“Emsworth is betrothed.Wasbetrothed to that young lady,” Edric barked, “which means it was not so much an assault as a prelude to married life. She had already accepted him, so I do not see how it can be construed as Emsworth forcing his attentions on her!”
Edric’s tone had slipped from one of controlled rebuke to pure, unadulterated rage now. From the proximity of his voice, he had undoubtedly prowled nearer too.
“Uncle, do not forget which of us holds the title of Duke,” Keaton reminded tightly. “I value your guidance as I always have. But you seem to think you can still lecture me as you did when I was a boy.”
The tone in the room immediately shifted.
“I apologize for overstepping the mark,” came a solemn reply. “I merely think of you, Your Grace. There is no possibility that you might not be accused of assaulting Emsworth?”
“Probably, given the kind of man he is. But it changes nothing. I did what was right. That is an end to it.”
Keaton thoughtfully cast his mind back over the incident. Over everything he had heard. The sounds of a struggle. A woman demanding to be released and a man threatening to thrash her like an animal.
No, that was no game between lovers. That was assault, and I do not care what the relationship between the two was. The law might not see it as assault, but I do.
An idea occurred to Keaton then. It immediately took seed, flowering in a mind that was primed to accept it.
“Thereisa way to neutralize the scandal, Uncle,” Keaton began, quietly.
Edric had turned away. Keaton heard him prodding the fire, the sound of the poker quite distinctive. Now he detected the sound of a man whirling in surprise. The poker clanged against the stone surround of the fireplace, still clutched in his hand, forgotten.
“Do not suggest it!” Edric boomed, “I forbid it... that is to say...”
He spluttered, flustered. Keaton rose calmly, orienting himself to his Uncle's voice and fixing his eyes where they would meet Edric's, just an inch below his own eye line.
“Forbid?” Keaton said with quiet authority, “Do not forbid me anything. Not ever.”
He felt an upswelling of anger like a jet of molten rock released from the unimaginable pressures of subterranean depths. It was difficult to control, and he wondered where it came from. Not from Uncle Edric overstepping the mark, not alone anyway.
“I apologize, Your Grace,” Edric reiterated with a mostly humble tone, “but I cannot recommend against your planned course of action strongly enough.”
“You do not know my planned course of action,” Keaton pointed out.
“Then tell me so that I may be confirmed correct in my guess,” Edric shot back.
Keaton smiled, pivoting and finding his way with confident strides to the sideboard where he knew a decanter of his favorite Scotch resided. He un-stoppered it and poured one finger inside the glass to feel when the liquid had reached the required level. Now that a resolute course of action was in his mind, he felt more in control.
His mental map of the study was now at the forefront of his mind, and he felt sure of his movements. He sipped the Scotch appreciatively, savoring the flavor and the warmth it spread down his throat to his stomach.
“I shall marry her. If Emsworth seeks to evade reproach by claiming his actions were within the context of a fiancée, then I shall do the same. It will protect my name and hers.”
“Whatever do you wish to protect her name for?” Edric asked.
“Honor demands it,” Keaton replied.
“And if her actions were blatant manipulation in order to put herself into this position?”
Keaton was silent as he poured another drink, holding it out to one side where he judged Edric to be standing. The drink was accepted.
If she is indeed a manipulator, then I will take steps to ensure she does not influence me further. I must, I will, be resolute.
“Do not worry, Uncle Edric. I will not be manipulated a second time.”
CHAPTER 6
Georgia woke from a dream of being pursued by the Earl of Emsworth to be rescued by a savage, fair-haired warrior to whom she surrendered herself utterly. When the dream reached its fevered peak, she awoke, staring at the ceiling, bedclothes kicked to the foot of the bed. A sheen of sweat was cooling on her skin, and her nightdress had somehow risen almost to her waist.
For a moment, she felt the hammering of her heart, tried to control her breathing, and re-examined the dream.
