Page 8 of His Tempting Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #4)

CHAPTER 8

T hankfully, Emily was wrong about her costume being too difficult to dance in.

The duke led her onto the dance floor, where a waltz was just starting up. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she felt as if all eyes were on her. When she glanced around, it did seem as if all eyes were on her.

“I hope you are comfortable with the waltz, Miss Belmont,” the duke murmured, leaning down until his lips almost grazed the shell of her ear. It sent delicious shivers down her spine, which she did her best to ignore. “I know some ladies consider it quite inappropriate.”

“After the scandals my family has weathered, I should think that a waltz is the least of our concerns,” Emily responded dryly.

The truth was, she had not often danced the waltz.

Out of her three sisters, Emily was the one asked last to dance. Anna was the most beautiful, Daphne was the most vibrant and spirited, and Emily was… well, she was not entirely sure what she was. It still baffled her that the duke had chosen to marry her when Daphne was available.

Stop it . Concentrate on not making a fool of yourself.

Countless eyes bored into them both as they took up their places on the dance floor. Of course, all of London was still talking about the farce of a wedding ceremony that had led to Daphne fleeing and subsequently marrying the Duke of Thornbridge. Whispers had followed Emily wherever she went since then.

She was obliged to face the duke, her face tilted up to look him in the eye. He carefully maneuvered her hands into the correct position—one hand in his, his hand on her waist, her free hand resting on his shoulder.

His bare shoulder.

Emily clenched her jaw, trying to look for all the world as if she touched a man’s bare skin every single day.

Had he deliberately organized it to be this way? No, that was silly. How was he to know that simply touching his shoulder would make her shiver inside in this way?

“Ready?” the duke drawled, meeting her eyes squarely.

She smiled faintly in response. “Ready.”

The music began immediately, as if it had been waiting for them.

Emily’s feet were hesitant to move—she’d never had the talent of rhythm the way her sisters did—but the duke carefully pulled her along with him. A waltz, after all, was one of the easiest dances. All she had to do was hold onto her partner and follow his lead.

And, of course, ignore her thumping heart, which was currently echoing in her eyes.

Calm down, you fool. It’s just a dance. And you don’t have to decide whether you wish to marry him or not. You have five more days to decide.

Well, it will be four days, tomorrow.

She swallowed down her panic at the approaching deadline and focused firmly on the hollow between the duke’s collarbones, which was directly before her eyes.

“You are doing very well, Miss Belmont,” the duke said, after a moment’s silence.

She glanced sharply up at him. “I am not sure I appreciate the condescension,” she responded shortly.

His grin widened, and before she could react in any way, he pulled her closer.

A waltz, of course, was danced in rather close proximity, but this… this was entirely too much. When she breathed deeply, her bosom brushed against his torso, sending tingles through her entire body. His arm was tight and warm around her waist, and the heat radiating from him seemed to seep easily through the thin material of her dress. And it was all so effortless! The man must be stronger than she had ever imagined.

Can he feel my heart beating, I wonder?

Heat coiled in her gut, pulsing in time to her pounding heart. She could feel his fingers, long and cool, curved over the slope of her hip. Was it her imagination, or did he squeeze just a tiny bit?

He chuckled. “So feisty , my dear.”

“My apologies. If I were a soggy biscuit of a woman, would you be less interested in me?”

He gave a short bark of laughter. “A soggy biscuit ? Heavens, where do you get these ideas?”

She tossed back her hair. “I am an artist, and therefore possessed of a vivid imagination.”

“So I see. And the answer is no, I likely would not be interested in you. But you are not a soggy biscuit , so this line of reasoning is rather a waste of time. Pray tell, why biscuits ? They are not known for their structural integrity at the best of times.”

Emily sighed. “I’m a little peckish, actually. I was thinking about biscuits before you came and accosted me. I would have liked to go for refreshments when Mr. Evans asked me to, but I did not want to go for refreshments with him .”

“A sensible choice,” he agreed. “Well, we shall fetch you some biscuits at the end of his dance. I should warn you—now that you’ve been seen dancing with me , you may be asked to dance by other gentlemen.”

