As did the memory of what had happened yesterday at Andromeda’s.
The kiss washed over her, thrill and dismay swirling in its wake. Of all the times for her to discover that she was indeed capable of feminine passion, of all the men she might have discovered it with... why in God’s name did it have to beStrathaven?
The butler returned, and she noticed how shuffling and painful-looking his gait was.
“His grace will see you in the library, Miss Kent,” he said with a thick Scottish burr.
For an instant, Emma was tempted to flee—but she’d never been one to shirk duty, no matter how unpleasant it might be. She’d made this mess; she would tidy it up.
She straightened her shoulders. “Thank you, sir.”
“’Tis Jarvis, miss.” His countenance was kindly.
She gave him a small smile and followed him down a long corridor hung with gilt-framed paintings. She had no idea how Strathaven would react to seeing her. The carriage ride home from Andromeda’s had taken place in silence. He’d been white-lipped, foreboding, and she’d been too dazed to say anything herself. He’d deposited her at the corner of her street; the moment she’d entered the house, his conveyance had sped off.
Jarvis held open a door. “In here, miss.”
“Thank you.” Emma heard the uncharacteristic quiver in her own voice.
Pull your chin up. A Kent always takes responsibility for her actions.
Expelling a breath, she entered the large, high-ceilinged chamber. Only a few lamps were lit, and in the flickering dimness, she saw shelves of books lining the walls and leather furniture clustered around a glowing hearth at the center of the room. At the far end was a desk framed by tall bow windows. Strathaven stood there, staring out into the dark gardens.
His still, solitary pose wrought an oddly resonant pang in her breast. Juxtaposed against the starry night sky, he looked... alone. As if he carried the weight of the dark heavens upon his broad shoulders.
At that moment, two shapes darted from the shadows, and Emma let out a startled breath as large paws planted onto her thighs. She found herself looking into the shaggy, grinning faces of two Scottish deerhounds. Their cheerful welcome was infectious.
She scratched them both behind the ears. “Friendly boys, aren’t you?” she murmured.
“Phobos, Deimos—down.”
At their master’s sharp command, the dogs obeyed at once, padding off to curl up in front of the fire. She looked up, her smile fading. Before now, she’d never seen Strathaven in anything but impeccable attire. In his shirtsleeves, his potent virility was even more pronounced. The fine lawn shirt stretched across his wide shoulders, draping over his narrow hips. It was partially unbuttoned, revealing the corded column of his throat, an intriguing glimpse of his muscled chest…
“Why are you here?” he demanded.
She dragged her gaze up. Strathaven’s pets were aptly named after the companions of the mythical Ares. With his face set in harsh lines, his eyes cold and glittering, the duke looked every bit as ruthless as the God of War.
Pulling back her shoulders, she said, “We have unfinished business to discuss.”
“Is that so?” He took a casual sip from the glass he held.
While his indifference grated, she reminded herself that shehadwrongly accused him of murder, and thus probably didn’t deserve a warmer welcome... even if they had shared a kiss. To a rake like Strathaven, such intimacies probably meant nothing. He probably kissed women like that all the time. Besides, she knew that his purpose in kissing her had been to demonstrate his superiority—and her inexperience—when it came to sexual matters.
He’d succeeded spectacularly.
Her lips pressed together.Fool me once.
She’d learned her lesson. Even as she now recognized that her disturbing awareness of him was sensual in nature, she knew she was no wanton. ’Twas a boon, actually, that she’d gained a better understanding of carnal impulses. Knowledge was power. She now knew what to guard against.
After all, attraction was just an appetite like any other. Curbing urges had never been a problem for her. During the years her family had been mired in poverty, there’d been plenty of times when she’d practiced stringent economies, chose practical options over indulgent ones.
Just because one craves a piece of cake doesn’t mean one has to have one.
Resolved, she said, “I wanted you to know that I withdrew my testimony today. I told the magistrates that I misjudged what I saw between you and Lady Osgood in the garden.”
His dark eyelashes veiled his gaze. “Why?”
“I was wrong,” she admitted. “About what I thought I saw. I came to offer my sincere apologies for the hardship I have caused you.”
