Page 18 of A Duke Reformed (Icy Dukes #3)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T he moment Emma stepped into the drawing room and set her eyes on Solomon, she let out an audible gasp.

"Who did that to you?" Her voice came out softer than she intended.

She had found Solomon standing by the window, his profile half-turned from her, but the bruise on his left cheek was still visible. A dark, mottled shadow bloomed across his cheekbone. Without thinking, Emma crossed the room, trying to get a better look at it.

Her fingertips touched the edge of the bruise, just below his eye, where the skin was thinnest. A sharp inhale escaped him, though whether from pain or surprise, she couldn't tell.

She was too engrossed in assessing the wound on his face.

The skin was warm beneath her touch, the bruise an ugly contrast against his usually unmarred features.

It took her a long moment to realize that she shouldn't be this close to him, and she certainlyshouldn't be touching him.

But the sight of it worried her more than she wanted to admit.

Before she could withdraw, his hand closed around her wrist, not roughly, but with a firmness that sent a shiver up her arm. She met his gaze, noting in an instant that she had done something he did not approve of.

"I see it now, how badly I corrupt you," he said, still holding on to her arm, and her gaze.

Emma's breath caught in her throat. His voice was low, almost resigned, as if the words were dragged from him against his will. Her pulse thundered where his fingers encircled her wrist and she couldn't bring herself to pull away even though it felt like her skin was burning beneath his touch.

Corrupting me?

It took her a moment to register his words. "What do you mean, Your Grace?"

Solomon's grip loosened around her wrist a bit, but he didn't let go. His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist once, caressing her skin before he released her entirely.

"Do you realize..." he began, his voice a low, deliberate rasp, "...what you've just done?"

Emma looked down at her fingers. "I apologize, Your Grace. My intention was not to offend you. I simply...how did you get hurt? Did someone hit you?"

"You forget yourself, Miss Lockhart," he murmured, stepping back just enough to restore the proper distance between them. "I think we both forgot ourselves. This isn't... appropriate."

Emma's eyebrows furrowed and she took a step forward. "I apologize, Your Grace. It wouldn't happen again. I wasn't thinking. Usually, the only people I see get hurt are my siblings and I guess I haven't drawn the line between us yet, but–"

"It's not just that, Miss Lockhart," Solomon said to her. "It's this. All of it. You are supposed to be chaperoned from what I hear, yet you come to my estate all alone."

"I told you," she said, feeling a pang in her chest. "I don't need a chaperone. I'm a spinster."

"You are not," he said to her, shaking his head. "First, you agree to these clandestine lessons. Then you arrive unchaperoned, day after day. What if rumors fly? What do we do then?"

Emma studied him, the fine lines between her brows deepening. Solomon had never struck her as a man who wasted a single thought on society's opinions. He was the sort who strode into ballrooms with mud still clinging to his boots... who met raised eyebrows with colder silence.

So why now? Why this sudden performance of propriety?

"What troubles you, Your Grace?" she asked him, putting both hands behind her back. "Because clearly, you are not being entirely honest with me."

"I don't owe you honesty."

Emma tilted her head sharply. "Is that what you think?"

Solomon visibly swallowed, turning his gaze away. "You grew up here... all your life. Does it not worry you that people will talk? Make up rumors if they were to ever find out you visit the estate ever so often?"

"No," she answered plainly.

"Why?" he asked and crossed his arms.

"Because this is more important," she said to him and bit her lower lip.

She wanted to lie. Sheshouldlie. But there was this look in his eyes that seemed to strip her defenses bare, leaving no room for half-truths.

"Because you need these lessons, and I need the payment.

Because the money you pay after each session goes to a very good cause and I put that cause above all else.

It's all about priorities. My family is the most important thing to me. "

Solomon's arms remained crossed, his gaze unrelenting."A cause?" he mumbled.

"What's yours?" she asked him and walked back to the window to lean by the wall. "What's your cause?"

A short silence ensued between then before Solomon slowly uncrossed his arms and leaned on the back of the sofa. "I don't want to tell you."

Emma raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "Your Grace, I was honest with you.

It would be nice if you were honest with me to as to why this is important to you.

