“What do you mean, you are moving out?” The duchess hurried to keep up with Sebastian as he followed his trunks down the stairs. On her heels were Amelia and Bella, both looking frantic.
“Just what I said, Mother,” Sebastian snapped as he entered the foyer. “Wentworth has been most generous in offering me the chance to make my own fortune running Hamilton Oil, and I accepted. I leave today. A merchant ship sails for America on this evening’s tide, and I plan to leave with it.”
Sebastian ignored the heavy weight crushing his heart at the thought of leaving his family and friends behind. What choice do I have? Living in this house with Emma and Thomas would kill him.
For once in his life he’d given his heart away, only to have it stomped on and cast aside. The love of his life preferred his brother, the duke. He had expected behavior like that from the silly debutantes attending the balls and soirees in London this season, but not from Emma. He had thought she was different.
“Stop right this minute,” his mother demanded in her most clipped ‘duchess voice.’ At her tone Sebastian paused in his tracks, his mind tumbling back to his boyhood when he and Thomas were caught causing mischief. Sometimes they would lock their tutor out of the classroom. Climb out the window, and run as far away from the estate as they could. They would always return when it became dark or their stomachs growled, even though they would have to face mother’s wrath.
“Turn and look at me. Tell me, what has brought this on?”
Closing his eyes, Sebastian hoped to keep all his emotions from showing. He did not want his mother knowing about his troubles with Thomas––or the reason.
“Mother, I realized something about myself these past days, weeks, months. I can’t live under the generosity of Wentworth.” Yes, he would refer to his brother as Wentworth from now on. Sebastian saw he was no longer a true brother, other than in name and through financial connection. “I inquired about taking this position at Hamilton Oil. After running all Wentworth’s estates and properties and overseeing renovations to this house while he was in America, I realized I can no longer go back to doing nothing.”
Sebastian hugged his mother, something he never remembered doing before. “Don’t worry about me; I plan on taking America by storm. And I’ll be back to visit and I’ll write every week.”
His mother pulled back and touched his cheek with the palm of her hand. “If you must, go with my blessing. Take care of yourself. Stay away from the natives that roam those lands.”
Amelia and Bella both hugged him together, and his heart nearly broke apart.
“What will I do without you, dear brother?” Amelia sniffed. “Thomas is so stuffy since becoming a duke. He is no fun at all.”
Sebastian stepped back and smiled at Amelia, fighting back his own tears. He grabbed Bella’s hand and squeezed. “You will find yourself a husband, have babies, and live a long and wonderful life. You do not need me. I love you both. Don’t ever forget that. And marry well and marry for love. Don’t let Wentworth force you into a marriage without that. Don’t do it without your heart engaged and the gentleman’s heart involved.” He banged his chest with his fist, forcing a smile onto his face and enthusiasm into his voice. “I will write as soon as I’m in Boston.”
Once inside the coach, he’d cooled down but ignored the guilt riding him for not having said goodbye to his brother or to Emma. His hand massaged the pain in his chest over his heart. If he saw either one of them now, he would drop to his knees and beg their forgiveness for his hurtful words, said in anger. He might even stay.
Stubborn pride, however, would not allow him to go back inside. Bloody hell, he did not want to leave England. Never, ever, in his wildest dreams, did he imagine traveling to America. His words and reasons, spoken aloud, left him no choice. Was he now damned for his stubborn pride?
Emma spent the day in bed, begging a migraine. She could not face any member of the Seabrook family, knowing she was to blame for Sebastian’s hasty and emotional departure. How could any of them ever forgive her if they knew the truth of what transpired between her and Thomas and Sebastian? And forgiving herself would never happen.
Rosie came in several times with food and to check on Emma. The trays went back to the kitchen untouched, and she sent Bella and Amelia away without seeing them as well. Who knew guilt could consume you and make you physically ill? She’d learned it could––and learned it the hard way.