She squinted at him. “My, you do have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?”

“I do.” The duke nodded. “I am the finest man of my acquaintance, in my own opinion.”

She laughed despite herself. There really was nothing to say to that. The man’s unearned self-confidence was rather impressive, really.

And it wasn’t exactly unearned.

The music ended, to Emily’s surprise. Generally, dances seemed to last forever, with her counting the seconds until she could make her excuses and escape her partner. This time, she did not want the dance to end.

Almost reluctantly, Emily took her hand off the duke’s shoulder, letting her fingers slip away from him, and stepped back.

He was watching her, his expression dark and unreadable. She felt a pressure building up in her chest, a sort of yearning that she could not quite interpret. Around them, couples were talking and laughing, some going their separate ways, others finding excuses to stay together. They milled around Emily and her duke, leaving a wide ring of space around the two of them.

Not my duke, she told herself, faintly horrified. He’s never been mine.

The duke broke the spell first, his eyes flicking away from hers and over her shoulder. They narrowed.

“My cousin approaches,” he remarked, almost off-handedly. “I suspect he is about to ask you to dance, Miss Belmont. Richard is nothing if not polite. I should warn you to be careful of your reply.”

She blinked up at him. “And why is that?”

He gave her that vulpine smile again. “Because I am a rather jealous man, my dear. If I am to court you, you should know this about me. I do not like to share.”

Before Emily could think up a suitable response, Richard St. John was upon them, bowing politely to her and glancing shrewdly at his cousin.

“Miss Belmont, what a pleasure to see you,” he said kindly.

Emily found it hard to believe that he’d written that sharp, threatening letter to her, even under his domineering cousin’s instruction.

“I was wondering if you would like to dance the next set with me. I believe it’s a country dance.”

Emily found herself answering before she had even picked out the words in her head.

“Oh, no thank you, Mr. St. John. My dance card is full already, you see.” She lifted her wrist, and he glanced briefly across it, his eyes narrowing.

“Of course. My apologies,” he responded, never missing a beat. He turned to the duke. “Cousin, might I have a word with you?”

The duke smiled faintly. “Naturally. Do excuse us, Miss Belmont. Might I suggest biscuits in our absence?”

“What… Oh, never mind,” Mr. St. John muttered, turning and walking away. The duke followed, leaving Emily alone.

She had forgotten about the biscuits.

Why on earth did I obey him? I should have made sure to dance with Mr. St. John simply to spite him! Yes, that would show him.

She could imagine it now—herself, spinning around the dance floor with the obliging Mr. St John, while the duke glared from the sidelines. She could almost imagine the heat and anger in his eyes, his gaze dragging over her like a physical touch, following her every move. Perhaps he would come charging to the dance floor, tearing her away from her partner and holding her tight. Mine, he would say, his voice clipped and harsh.

Emily gave her head a little shake, clearing her throat.

I need a glass of water. Cold water.

* * *

Cassian could not quite decide why he was so pleased with Miss Belmont’s response. He had told her not to dance with Richard, and she hadn’t. When she’d lifted her dance card, revealing his name in all of the slots, a warm, crushing wave of something like pride and desire had swept through him, almost stealing his breath away.

Mine. She’s mine. She all but told him that she was mine.

He gave himself a little shake. This courtship was a strange one, and their marriage was going to be nothing more than convenient. He knew that. She knew that. Why complicate matters?

Richard strode off to a quiet corner, then turned to await his cousin, his arms folded tight across his chest.

“You disapprove, I assume,” Cassian drawled.

“Disapprove? Of course I disapprove! You wrote your name in every slot on her dance card! It will be a scandal.”

“Considering the Belmont girls and their record for failed weddings, I rather think that a dance card is not going to do much to their reputations.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Miss Belmont is lucky to have two duchesses for sisters. Otherwise, she would have been drummed out of Society already.” Richard sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t understand why you are dead set on that girl. She humiliated you, remember?”

Cassian let out an irritated snort. “Only because you , my dear cousin, bungled it. I told you to subtly hint at her secret, not openly blackmail her.”