You said it yourself, this isn't entirely proper, and the only reason we should continue should be because of a priority that outweighs all else. So tell me. What is your cause?"

Solomon studied her for a moment, as if contemplating if he should speak or not. Finally, he sighed and folded his arms again. "Because I cannot be the one that ruins it," he spoke softly.

Emma stayed still, listening.

"Before all of this... before I found out who my father was, I was a simply a commoner living in North England, making a name for myself," he explained.

"I was simply a businessman. I had a reputation.

.. it wasn't a great one, but it was a respected one.

Then this happens, and suddenly, I have other shoes to fill.

Shoes that are very unfamiliar to me. I know of these plans of expansion, and business ventures that I must see through because it is expected of me.

But I don't know how to talk to these people that are familiar with these shoes I'm trying so hard to fill.

I need to blend it. I need it to be like I have always been here. "

"I can do that for you," she said to him. "Like you said, I've lived here all my life, and I know the ton ."

"So, you're not worried about the rumors that might spread?" he asked.

Emma smiled. "Your Grace, I am not one to stir rumors," she explained.

"If I were to be a debutante, then... maybe.

But no one is really that interested in what I do.

But they are interested in you. The difference is that you are the Duke of Montclaire.

They won't question you. Also, I'll make sure to be careful from now on, so you are more at ease. Does that work?"

Solomon studied her for a long moment, silent and unreadable before he began to pace, thinking to himself. Emma watched him, purposely staying question so he could think through his worries.

Finally, he stopped pacing and looked up at her. "I think it's best if you stop walking here. The best I can do is make sure that we are never caught. That way, I can be at ease."

Emma blinked, confused. "What do you mean, Your Grace?"

"You will be picked up by a carriage every time we have a lesson together," he explained.

"We won't always have our lessons here in the estate so we have to arrange for somewhere else.

.." he paused and began to think to himself again.

"Somewhere private but still... open. We can figure that out later, but for now, you will be brought here by a carriage. "

Emma took a step forward. "Your Grace, doesn't that seem rather excessive?"

"It's not," he said firmly. "I'll hire someone discreet. One man. Trusted. Paid well to keep quiet." He met her gaze directly. "If we are going to keep doing this, then it's best to keep certain measures in place so no one gets... hurt."

Emma inhaled sharply before nodding. "All right. I will follow your lead then."

"Good," he said and let out a sigh of relief.

Emma straightened her back and crossed her arms. "Now... how did you get hurt?"

"It doesn't matter." He shook his head, walking over to the sofa to sit.

"Yes, it does," she answered and crossed the room to sit on the other end of the sofa. "Tell me. Did you get in a fight? Did you say something inappropriate to someone?"

Solomon interlocked his fingers, his thumbs pressing hard against each other."I was sparring with Andrew. I got hit," he admitted with a dismissive shrug."It was nothing."

Emma studied the bruise on Solomon's face again, still concerned by it. "You can't be seen like this," she said quietly. "It doesn't speak well of you."

"It's just a bruise," he said to her. "It will heal in no time."

"It's not just a bruise to them." She folded her hands in her lap, choosing her words carefully.

"The ton judges everything, Your Grace. A visible injury makes you look reckless.

Like you are an aggressive man. Most of them wouldn't even take the time to ask you about it before spreading absurd rumors. "

Solomon's jaw flexed."Let them talk."

Emma gave Solomon a stern look that he seemed to catch almost immediately.

"I'm guessing that was the wrong response," he said, studying her face. "We don't want them to talk. But what can I do? It won't just disappear."

"Hopefully it heals on time, but a good tactic would be to make jokes about it before they get the opportunity to speak about it," she explained. "Make sure to mention it and clear the air that you didn't get it in an actual fist fight."

Solomon nodded slowly. "All right," he said and sat up. "Moving on. What are we discussing for today's lesson?"

Emma's fingers moved swiftly as she reached into the silk-lined depths of her reticule. Her fingertips brushed against the cover of her notebook, and she drew it out carefully.

Solomon arched a brow as his lips curving into a slow, teasing smile. "A notepad, Miss Lockhart?" he questioned. "Am I to believe you have been recording my every blunder for posterity?"

"No, Your Grace," she answered. "I wrote down the lesson for today and key points so I don't miss anything."