Then his words filtered in her mind about finding her a husband as soon as possible. Emma flung herself over onto her stomach and screamed all her heartache and frustration into her pillows. She was without any control over her life. Why had she not accepted his proposal even without a declaration of love? She wanted to be his wife more than anything. What was wrong with her?
What she would give to be back at finishing school. Why, oh why, had she not understood how much better off she had been then? Spending her days with her studies, writing to her heart’s content, spending her free time with Amy and Penelope and sitting in the kitchen with Mrs. Gertrude.
Never had she envisioned her life as it was now, without Papa or the support of anyone else. Yes, she knew she had Bella and Amelia, but she could never confide in them about their brothers. She had behaved scandalously, and if word of that traveled about, she would be ruined. And she was anyway. The man she loved, and would love for the rest of her life, wanted to marry her off quickly to another. She did not believe he would ever propose again.
Surely, Papa left her an allowance in his will? Would he put his trust completely in the son of his childhood friend? A long time ago…had Thomas mentioned something about money in trust for her? Sighing, she rose to her knees and climbed out of the bed, determined to do something, anything to change her current situation.
She pulled on the tassel to summon Rosie. Tonight there was to be a soiree at Lord and Lady Booneville’s Mayfair home. She would show the duke; she would find her own husband.
Wentworth had made it perfectly clear she needed to find a husband and move out. So she would take matters into her own hands. She refused to let him dictate who she would spend the rest of her days with. What right did he have, anyway?
Myles would make an acceptable husband. He was handsome, witty, and kind. Except there was one major problem. Bella loved him and Emma didn’t. She groaned. Still, there were other eligible men in London. She would just find an amiable and interesting one and flirt shamelessly. Someone must be willing to marry an American with a large dowry.
Did I have a large dowry? That was another something she would have to speak to him about.
Wait. Emma’s stomach knotted up. What had Sebastian said about her papa’s money? That without it, Thomas would be broke. How could that be? Dukes were rich, were they not? That was another conversation she would have with him. She could no longer let herself think of him as Thomas, either. And if her papa’s money was paying for his more-than-modest lifestyle, then surely he could give her a yearly allowance and let her be.
Maybe she would go back to her original plan and return to Boston to live out her days in solitude, writing to her heart’s content. That sounded more appealing.
If Sebastian’s blackmailing worked with Wentworth, maybe she could do the same. Blackmail him into letting her return home, live in her papa’s sea captain’s home by the ocean, where she could write for pleasure.
She had a niggling feeling he would agree to anything, if she threatened to expose their little liaison in the library. Not that she would ever do such a thing because it would surely affect her more than him. But would Sebastian remain silent about events in England if she returned to America? Her life could be ruined on either side of the ocean.
Wentworth had proposed but didn’t really want to marry her. He was expected to marry someone of his class and was only being honorable because someone caught them in a compromising situation.
Yes. She knew that…but…
Suddenly the solution became clear. Her heart lifted and she opened her wardrobe, searching for just the right gown to wear that night. Everything had to be planned accordingly in order for her scheme to work. If things went according to plan, by this time tomorrow Emma could be packing for her journey home.
By the time Thomas arrived back at Amesbury’s home he felt far worse than when he had left. In his friend’s bedchamber, he found Amesbury sleeping. He looked less pale. Myles slept slouched in a chair; he would have the devil of a sore neck when he awoke.
Quietly, taking a seat in a brocade chair by the fireplace, Thomas closed his eyes, hoping to alleviate the pounding in his head and his heart. There were days when being a duke was torture. Adding careless stupidity to the mix hadn’t helped. He’d really messed up the family he’d tried to support and protect. And possibly ruined any chance he had for happiness.
He looked from one friend to the other.
It could be worse. He could be Amesbury.
Thoughts of his friend drifted in his head. Seeing Amesbury lying in bed, his skin tinged blue, barely breathing and at death’s door, had shocked Thomas to the core. Life was fleeting and one never knew from one day to the next what could happen. Amesbury had seemed afraid to marry Lady Beth. Could that be because of his weakness––the opium his body and mind had craved? Or was it something else entirely?
