Again, the duke’s cane slammed down on the floor. There weren’t any other people in this room beyond the footman at the door. That was the beauty of Old Gold. Many rooms led to better privacy. But more than one person had slowed as they passed by the door. Max’s father was certainly aware of that.
“You will marry Lady Kimberly!” the duke bellowed.
“She has foresworn me.” That statement shouldn’t give him satisfaction, but it did.
“You need a bride.”
“And I have—”
“You will—You—obey—”
Max had thought the word “apoplexy,” but he hadn’t expected it. His father grew excited over a great many things. He bellowed, he blustered, he spoke in heated, explosive terms in the House of Lords. And that was nothing compared to the outright bullying he did when his choler was up.
But he did not gasp like a dying fish while he banged his cane down. He did not clutch his chest while his eyes bulged out. And he didn’t stiffen as if his whole body had turned to stone.
He did now.
And then his father, the Duke of Fernbury and leader of the Tory party, toppled like a great tree felled by a very sharp axe.
Chapter Thirty-One
Emmaline kicked offher shoes and tucked her feet up under her bottom. She settled leaning sideways onto the wing of the large chair. This was the most hideously improper position in which to read a book. Not a single line of her body was straight and if she had a kitten curled up on her lap, she would be in heaven.
No kitten. No puppy even. But she had a good book on this balmy spring evening and enough light to read. The men in the family were out pursuing their interests. Her mother was attending the theater after imbibing another cup of Chinese tea. And Yihui was practicing English with Millie. Emmaline was supposed to go to her friend’s come-out ball, but she’d sent her apologies. All she wanted tonight was to read in quiet in whatever twisted way she chose to sit. Why, if she wanted, she could even throw her knees over the armrest and stretch her head back until she was upside down. She’d done that several times as a child and wasn’t averse to doing it again just because she could.
She’d finally gotten to the good part of her book—the salaciously silly part where the heroine is rescued from her own idiocy by a very handsome man—when someone banged loudly on the front door.
She jolted upright, annoyed on multiple levels by the interruption. She looked at the time. It was much too late for callers and too early for any of her family. Besides, even father didn’t pound that loud.
She stood up, marking her place in her book and then smoothing down her dress. She refused to put on her slippers. She would stay in her stocking feet because, well, sometimes a lady wanted to feel comfortable while at home.
Chiverton took his time answering the door. He had no more interest in indulging whoever was banging either. She wished she could peek out the window, but she’d been in the back of the house, not the front parlor. All she could do now was stand in the hall and wait to see if she was needed.
Maybe she should put on her shoes?
Too late. Chiverton opened the door with his customary, “Good evening, sir—”
“Good evening, Chiverton. The duke has asked us to move Miss Wong to a new home. If you could show us to her bedroom, we’ll get this finished quickly.”
“I beg your pardon, sir—”
“My name’s Mr. Pearson, and as you can see”—he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket—“I’ve got the duke’s seal on his instructions. I’d prefer not to upset things overmuch. If you would—”
Emmaline charged out of the back room. “Now just a moment here. Yihui is not going anywhere—”
“Lady Emmaline! Good to see you again.” A very handsome man stepped into the light. His blue eyes sparkled, his broad face showed even white teeth in a face used to smiling. His skin was rugged, his shoulders broad, and his fit body was attired as nicely as any gentleman, albeit in not quite the first stare of fashion. And if she didn’t mistake her guess, there was a stain on the cuff and a tear near the shoulder.
She saw it only because he bowed before her in the most exquisite manner despite his lack of fresh tailoring.
“Do I know you sir?”
“Mr. Noah Pearson, my lady. We met in your first season. I don’t attend many parties, as a rule, but it was my sister’s come-out.”
Memories tumbled into place. Good lord, was this the third son of Baron Trottham? He’d matured into quite a handsome devil, and the glint in his eyes told her he knew how to use his charm.
“Mr. Pearson,” she said, refusing to give him her hand. “Why have you disturbed my evening?”
“Apologies, my lady. As I was explaining to Chiverton—”
