Page 41 of A Duke Reformed (Icy Dukes #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

" Y ou do know, he is not a fool?" Cecilia said to Emma. "Even a blind man would see how terribly you have been trying to avoid him all evening."

Emma stood beside Cecilia at the far end of the room, making sure to scan the area every two seconds.

She had done her best not to look at Solomon for the duration of the evening.

.. not when her family greeted him at the entrance, not even when he rose to address the room right before dinner was served.

Her chest ached from how long she had held her breath.

He was only a few seats down, and yet it felt as though the entire evening teetered on the fragile space between them.

She could feel his presence like a pull, and still, she refused to give in to the instinct to look.

If she did, she feared she would find his gaze already on her, and she did not know what that would do to her.

Emma folded her arms tightly across her bodice and looked away. "I have not been avoiding him, Cecilia. Don't be ridiculous."

Cecilia scoffed. "I am the one being ridiculous?

Me? My very self? You didn't look at him when we greeted him at the entrance.

Papa did all the talking for almost five long minutes.

You pretended to be completely fascinated by that dreadful painting during the toast, and when he walked past just now?

You turned your entire body toward a wall, Emma. "

Emma sighed, rubbing her forehead. "It's complicated."

"It's really not. You're just scared," she retorted.

"And what do you know about love, little one?"

"Not enough. I'm still waiting to experience it, but when I do, I surely will not make the same silly mistakes you are currently making, older one.

" Cecilia paused and sighed. "I know I tease you a lot, but.

.. Emma, he makes you happy. Or he made you happy.

Those days, when you would sneak off to have lessons with him, there was always this glint in your eye every time you came back.

It was always different, but it was always there.

You used to smile more when he was around, even when the two of you would bicker. Especially then."

"Don't do this to me, Cecilia," Emma urged. "Really...I cannot think about this like that. You just have to trust that this is for the greater good. Soon, London season will be over, and he will return to Northen England. Our paths that intertwine would end there."

Cecilia opened her mouth to say something more, but then she gasped softly and looked up, eyes wide.

Emma blinked, confused. "What is it–?"

She turned, following Cecilia's eyes.

Solomon stood behind her, hands clasped behind his back, an unreadable expression on his face. He towered over them. The candle light from the chandelier cast a shadow on top of him that made his eyes look even darker.

He didn't look at her.

"Miss Cecilia," he said smoothly, bowing his head in greeting. "Forgive the interruption, but may I steal your sister for a quick moment?"

Emma barely had time to catch her breath.

He did not wait for Cecilia's answer. In one fluid motion, he turned toward Emma and without waiting for her to gather her thoughts.

.. or her nerves, Solomon gently but firmly took her by the wrist and led her away from the drawing room, through a side corridor.

He did not speak. Not until he reached the door at the end of the hallway and pushed it open. There, he walked her into what looked like his study, placed her in the middle of the room. Then, he walked back to the door, shut it, and leaned on it.

Emma took a shaky step back, her hand still tingling where he had held it. She turned to face him, her breath shallow and uneven as her gaze swept the study. Anywhere but his eyes.

"This is highly inappropriate," she spoke, trying her best to mask the quake in her voice. "You should know that, Your Grace. After all the lessons we had together, one would think you'd care a little more about propriety."

Solomon didn't move. His eyes remained fixed on her.

"There are guests waiting," she went on, folding her arms as if to shield herself from the charged air between them. "People will notice we are gone. This isn't some idle country gathering where no one keeps count, this is a formal dinner in your own house."

Still, he said nothing.

"Your Grace," she said again, this time with a breath of exasperation. "Open the door please."

"Why? So you would run away again?" he finally spoke. "So you would whisper ‘I must go' and disappear without giving me an explanation?"

Emma swallowed, taking a step back.

"This party was an excuse to get you here. I don't even converse with most of the people in that room. We need to talk, Emma."

"We have nothing to discuss..." she said.

"Why did you lie to me, Emma?" he asked, pushing himself off the door and advancing slowly toward her. "I have tried for weeks to understand it. To make sense of why you would strike a nerve in me so sensitive, it's nearly unbearable. But I don't have that answer and I want you to give it to me."