Amesbury did not appear to have money issues, but what did he know? Rumors of Wentworth’s family’s lack of coin had traveled through the ton like a forest fire during a dry spell. Could his friend have kept such a secret? He doubted it.
So if not money issues, what had made him turn to laudanum to numb his brain?
Thomas sighed. He would have to believe that Amesbury would confide and seek his help when he was ready. Meanwhile, Thomas would do anything to keep his friend alive, even if it meant begging Lady Beth to break their marriage contract. Thomas believed if Amesbury were to continue with his engagement to Lady Beth, he would continue to use opium and ultimately die. The breaking of the betrothal would have all the gossips wagging their tongues. However, it would not be the first time a lady broke off an engagement with a marquess, and it certainly would not be the last.
Lady Beth could explain that during their engagement she realized they did not suit and she thought it better to discover that before the marriage took place.
He knew just what he had to do. If Myles would stay with Amesbury tonight, Thomas would attend Lord and Lady Booneville’s soiree and speak with Lady Beth in private.
Once settled on that action, Thomas needed to contend with his own personal dilemmas. His desire and weakness for Emma had driven his brother from their home and country. Thomas hadn’t been able to keep his hands to himself, so now Sebastian would never marry Emma, the woman he loved.
Thomas’s muscles tensed up, so he rotated his shoulders around and around. What a bloody arse he was, hurting his own brother the way he had.
In addition to that, he could only imagine the hurt he had caused Emma because of the way he proposed and what he’d said when she declined his offer. He’d lashed out, tried to hurt her as she’d hurt him with her answer. It might have been bad timing, but he’d already decided he did want to marry her. But Sebastian, damn him, had hinted about the family’s lack of coin. How long would it take for her to find out the circumstances behind his connection to her father’s estate and his death?
When she did, she would hate him forever. As much as Thomas wanted Emma, he needed to get her away from him as soon as possible. He needed to protect her from the truth and secure her happiness. As visions of Emma married to another flashed before his eyes, his hands painfully gripped the arms of the chair. The thought of another man’s hands on Emma’s delicious body, or of another claiming her as his own, was driving him mad. Why hadn’t she accepted his offer? Thomas had to admit to himself that yes, he lusted after Emma, but lust was only the beginning of what he felt for her. He oftentimes watched her when she interacted with the servants, his sisters, and his mother. At all times Emma was kind, attentive, and patient. She would make a perfect duchess.
The Prince had hinted at a match between Wentworth and Lady Madeline McFarlane, the daughter of the Earl of Lennon and Laird of Clan McFarlane. The Regent continued to strive to improve England’s relations with the Scots.
Raking his hands through his hair, Wentworth cringed at the thought of marrying Lady Madeline. Not that there was anything wrong with her. She was comely enough, but at the time he and the Prince Regent contemplated the match, he had been in dire need of coin. The Earl of Lennon was one of the few Scotsmen with enough to spare.
Today, there was no such financial need, and he no longer thought Lady Madeline would suit him. Not like his ward did.
Lady Madeline’s eldest brother, Aiden, who would inherit the earldom, might possibly suit Bella though. Maybe that marriage would appease the Prince Regent and his desire to blend the two families. Could he perhaps convince the Prince to allow him to marry Emma?
“When did you get back?” Myles asked as he stretched his sleep-stiff body.
“Not long ago. I apologize for taking so long. I had a family emergency.” Thomas stood up and strolled toward Amesbury’s bedside. “How is he?”
“He has not retched in several hours, which I must believe is a good thing.” Myles’s brows rose. “What family emergency would that be?”
