Page 20 of His Tempting Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #4)

CHAPTER 20

One Night To Her Decision

A small party had been planned for Frances the following day. Nothing elaborate, only a few close friends. If anyone thought that it was odd for Cassian to be there, they wisely kept their opinions to themselves.

There had been talk about Cassian and Margaret years ago, when she was newly widowed and Frances was a child. Cassian had clenched his teeth and ignored it, and Margaret had simply weathered the gossip. When no engagement was announced, people naturally lost interest.

Of course, some people had long enough memories to recall the late Duke of Clapton’s oldest son’s scandalous association with an opera singer, but those people were generally sensible enough to keep their mouths shut and their opinions to themselves.

That’s the beauty of Society, really, Cassian mused, rattling home in his carriage. People forget so quickly. After all, how many people partaking in this Season know that I ever had a brother?

That thought, as usual, brought pain. And since he was alone in his carriage, trundling through the dark streets, there was no way of distracting himself.

Closing his eyes and resting his head back against the carriage seat, Cassian allowed himself to remember, for once. The sound of rain drumming against the carriage roof drowned out anything beyond his echoing thoughts.

He thought of Matthew. Not of that fateful last meeting, where Matthew had been so dazed and mad with grief that it seemed he was drunk, but of all the times before. The times when Matthew taught him to fire a shotgun when he was entirely too young to learn, sneaked him sips of wine, taught him to ride a horse, and took him on spontaneous trips across London to sweet shops and ice parlors.

Oh, Matthew. I miss you more than you can ever know. What would life have been like if you were here?

Well, he would not be the Duke of Clapton, that was for sure. The former duke would never have countenanced Margaret’s marriage to Matthew, even if she had not gone ahead and gotten engaged to the Baron. Frances would likely still exist. She would have had the opportunity to meet her real father.

I have neglected her.

Cassian felt a pang of regret.

She has no father left, so it is up to me to act in my brother’s place. That requires more than paying for finishing school and new dresses. I ought to be there for her.

He found himself thinking of Emily, too. Not much of a surprise, as his thoughts tended to rush back to her at the most inopportune moments, bringing a wave of emotions and desires that he did not enjoy wrangling.

I could introduce Emily to Frances. And once we are married, once I have assured myself she is trustworthy, I can tell her the truth—that Frances is our niece.

The carriage jerked to a halt in front of the house, effectively interrupting Cassian’s uncontrolled train of thought. Sighing, he climbed down. His head ached, and he was tired—more tired than a young girl’s birthday party ought to have left him.

“Any news?” he asked the butler, handing over his coat, gloves, and hat. “Any messages?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Very well. Goodnight, then. I’ll read in the library for a little while, then take myself to bed. Nobody needs to wait up.”

The butler bowed. “Very good, Your Grace.”

It was not late, barely nine o’clock, but already the house was settling down for the night. The kitchen would be dark and quiet, with most of the servants having taken themselves to bed.

Cassian strode along the darkened hallways, the light of spaced-out candles glimmering in the gloom. His mind was whirring, and he would never sleep under such circumstances. He needed something to calm himself.

He reached the library door, which had been left ajar. He paused only for an instant before stepping inside.

He was remarkably proud of his library, of course. The late duke had scarcely used the place, allowing it to collect dust and cobwebs. Nobody was permitted to borrow a book without his express permission, not even his own sons. Cassian had decided, when he learned that his brother was gone and he was to be the duke one day, that he would run the library a little differently.

Now, there was a heavy, old ledger resting by the door, where books could be signed in and out. The servants were welcome—nay, encouraged —to help themselves. If one perused the ledger, one would see a list of names, dates, and books borrowed. There were footmen who secretly adored romance novels, gardeners who devoured books on history and geography, and a particular scullery maid who had read every single one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s works at least three times.

It was, in short, an eminently efficient system.

There was a single candelabra in the middle of the room, its light woefully inadequate to light up the farthest corners of the library, where bookshelves were set up like a maze.

Pausing, Cassian turned to face the farthest corner, folded his arms tightly across his chest, and spoke, “I think you had better come out.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, and then a young woman in a long, grey cloak, rather damp from the rain outside, shuffled guiltily forward out of the dark.

Silence descended. The expanse of the library stretched out between them, with a square desk set in the center and chairs arranged around it for reading and working. Cassian preferred to write his correspondence here. It was a sedate place, and he was seldom disturbed.

And, of course, his father had never allowed him in the library, which made him enjoy the room even more.

