Page 24 of His Tempting Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #4)

CHAPTER 24

E mily found herself a little shaken, stumbling after Cassian. After the bright lights of the ballroom, she squinted in the gloomy hallway. At last, she managed to wrench her wrist out of his grasp.

“Where are we going?” she demanded. “Why won’t you tell me what is going on? You are starting to worry me, Cassian.”

He heaved a short, frustrated sigh and kept walking. Emily bit her lip, scurrying after him. She wasn’t afraid, of course. Perhaps she ought to be—he was a stern, volatile man, with an air of mystery about him. She scarcely knew him.

And yet Emily already knew the feel of his hands on her most intimate places. She knew how his lips tasted and how soft they were. She’d breathed in the sharp scent of his cologne, her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Swallowing hard, she put those thoughts aside.

“Are you angry that I danced with Richard?” she asked, after a while.

“What? No. As I said,” he snapped over his shoulder, “I wish to discuss our duties.”

She scowled at him. “You are jealous. Well, I have no sympathy for you. You ought to have danced with me yourself.”

“Oh, never mind that.”

He stopped abruptly before a low doorway, the door set almost lopsidedly in the frame.

“We shan’t be disturbed here,” he murmured, pushing it open.

He stepped through the door first, ducking to avoid the low doorframe.

Emily hung back a little, her heart thumping.

Perhaps he wants to kiss me again. Or touch me. Perhaps… Well, our marriage will have to be consummated, will it not?

Her heart pounded harder and faster at that. She knew that the act between a man and a woman—the one that made a child—would be a little different from what she’d experienced before in his arms.

Some ladies talked about it in hushed tones, in quiet corners, only to their closest friends. Some ladies enjoyed it, others described it as undignified and uncomfortable at its worst and plainly dull at its best.

Emily couldn’t help but think that with the duke, it would be another matter altogether.

Breathing in and carefully composing herself, she stepped inside after him.

At once, she found herself in a low-ceilinged room, full of books and baubles and all sorts of things, with a desk sitting in the corner. It was more ordinary than she had thought. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d expected—some sort of boudoir, perhaps? A hidden-away, little pleasure room, with velvet and padded couches?

You are very silly, she scolded herself, folding her hands in front of herself and waiting for him to speak.

“This was my study when I was young,” Cassian spoke, almost to himself. “It was a storeroom, but my father allowed me to turn it into my own room. It was the only space that was truly mine.”

He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable all of a sudden.

Emily realized with a rush that he had told her something personal. Something that mattered. She glanced around, slow and pointed, taking in the details of the room.

“It’s a lovely room,” she said at last. “Small, but well-appointed. You’ve made it your own. Thank you for showing it to me.”

He glanced at her, arching an eyebrow. “I didn’t bring you here to display my taste in décor, my dear.”

“No? Then why did you bring me here?” Emily took a careful step towards him. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice quiet.

He eyed her for a long moment, then let out a slow sigh.

“Margaret said something that upset you,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

Emily bit her lip. “You… you are close to her, aren’t you?”

He held her gaze. “Yes, I am. But I can tell you now that Frances is not my child, and Margaret is not and has never been my mistress. Do you believe me?”

“I… I don’t know what to believe.”

Cassian eyed her for a long moment. Emily wished she had a knack for reading a person’s gaze and knowing what they were thinking. Anna was good at it, and so was her mother, but Emily found herself mostly in the dark, missing even the most obvious social clues.

When young Frances has her coming out, I can only hope that she’s less of a wallflower than I, and a little more astute, too .

Cassian sighed, turning his head away. The spell was broken, and Emily found herself sucking in a breath, as if she had been holding her breath for some reason.

“Something else is bothering you,” he said, rather shortly. “I do not wish to speak of the baroness. Why don’t you tell me what is on your mind, and we’ll go from there.”

“Well, in fact, there is something that has weighed on me for some time,” Emily began hesitantly, taking a step towards him. She realized that she was wringing her hands and hastily dropped them to her sides. “It’s the question of the Prince Regent’s commission.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “Ah, yes. Five paintings by Anon, to be presented at the closing ball of the Season. That is three weeks away—a rather tight deadline. Can I assume that you intend to take him up on his offer? You plan to reveal yourself?”

“Yes,” Emily answered, as confidently as she could.

She looked him in the eye, waiting for him to contradict her. What man would want an infamous artist for a wife?

The duke only chuckled to himself. “As I thought. Well, I wish you luck.”

“There’s more,” she continued, feeling a little braver. “I know that giving you an heir is part of our arrangement, and I will honor it. However, I would like to postpone that until after the Prince Regent’s deadline. I should like to wait for a month or two before we begin trying for a child. Perhaps even two full months, as the Prince Regent may want more paintings from me.”

The faint smile on Cassian’s face dropped at once. “I don’t understand.”

“I am quite prepared to give you an heir as soon as I can,” Emily explained, her heart sinking, “but my sister, Daphne, got with child right away. My mother, too, had Anna immediately after her marriage, and they were both tremendously ill. Daphne is vomiting every day. The sickness will pass soon enough, I’ve been told, but I cannot paint for the Prince Regent if I am too sick to get out of bed. Six months is not such a long time.”

Cassian seemed agitated, abruptly pushing off the desk he was leaning against. He began to pace up and down, staring at the carpet. Emily watched him, chewing on her lower lip.

“I cannot wait for six months,” he said at last, his voice low and urgent. “I will not wait for six months. It is not what we agreed on.”

Emily flushed. “Is this your way of telling me that you will amuse yourself with other women if I do not do my duty?”

