Page 49 of His Scandalous Duchess (Icy Dukes #4)

In a secluded corner of the garden, a man she didn't recognize stood with his back to her, his tall frame silhouetted against the moonlight.

His broad shoulders and commanding presence were unmistakable, even in the dim light.

Before him stood a lady, partially obscured and her face hidden in shadow.

From what she had seen, the lady seemed to have tripped and fallen over, and the man was holding her upright.

But the two of them were standing close to each other now.

..too close, and the man held on to the lady firmly, steadying her as she stumbled slightly.

Emma's stomach twisted with unease. Was this some scandalous tryst?

Or was the lady in danger?

Suddenly, the sound of approaching voices and footsteps reached Emma's ears, snapping her out of her thoughts.

There seemed to be a group of people coming their way, their laughter and chatter growing louder with every step.

Panic surged through her as she realized what would happen if they found a lady and this man alone together. The scandal would be unavoidable.

Her heart pounded as panic surged through her.

For a moment, she thought to leave, so she didn't get caught and roped into.

..whatever they were doing, but she couldn't bring herself to do that.

She knew how cruel society could be. So, without another thought, she burst from her hiding place, ready to confront the man and rescue the woman.

But as the figure turned, the moonlight fell across the lady's face, and Emma's breath caught.

She squinted, unsure if she had seen properly, but then the realization struck her like a thunderclap, leaving her stunned and speechless.

It wasn't a stranger. It was Cecilia. Her sister.

Who was this man? What did he want with Cecilia?

"What do you want with my sister?" Emma demanded on reaching them. Her voice was sharp despite the way her chest heaved with panic. She stepped closer, her hands clenched at her sides, her gaze locked on the stranger's dark, unreadable eyes.

The man blinked, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. For a moment, he looked almost startled, as though he hadn't expected to be confronted so boldly. "I... beg your pardon?" he said, his voice deep but hesitant, lacking the smooth confidence Emma had anticipated.

Emma's breath caught as she studied the stranger's face.

His confusion was so real... so unguarded, that it took her aback.

This wasn't the reaction of a man trying to take advantage of a young woman in a garden.

This was the reaction of someone who had no idea what was happening, and that realization made her stomach twist.

She turned sharply to Cecilia, her gaze searching her sister's face for answers. "Cecilia," she said softly. "Are you all right?"

Cecilia's eyes widened, and for a moment, she looked like a child caught in a lie.

Her hands twisted nervously in the fabric of her gown, and she glanced at the stranger, then back at Emma.

Her lips parted as though she were about to speak, but no words came out of her mouth.

Instead, her face flushed a deep crimson, and she looked away, unable to meet Emma's gaze.

"Emma, I... I can explain..." Cecilia stuttered, blinking rapidly.

"You can explain?" Emma questioned. "Why are you the one explaining?"

"I didn't," Cecilia whispered then turned to face Emma. "I wasn't thinking."

Emma's shoulders relaxed. It was all the confirmation she needed. The look in Cecilia's eyes...the guilty, desperate, and utterly terrified look told her everything she needed to know. Her sister was not the victim here. She was the orchestrator.

"Are you all right now, Miss?" the stranger asked. "I think you might need to sit down, if your leg still hurts."

"I'm...all right, Your Grace," Cecilia answered. "I merely stumbled, but it doesn't hurt that much. Thank you. You are so kind."

Your Grace?

Emma's heart sank as the truth settled over her like a heavy blanket. Cecilia hadn't stumbled. She didn't need assistance. This had been a plan... a reckless, foolish plan to trap the Duke of Montclaire into a scandal that would force him to marry her.

But despite Cecilia's efforts to appear flustered and in need of assistance, Emma could see the truth in her sister's eyes.

Cecilia wasn't looking at the man with the soft, admiring gaze of someone smitten, or someone looking to seduce a man.

Instead she looked scared. Her hands trembling as she clasped them together, glancing at him as though he were a predator and she his prey, her voice shaky when she addressed him.

It had definitely not been a well thought out plan.

And judging from the look on the duke's face, he had no idea he was being set up.

Without thinking, Emma let out a sharp gasp and stumbled forward, clutching her ankle as though she had injured it. "Oh!" she cried, her voice loud enough to draw attention, but not so loud that it drew that of the passersby. "Cecilia, help me! I think I might have twisted my ankle!"

"Sister!" Cecilia gasped too, squatting down to help her."Are you all right?" she asked, her voice trembling with genuine concern now.

As soon as the duke was out of earshot, and Cecilia was close enough, Emma leaned in and with a harsh whisper, she said.

"This is scandalous, Cecilia. Unacceptable.

There are people in the garden coming this way and our reputation will be ruined if you are caught like this.

We will talk about it at home, but for now, go back into the ballroom and stay find Alice and Lavinia. "

Cecilia's face flushed with shame, her eyes darting away from Emma's gaze.

She didn't know what to say, so without a word, she nodded quickly, her hands trembling as she fumbled with the folds of her gown.

She stood up abruptly, her movements stiff and awkward, as she began to walk back to the estate.

The duke, still visibly confused, stepped forward instinctively as Emma winced and clutched her ankle. He offered his arm, his expression a mix of concern and bewilderment. "Allow me to assist you, Miss," he said, his voice steady but cautious.

