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“What? No. As I said,” he snapped over his shoulder, “I wish to discuss our duties.”

She scowled at him. “Youarejealous. Well, I have no sympathy for you. You ought to have danced with me yourself.”

“Oh, never mind that.”

He stopped abruptly before a low doorway, the door set almost lopsidedly in the frame.

“We shan’t be disturbed here,” he murmured, pushing it open.

He stepped through the door first, ducking to avoid the low doorframe.

Emily hung back a little, her heart thumping.

Perhaps he wants to kiss me again. Or touch me. Perhaps… Well, our marriage will have to be consummated, will it not?

Her heart pounded harder and faster at that. She knew that the act between a man and a woman—the one that made a child—would be a little different from what she’d experienced before in his arms.

Some ladies talked about it in hushed tones, in quiet corners, only to their closest friends. Some ladies enjoyed it, others described it as undignified and uncomfortable at its worst and plainly dull at its best.

Emily couldn’t help but think that with the duke, it would be another matter altogether.

Breathing in and carefully composing herself, she stepped inside after him.

At once, she found herself in a low-ceilinged room, full of books and baubles and all sorts of things, with a desk sitting in the corner. It was more ordinary than she had thought. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d expected—some sort of boudoir, perhaps? A hidden-away, little pleasure room, with velvet and padded couches?

You are very silly,she scolded herself, folding her hands in front of herself and waiting for him to speak.

“This was my study when I was young,” Cassian spoke, almost to himself. “It was a storeroom, but my father allowed me to turn it into my own room. It was the only space that was truly mine.”

He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable all of a sudden.

Emily realized with a rush that he had told her something personal. Something that mattered. She glanced around, slow and pointed, taking in the details of the room.

“It’s a lovely room,” she said at last. “Small, but well-appointed. You’ve made it your own. Thank you for showing it to me.”

He glanced at her, arching an eyebrow. “I didn’t bring you here to display my taste in décor, my dear.”

“No? Then why did you bring me here?” Emily took a careful step towards him. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice quiet.

He eyed her for a long moment, then let out a slow sigh.

“Margaret said something that upset you,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

Emily bit her lip. “You… you are close to her, aren’t you?”

He held her gaze. “Yes, I am. But I can tell you now that Frances is not my child, and Margaret is not and has never been my mistress. Do you believe me?”

“I… I don’t know what to believe.”

Cassian eyed her for a long moment. Emily wished she had a knack for reading a person’s gaze and knowing what they were thinking. Anna was good at it, and so was her mother, but Emily found herself mostly in the dark, missing even the most obvious social clues.

When young Frances has her coming out, I can only hope that she’s less of a wallflower than I, and a little more astute, too.

Cassian sighed, turning his head away. The spell was broken, and Emily found herself sucking in a breath, as if she had been holding her breath for some reason.

“Something else is bothering you,” he said, rather shortly. “I do not wish to speak of the baroness. Why don’t you tell me what is on your mind, and we’ll go from there.”

“Well, in fact, thereissomething that has weighed on me for some time,” Emily began hesitantly, taking a step towards him. She realized that she was wringing her hands and hastily dropped them to her sides. “It’s the question of the Prince Regent’s commission.”