Page 15 of A Duke Reformed (Icy Dukes #3)

He was dressed... differently. Not just well-tailored, as any duke should be, butpreciselyas she had instructed.

Even down to the color. He stood in the corner, taller than any other man in the room.

It wasn't surprising that he stood so rigid, with that infuriating ducal arrogance.

But tonight, something was different. The new coat accentuated the breadth of his shoulders, the fabric pulling slightly when he crossed his arms, as if even the finest tailoring couldn't quite.

.. contain him. His hair, darker than midnight and longer than fashion permitted, curled slightly at his nape.

The strong line of his jaw was clean-shaven, and when he turned to accept a glass of wine, the candlelight caught the sharp angle of his cheekbone and she let out a subtle gasp, amazed at how. .. incredible he looked.

Oh, great heavens.

A soft, disbelieving laugh escaped her before she could stop it, the realization hit like a splash of cold water.

She wasstudyinghim. Not his clothes, not his adherence to her lessons, buthim, the exact way one might appraise a stallion at auction or a sculpture in a gallery.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. It was ridiculous. Absurd.

Solomon Miller was the last man on earth who warranted such attention. Brash, domineering, and seemingly carved from ice. He was hardly her ideal. That his physique happened to be... notablechanged nothing.

"Emma, whatever is making you laugh?"

Emma said nothing, pressing her lips together to smother the last traces of her absurd amusement. "Nothing of importance," she answered. "I was just thinking to myself."

Cecilia squinted, not buying Emma's explanation. "Well, I am positively parched. I'm going to fetch something to drink."

Before Emma could reply, Cecilia had slipped away, her pale blue skirts disappearing into the crowd.

Emma wanted to say something to stop her, but she paused, letting Cecilia run free.

Even though she preferred to have a leash on her at all times, she figured it might be good if Cecilia had conversations with other people.

Emma watched her go, struck suddenly by how alone her sister looked moving through the ballroom.

The other ladies always traveled in pairs or trios.

.. there was a time even Emma used to look for Alice and Lavinia the moment she walked into any function.

But Cecilia walked by herself, back straight but head slightly bowed as if trying to take up less space.

How had she not noticed before? Cecilia always seemed content at her side, but now Emma wondered... when was the last time Cecilia had been invited to join one a group of ladies for a promenade at the park? Or to picnic with just the ladies?

"I would ask what crime against fashion you have spotted, but you seem too engrossed to enlighten me."

Emma jumped, startled by the voice at her shoulder. She turned to find Solomon standing close to her and instinctively, she stepped back. She pressed a hand to her chest, willing herbreathing to steady.

"You startled me, Your Grace," she said with a polite curtsy.

"You wouldn't have been so startled if you weren't absentminded," he replied. "It's a ball, Ducky. What are you thinking so intently about at a ball?"

Emma sighed, almost instinctively giving into the urge to lay down all her worries on Solomon because she desperately needed someone to talk to and with Lavinia and Alice absent, she had no one to confide in. But she restrained herself quickly, fighting back the urge.

"It's nothing, Your Grace," she answered, feigning a polite smile. "I just... everyone looks rather ravishing this evening. You particularly."

A faint smile crossed Solomon's lips, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. "You noticed."

"It would be hard not to," she answered. "You usually dress the exact same way to every event, so this is a welcome surprise."

Emma smiled, somewhat please that she could get an up close look at him now.

The deep claret of his coat brought out the warmth in his complexion.

He had never worn that color before, and she noticed how it softened the usual severity of his features even though it was only a little.

The silver embroidery along the waistcoat caught the candlelight with every slight movement he made, drawing attention to his frame.

But now that he stood close, she could see that his cravat sat slightly askew. .. ruining the almost perfect look.

Her hand was moving before she could stop it.

She reached for the cravat, feeling how warm the linen was from his skin, the faint pulse at his throat accelerating under her touch.Solomon went preternaturally still. Her pinky finger grazed his collarbone as she adjusted the knot, and she felt him stifle a shudder.

For whatever reason, she was too scared to look up at him, and so nervous that what should have taken three seconds to fix was now taking an eternity. She fumbled with the cravat, her fingers betraying her with their unsteadiness.She couldfeelhis gaze on her, heavy but unreadable.

Then... just as she thought she had fixed it, Solomon shifted slightly, tilting his chin down tolook at her hands.

