Page 6 of His Tempting Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #4)

CHAPTER 6

FIVE NIGHTS TO HER DECISION

“O w! It is not going to fit, Anna!” Daphne complained. “Ouch! You poked me with that pin or purpose.”

“Well, perhaps I wouldn’t have to if you stopped wriggling,” Anna shot back.

Emily smothered a smile.

They were gathered in Beatrice’s huge, fine bedroom. Privately, Emily did not think she’d like to sleep in such a large space. There would be shadows everywhere. She much preferred her small, cozy bedroom back home.

Beatrice and Stephen, the Duchess and Duke of Blackwood, were throwing a masquerade ball. It was a rather larger event than they had initially intended, it seemed, and half of London was invited.

Emily had intended to simply wear a mask—a black domino, probably—but her sisters disagreed. No, she would dress up.

“We’re all going as figures from Grecian and Roman mythology,” Beatrice had explained, “and you must join in, or you’ll look like the odd one out!”

Emily had a few snappy retorts to that, but she wisely kept them to herself. And now she found herself sitting on the floor of Beatrice’s bedroom, swathed in Grecian robes and wearing sandals that pinched her ankles, watching her sister get pinned into similar robes.

There was a little pedestal in front of the mirror, on which they’d all stood, one by one, and been sewn into their complicated costumes. Anna did the sewing, her brow furrowed and her mouth bristling with pins.

Emily remembered how skilled a seamstress Anna had been when they were younger. Anna had had to, for at some point they had no money for new clothes. Now, of course, the women could summon a veritable army of maids to carry out their instructions. Still, they seemed to prefer to do the work themselves.

“Stephen and I are dressing as Zeus and Hera,” Beatrice explained. “Stephen complained most heartily—apparently, Zeus is not a particularly pleasant Grecian god. But then none of them are, are they?—and so that’s that.”

“Theo wanted to be Poseidon, mostly because he has a trident he wants to wave around,” Anna chipped in, “which makes me Amphitrite.”

“I can’t help thinking that Daphne and I have our roles the wrong way round,” Emily remarked, finishing braiding a long strip of thin gold rope that she was supposed to tie the waist of her Grecian robes with. “She ought to be Aphrodite, and I will be Athena. Besides, they aren’t even sisters!”

“I’d like to be Athena. Look, I have a bronze owl figurine I shall carry around with me,” Daphne responded, turning this way and that in front of the long mirror.

Anna took the pins out of her mouth before she spoke. “You’ll make a perfect Aphrodite, Emily.”

“Aphrodite doesn’t wear spectacles,” Emily muttered.

“Yes, and you weren’t born from sea foam. It’s just a bit of fun,” Anna admonished. “There, Daphne, you’re done. What do you think?”

Daphne pursed her lips, inspecting herself. The robes, which looked so very simple on the figures in paintings and statues, were harder to put together than one might have thought. Still, the freedom was pleasant. Emily did not miss her corset.

“I should have warned you before,” Beatrice spoke up, looking a little anxious, “but I invited the Duke of Clapton.”

Daphne spun around to glare at her. There was an ominous tearing sound, and Anna threw her hands up in despair.

“You invited him ? Why, Beatrice? You know about everything that happened.”

Beatrice sagged miserably. “It would be too pointed an insult for me to exclude him. I don’t want to start a feud. Besides, Anna said that things were peaceful between your family and him.”

“Anna is right,” Emily said quickly, shooting a look at her twin which she hoped meant be quiet . “I hold no grudge against the duke. And this is your house, Beatrice. You can invite whoever you like.”

Beatrice smiled gratefully. “I’m glad everything was smoothed over.”

Daphne nibbled on her lower lip, catching Emily’s eye.

They hadn’t discussed what the duke had said to Emily, and Daphne had not pushed for answers. For her part, Emily only wanted to think over what he’d said. He’d proposed to her again . The blackmail aspect was still there, but it was a little more palatable this time. And she did want to reveal herself as Anon, just in her own time.

A tingle of excitement rolled down her spine. Would marrying the duke be the worst thing in the world? She had five days—no, five nights , he had said, whatever that meant—to think it over.

“He proposed to me again yesterday,” Emily burst out, before she could stop herself.

The three of them stopped what they were doing—Beatrice, pinning pearls into her hair; Anna, sewing up the new tear in Daphne’s robes; and Daphne, admiring her bronze owl figurine—and turned to stare at her.

“The cheek ,” Daphne gasped.

“I am surprised,” Beatrice remarked. “After the humiliation you two caused on what was meant to be your wedding day, I thought he’d never want to contemplate marriage again.”

