Page 16 of The Hellion is Tamed

In a gesture he was coming to understand was all Emma, her shoulders lifted in defiance and self-preservation. “Iliketo bake. The recipe has been in my family for generations. Being charitable, I gave it to the duke’s cook. I’m the last of the Breslins. Lemon-rosemary loaf is lost to this world if no one else knows how to make it.”

“Hmm…” Simon flopped into an armchair, the worn leather cracking, trying to imagine this virago doing something as domestic as baking a cake. Slipping his hand in his waistcoat pocket, he withdrew two butterscotch sweets and began to twirl them between his fingers. Worth and Winnie’s eyes grew round as half crowns as they scooted to the edge of the sofa. The canine Emma had rested her head upon ambled over, parking himself by Simon’s boot with a muffled bark. The dog had a violet satin ribbon looped about his neck, one Simon guessed had been assigned to contain Emma’s wild tresses before she’d removed it.

Simon tugged at the makeshift collar, then sent Emma a glance that he realized was more than mildly flirtatious after he’d released it.

Rising to her feet, Emma lifted her hand to smooth her hair, a minuscule pleat settling between her brows. Simon didn’t know if she struggled to interpret the meaning behind his enticing look. Or her reaction to it. Leaning down, she grabbed his gloves from the pile by the hearth and pulled them in close to her chest. It was as if she’d taken his hand and placed it there, just above her ribcage. He could almost feel the flutter of her heart.

They stared, lost to the moment. Until Simon freed himself, straightening in his chair, blindly handing the butterscotch to the children while debating if he was going to follow his brain’s instinct to cross the room, take Emma’s face in his palms and—

“Emmaline,” the Duchess of Ashcroft called from the hallway. “I need to speak to you about your dance lesson.”

Worth and Winnie glanced at each other before turning pitying eyes on Emma. “Good luck, lessons are ahorror,” Worth whispered around his butterscotch with all the bravery a young boy could muster, then he and his sister dashed across the room and edged into the hallway, obviously hoping to avoid their mother.

“Dance lessons,” Emma whispered, her cheeks blanching. She twisted his gloves into a wrinkled wad. “What bleeding dance lessons?”

Simon sneaked a farthing from his trouser pocket, a wide grin tilting his lips. Propping his boots on the coffee table, he flipped the coin from hand to hand. “I think I’ll stay a bit, after all. Dancing lessons. Sounds positively enchanting. Unless one is engaged intakingthe lesson, that is. My tip? Don’t say bleeding or step on the dance master’s toes. And never, ever, think to say no to Delaney Tremont.”

The very pregnant duchess practically tumbled into the room, her breath leaving her in little pants. “Oh, heavens, there you are. I worried for a second that you’d blinked and traveled to 1920 or something. You’re like a butterfly I’m afraid will flit away while I’m not looking.” She closed her eyes, tapped her head, then opened them again. Making a quick trip to the attic in her mind. “Did you know they call a collection of butterflies a kaleidoscope? Maybe someday we can take a trip to America, just for a day or so. I haven’t been back since Sebastian took me on our honeymoon. With four children, I have no time for travel. But you’re quicker than Cunard, that’s for sure.” Delaney patted her belly, her gaze widening when it hit him. “Simon. This is divine intervention. Monsieur Claude had to cancel, and we need to get moving on the waltz. The ball to introduce Emma to society is in less than two weeks.” When he didn’t make an immediate effort to stand, she snapped her fingers. “Get up and come along.”

Simon looked to Emma, who was deciding, he could see from her strained expression, between laughing at his dilemma or being fearful of her own. He rose to his feet with a choke of laughter. “Oh, no, Delaney. I’m not your man. Finn’s the one you—”

“I haveyou, the most accomplished dancer in our extended supernatural family, according to your instructor, Madame Rudolph. She said your gifts were not confined to your feet. I always wondered about that comment, which seemed odd at the time. But you’re an Alexander, so maybe it’s perfectly clear. I’ll meet you in the ballroom.” Dusting her hands, the deed done, the duchess turned on her heel and marched from the parlor, or as well as she could with an ample belly marching out before her, expecting the two stunned inhabitants to follow.

