breast, walked toward the door.
“If you turn him down again, Miss Haliburton, I shall wash my hands of you,” Lady Sophia called after her.
Emily smiled. “Never fear, my lady, I have no intention of turning him down this time. For I gave him his chance to escape. Henceforth, whatever comes of this impossible union, the blame is on his head.”
He was indeed playing Mozart—the very piece she had played that first night at Brynhaven—and playing it very well too. Emily paused in the doorway to listen.
“If you’re thinking this is an odd thing for a duke to be doing, you are correct,” he said. “But music has always been my secret passion—my only passion, actually, until I met you.”
“What I am thinking, your grace, is that you are a man of many talents,” Emily said as she stepped. into the room and closed the door behind her. “Horseman, actor, blackmailer, and now accomplished pianist “
“Do not forget highwayman,” he said, as his fingers moved lightly over the keys. “For that is my favorite.”
He looked up. “You’ve been crying. Your eyes are all red and puffy and you look as if you’d eaten one too many strawberries and developed the hives.”
“And you have such black smudges beneath your eyes, you look very much like a barn owl I once had as a pet,” she retorted.
“That’s because I have been on a three-day drunk, thanks to you, my dear.” He ended the piece with a flourish and rested his hands in his lap. “I find myself wondering why I want you so badly. I can’t remember when any woman has wreaked such havoc in my life.”
“I have to wonder the same thing. For nothing has changed, you know, except that I plan to hold you to this.” Emily waved the newspaper before his eyes. “I am still hopelessly unsuited to be a duchess.”
He nodded solemnly. “I agree. I could not possibly make a worse choice.”
“I have a terrible temper.”
He nodded again. “And a tongue as sharp as Wellington’s sword. Furthermore, you’re hopelessly impulsive—a trait I am certain you will pass on to. our daughters, who will most likely be the scandal of the ton before they ever make their come-outs.” He sighed. “And God only knows what our sons will be like. Avowed revolutionaries, no doubt, who will attempt to abolish the House of Lords.”
Emily smiled. “With my help, no doubt, if the members I’ve met so far are any example of that august body.”
The duke stood up and moved to stand directly in front of her. “I suppose I shall be expected to turn my precious library over to you so you may continue your research into ancient myths and legends—even though I consider it a most unsuitable occupation for a duchess.”
“I shall insist upon it.”
“And, of course, I shall have to give up any idea of keeping a mistress, for not even the most notorious Cyprian will risk the wrath of a woman who thought nothing of turning the Royal Opera House into her own personal battleground.”
“A wise decision, your grace.”
“And considering your lowly background, you will undoubtedly insist we share the same bed like the most common of married couples, rather than maintain your own suite as a proper duchess should,” he murmured as one by one he removed the pins from her hair and tossed them to the floor.”
Emily felt a laugh start deep in her throat “I warned you I was hopelessly unsuited for the role, but you would ‘t listen and now it is too late.”
He buried his fingers in her heavy locks and drew her to him until she could feel every muscle and sinew of the lean hard body pressed against hers.
His long, sensitive fingers cupped her chin and he searched her face with his molten silver eyes. “I can see it now. I shall never have another moment’s peace. My quiet, orderly life will be turned completely upside down.”
He brushed his lips across hers ever so lightly. It was not a kiss—merely a tantalizing promise of things to come, and Emily felt a terrible hunger start in those secret places deep inside her.
“Why, if I am such a trial, did you trap yourself by telling all the world you loved me?” she asked innocently.
“Why, little sparrow?” His warm, seductive mouth hovered just a breath above hers; his soft laugh whispered across he lips. “Because with all the trouble you cause me, life with you is so much better than life without you, I shall probably never realize how miserable I am.”
It was not precisely the romantic declaration Emily had hoped for, but as it turned out, it was of little consequence. For it soon became apparent that while the Eighth Duke of Montford was no Lake district poet when wooing a lady with words, he was truly a man without equal when it came to action.
The Duke's Dilemma Page 21
