Page 26 of A Duke Reformed (Icy Dukes #3)

How could she possibly admit to him... to herself, that the real reason she didn't want to dance with him again was because another twirl in his arms might make her lose all control? It was ridiculous, and she knew it, but it didn't stop the way her pulse fluttered at the thought of it.

Solomon was frustratingly unpredictable, and for every step forward in their conversations, they seemed to take two steps back, never quite aligning.

She couldn't stand how often they ended up at odds, how he seemed to revel in teasing her, pushing her buttons, making her blood race in a way she wasn't even ready to acknowledge.

Her gaze lowered to her hands, the knitted piece now a tangled mess.

She exhaled and shook her head. Knowing that another dance with him would have caused her to surely swoon.

.. to lose herself in the warmth of his arms, she figured she could live with the fact that her silence had frustrated him.

She was starting to find him attractive, and that was a line she could not cross.

The emotions brewing inside her were dangerous, far too dangerous to feed.

She had worked all her life to make sure she never ended up like her father. She had come this far. Surely, she could put aside her growing attraction for the greater good.

She stood abruptly, brushing the skirt of her gown and snatching up the discarded yarn with far more force than necessary.

She used to like knitting in the garden, but now it was no longer a sanctuary of peace.

With a huff, she turned on her heel and marched toward the house, determined to distract herself with anything but thoughts of Solomon.

But as she stepped into the corridor, a sudden blur of motion collided into her with surprising force.

"Phillip!" she cried out just before the impact knocked her off balance. She stumbled backward and landed hard on the floor with a gasp, her wrist catching her fall at an awkward angle.

"Ow!" she groaned.

"Sorry, Emma!" Phillip said breathlessly and wide-eyed.

Dorothy came skidding around the corner a second later, her cheeks flushed and the curls in her hair bouncing. "Phillip, you little beetle! Give that back!"

Emma cradled her wrist and sat up with a wince, glaring at both of them. "Must you two always bring the chaos indoors?" she snapped, her separate frustrations merging. "Someone is going to get hurt. Again!"

She slowly rose to her feet, brushing down her gown with one hand while still cradling her sore wrist with the other. "No running in the halls. How many times must I say it before one of you listens?"

Phillip looked down, still catching his breath, but Dorothy crossed her arms, clearly still riled up and wanting to get back at Phillip.

Emma turned to her younger sister and sighed. "Dorothy, you are not a child anymore. You'll be debuting next Season. You must begin to carry yourself with more composure."

"But he–"

Emma held up a hand. "I know he provokes you, but part of becoming a lady is learning not to let people get under your skin. Especially not Phillip. You should learn by now to ignore his antics and not fall for it every single time."

Phillip puffed out his chest with misplaced pride, which only earned him another sharp look from Emma.

"Off with you both," she said, waving them away. "And this time, walk. If you must play together, then do it in the morning room, or outside."

Emma waited until they had both trudged off down the corridor, watching Phillip dragging his feet dramatically and Dorothy throwing one last glare over her shoulder before leaning back against the wall with a sigh that came from her rearfoot.

Her wrist throbbed slightly, but not nearly as much as her head.

She had already been frustrated when she left the garden, but now, after nearly being flattened in her own corridor, after having to lecture Dorothy and Phillip yet again, after landing squarely on the marble floor like a sack of potatoes, she was past the brink of patience.

She decided it was best to get some sleep and tackle the day again with an even clearer head.

As Emma rounded the corner toward the main stairwell, the muffled sounds of raised voices met her ears. They were sharp, tense, and unmistakably heated. She paused mid-step, her brow furrowing, already knowing the source before she heard the names. It was Cecilia and their father.

Again.

She exhaled a long breath through her nose and her shoulders tightened. The walls of the Lockhart estate had grown far too familiar with the rhythm of their constant quarrels. It was almost a daily occurrence at this point and Emma knew she was irrevocably tired of it.

With a hand pressed lightly to her aching wrist, Emma resumed her steps, making her way to the drawing room and the voices grew louder, clearer.

"... and what explanation am I to give Lord Ventnor?" Howard's voice cracked like a whip as Emma stepped into the room. "That my daughter, after being afforded every advantage, now finds herself too grand for proper society?"

"I have told you, Papa!" Cecilia's voice, though higher, matched his for ferocity. "I don't enjoy those events. I don't wish to smile and nod and endure vacuous conversation just to secure some dreadful match. Lord Ventnor is as old as you!"

Emma watched them for a moment. Howard pacing furiously in front of the fireplace, while Cecilia stood rooted near the window, arms crossed in stubborn defense, and her chin tilted defiantly toward the ceiling.