Thomas explained what transpired between him, his brother, and Emma. Leaving out the pertinent fact that he nearly seduced Emma into giving him her innocence, which he certainly would have taken if they had not been interrupted. He had been so lost in her that he’d been incapable of realizing the consequences that would have occurred because of it. Also, he left out his botched marriage proposal. That was an embarrassment not to be made light of at the moment.
“Maybe you should marry the chit, like I said last year.” Myles paused and grinned. “I saw the way you two looked at each other when you danced at the Caulfields’ ball. Admit it. You are smitten with the girl.”
Damn his friend for reading him so well. “I can’t marry her, and you know why.”
Myles burst out laughing. Then he grinned widely. “Come on, you’re a duke. You can do anything you want. Marry who you want.”
“What if she found out the true story regarding her father? She would hate me,” he scoffed. “Call me vain, but I prefer to marry someone who will not come to loathe the sight of me.”
“It could be worse. Emma could be married to someone else an ocean away.” His friend’s voice and expression turned melancholy.
Thomas winced at the pain he witnessed on Myles’s face. “Sorry. Listen, do you mind staying here so I can attend the Boonevilles’ soiree for a couple of hours tonight? Then I’ll return and you can go home and get some rest.”
“Why not? My mother can chaperone Marissa. It’s not like there are any ladies attending tonight that I want to see. And I am sick to death of the marriage-mamas dodging my every step and thrusting their young daughters in my face. Have they no shame?”
Thomas shrugged his shoulders. “Apparently not.”
Emma took extra care with her toilette that evening. Rosie outdid herself by sweeping Emma’s hair high on her head and letting long ringlets cascade down her back. Her maid also intertwined burgundy-colored ribbons in her hair. The rose evening gown she chose had burgundy piping and ribbons that were of the same shade as those in her hair. The gown’s ribbons tied high on her waist, accentuating the full swell of Emma’s breasts quite nicely. A devious smile broke out on her face as she imagined His Grace’s eyes bulging out of his head at the sight of her exposed flesh.
“Lordy, Miss, how lovely you look. Every man’s eyes will be upon you this evening.” As Rosie commented, she draped Emma’s matching rose pelisse over her shoulders and pulled up the fur-trimmed hood. “It won’t be long before you catch yourself a husband. No, it won’t indeed, not with you looking so fetching.”
“Thank you, Rosie,” she murmured as she placed her hand on her stomach. It had suddenly decided to harvest butterflies…by the dozens.
Several moments later Emma stood stiffly, glancing out through the large leaded window in the drawing room, waiting for Bella, Amelia, and the duchess to join her. The sun had set and gas lampposts lit by the night sentry cast shadows across the street. The clip-clop of horses’ hooves traveled to her ears as carriages went by. She imagined the occupants were anxious to arrive at their destinations.
Footsteps behind Emma had her twirling around, and she found herself face to face with her nemesis. Her knees weakened, but she swallowed the lump in her throat and ignored the nervous vibration of her hands.
She acknowledged him in a quiet voice. “Your Grace. I did not realize you were accompanying us this evening.” She lied. Rosie had let that snippet drop a few hours earlier. Servants possessed a wealth of information and shared it in an unabashed fashion. At least that was what Rosie told her. Giles, who guarded the duke’s privacy as if he were the king himself, was generally the exception.
The duke cut a fine figure in his white ruffled shirt, white cravat, black waistcoat, and matching jacket. His black breeches hugged every muscle in his thighs and continued down to his stockings and shoes. Emma forced her eyes away from his legs. That was when she noticed one side of his mouth twitched uncomfortably as his gaze raked up and down her body. His eyes rested briefly on her décolletage, then he nodded his head as if approving of her attire.
Wentworth’s deep blue eyes bore into hers. “My, don’t you look fetching this evening. Are you hoping to snag a husband?”
It took all she had not to reveal how much his comment hurt her. Why was he acting mean? He would forever confuse her; one moment he tried seducing her, and the next he insulted her. Tonight she would not let him disturb her.
