Page 41 of Duke of Disguise (Ladies of Worth #4)

Avers returned to his aunt’s house in time for breakfast, eager not to leave Emilie to face her ladyship’s questioning alone.

“Good morning,” he said, upon entering the dining room and bowing to his aunt and her guest.

While Emilie looked tired, Avers was pleased to see some of the shock from yesterday’s encounter was no longer present in her face.

“Well—hurry up and sit down, John. We are already eating,” said Lady Goring imperiously.

He took his seat and ordered coffee from the waiting servant.

Lady Goring’s eyes followed the servant out of the room, and when they were alone again she spoke. “We have already been discussing a suitable story to explain Mademoiselle Cadeaux’s visit. I think it would do nicely if she was an orphan from a genteel family outside of Paris—a long-time friend of mine or something—and she has come to stay with me out of charity.”

Avers resisted the urge to role his eyes at his relative managing to make herself the hero of this story.

“I sent you, John, to escort her from the Continent so she might make her entrance to London Society under my wing.” Lady Goring nodded her head in satisfaction. “That will nicely wrap up your absence from England and Mademoiselle Cadeaux’s appearance in London.”

“Your machinations are formidable, dear aunt.”

Emilie’s hands were hugging a cup of steaming tea, lifting to sip it every now and then, while listening to the others. At Avers’ words he saw a slight curve appear on her lips.

If Lady Goring noticed her nephew’s sarcasm she was not perturbed by it. “The fact that Mademoiselle Cadeaux has already been staying at the French consul’s residence in London and attended Lord and Lady Peregrine’s ball is a minor inconvenience—but not insurmountable.”

His gaze had been lingering on Mademoiselle Cadeaux, tracing every line and curve of her face, wishing they were alone in this room so he might kiss her. At his aunt’s words he looked sharply at her.

“And just how do you know those details, dear aunt?”

“I told her,” Emilie interjected, placing her teacup back down on the table. “She needed to know all the details to spin a suitable tale to protect me. I am so thankful for her help.”

Her sincere words caused Lady Goring to smile, raising her chin, preening at the complimentary words.

“It is the least I can do, my child, after your ordeal.”

Avers’ mouth dropped open in astonishment. He had never seen his aunt take so quickly to someone and it was clear that she liked Emilie very much indeed if she was so affected by her praise.

“But we must go over your story entirely to ensure my proposed tale is watertight.” Lady Goring proceeded to ferret out holes in the tale she was to spread by interrogating both of them. She came up with suitable solutions for any discrepancies and after quarter of an hour, ceased her questioning and considered all the information for several minutes before speaking again. “We must thank God that Lord and Lady Peregrine chose a masquerade for their ball. It will provide sufficient concealment of your identity to refute anyone who tries to counter our story. Good! Now all that is left to do is to send out my informants to spread the story abroad.” Lady Goring rose from her chair, having managed to finish her breakfast during her devising, and rang the bell.

Avers got up impulsively and strode over to his aunt, embracing her before she could protest.

“Thank you, aunt,” he said quietly at her ear, before releasing her as quickly as he had hugged her.

The older woman, for once, was lost for words. Her thin lips were parted in surprise and there was a softness in her eyes Avers had not seen before.

The expression only lasted a minute. After this, his aunt shook herself, smoothed her skirts and turned to the door just as the servant entered.

Over the next few days Lady Goring’s network of spies did an admirable job of spreading the new story of Emilie’s appearance in London. Perhaps for the first time they performed a virtuous act by relaying the false story around the backstairs and drawing rooms of London until no one was in any doubt who Mademoiselle Emilie Cadeaux was.

Those who had seen Emilie’s face at the French consul’s residence before Lord and Lady Peregrine’s masquerade, such as the diplomat himself, had no interest in exposing her true story. The infamous tale of a French spy caught in London was now abroad. The last thing anyone with sense would wish to do was inadvertently connect themselves with the Marquis de Dartois by identifying Emilie.

And so, her true origins were sufficiently protected, and for once, Avers was thankful for his aunt’s vociferous gossiping.

In fact, the story of a poor friend from France was so much believed that by the following Thursday, Avers was able to take Emilie for a walk in Hyde Park, with one of his aunt’s maids in tow for the sake of propriety.