“I can explain,” Miss Belmont murmured, shamefaced.

* * *

“I think you had better come out,” Cassian called, after he strode into the library and almost immediately glanced at the corner where she was hiding.

Emily shuffled forward, feeling guilty. “I can explain.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Oh? I am agog to hear why you broke into my house.”

Emily thought she had managed the whole business rather poorly.

At the end of the second day after the artist’s party, there had been no word from the duke.

That was somewhat worrisome.

What if he changes his mind? I’m rather ruined already, but if Society learns that I even attended a party like that—and with the duke—then it will all be over. Mama would be within her rights to send me to an asylum.

Of course, Octavia would not do that, but she would certainly be forced to at least send her to the countryside. Such a moral scandal would likely affect even Anna and Daphne. Emily would never be able to come back to London.

She had spent both days wandering around the house, bored and alone, with Octavia demanding to know what was wrong with increasing exasperation.

At suppertime, Emily had come to a somewhat obvious conclusion.

If the wretched duke would not visit her to talk things over, then she would simply have to visit him.

Hiring a cab was a little frightening, but she had managed it quite well, in her own estimation. She only hoped that the duke would offer her the use of his carriage to get back home.

“Need I repeat myself, Miss Belmont?” he prompted, interrupting her thoughts.

She clenched her jaw, lifting her chin. “You haven’t visited me in the last two days, or even sent a message.”

“Was I meant to have done so?”

“Well, tonight is the last night before I decide whether to marry you or not. Or have you forgotten?”

He arched that irritating eyebrow of his again, and she realized with a rush of chagrin that he had not forgotten.

“You knew I’d come here,” she gasped. “You lured me.”

“Lured? My dear, what a horrid word. No, I simply knew you would be too impatient to wait, once you had made up your mind. And I was right. Here you are. I’d ring for tea, but I think that news of your being here would ruin us both beyond repair. How did you get in, by the way? I’m amazed that you managed to sneak past the butler.”

Emily had the grace to look ashamed. “The kitchen door hadn’t been locked. I think it’s locked now, though.”

“Effectively trapping you here. Oh dear.”

“I came to the library because I thought you’d come here when you returned home,” she continued, determined to be honest. “And I was right.”

“You were right,” he acknowledged.

Striding forward, he reached the square desk between them. Leaning forward, he rested his fingertips on the wood. His gaze seemed to bore into her, and she felt the familiar shudder of desire.

“Well?” he prompted. “You came here to say something, Miss Belmont. Say it.”

“I thought you were going to call me Emily.”

He tilted his head, smiling. “Emily,” he murmured, rolling the name around in his mouth.

His grin widened, the tip of his pink tongue coming out and sweeping briefly over his bottom lip. Emily swallowed thickly, not sure what to do with the insistent pulse in her belly.

“I have thought long and hard about it,” she managed at last, her voice quavering just a little, “and I have decided that the best thing for us both is to get married.”

The duke chuckled. “Yes, I agree. I am very delighted you have come to this conclusion. I do hope you don’t consider yourself ruined .”

She lifted her chin. “I do not. But if I want freedom, I must marry—I see that now. It’s most inconvenient, but I believe that you will be a suitable husband, and I will do my best to be a suitable wife. A marriage of convenience is what you require, yes?”

“Yes,” he responded languidly, his gaze lingering on her and making goosebumps rise over her skin. “But the terms can be rather… fluid .”

She frowned. “What does that mean?”

He lifted a hand, half-covered in the expensive lace sprouting from his sleeves, and beckoned her forward.

To her amazement, Emily found herself moving, circling the desk so that they stood face to face.

Well, face to chest, really, as the duke was too tall for her to look him in the eye with any ease.

“I appreciate your honesty,” he murmured, his voice soft. “But I would like you to promise that you won’t run away again. A man can only be embarrassed at the altar by the same woman so many times.”

Emily flushed. “Of course. Although, in fairness, it was not I who ran away from you.”

He glanced away, suppressing a smile.

“I am of the opinion that you will make my life extremely interesting, Emily.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t force me to chase you, darling.”

The flutter of desire in her belly had solidified into something stronger, something harder to ignore. The witty comments that usually danced on the tip of her tongue seemed to have deserted her.

“Well, you all but forced me to marry you, so I suppose making you chase me is no more than you deserve,” she shot back, holding his gaze. “Besides, I thought that gentlemen liked the chase, as it were.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed, his gaze heating. He took a step forward, and she reflexively stepped back. Her hips knocked into the edge of the desk.