His movement brought his jaw into fleeting contact with her fingers and she jerked her hand back as if scalded, causing the cravat, half-adjusted, to unravel completely, slithering loose around his throat like a surrender flag.

A beat of horrified silence ensued between them. Emma stared at the cravat, while Solomon stared at her.

Horrified, she pressed a hand to her mouth. "Oh, forgive me, Your Grace. That was not my intention. It was crooked, I only meant to–"

"Fix it," Solomon said and let out a short laugh. "That was obvious, I just didn't expect you to sabotage your own efforts."

Emma finally met his gaze and she saw the amusement in his eyes. She clasped her hands together, noting that her hand still tingled where his face touched it. "If you had stoppedmoving, perhaps I could manage it properly."

"Ah, so now it'smyfault?"He tilted his head, the ruined cravat dangling rakishly.

"I didn't say that."

"But you implied it," he said and reached for the cravat, taking a couple of seconds to fix it himself.

Emma felt the heat rise to her cheeks and she lowered her head, hoping that Solomon didn't see how flustered she was. She was not one to be clumsy, and for some reason she couldn't shake off the feeling that she had embarrassed herself.

"Perhaps I should say hello to your father," he said, already shifting as if to make his way across the ballroom."I saw him earlier."

Emma's eyes widened. The last time Solomon had spoken to Papa at the park, the man had nearly tripped over himself in excitement, chattering about hunting dogs and business opportunities as if Solomon were a long-lost friend rather than London's most intimidating peer.

The memory alone made her toes curl. She feared that soon, Howard would try to talk Solomon into a business venture that would fail like all the other ones he had tried.

Before she could stop herself, her hand darted out, fingers brushing his sleeve."Don't."

Solomon stilled, glancing down at where she'd touched him. "Don't?" he asked her. "I shouldn't greet your father?"

"I..." she stuttered. "Perhaps some other time. I'm sure you have other people to greet."

"Not going would be rude, Ducky,"he countered, lifting an eyebrow. "That is far from the lessons you have been teaching me. Unless you'd care to explain why you're so determined to keep me away from your father."

Emma swallowed, hesitating. The truth lodged in her throat like a stone."Well, the last time you had a conversation with him, I noticed that he was a bit too... overeager. I just don't want him to embarrass you, that is all..."She forced the words out, her cheeks burning.

Solomon studied her for a long moment, then surprised her by stepping closer. "Emma..." he said.

The sound of her name on his lips struck her like a physical touch.

Not Ducky, the infuriating nickname he had called her since they met.

.. Not Miss Lockhart... Emma. He had said it with a quiet intensity that made her breath catch.

Something warm and unfamiliar unfurled in her chest, softening edges she hadn't realized were so rigid.

His eyes usually so mocking and so guarded held an expression she couldn't name. It unsettled her far more than his laughter ever had.

"...you're fortunate," he continued, his gaze never yielding from hers. "A family that cares for one another is a rare thing.If your father is always overly enthusiastic then let him be. You have a loving family, and I think that's what's important. You're lucky you're not me."

They stood there, locked in a silence so thick it seemed to swallow the sounds of the ball around them. Emma searched his face and for the first time, she wondered what memories laid behind the guarded expression he always wore on his face.

Then, just as suddenly as he had stepped closer before, Solomon broke the gaze. He straightened his back and cleared his throat. "I should go," he said. "I will be saying hello to your father whether you want me to or not."

Emma nodded. "I think he would like that very much."

Solomon studied her for a moment, then tilted his head slightly, as if considering something. "When next shall we resume our lessons?" he asked her.

"It's entirely up to you, Your Grace," she answered.

"Tuesday," he said, as if she had already agreed. "At my estate. Come at three."

Emma opened her mouth to protest, to demand proper consideration,something to keep the conversation going, but Solomon bowed, cutting off her reply."You'll excuse me,"he murmured, already stepping back.

And just like that, he was gone, melting into the crowd. She stared after him, lips parted.The man had spent weeks learning proper manners from her, yet now he couldn't even wait for a reply before leaving? The arrogance of it should have angered her.

But instead, she found herself staring at the empty space where he had been, her pulse unsteady.

Tuesday. Three o'clock.

She would go, of course. It wasn't as if she had a choice. The insufferable duke was paying her for the lessons after all.