For a second, she feared she might have offended him but then his scowl turned to a look of intrigue, “Why ever not?”
“Just ask my stepmother and I am quite certain she would give you one hundred reasons as to why I am no lady,” Emmaline said, her throat constricting at the fact that she was speaking so freely. She wasn't sure she had ever spoken so out of turn before. And yet, she couldn't seem to stop the words spilling from her lips.
“And who is your stepmother?” the duke asked. He was fishing for information now, Emmaline was certain of it, and yet she couldn't help but give it up.
“The Countess of Monrith, Your Grace,” Emmaline said, and she noticed the spark that flashed through his dark eyes.
“Then you are Lord Monrith’s daughter?” he asked, and Emmaline's chest tightened.
“You know my father?” she gulped. This could either go one of two ways. Her father was an earl and a very wealthy businessman besides. He had a great many friends but among them there were a number of men who disliked him for various reasons, business he had not chosen to enter into or people he chose not to associate with due to their unbecoming choices.
Every great man had his enemies. Emmaline prayed this man was not one of them.
“We are acquainted, yes,” the duke said, “Though I had no idea his daughter was quite so comely. He has kept you secret, it appears, My Lady.”
Emmaline blushed and laughed. It was all she could do not to melt entirely. His flattery was most certainly working in a way no other man’s had before.
“I do not believe so, Your Grace,” Emmaline protested. “His wife has me paraded like all the other young women of society at every opportunity.”
Again, the duke looked quizzical. “And you do not like being paraded?”
“Would you?” Emmaline said, perhaps a little snappily. The duke flinched and Emmaline's guilt was instant. “Forgive me, Your Grace, I spoke out of turn.”
The gloriously handsome man shook his head. “No, you are quite right. I would not, though I fear it is a responsibility we both must endure this Season.”
“You are a duke,” Emmaline pointed out, “I suspect nobody could force you to endure anything.”
“Then you would be quite wrong, My Lady.”
He spoke through gritted teeth, that much was clear, and again Emmaline feared she had offended him.
She was about to request his forgiveness when he drew their dance to an end. It was only then the rest of the room came swimming back into focus. The music had stopped, and the musicians were preparing for the next dance. Other dancers were already making their way off the floor.
The duke did not release her immediately. Instead, he leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “It appears, My Lady, that everybody is staring at us. Our time must unfortunately come to an end.”
Emmaline's stomach filled with butterflies as the duke laid her hand on his forearm and guided her to the edge of the dancefloor.
He was right. Nearly every eye in the room was on them and by the time they reached the edge of the floor, Emmaline could scarcely breathe.
She was only held up by the duke's strong arm beneath her hand but when he stepped back, offering a bow, she felt as if she had been set adrift in a vast sea with no hope of rescue.
“Good evening, My Lady,” the duke said, and she was sure his teeth were still clenched. “Perhaps we shall meet again.”
And then, just like that, he was gone into the crowd. He was much taller than many of the other guests and for a while she was able to keep her eye upon him until she saw him slip out into the hallway where a servant had opened the door for him.
“Emmaline, whatever was that all about?” Jane exclaimed as she appeared beside her.
Feeling as if she might drift away, Emmaline grabbed for her sister's arm and clutched on for dear life. “I have absolutely no idea.”
She feared her heart would never calm again. Still, she felt the duke's touch. The small of her back, the palm of her hand, where he had stroked the backs of her fingers with his own as they'd danced.
It was a sensation she wished to commit to memory. Even if she never saw the duke again, she would always have that night, and the way he had made her feel.
Chapter 4
“Sean, it is time we leave,” Alex hissed into his friend's ear, grabbing him by the elbow where he found him at the edge of the ballroom.
“But the night is still so young?” Sean protested, almost spilling his drink even as he placed it on the tray of a passing servant. Despite this, he was ready to follow his orders.
