“But you do have an iron in the fire.” A slow smile spread across Tremont’s face. It shed some of his years, made him look more like the roguish lad he’d been at Oxford. “By God, I’ve always said you’re the most efficient fellow I’ve ever met. Do I know her?”
“I doubt it.”
“A mystery woman not from our circle. Now I am intrigued.” Tremont’s tawny brows shot up. “Is she a scandalous opera singer perhaps? Or a beautiful merchant’s daughter—”
“Get intrigued over some other female,” Alaric said irritably.
Tremont’s grin deepened. “Is that the twang of Cupid’s bow I hear?”
Alaric was saved from answering when a knock sounded, and Jarvis peered in. “Please excuse the intrusion, your grace. You have a visitor.”
“You can see I’m busy,” Alaric said.
“I would not have disturbed you, but this, ahem, gentleman, claims you invited him to call. His name is Babcock.”
Anticipation rolled through Alaric.Some days are just better than others.
“Put him in the drawing room. I’ll be there shortly,” he said.
“Sounds important. I shan’t keep you.” Rising, Tremont said, “Before I go—don’t I get at least a hint about the object of your undying affection?”
To his consternation, Alaric felt his cheekbones heat. “Devil take you, Tremont.”
The marquess laughed.
***
“Are you sure you don’t need my help with your undergarments, Miss Emma?” the ladies maid said anxiously from the other side of the door. “At least to tighten your corset strings—”
“I’m fine for now, thank you. I’ll ring when I’m ready to put the ball gown on,” Emma said in bright tones.
As soon as she heard the maid shuffle off, Emma released a breath. She was sitting in front of her vanity, a high-necked robe bundled around her. She’d put that on after removing the high-necked frock she’d worn all day. Undoing the belt, she parted the lapel and blushed to see that nothing had changed since she’d last looked.
The red mark still blazed at the side of her throat.
She brushed her fingertips against the evidence of Alaric’s kiss. She had no doubt that he had put it there on purpose. Recalling the branding scorch of his lips as he’d bent her over his desk, heat prickled over her insides.
At the same time, her reflection wrinkled its nose.
“Devious man,” she muttered.
It could be no coincidence that he’d placed his mark in that particular place. Given the low cut of her fashionable ball gown, she would haveno choicebut to cover it with the jewelry he’d given her. She gave an exasperated huff at his unnecessary high-handedness. She would have worn the necklace anyway—to uphold her end of the bargain after he’d taken her to The Cytherea.
Her irritation turned to excitement as she thought of their discoveries at the theatre, the excellent headway they’d made in the search for Lily. Moreover, Alaric had demonstrated his support of Emma’s dreams, and she had to admit that working together with him was even better than going at it on her own.
They were becoming true partners, equals capable of give and take. At The Cytherea, he’d let her take the lead with questioning the witnesses. Right before that, when they’d made love on his desk, she’d surrendered to his control. A giddy feeling swept over her. In both instances, she’d felt connected to him body and mind. She’d once wondered if she was capable of a passionate bond with another, and now she knew the answer.
I’ve fallen in love with Alaric.
Somehow, despite their disastrous first meeting and subsequent conflicts, she’d lost her heart to the duke. A dictatorial man whose icy cynicism hid a passionate nature. A man with more layers than an onion. How many would she have to peel back, she wondered, before she reached his heart?
Wistfully, she lifted the choker from its black velvet box. The triple strand of flawlessly matched pearls slid against her fingers. The centerpiece—an enormous pink diamond set in a dazzling frame of diamonds—nestled itself heavily in her palm.
It was a necklace fit for a duchess—or rather, aqueen. According to Marianne, this particular piece had occupied the center display at Rundell, Bridge, and Rundell, London’s most prestigious jeweler; it was said to have once belonged to the wife of a great Maharaja.
Shaking her head at Alaric’s extravagance, she secured the diamond-studded clasp and looked in the mirror. Her heart stumbled in her chest.
Oh. My. Goodness.
