Page 14 of His Tempting Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #4)

CHAPTER 14

“Y ou haven’t touched your soup, Emily.”

Emily glanced over at her mother, and then down at the large bowl of steaming pea soup waiting for her.

“I’m not sure I’m hungry,” she answered.

She had been thinking about the approaching deadline, and how this night marked three nights until she must give the duke an answer. Even the thought made her shiver.

Octavia sighed. “Well, I shan’t insist that you eat, but I hope you are not starving yourself in order to attain the willowy waist that fashion dictates this Season. It is not healthy.”

“Of course not, Mama.”

Octavia narrowed her eyes at her daughter, leaning back in her chair.

Just the two of them had sat down to dinner tonight. Outside, the rain was coming down heavier than ever, raindrops glittering on the windowpane against the darkness.

“Don’t you think it’s strange,” Emily heard herself saying, “that we once had to scrape together pennies to buy fish at the market, and now we can afford for me to leave a whole bowlful of soup? We have four courses planned for tonight, don’t we?”

Octavia nodded, smiling faintly. “Yes, our fortunes have changed vastly. But don’t worry, I have not lost my frugal habits. I can’t stand to see food go to waste. I’m sure you know that the servants help themselves to whatever they like, and take it back to their families into the bargain, or give it to the poor. Our poverty taught me the value of food, at the very least. But what’s brought this on? You’re not usually so maudlin. You’ve been jumpy all day, fidgeting and walking around. What’s the matter? Is it Daphne? Are you concerned about her?”

Emily swallowed thickly. She was worried about Daphne—childbirth could be dangerous—but mostly, her thoughts were selfishly about herself.

Should I meet him tonight? No, no, of course I should not.

But what if I did?

She bit back a harsh laugh.

If I did, I would be ruined beyond repair. Maybe ravished, too.

No, that didn’t sound right. The duke was not a ravishing sort of man, and even if he were…

She pinched off the end of that thought with determination and downed a large spoonful of pea soup with a most unladylike slurp.

She would not be ravished, of course, but he might attempt to seduce her. The simple fact was that she had no idea whether she would have the strength to resist or not.

Would it matter?

Why, what a foolish thought! Of course it would matter. It always mattered. For women, at least.

She continued eating the pea soup, trying to ignore the approving looks her mother sent her way.

“That’s the ticket.” Octavia beamed. “A little food in one’s belly always makes one feel better. But something is bothering you, my dear.”

“I am fine, Mama. It’s Daphne, as you said.”

Octavia seemed satisfied with that, at least.

Dinner went on with some small talk, but the question remained.

Should I meet him or not?

* * *

Emily closed her bedroom door behind her and leaned against it. Her heart pounded against her ribcage.

The clock told her that it was quarter past eleven. Octavia had retired to bed, and the house was beginning to shut down for the night. The rain was still falling.

She breathed slowly, in and out.

It’s simple. I’ll put on my nightgown and get ready for bed. I’ll go to sleep. In the morning, I’ll be glad of the choice I made and smile at myself for almost being foolish enough to listen to the duke.

Simple.

Oh, bother.

Biting back a groan, Emily pushed off the door and attacked her wardrobe. She pulled out a plain, lavender-colored gown which was too ordinary-looking for balls and soirees and such. She dressed quickly, discarding her current gown—a frothy, lemon-colored piece that was a gift from Anna—and kicking it aside.

Her old boots, well-worn and entirely inappropriate for a lady to wear, waited for her at the bottom of the wardrobe. She tugged them out and pulled them on, her heart hammering.

A cloak came next. All of her old, dirty ones were gone, so she had to settle for a black velvet cloak. Hopefully, the fineness of the material and the vibrant red lining wouldn’t be noticed in the dark.

Emily paused, glancing at herself briefly in the mirror. Her clothes and the mad flush in her cheeks made her look almost wild. A few tendrils of hair had come loose and hung around her face. Sighing, she tucked them behind her ears and darted out of her room, blowing out the candle as she went.

They’ll think I’m already in bed.

Oh, heavens, I hope I can get home before I’m missed.

