Page 18 of His Tempting Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #4)

CHAPTER 18

Two Nights To Her Decision

“D on’t play with your food, Emily, please. And why are you yawning so much? Did you sleep poorly?”

Emily choked a little. “I… What? What do you mean, Mama? Of course I slept well. Why would I not have slept well?”

Octavia eyed her daughter over her Society paper, yet another nonsensical rag written by an anonymous author. “You are exceptionally snappish this morning, Emily. Is something wrong?”

Emily bit her lip and said nothing.

It was precisely nine o’clock in the morning, and she had not slept a wink.

By the time Cassian’s carriage had dropped her off in the same place he had picked her up, it was close to ten minutes past five. She was forced to creep inside the house, stealing through the kitchen, heart hammering. Fortunately, only the scullery maid was up at that hour, getting the fires ready and waking the rest of the servants. Another ten or twenty minutes and the kitchen would have been busy, and Emily would have been caught red-handed.

Her mother would have been alerted at once, of course. Emily was not sure what her punishment would be for stealing out of the house in the dead of night and then creeping back in before dawn, but it would doubtlessly be a severe one. She’d brought a good deal of shame to the family lately.

But then so have my sisters . We Belmont girls are famously scandalous.

Octavia eyed her for a moment but said nothing, before returning to her breakfast and her gossip rags.

Upon returning to her room, Emily had dressed for bed and lay down, but sleep refused to come. Not just because of the light creeping through the window, but because of everything.

Because of him .

She had fallen asleep briefly in the carriage on the way home, and she woke up to find her head resting on his shoulder. He’d nudged her carefully awake when they arrived, and she’d clambered sleepily out.

Now, she wished she’d said a proper goodbye. She ought to have asked him if he was going to call on her. But no, he would surely send a message this very morning. He would have to, after that .

What does it mean? The way he kissed me, the way he touched me…

She swallowed hard, remembering that dizzying rush of pleasure. She hadn’t even known that a person could feel like that. How had he known?

Who taught him to do that? He must have learned it somewhere.

That was a less pleasant train of thought. It was as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over her spirits.

“Mama,” Emily began carefully. “Has the Duke of Clapton ever been involved with a woman?”

Octavia laid down the papers. “Are you asking me if he has ever had a mistress?”

Emily flushed. “I suppose so.”

Her mother pursed her lips, thinking. “I cannot think of anybody. But wise men are discreet, you know. My dear, it is almost certain that he had mistresses. I know it’s not a pleasant thing to think of, but I always made a habit of telling you and your sisters the truth, and there it is. You know already that there is a distinctive double standard between men and women.”

Emily swallowed, nodding. “Oh. I see.”

Octavia tilted her head. “Are you disappointed? Are you thinking of marrying the duke, after all?”

Emily thought this over, chewing on her lower lip. “I don’t know.”

“He isn’t continuing to blackmail you, is he?” Octavia’s voice hardened. “I can’t say that I like the man.”

Emily sighed. “Not exactly, Mama. He’s been pleasant to me.”

An image flashed through her mind, that of Cassian leaning over her as she lay on the chaise, supporting his weight on his elbows, bare-chested, sporting that wolfish smile. She swallowed thickly.

Now is hardly the time for thoughts of that nature.

“I was only wondering,” she continued, suddenly keen to steer the conversation away from Cassian.

Last night felt rather fresh , like a newly painted picture. One couldn’t risk touching it, or else the paint might be smudged and ruined.

“You have to marry, you know,” Octavia said with a sigh, setting aside the gossip rags and picking up a more sedate newspaper. “I know you’d like to have your freedom, but marriage is freedom. Your sisters have all been lucky in their marriages, and so might you be. The only trouble is that after what you did to the duke—not that he didn’t richly deserve it, but of course, Society does not see it that way—no man will trust you again. Men never trust women who treat other men badly.”

“ Men won’t trust us ?” Emily snapped, suddenly angry. “Mama, it is us who should not trust them! Even the best men can ruin a family. Dear Papa?—”

“No, Emily,” Octavia interrupted, her voice taut and her face suddenly pale. “No words against your papa. He made a great many mistakes, but he was a good man, and we all loved him.”

There was an awkward pause after that.

Emily bit her lip, eyeing her untouched breakfast plate. She ought to have been starving, after her long night of… well, doing anything but sleeping. Instead, she found that she had no appetite at all.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” she murmured. “I am not sure what to do. I am glad that my sisters have found love, but is love the best thing for a person? It can be truly blinding. Love makes a person forgive things they ought not to forgive. I don’t wish to live like that. I don’t want to marry a man I cannot trust.

“I want freedom , Mama. There must be some way of getting it. Marriage, to be sure, is not freedom. I would argue that it is the opposite. I feel as though I am backed into a corner and I cannot see a way out. I keep looking and looking for somebody to come along and save me, but I do not think that is going to happen. I shall just have to save myself, I think.”

Octavia was silent for a moment.

“Whatever choice you make, my dear, I will be here,” she promised, her voice quiet. She sounded tired, as if the subject was draining her. “Now, let’s discuss something a little less serious, shall we? I’m quite tired of being solemn. Now, what do you think of this ?”

