Page 32 of A Duke Reformed (Icy Dukes #3)

Emma tried to pull away from him, her heart pounding in her chest, so loud that it was ringing in her ears.

But Solomon didn't let her go. He moved when she moved, blocking her path as she tried to escape.

Every time she shifted to one side, he shifted to match her, closing the space between them deliberately.

She moved backward, her steps becoming more frantic, but he was relentless, his presence insistent and shadowing.

Before she knew it, she found herself pressed against the cold, hard wall.

Her breath hitched as she realized how close they were.

Too close. He was practically breathing on her skin.

Solomon stood in front of her, his eyes dark and his chest rising and falling with the same frantic pace that mirrored hers.

She couldn't move, and for a moment she allowed that part of herself that she had been suppressing, the part that wanted to be in Solomon's arms, come to surface.

"Just give me one moment," he breathed, wiping her tears with both hands.

She turned her face away, trying to avoid the look in his eyes, but he gently cupped her face in his hands, turning her back to face him. Emma didn't trust herself to speak, so she staying silent, clutching on to his shirt.

Slowly, his thumb found her lips again and he traced her lower lip, staring at it like he was contemplating something.

Then, as if the decision had been made somewhere deep within him, Solomon leaned in, his thumb slipping away just as his mouth replaced it.

He slipped one hand around her waist, removing any iota of gap between them.

Emma pulled away slightly, breathless, her lips tingling, her chest rising and falling with each staggered inhale. "Solomon..." she whispered, her voice trembling with confusion and wonder.

But he didn't move far. His eyes, dark and stormy, searched hers with a kind of desperation she had never seen before.

His hand still cupped her face, and his thumb stroked her cheek. "You have no idea..." he murmured, catching his breath. "... how long I have been thinking about this, Ducky. Allow me."

There was a pause, a heartbeat suspended in air. And then he kissed her again.

This time, it was deeper, more insistent, more certain.

There was no hesitation in his movements now, and Emma.

.. Emma felt the world tilt beneath her feet.

Her hands clung to his lapels as the kiss consumed her, pulling her under like a tide she couldn't fight.

She couldn't fight it. She kissed him back.

Her hands moved before thought could catch them.

Her fingers slipped up into his hair, burying themselves in those thick, dark curls she had secretly longed to touch.

Her knees buckled beneath the weight of the intensity and the only thing holding her upright was Solomon's hand at her waist..

.strong and steady, anchoring her to him.

She clung to him, her heart pounding like thunder in her chest, and kissed him like she was pouring all the words she couldn't say into the that very space in time.

Emma, it can never be. Nothing can come of this.

Somehow, like a ripple in still water, a thought broke through the haze, the echo of reality slicing through the warmth of his lips and the safety of his embrace. A rude but much needed awakening.

She gasped softly, her lips parting from his as if she had awoken from a dream. Her breath was shallow. Her heart was still racing. She staggered as she tried to stepped back, her hands dropping from his hair, trembling.

"This was a mistake," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "I apologize, Your Grace."

"For what?" he breathed and tried to reach for her again.

Emma shook her head and took another step away, lifting her chin even as her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "Please don't," she said quietly, forcing herself to keep moving. "I must go."

And before he could say another word, she turned and walked away. Her steps were hurried, her breath uneven, but she didn't stop. Not even when her chest ached. Not even when her legs begged her to go back.

"You have a caller, Miss Lockhart."

"A caller?" Emma questioned, reluctantly rising from the bed. "Who is it?"

"His Grace, The Duke of Montclaire, miss," the butler answered.

The words struck her like a bell tolling in her chest.

It had finally happened. Emma had fallen for a man she had no business loving.

Emma sank back onto the edge of the bed for a moment, her hand pressed to her chest. It wasn't just attraction anymore. It had not been for some time. She had fallen utterly, stupidly, and possibly irreversibly in love.

Lavinia had been right. Emma had tried to fool herself, to say it was an attraction, maybe admiration, certainly nothing permanent, nothing dangerous. But now she had no explanation for it. No excuse. It was love. Plain and simple.

She had given her heart to a man who had made it perfectly clear that he did not believe in love. That he did not want a family. That he had no desire to tether himself to another soul. And yet, she had loved him anyway. Recklessly. How foolish she had been. How dreadfully foolish.

Now, she had to face the consequences. Getting over it.

By the time she descended the stairs, the drawing room door had already been opened. Solomon stood with his back to the fireplace. He turned when he heard her, and their eyes locked as she strolled into the room, making sure to keep a distance between them.

"Your Grace," she said carefully. "I was not expecting a visit."

Solomon took a step towards her. "I find that hard to believe, seeing how we left things yesterday." He assessed her from head to toe. "How are you, Ducky?"

It was in that moment that Emma realized just how much had changed between them.

When he first started calling her Ducky, she'd loathed it.

The sheer audacity of it had enraged her.

But as the days passed rolled by, the name began to unnerve her in other ways.

