Page 8 of A Duke Reformed (Icy Dukes #3)

CHAPTER FIVE

I shouldn't be here... Great heavens, what was I thinking?

Emma sat at the edge of the chair, in the drawing room, contemplating if it was best to just leave.

The evening had settled over Montclaire Estate like a heavy cloak and the sky outside deepening into shades of indigo as the first stars began to appear.

It was late and she in a man's home without a chaperone. .. not like she'd need one.

Don't say it... don't say it...

After her agreement with Solomon, Emma had decided not to think of herself as a spinster anymore.

She had a good chance of settling down since Solomon had given her the opportunity to pay for both her and Cecilia's dowries.

There was a chance for her, and the last thing she wanted was to taint it by thinking of herself as unmarriable.

Before she could second-guess herself further, the sound of footsteps echoed from just outside the room. Emma turned, her breath catching slightly as Solomon entered the room.

"Miss Lockhart," he said and placed both hands on his hips. "Thank you for coming."

Emma rose and curtsied. "You don't have to thank me, Your Grace."

"I don't? Isn't it polite to do so?" he questioned.

Emma stuttered, too stunned to even think of a response. "No, you are right to thank me, I just... I didn't... the lesson hasn't started yet."

The duke's lips curved into a faint smile, though his eyes remained unreadable.

Emma could sense that he might be teasing her, but she wasn't entirely sure.

There was something in his tone, in the way his gaze lingered on her just a moment too long, that made her wonder if he was playing a game she didn't fully understand.

It was as if he knew more than he was letting on, as if he were testing her patience, or perhaps her resolve.

But then again, he had no reason to do so, so she brushed the thought aside.

"Perhaps we can begin the lesson," Emma said. "Time, as I'm sure you're aware, is a luxury neither of us can afford to waste."

Solomon nodded. "Of course, Miss Lockhart. Far be it from me to keep you from your noble mission of civilizing the uncouth." He gestured toward the settee with an exaggerated flourish. "Shall we?"

Emma hesitated, her gaze narrowing slightly as she studied him. There was a glint in his eye that she had not seen before... a spark of mischief that made her suspect he was enjoying this far more than he should. But before she could press him further, he moved to sit across from her.

She took her seat, smoothing her skirts with meticulous care. "Very well," she said. "Let us begin with the basics."

"Basics," he repeated, biting his lower lip in a way that made her pause.

His eyes sparkledagain and the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Emma felt a flicker of irritation, and something else, something she couldn't quite name.

There was no mistaking it now. He was teasing her, deliberately provoking her.

"Your Grace, if you find this so amusing, perhaps you would care to share the joke with me. Or is it simply my presence that you find so entertaining?" she questioned.

The smirk disappeared from Solomon's face as he leaned back into the chair. "It's nothing. I just... I'm not used to this, so I find it absurd that I have to... unlearn and relearn basic etiquette."

"You came to me," Emma reminded him.

"I know," he said and sat up. "My apologies, Ducky. Do continue."

Ducky?

Emma's hands stilled mid-gesture as the word hung between them.

Ducky?Her eyebrows lifted slightly, and she blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected term.

It wasn't offensive... not exactly, but it was.

.. unusual. Certainly not the kind of endearment one would expect from a duke, or any gentleman of refinement, for that matter.

Her lips parted, ready to gently correct him, but then she stopped, not wanting to bicker any further. "We will start this lesson by discussing how to act at parties. Dinner parties to be exact."

Solomon leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. "All right."

"A dinner party.." she began and turned her body slightly to face him.

"... is not merely a social gathering. It is an opportunity to demonstrate one's class, to engage in meaningful conversation, and to forge connections that may prove invaluable in the future.

How one conducts oneself at such events can have lasting consequences. "

"What kind of meaningful conversations?" Solomon asked, tilting his head to the side.

Emma hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by his question. "Well, one might discuss matters of politics, literature, or the arts. Topics that demonstrate intellect and refinement."

Solomon's brow furrowed slightly, as if he were genuinely trying to understand. "Politics," he repeated slowly. "So, if I were to say, ‘I think the Corn Laws are a disaster for the working class,' that would be considered meaningful?"

Emma squinted her eyes. "Why would you want to discuss Corn Laws? At a dinner party, no less?"

"You just said that people discuss politics," he explained. "It's a pressing issue, isn't it? People are starving because they can't afford bread. Seems like something worth talking about."

"At a dinner party?" she repeated.

"Miss Lockhart, I'm merely following the conversation," he said.

Emma stared at him for a moment, noting no change in his expression.

"Your Grace," she began softly. "While I admire your.

.. concern for the working class, a dinner party is hardly the appropriate setting for such a discussion.

It's far too contentious. You risk offending your host or, worse, inciting an argument. "

Solomon leaned back again in his chair. "So, what you're saying is, I should avoid talking about anything that actually matters. Stick to the weather, perhaps? Or the latest fashion trends?"

"I'm saying that a dinner party is not the place for heated debates. There are other forums for such discussions like political clubs, parliamentary sessions, even private meetings. But at a social gathering, the goal is to maintain harmony and ensure that all guests feel comfortable."

Solomon clenched his jaw. "I suppose that makes sense. But what if I find all this... restraint a bit stifling? What if I prefer to speak my mind, even if it ruffles a few feathers?"