Once out in the hallway, Emily wished that she’d waited to put on her boots, wincing at the click of her heels on the floor.

No voices called after her, and she didn’t cross paths with any of the servants. Downstairs, the kitchen was dark and quiet, the majority of the servants doubtlessly curled up in bed already.

Holding her breath, she unhooked the heavy brass keys from beside the back kitchen door, unlocked it, and stepped out into the night.

It was cold, cold enough to take away her breath, despite the heavy cloak around her shoulders. Rain and cold sleet hit her exposed face and hands.

Shivering, Emily pulled the door shut behind her—she would have to leave it unlocked in order to sneak back in later—and hurried away across the garden.

She had never been out on the streets at that hour. At least, not that she could recall.

Nobody else was about, and that was a relief. The streets glistened, slick with rain, and puddles crowded along the gutters. The sky above was pitch black, not a star to be seen. The moon sailed in and out of the clouds, providing a little silvery light.

Emily reached the meeting point and stopped, exhaling softly.

I did it. I’m here.

I’m such a fool.

She had no watch on her person, and so no real way of counting time. Seconds ticked by, dragging. She thought back to the clock in her room, reading quarter past eleven. How long had it taken her to change and come out here? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? Half an hour?

How long did she have to wait?

Closing her eyes, Emily breathed deeply, trying to soothe her nerves.

Perhaps this is a mistake. Perhaps I could just go home, go to bed, and lie there feeling silly. Perhaps ? —

She started as the distant, muffled sound of carriage wheels on cobbles caught her attention. Craning her neck, her breath caught in her throat. She could see the blocky shape of a carriage lurching towards her, pulled by black horses, their flanks glossy with sweat and rain.

She held her breath as the carriage pulled up alongside her. Curtains covered the windows, and a lantern bobbed on the side, throwing a buttery light across the cobbles.

The door swung open, pushed from the inside, and there was the duke, leaning forward with a most wolfish grin on his face.

“Miss Belmont,” he drawled, his grin widening. “I wasn’t sure you would be here.”

“Let me in quickly, before I change my mind,” Emily muttered.

His smile never wavered. Extending a gloved hand, he gestured for her to climb into the carriage.

This is it, then. The point of no return.

Emily glanced over her shoulder just once at the dark and silent house far behind her. Letting out a long, slow breath, she took the duke’s hand and allowed him to haul her inside.

The carriage was warm, carpeted with furs which also spread over the seats. Emily sank back with a sigh, and the carriage took off.

Her pulse returned to normal, and she began to think a little harder about the situation she found herself in.

The duke sat opposite her, his legs stretched out, and was regarding her with a broad grin. He was all in black, with a dark velvet cloak not unlike hers—minus the red velvet lining, of course.

“I must confess, Miss Belmont,” he said after a while, “I rather thought you’d be more curious than this. I expected a barrage of questions.”

She flushed. “Well, I’m already taking quite a chance on you, Your Grace, don’t you think?”

He chuckled and said nothing.

A dawning sense of unease began to creep on Emily. What if this were all some convoluted ploy to humiliate her, the way she had humiliated him at the altar? Perhaps he was going to deposit her miles from home and leave her to walk back in the dark. Perhaps he was going to throw her in the river. Perhaps…

“Where are we going?” Emily asked, her voice tight with worry.

Maybe the duke sensed her unease, because he flashed her an almost reassuring smile.

“You’ll like it, I promise. We’ll be enjoying a different society altogether tonight.”

“And what does that mean?”

He regarded her for a long moment. “I’m sure your courage can buoy you up a little while longer, Miss Belmont. We are not far away at all. In the meantime, I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?” she managed.

He nodded, reaching into the folds of his cloak. He withdrew a thin notebook and tossed it towards her. She caught it and gingerly opened the pages.

They were blank, and Emily understood at once.

“It’s a sketchbook,” she breathed.

“Indeed. I ought to have told you to bring one of your own, but I quite forgot. I did not bring you any pencils or pens or watercolors or whatever other tools you prefer to use, but I shouldn’t worry. There will be plenty where we are going.”