She turned the paper around, tapping a paragraph in the middle of the sheet.

Emily leaned forward, her eyes widening.

Prince Regent Addresses Anon!

On the heels of the phenomenal success of Anon, the mystery painter of Woman In the Window as well as several other popular pieces, readers have wondered what is next for the enigmatic and secretive painter.

Anon’s popularity, it seems, has reached the highest rooms in the land, with the Prince Regent himself professing interest in the painter. His Majesty the Prince of Wales is said to own a copy of Woman In The Window , along with Child Flees From Snake and Black Cat and Red Ball , some of Anon’s more popular pieces. In a rather thrilling announcement, the Prince Regent has reached out to Anon with a challenge.

His Royal Highness is reported as speaking thus:

“I should like to possess some of Anon’s paintings for myself, in his own fascinating style. I would invite this painter to create no less than five paintings featuring myself at key moments of my life—I shall leave their composition up to the artist—and he may present them to me at the closing ball of the Season. In exchange for these unique works, I shall reward him with the sum of one thousand pounds.”

Will Anon pick up this challenge—along with his brush—and oblige our great sovereign? This author hopes so! Time will tell, and we shall wait and see. Do not disappoint us, Anon!

Emily sat back, breathless. “One thousand pounds,” she whispered. “For my paintings?”

She had received money for her other paintings, of course, but all her income combined would not match up to that sum.

Of course, receiving the money would mean abandoning her anonymity. Everybody would be looking out for Anon at the closing ball of the Season.

“It’s quite something, isn’t it?” Octavia commented, giving a short laugh. “I had to read it twice. Just think, Emily—one thousand pounds! Think of what you could do with that money. And with the Prince Regent’s patronage, your paintings would be more popular than ever.”

“Unless he’s disappointed to find out that Anon is a woman,” Emily countered.

Octavia sighed. “Well, you won’t lose anything. Five paintings… Could you complete five paintings in time?”

“I… I believe so. Would the Prince Regent really want my paintings?”

Octavia gave a wry smile. “Why, yes. Unless you do something foolish and paint a picture of his marriage, of course. He’d fly into a rage if you dared to depict his wife in any of them. He loathes her, poor woman.”

They sat in silence for a moment or two. Emily kept reading and rereading the paragraph in the newspaper, sure that there was something she had overlooked, some hidden catch, some reason why she should not take the Prince Regent up on his offer.

With that money, I could stay a spinster. I could invest it, or simply live off the interest. I could live. I could have my freedom, at last.

She’d not need the Duke of Clapton.

A cold feeling spread through her. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable. She recalled the distant, angry look in his eyes when he’d spoken about his father and the way he’d ended the subject when his brother came up. There had been hurt in his voice.

Emily cleared her throat, glancing up at her mother. “Mama, I never knew the Duke of Clapton had a brother,” she heard herself say.

Octavia raised her eyebrows. “Are we still talking about that man? Goodness, I’m surprised you can think of him at all, with the Prince Regent’s offer on the table.”

“It’s just a question, Mama.”

“Hm. Well, I do recall that he had an older brother. That boy ought to have been the duke, of course, but he died young. It was a tragic accident, I believe. He drowned.”

Emily bit her lip. “Oh. Oh, that is sad. And he has no other siblings?”

“None.”

Silence fell over the table again. Octavia picked up a piece of toast and began munching on it.

Emily flinched when the door opened and the butler strode in, carrying letters on a silver platter.

“Ah, the post,” Octavia said, setting aside her toast.

“Anything for me?” Emily asked, hating how hope surged inside her.

Do I want to hear from him? Yes, I suppose I do.

“No, Miss Belmont,” the butler replied, regret in his voice.

Emily swallowed. So, he hadn’t sent her a message that morning. Would he send her a message at all?

Did last night mean anything to him? I can’t recall how he acted on the ride back home. Distant, I think. A little clipped. As if he were angry with himself for going far. And, of course, I never did anything for… for him in return.

Ought I have done so? Oh, I don’t know.

She rose to her feet before she knew what she was doing.

Octavia arched her eyebrows. “What’s the matter, dear?”

“Nothing, I… I had just better get to work, that’s all,” Emily replied, feeling a little deflated.

Disappointed, that was the word.

She was silly to hang her hopes on the duke. Yes, silly.

“I have five paintings to do. The first one will be easy—it will be the Prince’s birth. I’ll make it a fine, elaborate scene, with lots of color and lots of pretty midwives and whatnot. He’ll like that.”

Octavia nodded slowly, her gaze still fixed on her daughter. “Yes, I daresay he will.”

Emily turned and hurried out of the room.

She was not pleased with her own feelings. What she and the duke had done had been a… an accident, surely. Nothing else. He was not the sort of man anybody ought to get close to. Developing feelings for him was most certainly a bad idea—the worst idea in the world.

Once upstairs, Emily took out her sketchbook, turning quickly past the half-finished sketch of Cassian from last night.

She began to draw as if her life depended on it.