The day had dawned fine, a gentle breeze clearing the skies and banishing any last vestiges of the dark happenings on St Saviour’s dock four days since.

“I see my cousin Sophia’s dresses fit you well,” said Avers as they walked sedately down the main boulevard of the park.

There were many others taking advantage of the change in the weather. Some tipped their hats to Avers and Emilie. Others simply smiled.

“Yes,” replied Emilie. “I’ve thanked your aunt for them. If it wasn’t for your cousin’s old dresses I would still be in the same clothes from…”

“I have already sent to Paris for the remainder of your things,” said Avers, easily covering over the break in her speech. “We may not be able to retrieve your items from the consul’s residence here in London, but at least you might have your other things. It will be easier for you to feel settled while you decide what to do if you have your own possessions around you.”

She did not reply, but gave a slight bob of her head in understanding. He wished so very much to cup her cheek and coax her to look at him. To tell her that everything would be all right.

“Your petit diable is enjoying his stroll,” Avers said instead, as Lutin made a lunge for a pigeon that had been pecking at the ground close by.

“I think he’s felt cooped up,” Emilie replied, and then added quickly, “Though your aunt has been very good about him, letting him on the sofas, and feeding him all manner of treats.”

Her tone had turned to one of loving affection, and a joyful smile hovered over her lips as she watched her petite companion trotting here and there on the end of his lead.

“I instructed her cook to bake liver biscuits for the little sprite.”

Emilie glanced across at him, surprised gratitude in her eyes. “You did? I thanked your aunt for her thoughtfulness.”

Avers laughed. “And I expect she accepted the compliment without demure. Devil take her—she is a slippery one, that aunt of mine.”

“I should not say it, for she has been very kind to me,” Emilie said, looking behind them to check that the maid was out of earshot, and then whispering conspiratorially to Avers. “But she is the greatest gossip I have ever known. I find it hard to comprehend just how much information she has on every individual of consequence in Society. Even the servants.”

Avers laughed without restraint, having to stop his stroll and clap a hand to his thigh. “Has it taken you four days to realise that?” he asked, wiping his eyes, a broad grin on his face.

“Non,” Emilie replied, shrugging. “Only one. But I have not had the opportunity to tell you until now.” She began chuckling, the sound so sweet and refreshing that it made Avers’ heart ache. He pressed a hand over hers which rested on his arm, his smile becoming more tender as he looked down at her.

“You handle her very well, you know. I actually think she likes you. The way you ask open questions—she thinks herself in charge of the conversation, with no notion that you’re staying relatively silent.”

Emilie smiled, her eyes twinkling at him. “She may be a gossip, but she is very fond of you.”

Avers only grunted at that. He didn’t wish to talk about his aunt. He wished to talk about Emilie. About her future. About his…

“Have you given any thought as to what you wish to do now?”

The question asked now hung between them, and every fibre in his being tensed in anticipation of her response.

“Do?” Emilie asked, puzzlement in her voice, and then she laughed humourlessly. “You say that as if I had choices.” Then, apparently aware of the bitter sound of her words, she added, “It is thanks to you I am even here—safe and well. I don’t take that for granted.”

“I know you don’t,” Avers said, drawing her to a stop so he could turn to face her. He searched her face and saw so many emotions there. They were spoken by the shape of her mouth, the expression in her eyes and the furrow of her brow—apprehension, fear—he wished to wipe that all away.

Without thinking, he brought up his gloved hand to her cheek and ran a gentle thumb across the smooth skin. He’d forgotten they were in public, that others could see this intimate action, because all he saw before him was her. Emilie. The woman who he had come to care for so very deeply. The woman whose strength and goodness had given him hope for a future he had not expected.

“But what do you want for your future?”

Her brow furrowed and he saw the shining mist of tears gathering in her eyes. He did not want to make her cry.

“What do you want?” she asked tentatively, flipping the question back at him, her expression one of nervous hope.

A crease appeared at the corner of his mouth, deepening as his lips curved into a private smile meant just for her.

“You,” he said simply.

“Oh.” Her mouth formed that perfect, silent exclamation, but instead of happiness in her eyes he saw a rise in anxiety.