"Please," Emma said, her voice calm but strained, stepping in between them like a reluctant shield. "Everyone can hear you both."

They didn't even flinch.

"I don't care what you enjoy, Cecilia," Howard snapped, barely sparing Emma a glance. "You are a Lockhart. You have duties, expectations. I will not have you sulking away your chances because you've taken a fancy to dramatics."

"You think it's dramatics?" Cecilia let out a short, bitter laugh, her arms folding tighter across her chest. "You think I'm refusing to attend balls and smile at gentlemen because I want attention? If you must know, that is far from the truth."

Howard shook his head. "You've become entirely too self-important. You behave as if the entire world must bend to your whims."

"And you behave as though I'm a sheep to be herded into some man's home!" she shot back. "I'm tired, Papa. Tired of pretending. I refuse to go to this function because I see no use for it."

"Cecilia, this is your third absence in a row. Tongues are already wagging."

"I don't care what they say!" Cecilia cried.

"Well I do!" he yelled. "I care what they say about my family. About my daughter. I will not have you make a fool of me because you have decided you are too clever, too particular for the rules everyone else must follow."

"Enough!" Emma's voice cracked through the room like a whip, sharper than she intended... sharp enough to draw stunned silence from both Howard and Cecilia.

Her chest rose and fell as she stepped forward, eyes blazing. Fury curled hot in her chest, thick and stifling, but she forced herself to breathe, to steady. She couldn't let the anger speak for her. Not when they clearly needed someone to think for them.

"This is what is going to happen," she started by saying, then took in a deep breath.

"Father, you will need to find another suitor for Cecilia.

If she says she doesn't want to speak to Lord Pearlton, then I don't think it's productive to keep forcing her to do so.

I think you should find a gentleman who is not entangled in business with you, nor twice her age.

I can make a list for you of eligible bachelors, appropriate in rank and reputation.

You may review it and send your letters as you please. "

Howard opened his mouth to speak, but she lifted a hand, not quite finished yet.

"As for you, Cecilia," Emma turned to her sister.

"You will attend the next ball. You should.

And you will dance. With someone you choose.

I don't care if he is frightfully dull or drinks too much lemonade, just pick someone who does not make your skin crawl.

I will be by your side all evening, as always, but I will not watch you wither into resentment. This is your debut Season."

Howard's scoff was loud enough to draw Emma's attention. "If you knew all these tricks so well, Emma, shouldn't you have been able to get a man on your own by now, or you simply do not apply it to yourself?"

Emma felt the air in the room shift in that moment.

"That is exactly why I want nothing to do with this charade!" Cecilia chimed in, yelling. "Why would I give you the satisfaction of watching me barter myself just so you can feel accomplished, Papa? Look at how you speak of gentlemen and marriage like it's our responsibility to woo a man."

"I said enough!" Emma yelled again.

She stood in the center of the drawing room, breath trembling, her chest rising and falling too quickly, her wrist still aching from her earlier fall. The room seemed too small, too loud with all the words that had been hurled back and forth.

"I cannot do this anymore," she said, almost in a whisper.

"I am so tired of standing in the middle of every argument.

Of pretending it doesn't hurt. Of acting like a constable in my own home, breaking up fights, smoothing over pride, preserving the peace like it's some fragile china we'll all shatter if I don't hold it together. "

Howard blinked, clearly thrown. "Emma–"

"I have emotions too, you know," Emma went on, not allowing him speak. "Even though I wish I didn't. Because they get in the way, don't they? They make me too sensitive or too careful or too responsible. And I'm so tired of being careful. Of trying to keep everyone else from falling apart."

The ache in her chest pressed against her ribs, but she pressed on.

"I don't always want to be the buffer when you both decide to go at each other's throats.

I'm exhausted. I'm frustrated. And I cannot be the peacekeeper and the good daughter and the good sister all at once.

So, if you must fight, keep your voices down. "

Quickly, she turned around making her way to her room. Her heart was pounding, her wrist was still sore, but it was the storm raging inside her chest that made her feel as though she might combust.

She shouldn't have shouted like that, she knew. But it was as if the words had clawed their way out of her, demanding release after being buried for too long. Deep down, she knew it wasn't just today's quarrel. It was all of it.

If they hadn't pushed her. If her father hadn't been so obsessed with appearances...if Cecilia hadn't shut down and withdrawn after their mother's death, Emma would not have had to fill every blasted gap in the household. She would not have found herself in this tangled chaos with Solomon.

If they hadn't needed her so much, leaned on her so constantly, she would never have been in this position to begin with. She would have never had reason to accept the deal with Solomon.

She would have never had to meet him.

And maybe... just maybe her heart wouldn't feel so bruised for it.