Emma hesitated at first, before leaning on the duke's arm, her hand resting lightly on his as she straightened herself. Once she was certain Cecilia was far enough ahead and couldn't overhear, she turned her head slightly toward the duke, her voice low but sharp.

"You should be more careful, Your Grace," she said, taking a step back as she ran her hands over her dress. "Do you have any idea what could have happened tonight? How badly this could have all turned out?"

The duke tilted his head to the side. "I don't–" he paused and scanned the garden. "The lady fell, and she needed help. All I did was merely–"

"Help her?" she questioned and shook her head. "You could have been trapped in a marriage without even realizing it."

Emma paused, recalling Alice's words. If he truly was the Duke of Montclaire, then like she heard, he didn't grow up in London, and as such, Emma could not fault him for knowing so little about the underhandedness of high society, especially when it came to securing a match.

"You are in London now, Your Grace," she continued with a sigh.

"Not some remote countryside where I assume things are simpler.

High society is unforgiving, and there are those who would not hesitate to use even the slightest hint of impropriety to their advantage.

Even the most honest of intentions can be read wrongly. "

The duke's eyebrows furrowed. "Are you suggesting that your sister–"

"No," Emma cut in, her voice dropping to a near whisper.

"But I am suggesting that you tread more carefully, Your Grace.

You may be new to this world, but it is a world that thrives on scandal and manipulation.

If you wish to survive it, you must be vigilant.

Tonight could have ended very differently for you and for my sister.

People cannot catch you alone with a lady in such a place. At least, not without a chaperone."

He crossed his arms and his gaze traveled from her head to her toe that somewhat sent a shiver down Emma's back. "What about you?" he questioned.

Emma cleared her throat, struggling to meet his gaze. "What about me?"

"You are a lady and you're here... alone... with me in such a place," he answered. "Shouldn't you be weary of the thing you complain of? Don't you require a chaperone?"

"I am a chaperone," she mumbled, staring down at her feet.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, taking a step forward.

"I am a spinster, I don't need a chaperone," she answered, this time lifting her head to meet his gaze in what seemed like defiance.

The duke fell silent, his arms crossed in front of him.

His imposing frame towering over her like a beast from some old tale.

.. broad-shouldered, tall, and built with a strength that seemed almost unnatural.

His dark eyes, sharp and unyielding, searched her face as though he were trying to unravel a mystery.

His expression was unreadable, yet piercing, and the intensity of his gaze made her pulse quicken.

It was the first time anyone had ever looked at her like that, with an immersed curiosity that felt almost invasive, as if he could see past every carefully constructed wall she'd built.

Emma's breath caught in her throat, and her cheeks warmed under his scrutiny.

She held her breath, unsure whether to look away or hold his gaze, feeling both exposed and strangely captivated by the man who stood before her.

Slowly, Solomon's lips curved into a knowing smile, as though he had finally found the answer to whatever question he had been asking himself. "I see," he said, his voice low and tinged with amusement. "So, you were protecting me from your sister's... scheme."

"I was protecting her," she answered and finally lowered her head. "Not you, Your Grace."

Solomon's smile widened, and there was something in his expression, something warm and appreciative that made her heart skip another beat. "Then I owe you a debt, Miss..." his voice trailed off.

"... Lockhart," she answered. "And no, you do not owe me anything, Your Grace."

"I reckon I do, and I always repay my debts."

Before she could protest, he bent down and scooped her into his arms with surprising ease, one arm beneath her knees and the other supporting her back.

Emma gasped, her hands instinctively flying to his shoulders to steady herself.

"What on God's green earth do you think you are doing, Your Grace? " she rasped in utter disbelief.

He glanced at her leg. "You said you twisted your ankle."

Emma gave him a knowing look. "Oh, let's not pretend you believed that for even a second."

"Well, we still have to play the part," he said simply, his smirk returning as he began walking toward the estate.

"You said yourself that high society is unforgiving.

If we are to sell the story of your twisted ankle, we must commit to it fully.

Or how else would we explain why we have been in the garden for so long? "

Emma's cheeks burned, and she opened her mouth to argue, to tell him this was entirely unnecessary.

But the words caught in her throat as she caught a closer look at his face in the moonlight.

His jaw was strong, his features sharp yet softened by the faintest hint of stubble, and his eyes, she hadn't noticed before, weren't just dark.

They were a deep, rich shade of emerald, framed by lashes so thick they seemed almost unfair.

In that moment, she realized that the debutantes' whispered descriptions of him had been understated rather than exaggerated.

He was, she realized with a jolt, unbearably and infuriatingly handsome.

Solomon seemed to notice her staring because he then tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. "Something the matter, Miss Lockhart?" he asked.

Emma quickly looked away, her heart pounding. "N-no," she muttered. "Just... put me down, Your Grace. This is highly improper."

"Improper?" he repeated. "I'm merely ensuring your safe return to the ballroom. What could be more proper than that?"

Emma groaned inwardly, though she couldn't suppress the small, traitorous smile that tugged at her lips.

As much as she hated to admit it, Solomon was right.

It was a clever way to explain them walking out of that dark corner.

But that didn't make the feel of his arms around her, or the way her heart raced at his nearness any easier to bear.

Solomon's voice broke the silence. "You are welcome, by the way," he said to her, sparing her only a glance.

Emma opened her mouth to retort, but no words came out. Instead, she sighed, realizing that no matter how much she resisted, this strange man had somehow found a way of leaving her utterly disarmed.