Anna said nothing, only taking a pin out of her mouth and jabbing it viciously into the folds of fabric. Emily hoped that her sister would have no pins nearby the next time she encountered the Duke of Clapton.

For some reason, Emily did not mention the former Duke of Clapton’s will and its conditions. It explained his eagerness to marry and disinterest in finding love or anything beyond a like-minded woman, but somehow that did not feel right to discuss. It was his business.

“I hope you told him no ,” Daphne muttered, quietly furious.

“I told him I would think about it,” Emily admitted.

“You could have done worse,” Beatrice allowed.

Anna cast a shrewd glance at her sister. “Do you find him attractive?”

Emily flinched. “What sort of question is that?”

“An entirely reasonable one.”

“It hardly matters.”

Yes. That was the answer. Emily did find him attractive. There was something thrillingly lupine about his features, and those mesmerizing dark green eyes had a tendency to transfix. He was handsome, and there was no sense in denying it. But she was determined that it would not influence her decision. Surely she was too clever for such a thing.

“How long do you have to think about it?” Beatrice enquired.

Emily breathed out. The nerves were coming back. She was never in her element at parties and balls and masquerades, not like her sisters.

“Five days,” she answered.

It seemed silly to explain that it was actually five nights .

“That’s plenty of time to make a sound decision.” Beatrice nodded.

She tilted her head, and they all heard it then—the rumble of carriage wheels on gravel. She sighed, hurrying over to the window and peering out.

“It’ll be the first guests,” she murmured. “There’s always somebody who arrives early. Probably Lord and Lady Barrow. They like to leave early, so they arrive early. Or maybe Mrs—” she broke off abruptly. “No, it’s somebody else. It’s… No, I recognize that crest.”

She paused, glancing over her shoulder at Emily.

“Emmie, the Duke of Clapton is here.”

Emily had not wanted to go downstairs with Beatrice. In fact, she’d hoped to stay upstairs and hide for the rest of the evening, but Anna and Daphne wouldn’t hear of it.

The duke had barely disembarked from his carriage—she’d watched him from the window—before more carriages arrived. Fifteen minutes later, guests were pouring out of various carriages and coaches, talking and laughing. Already it was noisy, and not even a third of the guests had arrived.

A prickle of nerves ran down Emily’s spine.

Anna had gone down a few minutes ago, resplendent in a sequined blue-green robe that glimmered like water, the long train edged with fluffy white scraps of fabric to resemble a wave. It was ideal for a goddess of the sea. She looked beautiful, as did Beatrice in her soft pink-and-purple tunic, embroidered with gold thread. Daphne’s robes were layers of green, with flowers woven into her hair. She looked like a vision, too.

In comparison, Emily felt… well, she couldn’t exactly describe it. Conspicuous? Was that the word? Her robe was a fairly simple one, skimming underneath her collarbones and tied at the tip of her shoulders with gold string. The robe was a vivid red, pleated so that the skirts swung out as she walked.

The sleeves gaped at the sides, revealing almost the entirety of her white arms, looped at the elbow and again at the wrist by more strands of gold rope, matching the rope at her waist. Her hair was loose, strands gathered and braided at the temples and pulled back to the nape of her neck.

It was odd, having all of her hair loose in that way, shifting around her shoulders. Emily hadn’t realized just how long it had gotten.

Really, she could not dawdle any longer. She had to join the party, but she paused to eye her reflection in the mirror before she left.

It was a simple dress because Aphrodite was meant to be so beautiful that she didn’t need ornaments and expensive, complicated garments. She was confidence itself, beauty itself—a truly fascinating creature.

Emily just felt dowdy. She sighed, pushing her round spectacles up her nose.

“I wish they’d let me be Athena,” she muttered and then swept out of the room before she lost her nerve.

Downstairs, the ballroom and hallways were filling up rapidly. Emily paused about halfway down the stairs, standing on her tiptoes and craning her neck to find a familiar face.

She couldn’t see anyone, just face after masked face. There was nothing for it, she would have to brave the throng.

Breathing in deeply, Emily descended the last few steps and threw herself into the crowd.

Immediately, she was jostled about. Somebody knocked against her, shoving her face-first into the back of a masked man who appeared to be dressed as Dick Turpin, or perhaps just a random highwayman. She staggered backward, knocking into a woman’s silken elbow.

“Have a care!” somebody yelped angrily.

Emily muttered an apology and leaped onwards. There would be more room in the ballroom, surely.

Or perhaps this is how I die. I’ll be crushed to death by acquaintances.

Ugh.