It began to sound familiar. Intimate. It began to pull a reluctant smile from her lips, even when she didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

Now the sound of it stirred something far more dangerous inside her. It made her feel soft... vulnerable. It made her feel like melting, like folding into his arms and letting him win whatever battle they were pretending not to fight.

"I want to talk, Emma," he said, approaching her. "why did you leave so abruptly?"

"Your Grace, I'm afraid there's nothing to talk about," she said, moving further away. "It shouldn't have happened."

Solomon followed her, trying to close the gap she was creating between them in the drawing room. "Don't do that, Emma."

"I'm not doing anything." Emma reached for the back of a settee and stood behind it, like it was a shield between them.

He paused for a breath with his eyes on hers, and then, before she could react he braced one knee on the settee and leaned across the back of it.

His hand found her waist, and held on to her, halting her retreat.

She gasped at the sudden contact, her hands gripping his forearms for support as her breath hitched.

"You're running again," he spoke. "Why do you always run?"

Emma froze.

For one long, unbearable moment, she stood completely still, held between the heat of his body and the settee. She hated how vulnerable she felt in that instant. How the sound of his voice melted through the defenses she had been trying to build since last night.

With a sharp breath, she blinked hard and wiggled herself free, her fingers gently prying his hand from her waist. Solomon let her go, though he didn't move. Emma walked over to the window seat and sat.

She stared out at the overcast garden for a long moment before finally speaking.

"There's something I haven't told you," she said softly. "Something I've been keeping from you, Your Grace. And it's time you heard it."

Solomon tilted his head slightly, watching her with narrowed eyes. "What is it?" he asked.

Emma turned away from the window, forcing a smile. She was about to do something foolish. Something she would never do under any normal circumstances. But it was the only way she could protect herself.

"I've decided to marry," she said, her words hanging until she spoke again. "Lord Pembleton. He is the gentleman from the ball that day, and the same one from the Wentworth hallway."

She braced herself for his reaction, watching as his eyes darkened. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she watched Solomon get up from where he was and move closer, the tension between them like a rope pulling tighter with each passing second.

"He ticks all the boxes," she continued. "Everything I need... stability, respect, kindness. He'll make a good match. We're engaged."

The lie was a necessary evil. A way out. It was the only way to protect both of them. She hadn't planned it, not consciously. The words had come to her in the moment, and they had felt right. Clever, even. A lifeline.

She couldn't keep dragging them both through the pain. She had to let him go. By claiming that she was engaged to Edmund Kirk, she had given herself an escape, a way out without further torment. It was a small, but important lie that would preserve the fragile parts of her that were still intact.

She didn't want to be cruel. She had never wanted to be cruel to Solomon.

But he had made his position clear. He didn't want to marry.

He didn't want a family. His reasons, his past..

. all made sense now. He had his boundaries, and he wasn't going to cross them.

She couldn't keep hope alive for something that was never going to happen.

To ask him to change, to ask him to love her... wasn't fair. It would only leave them both heartbroken. She was never one who clung to a dream that wasn't real. It was time to wake up.

"Do you love him?" Solomon asked, standing by the fireplace now. He had his back turned to her, but she could hear him.

"I don't know," was all she could say. "But I think I'm on the right path and it might happen. I might... love him. I took your advice. It would be pretty lonely to live the rest of my life with someone that I do not love. So, I have to try at least."

Solomon scoffed. "You took my advice?" he asked, turning around. "Is that what you said, Emma?"

"Yes," she answered.

"When did this... engagement happen?" he asked.

"Today," she replied. "He called earlier. We spent the entire morning together before he decided to take Papa to the Club. I sensed it was going to happen, and I wanted to tell you yesterday, but I didn't get the chance."

Solomon let out an awkward laugh as he massaged his nape. "All right. I hear you. Congratulations."

"Thank you," she said and rose to her feet, sensing that she was about to start crying. "At least now, our arrangement is officially over. You no longer need my guidance. You are a true gentleman now."

It was easy to tell that Solomon had something else to say. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself. He stood restlessly, as if he didn't know what to do with his hands. Emma could see that he was restraining himself.

Quickly, she turned away from him then, her steps brisk as she headed toward the door. Solomon's gaze followed her, but his body remained frozen. But the moment he turned his eyes away from her, he spoke.

"One more thing," he said, halting her in her tracks. "There's another reason I came here, Miss Lockhart."

She paused just before the door, and as she turned back, she saw him pull a small, silver pouch from his jacket and place it on the table. "It's for the last lesson. Your payment. You did not stay to collect."

"No," she said softly, but firmly. "I cannot accept it, Your Grace. I have no use for the payment any longer. But thank you for giving me this opportunity. Goodbye, Your Grace."

With that she left the room, making her way up the stairs.

As she reached her bed, she collapsed onto it, burying her face in the soft linens, her tears flowing freely.

She no longer cared about the dowry her family had once deemed so essential, nor the notion of securing a husband who would fulfill the expectations placed upon her.

All of that seemed so insignificant now, overshadowed by the ache in her heart, and the emptiness that came with saying goodbye to Solomon.