“I did not mean to upset you,” he said, watching with concern and guilt as tears began to spill down her cheeks. He had been a fool. He shouldn’t have answered her so honestly. Perhaps he had misread her feelings and she didn’t love him as he had hoped. “Forgive me. I should not be telling you I love you—that I wish to marry you—so soon after all you’ve been through.”

“Marry me?” Emilie’s voice asked in shocked accents. “I thought—the Comte—Dartois—they offered me…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish that sentence and Avers didn’t want her to.

He felt sick to his stomach at what she was implying. That he too was asking her to become his mistress. He was the stupidest man in England. How could he not have foreseen her assumption?

“No, Emilie,” he said forcefully. “I offer you my name along with my heart if you will have me.”

She made a choking sound, pulling away from him, and starting to wring her hands as her breath came in quick gasps.

“Oh, my darling,” he said, still holding one of her hands, as she caught her breath.

“You cannot want me.”

It came out in such a small broken voice Avers almost missed it. But as the words sunk in he felt a lance of pain straight through the middle of his chest.

“Cannot want you?” he asked incredulously. “Cannot want you?” He put his hands on either side of her face, cupping her cheeks, and staring deeply into those soft eyes of hers. “You, Emilie Cadeaux, have given me hope. You have caused me to fall in love again. You have helped me to forgive and to move on. You have shown me what strength of character, and goodness, and beauty, truly is.”

Her tears came thicker and faster, coating her cheeks with wetness, making his gloves damp.

“But that is how I feel,” he said gently—tenderly, “not you, my dear Emilie. You are free to make your own decisions. If you wish to return to Paris I will aid you in any way I can. You do not have to… to…”

“Love you?” she asked, brow creased with concern for him, her eyes now searching his face.

“Yes.”

“I am not worthy of a gentleman.”

“Oh, my darling.” He kissed first her forehead, and then each eyelid, and then hovered over her mouth looking deeply in her eyes. “My sweet Emilie—it is I who feel unworthy of you. I thought my heart too wounded to live or find love again, but you have renewed it, and with you I see a bright, new future.”

She began to smile through her tears. “So do I—” Her voice cracked, but she swallowed, determined to carry on. “With you.”

The simple words were all that Avers had hoped to hear. They sent a spark of joy through him. A smile broke out across his mouth and any concern that Emilie did not return his feelings evaporated.

“My darling Emilie,” he murmured, his lips now very close to hers. His gaze flicked to them, then to her eyes, and reading there an invitation, he dropped his mouth to hers. Their lips touched, warm and soft, and feelings of pleasure rolled out through his body. He lowered one hand to her waist, pressing on the small of her back, pulling her into him. Their bodies fit together so perfectly and the yearning he had felt to do this for days, weeks, months, was finally satisfied with her in his arms.

“John!”

The couple pulled reluctantly apart, but Avers wouldn’t let Emilie go completely, even if they shouldn’t have been kissing in such a public place. He turned with vexation to see his aunt, leaning out of her halted landaulet, peering at them with a quizzing glass.

“What are you doing, John? In public, no less. The scandal!”

Not content with knowing everyone else’s dramas, apparently his relative was determined to create her own, her volume far louder than it needed to be. One person had already stopped to look over.

Instead of answering his aunt, Avers turned back to look down at Emilie, his arm tightening around her waist.

“Marry me, Mademoiselle Cadeaux?” he asked, leaning down to place a roguish kiss under her ear. “Please?”

“Yes,” she said, letting out a sigh, and to his delight, he felt her shiver against him.

“John!” Lady Goring cried.

“Can’t you see, aunt?” he called over his shoulder. “I’m getting betrothed!”

Satisfied to see the redoubtable lady suitably shocked, her jaw dropping as she thumped back down against her carriage cushions, Avers looked down at the woman in his arms.

Lutin had grown bored with their stationary position and began to pull on his lead, straining this way and that, and causing the leather strap to wrap around their legs and force Emilie and Avers closer together.

“Emilie,” Avers murmured, kissing her neck, his breath tickling her skin between ministrations and causing her to shiver again. “Lady Avers.” His lips curved into a satisfied smile. “Oh, yes, I like that very much,” he said, drawing up to look into her eyes for a moment. “My Lady Avers.” And then he lowered his face to kiss her once again.

The End