Emily swallowed hard, pressing the sketchbook to her chest. It was a good-quality one, with excellent paper, and large enough to make decent-sized drawings. Her old sketchbooks seemed to fill up almost as soon as she got them, with sketches on both sides and in the margins.

“This party,” she said slowly, “it is a party, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Is it something for artists?”

He smiled broadly, leaning forward. Just like that, Emily’s whole world seemed to be full of the infuriating man, with his handsome face and his loose, un-pomaded locks and the delicious scent of his cologne.

“I shan’t spoil the surprise,” he murmured. “But as I said, you’ll like it.”

He sat back in his seat, smiling to himself, and refused to answer any further questions.

Sighing to herself, Emily drew back the curtains, watching the rain-soaked streets fly by. She flinched when a broad hand slapped the curtain back into place.

“Have a care, Miss Belmont,” the duke scolded. “Imagine if you’re glimpsed peering out of a nondescript carriage such as this, in the middle of the night.”

“It’s midnight,” she muttered peevishly. “Nobody is around.”

“There’s always somebody,” he muttered darkly. “Take my word for it.”

A few more minutes passed, and the carriage rolled to a halt. Frowning, Emily strained her ears. She could hear no music, no chatter.

“It’s so quiet,” she murmured.

“This party isn’t going to spill out down the front steps.” The duke chuckled, reaching for the door handle. “People sneak in and out. It’s worth it, however. You’ll see.”

He opened the door and climbed out, extending a hand for Emily to climb down. She did so, peering around her. He didn’t let go of her hand, and she didn’t draw it back either.

They were at a large house in the middle of a countryside estate. The front door was resolutely shut, and all the curtains were drawn, but light blared out of just about every window.

I’m excited , Emily realized with a shiver of delight. His warmth seemed to seep into her very bones.

The duke led her up the steep marble stairs and tapped on the door. When the door inched open, a wave of warmth, laughter, and music rolled out. It was different from the stately tunes played at social events. Already, her foot was tapping to the music.

There was a gasp from within, and the door opened properly. A woman of about thirty stood there, very pretty, with vivid red hair. She was dressed well, in rolling, sea-colored velvets, studded with pearls and sequins. However, Emily did not recognize her. She wasn’t out, and they certainly did not run in the same circles. She even wore…

Emily bit back a gasp. The woman had rouge on her cheeks and lips!

“Your Grace!” the woman squealed. “How wonderful to see you! We were afraid you weren’t coming.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Clara.” The duke laughed. “This is Miss Emily Belmont. I believe I mentioned her to you.”

“You did, you did.” The woman beamed, pulling Emily in a sudden, tight hug. She was too shocked to pull away. “I hear that you are a painter, Miss Belmont,” she said, grinning. “I do hope we can see your work at some point. The duke waxed quite poetic about your talents.”

She threw a pointed look at the duke, who cleared his throat and pretended not to have heard.

Emily wasn’t entirely sure how to react. Should she be pleased?

“I hope so, too,” she stammered. “I am sorry, but I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

“Introduced? Oh, good Lord, what a sweet, little bird you are.” The woman laughed. “There are no introductions here. If you want to speak to somebody, go up to them and introduce yourself—it’s as simple as that. This is my house, and I make the rules. None of this nonsense about having to agree to dance with whoever asks you, or not going to the balcony alone. Pshaw! No, here we can be free . My name is Clara Van De Rio, and I am an actress .”

She struck a pose, laughing.

Emily gawked at her. An actress. An actress ! She was meeting one of those scandalous creatures for the first time!

I can hardly believe it.

Emily remembered her manners, at last. She bobbed a neat, little curtsey. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Van De Rio.”

Clara gave a gurgle of laughter. “Oh, she is a delight, Your Grace. You were quite right. You may call me Clara, Miss Belmont—everybody does. But come, come, step out of the cold. I daresay you have a good deal of exploring to do.”

They stepped inside, and a wave of heat and noise hit Emily. She almost staggered a little.

“What… What is this place?” she whispered to the duke.

He grinned down at her and held out his hand. He had taken off his glove, so she slipped hers off too before she took his hand.

“You’re about to find out,” he murmured. “Come along, little Miss Belmont. I have a great deal to show you.”