As she stepped over the threshold and into the ballroom, a gaggle of gentlemen swept by, shooting quick, disdainful glances at the bespectacled, little Aphrodite. One of them pushed against her—deliberately or not, she could not tell. Not that it was relevant—and she tripped, staggering forward.

No doubt she would have landed on her face in an undignified heap had a pair of strong hands not seized her upper arms and set her firmly on her feet again.

There was a little bubble of space around this man, and several people were staring at them, faintly aghast. As soon as Emily dragged her gaze up from her feet, she saw why.

The gentleman was dressed as a Grecian man—a god, most likely—and wore knee-high boots and a pleated robe that swirled tightly around his hips and narrow, tapering waist, and looped up over one shoulder, leaving his other shoulder entirely bare .

Emily knew who he was before she even saw his face.

“Your Grace,” she forced out. “I heard you might be coming.”

The Duke of Clapton smiled down at her. “It’s just as well I did. That was a nasty tumble you almost took there.”

Emily only managed a nod. Her mouth was dry, and she was entirely transfixed.

She had not, of course, seen a man’s bare chest before. While there was some nod to modesty in the duke’s outfit, both of his arms, thick with muscle, were bare, and she could see the swell of his pectorals beneath the thin fabric. In fact, she could see a dark circle on his chest that was almost certainly his nipple . No wonder people were staring!

Also, how had he managed to get the sun on his skin? The duke was golden-skinned, despite the recent grey months, and the tan spread evenly over his shoulders and chest, with no lines.

If she touched his shoulder, she was sure his skin would be delightfully warm.

The hot sensation returned, tightening her chest. Her stomach knotted, bursts of awareness shooting through her like a pulse.

He was watching her, something intent in his eyes that she could not interpret. Emily wished she had the space to step back.

“Who are you supposed to be, then?” she managed, her voice hitching, to her embarrassment.

He grinned. She hadn’t noticed it before, but one of his eye teeth was a little crooked, giving his lopsided smile more character. There was also something vaguely vulpine about it all.

“Why, I’m the God of War, of course. Ares. Although, I do think I ought to have brought a sword and shield with me,” he added, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Otherwise, I might as well be any Grecian man. And you?”

She blinked up at him, momentarily distracted. He had brushed his hair up into a halo around his head, forming it into properly Grecian curls. It gave him an almost boyish expression, strangely endearing. Also, the brushing had not been done particularly well. A few locks were falling over his forehead, and she felt the strangest urge to push them back.

The pulse was more intense, lighting up parts of her body that she would rather forget about, at least for now.

It wasn’t a feeling she’d experienced before. There was something… something visceral and unstoppable about it.

Like when you get a fever, she mused, with a flash of inspiration. You can’t stop it. It just happens, and you have to go along with it.

He was still staring down at her, and she blinked up at him again, her eyes widening. He’d asked her a question. Of course he had, and she was gawping up at him like an idiot.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Who are you dressed as?” the duke patiently repeated, that smile still playing on his lips.

She cleared her throat. “Aphrodite. We all decided to come as Grecian gods and goddesses, and somehow I was assigned Aphrodite . Can you believe it?”

He tilted his head. “Why is it so ridiculous?”

She stared up at him. Did he really not know? Or did he simply want to make her say it? Either way, she was not giving him the satisfaction.

“My sister chose Athena,” she heard herself saying. “I think I’d rather have been Athena. Don’t worry, Ares is not taken. As far as I know, you’re the only God of War here tonight.”

He chuckled, extending his hand towards her face.

Emily froze, her eyes widening.

What on earth is he… Oh.

He gently plucked a small, pink feather from her hair.

“I imagine you’ve encountered Lady White in the hallway,” he murmured, holding the feather up for her inspection. “She’s covered in feathers. I have no idea who she is meant to be.”

“Icarus?”

He gave a brief, surprised bark of laughter, then closed his jaw hard as if it had slipped out without his knowledge and permission.

Clearing his throat, the duke turned away, dropping the feather. It floated down to the ground, only to be swept away by a passing lady’s hem.

“I imagine you want to find your family,” he said carelessly. “I’ll find you later. Save a dance for me, won’t you?”

Emily opened her mouth, ready to let loose a customary witty response. She’d never had trouble finding something clever to say, but at that moment, her wit seemed to have deserted her as if it had never been there.

The pulse coursing through her body made sense now. Desire. It was desire. She was feeling desire for this endlessly wretched man. How humiliating.

He paused. “For what it’s worth, Miss Belmont, I’m glad that you’re Aphrodite and not Athena.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And why is that?”

He grinned. “Because Athena and Ares are siblings, and that just wouldn’t do.”

He swept off into the crowd without a backward glance.

I need to sit down . And I need a drink.