“I can’t help but think, Miss Belmont, that somebody ought to teach you a lesson in manners,” he whispered.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

Emily bit her lower lip, holding his gaze. “I am a quick learner,” she responded. “But only when the subject interests me.”

That earned her a smile.

He lifted his hand, his fingertips grazing the side of her throat, hovering above where her pulse hammered under her skin.

Her breath caught in her throat. She swallowed thickly.

“You are without doubt the most fascinating woman I have ever met,” he murmured, so quietly that she barely heard him.

The flickering light from the candelabra danced across the sharp angles of his face, making him look debauched and breathtakingly handsome.

“Then I think you have not met a great many women,” Emily managed.

“On the contrary, my dear. I have met more women than you could possibly imagine.”

There was no time to make a witty response because, at that instant, the duke leaned down and crushed his lips to hers.

It was a gentle kiss, almost chaste, with none of the hunger from before. He slid both hands down her ribcage, circling her waist. She barely had time to realize what he intended to do before it was happening.

Lifting her easily by the waist, Cassian lowered her onto the desk. She gave a squeak of surprise, which he quickly swallowed with his mouth. She found that he had pushed himself between her knees, and without even thinking twice, she had hooked her leg around his hip.

The kiss deepened, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips. His hand slid up her side, his fingers brushing the underside of her breast.

Emily had dressed quickly and simply, removing her endless layers of petticoats and corsets in favor of a simpler gown that she could take on and off herself, all the better for slipping through the dark streets. It wouldn't do to look like a lady when on her clandestine missions, after all.

This meant that she could feel his touch through the fabric of her gown, his fingers questing upwards to cup the mound of her breast. He lowered his head, pressing his lips to the side of her throat again.

It was a strange sensation, and a thrilling one. Emily’s breath hitched, and she closed her eyes when she felt him smile against her skin.

There was a rustling sound, and she felt his warm hand curl around her knee, pushing aside her skirts. There was a brush of teeth against her throat, the tiniest pressure, and she found herself wondering what it would feel like if he pressed them into her flesh. Not hard enough to truly hurt , of course—nobody would want that—but enough to…

“Better not,” he whispered, the pressure easing. “It would leave a most suspicious mark, you see.”

Abruptly, without warning, his hand slid up her thigh to press against her core. The rush of pleasure was immediate, and Emily let out a ragged gasp.

He chuckled, kissing the side of her neck again, and began to move his hand in earnest, his fingers circling and tracing a line again and again.

Pleasure built up rapidly inside Emily. She tightened her grip on his shoulders, biting her lower lip hard to stay quiet. It was the strangest sensation, intense and hungry and delightful all at once. It wasn’t enough, and at the same time, it was entirely too much. If he stopped, she was sure she would die, but if he continued…

Her breathing was ragged, her chest heaving up and down. Strange details caught her attention—the stray lock of hair falling over his forehead, the way her skirts were creased and bunched around the arm moving rhythmically against her.

What a wonderful sketch it would make .

“I wish I could hear you,” Cassian breathed.

But before she could ask what he meant exactly, her climax rushed upon her, stealing her breath. She let out a brief moan, hastily smothered, and felt his lips curl into a smile once again.

Her heart rate had not quite returned to normal when he withdrew his hand from under her skirts, releasing her and stepping back.

Emily felt truly debauched, her face red, her hair a little disheveled, her breath coming hard. She plucked at her skirts in an attempt to rearrange them.

“What… What about you?” she managed breathlessly.

Cassian frowned ever so slightly. “What do you mean?”

She gestured briefly to the front of his trousers. There was indeed a bulge there, not quite shadowed by the candlelight.

Of course, Emily had no real idea of how to manage that , but no doubt he would instruct her.

He stared at her for a long moment, his face shadowed by the dancing candlelight. “It’s not necessary,” he said bluntly.

Emily frowned. “Well, I don’t wish to be selfish.”

“You are not selfish. I am rather tired.”

That felt like an insult.

Emily flinched, her euphoria fading away. “Oh,” she uttered flatly.

He gave a wry smile. “I will order a carriage to take you home, Emily. I will pay you and your mother a visit tomorrow morning to discuss the details. We’ll be married without delay.”

With that, he strode out of the library without a backward glance, leaving her still breathless, sitting on the desk, not entirely sure what had happened.

Why am I disappointed? Oh, heavens. Don’t tell me I am growing too fond of the man. There is no way at all that that can end well.

Emily Belmont, you are a hopeless fool.