Simon tugged Emma’s sleeve as she brushed past. “Delaney’s joking. I wasfifteen. Madame Rudolph meant nothing by that comment except that I’m a marginally proficient dancer.” He gave the farthing an embarrassed spin. “If you must know, it came naturally. Not like growing up in St Giles gave me any advantages. Little more than bawdy houses and gin palaces.ThoseI know a great deal about.”

When Emma gave him a cross glare and followed the duchess into the hallway, he shoved the coin in his pocket and trudged along behind them.Women.

“Can’t please these chits nowadays; don’t even try,” Henry advised from his spot just behind Simon. He was a relatively accommodating haunt. He didn’t try to get too close nor stay too long. Sooner or later, he’d disappear altogether, and Simon would feel a pang wondering what had happened to him. “Might as well go and show the young miss the waltz. Four simple steps. Nothing to it. Just remember to bow when you finish. Proper like. And wipe off that frown. Think of the advantages, sonny. No better way to get close to a girl you fancy than the waltz. A true scandal in my time. Course, just starting to be popular when I had to up and die.”

“I don’t fancy the girl. I’m protecting her,” Simon muttered and took the circular stairs leading down into the ballroom two at a time, ignoring Henry’s bark of laughter.

Delaney had tripped the gaslights, and the chandeliers glowed, casting a gilded shimmer across cream marble. The weather was gray and leaden, but in this room, the world was luminous. Emma wandered through the cascading light, her gown shifting from indigo to a shade close to the color of one of the Blue Moon’s five-pound chips. They could have practiced just as well in the gallery, Simon guessed, but Delaney liked to make every event a celebration.

He wondered vaguely if herjoie de vivreever exhausted her husband.

Halting at the bottom of the stairs, he repressed an insane urge to steal the figurine of a hound sitting on a high table to his right. Henry clucked his tongue in dismay and drifted past, strolling to a spot along the far wall from which to observe Simon’s probable thievery further.

“There’s no music,” Simon offered contrarily and crossed to where Emma stood, her slim body quivering like a reed as she shifted from one silver slipper to another, his gloves pressed ruinously to her bosom. She looked like she was being offered up as a human sacrifice. While Delaney, Her Grace, Duchess of Ashcroft, looked positively thrilled.

Thrilled by what, Simon had no idea.

Though, shewasthe most competitive woman he’d ever met.

“Oh, we have music,” Delaney said with a smile meant to throw them off course. “In this house, wealwayshave music.”

Simon grimaced, looking around for something to steal. “You didn’t. He wouldn’t.” A duke who could shoot fire from his fingertips and was, well, aduke, wouldn’t participate in this frivolity.

Delaney snickered and curled her hand lovingly around her protruding belly. “You think I can’t get the duke to do anything I’d like him to do while I’m in this delicate condition? Darling, Simon, you have yet to learn the lengths to which a man will go for the woman he loves. I only need crook my finger in his direction.”

Simon blew out a breath, not bothering to look over his shoulder when he heard a familiar, resounding tread slapping marble. The duke stalked through every room he inhabited like the former soldier he was. An intentional stride, never an idle amble for this man.

Sebastian Tremont, fifth Duke of Ashcroft, halted beside the taciturn group, violin in one hand, bow in the other. “I hear a waltz is in order.”

“Your Grace,” Simon murmured in a brutal tone.

Sebastian tapped the bow to Simon’s shoulder, knighting him king of the ballroom. “What a surprise. Young Simon, here to help prepare my dear cousin, Emmaline, for her debut.” His smile grew, plumping his granite cheeks. “Ornot,” he added in a whisper for just the two of them.

Emma stepped close,tooclose, the scent of her damned rosemary cake sliding past his nose, twisting his heart and his gut. With a sigh of longing, she trailed her finger up the violin’s scrolled neck. “You play, Your Grace?”