“Nevertheless,” Richard persisted, “I think it is time to turn your attention elsewhere. Remember, I want you to marry and receive your inheritance just as much as you do. You are running out of time. You can’t simply make another claim on the girl. Already, the whole ballroom is whispering about you. You’ll be featured in the scandal sheets for years to come!”

There was a brief silence after that.

Cassian bit his lip, glancing around the ballroom. Richard was right—there were countless eyes on them, whispers being exchanged behind hands and fans. All of London knew by now that Cassian had been jilted by Emily and that her twin sister had tried to take her place. It was a scandal the likes of which had never been seen before.

Miss Daphne Belmont had only been saved by her marriage to the Duke of Thornbridge—which, by all accounts, was remarkably happy—and Miss Emily was saved to an extent by the influence of her well-married sisters. Cassian could rely on his name, his purported inheritance, and the plain fact that he was, after all, a man.

Whispers did not concern him. Gossip and scandal and disapproval did not concern him. Humiliation and mockery bit a little deeper, but hadn’t Cassian experienced plenty of that as a young boy? His father’s taste for humiliating his inferiors was widely known.

It would be the worst humiliation of all if Cassian lost his inheritance because he was unable to meet his father’s conditions. It would be as if the old man had the final laugh, and Matthew’s misery and death had all been for nothing.

As always, Cassian’s chest constricted at the memory of his brother. He swallowed thickly, closing his eyes.

Richard laid a hand on his shoulder, making him flinch.

“You could have a duchess tomorrow, Cass,” he murmured. The use of the old nickname felt like pressing on a fresh bruise. “I could find you?—”

“I don’t just want any duchess,” Cassian interrupted sharply, opening his eyes and composing himself as best as he could. “I want a duchess without expectations. I want a duchess who understands and does not expect our marriage to be a love story. I shan’t give away my heart, Richard, and it is difficult to find a woman who does not expect to be given one. I have settled on Miss Emily Belmont, and you must give me the courtesy of assuming that I know what I am doing.”

Richard eyed him for a long moment, worrying his lower lip. At last, he nodded, letting his hand fall to his side.

“Very well, cousin. If you are set on Miss Emily Belmont, of course I’ll support you. But I don’t much like it, I’ll tell you that. She’s taking her time, considering an offer that any other woman would have accepted immediately.”

Cassian shrugged. “Perhaps that is why I chose her.”

Richard sighed again, rolling his eyes. “I will never understand you. I don’t approve of your trick of filling up her dance card, by the way—not that you care much about what I do and do not approve of.”

Cassian winked. “Sharp as always, my dear cousin. Now, did you only come over here to lecture me about my courtship choices, or can I return to Miss Belmont?”

Richard’s expression tightened, and Cassian’s smile faltered a little.

“Ah,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “Something really is wrong.”

“I’m afraid so,” Richard responded, lowering his voice. “It’s the baroness. She’s… she’s drinking rather a great deal.”

“That’s not unlike her. Margaret always drinks too much.”

Richard shook his head. “She’s acting strangely. I’m concerned about her. She’s asked me repeatedly to bring you to her, but she refuses to come to you herself. Something is bothering her, and I think it best if you get to the bottom of it.”

Cassian nodded slowly, thinking. He could not think of any way he might have offended Margaret, but of course, she had always been rather difficult to read. He generally avoided speaking to her in public—the story was an old one, but not forgotten—but it seemed like an exception would have to be made.

“Of course,” he answered, nodding. “Where is she?”

“Over in the corner. She wanted to play cards, but the card rooms aren’t open yet. I understand she made quite a scene with the footmen. She… she said something about Frances.”

Cassian stiffened. “Frances? What’s wrong with Frances? Is she back from finishing school? She’s not ill, is she?”

Fear wound cold fingers around his chest, squeezing so tightly that he could hardly breathe. Young girls were fragile, weren’t they? They caught fevers and head-colds and struggled to recover. They were so young, so easily snuffed out, so…

“No, nothing like that,” Richard said firmly, as if he could read Cassian’s spiraling thoughts. “Look, let’s just go and see her, shall we? I’d like to get to the bottom of this.”

“So would I,” Cassian murmured. “Well, lead the way, then.”