He looked straight at her then, seeming almost shocked. “What? Heavens, no. Do not put words in my mouth. This is not about carnal desire—it’s about an heir. A child . I must have one by the time I am thirty years old. Before . Do you not recall the terms of my father’s will?”

Emily let out a long, slow breath. “Ah. Yes. The will. Is there no way around it?”

“I am nine-and-twenty and two months of age. If I am to have a baby in my arms before my thirtieth birthday, that leaves me ten months.”

“But surely, now that you are married?—”

He shook his head, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “You promised , Emily. This was your end of the bargain. I cannot wait for six months.”

“Marriages are built on compromise, are they not?” Emily tried.

There was a heartbeat or two of silence.

Cassian sighed, dropping his hands from his face. “You are a duchess. You are a woman of wealth and station now. Why must you insist on taking up the Prince Regent on his offer?”

Emily almost staggered backward. Was this the same man who had taken her to that fascinating party with so many wonderful artists? The man who’d encouraged her to sneak out of her home in the dead of night? The man who had kissed and touched her in a way that a gentleman ought never to consider?

“How can you ask me that?” she choked out, her voice small. “This is not about money, or even about securing a powerful patron. Although, if the Prince Regent was my patron, it would open many doors for me. This is about learning who I am as a person, Cassian. About finally, finally being able to be who I truly am. Taking this commission would be the greatest thing I have ever done—the pinnacle of my career, so far.”

As she said that fateful word, career , she flinched. Was it truly a career? Women did not have careers, everybody knew that. Ladies did not engage in employment of any sort, except for the womanly business of managing a house and raising children. Even the small commissions Emily had accepted and the paintings she had already sold would be sufficient to ruin her for good in the eyes of Society.

Cassian stared at her, a bleak look in his eyes. “Have you already begun working on the paintings?” he murmured, his voice low.

She nodded. “I have five canvases all sketched out, but I have not yet begun to paint.”

He took a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Compromise,” he breathed. “It is not every day that a duke is expected to compromise . I cannot wait for six months to begin trying for an heir, Emily. But I can wait until the Prince Regent’s deadline. Will that suit you?”

Emily paused, considering. She had expected to paint more after the deadline, anticipating more commissions, and possibly a good deal of unavoidable attention.

But it had always been clear, right from the start, that her duty was to provide an heir.

“But once you are married, I would have thought…” she began, trailing off weakly. “Is marriage not enough?”

He shook his head firmly. “No. There must be a child. I am only grateful that my father did not specify gender, as that would make my task virtually impossible. Already the deadline looms. We do not have much time. Three weeks is the most I could spare.”

She felt a pang of guilt.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, that would work very well, I think.”

Three weeks was not a very long time. One of the paintings was a very simple one, and would only take a day or two to complete, but some of the others were more complex. She would have to work hard, with no time at all to slack off.

Cassian arched an eyebrow, taking a step towards her. “And you’re sure this is what you want? A full three weeks without your dear husband in your bed?”

Emily flushed red. She could feel heat creeping across her face and down her neck. “Well, that hardly matters!”

He grinned—a wolfish smile that made her shiver. “I think it does.”

Emily knew exactly what the wretched man was thinking of. He was thinking of her, eyes fluttering, back arching, gasping in pleasure, fingers twined in his hair and wrapped around his wrist.

And now, of course, she was thinking it too.

It did very little to cool the heat in her face. To her chagrin, she felt the familiar spark of desire in her gut.

“I am grateful for your patience,” she managed, tilting her head up to look him in the eye.

He arched that eyebrow higher, cocking his head side like a curious bird.

No, not a bird. A fox, one with a mischievous glint in its eyes.

“You surely don’t think that a man like me would compel a woman to lie with him?”

Emily cleared her throat. “No, I do not.”

“You’d be right. Besides, I’ve never been in a situation where such a thing came up.”

He took another step closer. Emily felt as though she should step away and return to the wedding party—her wedding party! How could she have forgotten?—but she was mesmerized, staring up into Cassian’s clear, unblinking eyes.

He lifted his hand, his fingertips grazing the curve of her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat.

“You look beautiful,” he said. Not in a whisper or a hushed tone, like a man whispering to his lover. No, he said it bluntly, in an even voice, almost as if it were a inconsequential thing. “I shouldn’t like you to go all day without knowing it. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Emily.”

Her mouth went dry. His gaze dropped to her lips, the pad of his thumb skimming across her lower lip.

He’s going to kiss me .

Desire churned inside her, making her hands shake and her belly tighten.

“You can always…” She paused, forced to wet her lips to bring some moisture into her mouth. His steely gaze followed the movement of her tongue, his eyes darkening. “You can always visit me, I suppose.”

There was a heartbeat of silence between them, then a smile spread across Cassian’s face, wider than before.

“Oh no, duchess. You see, if I were to visit you now, I’m not sure I would be able to control myself.” He leaned forward, the tip of his nose almost touching hers. His hand skimmed lower, spanning the front of her throat with a tantalizing, feather-light touch. “When you invite me to your room, my dear duchess, you had better be ready to beg me to claim you.”

Emily’s eyes widened. Any clever retorts she might have had lodged themselves in her throat.

Cassian straightened up, his hand dropping to his side. He smiled down at her, seeming extremely satisfied.

“Three weeks, then,” he said, almost to himself. “I certainly hope you enjoy your painting, my dear Emily.”

“I… I shall,” she stammered.

She was still hot and sweaty beneath her tight bodice, almost itching for his touch. It wasn’t coming, she knew that much, but that did nothing to ease the ache in the pit of her belly and between her thighs.

He swept past her, his head held high, and ducked out of the low doorway, leaving her alone with her acute desire and bewilderment.

I do not think that I got the better end of that altercation .