Emma took a deep breath, her patience beginning to wear thin.

"Your Grace, the rules of etiquette exist for a reason.

That is what I am here to teach you. They ensure that social interactions remain civil and productive.

Without them, people would say and do whatever they pleased, without regard for the consequences. "

Solomon's gaze returned to hers. "And what's so wrong with that? Why should people have to hide behind masks, pretending to be something they're not? Why can't they simply be honest?"

Emma's cheeks flushed. "Because, Your Grace, not everyone is capable of handling the truth. Emotions can cloud judgment, leading to misunderstandings and conflict. The rules of etiquette exist to prevent such... unpleasantness."

Solomon studied her for a moment, those probing eyes of his searching hers. "Or perhaps," he said quietly. "They exist to protect those who are afraid to speak their minds. To give them an excuse to hide behind propriety rather than risk being honest."

Emma froze, his words hitting her like a blow. For a moment, she was too stunned to respond. "You are a stubborn man, Your Grace," she blurted without thinking.

"Help me understand," he said.

"I am trying," she answered and then rose to her feet. "But you're not listening."

"I am listening, but what I'm hearing is a lot of rules and very little reason."

Emma sighed. "That is because you are not listening to the reason. You only hear the rules. These rules exist for a reason. To create decorum."

Solomon's gaze didn't waver as he rose to his feet, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath.He placed both hands behind him and slightly tilted his head, studying her in that manner that she found unnerving.

"You should also work on the way you stare at people," Emma said in almost a whisper.

"What?" he asked, his gaze never leaving hers.

"You stare, Your Grace," Emma said, her voice steady despite the sudden flutter in her chest. She took a step back, putting more distance between them, though it did little to ease the tension thickening the air. "Too much."

Solomon's expression didn't change, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes now, something sharp and predatory that made her pulse quicken.

He took a step forward, closing the gap she had just created.

He moved slowly and deliberately, like a predator stalking its prey.

"Ducky," he said, his voice a low rasp that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

"Now there's a problem with the way I stare? "

That word again.

Emma drew in a sharp breath, her jaw tightening. The word shouldn't have irritated her. It was absurd, ridiculous... entirely beneath her. And yet, it did.

She held her breath, balling a chunk of her gown into a fist. It took every will in her body to force herself to hold her ground and keep her voice firm despite the tremor she couldn't quite suppress.

"Teaching you about propriety is going to be far more difficult than I anticipated, Your Grace," she said.

"You seem determined to disregard every rule. "

Solomon didn't smile. His expression remained stern and his gaze locked on hers with an intensity that gave her heart palpitations. He took another step closer, his presence overwhelming her and his proximity making it difficult to think... to breathe. "What do you mean by that?"

Emma's breath hitched, her back now pressed against the edge of the writing desk.

She had nowhere else to retreat, and he knew it.

His nearness was disarming, his presence intoxicating in a way she couldn't quite understand.

She wanted to push him away. To place her hand on his chest and create the distance she so desperately needed.

"Your Grace," she managed at last, her voice barely above a whisper. "This is not... this is not how a gentleman behaves."

They were close now. Too close. Emma could feel his heat, the faint scent of sandalwood and something distinctly masculine that made her lightheaded.

Her back was pressed against the edge of the desk and Solomon showed no signs of stepping away.

Her knees threatened to buckle and she couldn't understand how one man had this much effect on a person. It was enough to infuriate her.

"Don't look away, look at me," he demanded.

Emma ignored the shiver that ran through her, and the sudden urge to blink repeatedly, as if that might somehow shield her from the intensity of his gaze. "I am looking at you, Your Grace," she whispered, her voice barely audible, even though she kept her chin lifted in defiance.

"You're not," he argued, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in closer. "If you cannot even look me in the eye, how do you intend to teach me?"

"I think your inability to listen to me already makes that difficult as it is," she retorted against her better judgement.

"If you wish to quit, Miss Lockhart," he said, his voice calm but with an edge that cut through the air like a blade. "I'm fine with it. But you should decide now. I don't have time to waste on your antics."

Her chest tightening at his words.Antics . The word stung, not because it was cruel, but because it felt like a challenge. A dare. He was testing her, pushing her to see how far she would go.

Just yield, Emma. You don't have to be stubborn all the time. Just agree with him. Do the job. It's not worth the fight. You need this. Your family needs this. You can't let them down. You need the money!

Her stomach churned as the reality of her situation crashed over her. Her family was depending on her. The money from Solomon was not a luxury, it was a necessity. She couldn't afford to let her pride get in the way. Not now. Not when so much was at stake.

She opened her mouth, ready to swallow her pride, ready to say the words that would keep her in his employ. But then, before she could stop herself, the word slipped out.

"Sure," she said, her voice clipped and cold, surprising even herself.

Solomon's eyebrows lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he masked it. "Sure?" he repeated, his tone flat.

Emma didn't wait for him to say more. She turned on her heel, her skirts swishing around her as she moved toward the door.

Her heart pounded in her chest and her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, but she kept her head high as she walked out the room, even though every fiber of her being wanted to run back into the room and get the job back.

"Miss Lockhart, wait," she heard him say.

If it wasn't for the fact that her face was entirely flushed red and she couldn't think properly, Emma would have turned around. But she couldn't. She was too embarrassed to do that. It was obvious that she had made a grave mistake. But it was too late to change anything.