Page 22 of A Duke to Steal Her

“I was merely exploring,” Emily said, attempting to maintain her composure despite her racing heart.

“This room is private,” the housekeeper replied, advancing into the space with purposeful steps. “How did you get in here?”

“The door was unlocked.”

The housekeeper glanced at the book in her hand. “Put that down.” Her voice cut like ice. “Some stones are better left unturned.”

There was something in the woman’s eyes—not just disapproval, but warning.

“I don’t understand,” Emily said. She made no move to replace the notebook.

Mrs. Finch, the housekeeper, stepped closer, and her voice dropped to an urgent whisper. “His Grace has his reasons for everything he does. But those reasons… Well, you’d best not go digging any deeper into matters that don’t concern you.”

“But they do concern me,” Emily protested.

The housekeeper held out her hand expectantly. With great reluctance, Emily placed the notebook in her palm.

Mrs. Finch nodded once with grim satisfaction. “Now, if you please, miss. This room is to remain undisturbed.”

Emily found herself gently but firmly escorted to the door. Behind her, she heard the decisive click of a key turning in the lock.

As she walked back toward her chambers, Emily’s mind reeled.

Despite everything, despite the danger the housekeeper had hinted at, Emily found herself wanting to understand the Duke and his mysterious sister, Lavinia, even more.

“Che pasticcio,”she murmured to herself.

What a mess, indeed.

Chapter Eight

“There’s something I must tell you.” Ambrose had expected to find Lady Emily in the library this afternoon, but instead, he was forced to meet her in her bedchambers.

His senses prickled as he entered the confined space. He had yet to conquer his confused emotions, and being this close, in such an intimate setting, suddenly made him feel as if he were courting disaster.

“That sounds ominous,” she said, her brow furrowing, her eyes glimmering.

“Lord Peirce has officially broken your engagement.”

The words dropped like a stone into still water.

Emily blinked. “Oh.”

Relief crossed her face, swift and unmistakable—but it vanished just as quickly, chased away by guilt, and something colder beneath.

“When?”

“Three days ago. The announcement ran in the papers. Though I imagine most of London knew before the ink dried.”

She was silent for a long moment. Her hands stilled, then tightened.

“I suppose I should be weeping,” she said. Her voice was flat. “Wailing over my lost future, mourning the man who no longer wants me.”

Ambrose said nothing.

“But I cannot. I did not want to marry him. But the decision to leave should have beenmine.” She finally looked at him, and there was heat in her gaze now—wounded, restrained, but unmistakably furious. “You made a spectacle of me. Of my family. You dragged me from my school like some criminal and sat back while society whispered.”

“Your sister and brother-in-law will cover this up.”