Emma swallowed again, feeling the room getting smaller.

"Solomon, I don't have the answer you are looking for," she said, throwing both hands in the air.

"Maybe it was selfish of me to expect honesty from you," he said to her, taking a seat on the edge of his table.

"Or maybe I'm just too different. It might not be a problem for you, but it is for me because I have this notion that for one to lie.

..to tell such a lie, there had to be reason.

For instance, the lie my mother told that unraveled my entire life had a reason.

It wasn't a great one, but there was a reason.

That reason makes it a little bit understandable.

But it still does not change the fact that I find deceit unforgivable. "

Emma's heart pounded. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, her fingers curling into the fabric of her gown.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and aching.

She wanted to speak... desperately. To tell him the truth at last. That the only reason she had lied was to protect herself, to build something of a wall, however feeble, against the feelings she couldn't control.

Feelings that only deepened each time he looked at her that way.

She wanted to tell him that inventing an engagement with Edmund had been her way of letting go, of forcing herself to move on from someone she thought she could never have.

That it was not spite or gamesmanship... it was self-preservation.

But no words came. Her throat burned with restraint.

Because how could she say any of that aloud, when nothing was going to change?

When he had made it clear, again and again, that their desires were not aligned?

So, she stood there – her face a mask of remorse – saying nothing, even as her chest swelled with everything she could not bring herself to admit.

He turned away from her, running a hand through his hair before facing her again.

"You trouble me, Emma," he said quietly.

"After I found out that my life was practically a lie.

.. that I wasn't the son of a commoner who died at sea, I always found lying inexcusable.

Always have. Yet... for some reason, I cannot stop thinking about you and how I want to excuse you simply because I don't want to stay angry at you. "

The admission hung in the air between them, heavier than anything else he had said ever since they met. His eyes searched hers, waiting for her to respond, but Emma's heart gave a painful lurch. She looked down, unable to hold his gaze, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Maybe it's better if you don't forgive me, Your Grace," she said. "Maybe that's the only way either of us can move on."

There was a long, tense pause.

"You believe that?" he asked.

She didn't answer. She couldn't. Because if she spoke again, her voice would betray her.

Then, after taking a deep breath, she spoke without looking up. "My father will be wondering where I am. Thank you for the lovely evening."

Solomon remained still as she walked past him, making her way back to the party. Emma didn't dare glance back. Her chest tightened with every step, her vision blurry as she fought the burning in her eyes.

She felt like she had left a part of herself behind in that room.

She barely managed to make it back to the party, slipping through the crowd with a tight-lipped smile and a nod here and there, doing everything she could to appear unaffected as she searched for Cecilias.

But inside, she was a storm of confusion and regret, holding back tears that threatened to betray her at any moment.

"Alice! Oh, great heavens!"

Emma flew across the room without hesitation, her arms flinging around her friend in a tight embrace. She didn't even care that she was barefoot or that her hair was slightly undone from the breeze through her window. She was surprised to see Alice in her room. They had been apart for far too long.

"I missed you so terribly," she mumbled before breaking the hug.

"As did I!" Alice giggled, beaming. "Oh, Emma. Look at you! You've gotten even more beautiful."

Emma sighed. "Oh, don't tease me," she groaned. "I know I look a mess right now."

"I'm here too... in case you didn't notice, Emma," Lavinia teased.

Emma turned to Lavinia with a laugh, her hand reaching out to squeeze Lavinia's arm. "I apologize, my friend but I have been seeing you quite often these days, but... Alice! How long has it been?"

"Too long," she answered.

Emma pulled back slightly, hands still on Alice's shoulders, taking in her face. "You look so well. Motherhood suits you."

"And you, dearest one, look like someone who hasn't been sleeping properly," Lavinia chimed in. "Come. Let's sit. I had to drag Alice out because Cecilia sent a letter."

Emma's eyebrow furrowed. "Cecilia sent a letter?" she questioned, confused.