Emma’s lips spread into a wide smile. “Is that not the point to these social gatherings, Your Grace? Even a girl, born and raised in such a savage place as America, realizes the significance of a London Season and how important it is to catch just the right gentleman.”
He raised his brows. “Indeed.”
“Several I met this past week have caught my eye.” Emma fluttered her lashes and caressed the top of her exposed bosom with her fingers. She smirked in satisfaction when Wentworth’s eyes immediately followed her hand, causing his nostrils to flare. Let him look his fill…all he wanted, because he would never, ever touch her again.
“A certain handsome and brave Major Fontaine has expressed interest in me. He came to call today. Unfortunately, I was indisposed at the time, but he did say he would attend this evening’s soirée. He left his card, requesting a dance.”
She paused, flipped open her fan, and fluttered it while she peered at Wentworth from behind it. “He requested a waltz, no less. What do you make of that, Your Grace?”
The esteemed duke frowned and his face flushed red, causing her pulse to spike. If he reacted this way to the mere mention of her waltzing with another man she could not wait to flirt shamelessly with the major that evening.
“I would say be very, very careful with him.” Thomas paused, pulled his timepiece out of his waistcoat pocket, and frowned. “Fontaine has a certain reputation for seducing unsuspecting young ladies.”
Emma gasped, and bugger all, he noticed her reaction to his words. What he alluded to. He raised his brow and smirked knowingly as she blushed, obviously aware he’d unsettled her.
“He never goes too far and is always careful not to be caught. However, he has a wagging tongue. I would hate to find myself at one of my clubs with your name circulating as his latest conquest, my dear.”
Somehow Thomas knew she was not serious about her flirtatiousness. Was she that transparent? He saw right through her plan to flirt mercilessly this evening.
Damn the bloody, black-hearted rogue. In his own way, he was laughing at her. Emma spun around and strolled out of the drawing room––her chin held high as she ignored him and his damn smirking lips. Once she considered them kissable; now she wanted to sink her teeth into them.
“There you are.” She sighed, her heart slowing its pace as she found Bella, Amelia, and their mother donning their pelisses. She did not need to turn to know he stood beside her. Every nerve in her body tingled with awareness. His proximity unsettled her.
“Ladies…” He bowed impeccably. “Why, each of you is a unique vision of loveliness. I pity the young gentlemen this evening. For surely their hearts will be plucked right from their chests.”
Both his sisters laughed.
“Come now.” The duchess scowled. “We are late as it is; let us be off. The sooner we arrive, the more quickly I can get home and nurse my headache.”
Thomas looked worried. “Why don’t you stay home? I am perfectly capable of chaperoning these ladies tonight.”
The duchess sighed and rubbed her temples with her fingers. “You know, I believe I will. I am so tired and worried about Sebastian.” She turned away. “Goodnight, all, and have a good time.”
During the carriage ride Thomas tried his best to ignore Emma, sitting across from him. But the several times their knees bumped his cock leaped, as well as his pulse and his heart. What the bloody hell possessed him to offer to chaperone Emma and his sisters tonight without his mother’s help? How could he be watching all three at once?
Amelia, if she were truly smitten with Captain Rycroft, would need watching. The Boonevilles’ Mayfair mansion had extensive gardens. The many paths winding in all directions were never well lit. He’d spent many a night taking liberties with his female friends in those gardens.
The thought of Captain Rycroft putting his hands on Amelia before the wedding night caused his blood to boil. If it killed him, he would make damn sure his sister stayed chaste, at least until Rycroft asked permission for her hand.
He needn’t worry about Isabella at present. She had eyes only for Myles. It would have been convenient if Myles returned the sentiment. He could not think of a finer man to have for a brother-in-law. Maybe time would heal his friend’s broken heart and he would see what was in front of him, instead of pining away for a married woman an ocean away.
As the carriage came to a halt Thomas’s mind concentrated on Emma. One of his eyes would be on her at all times. If she dared go outside with Fontaine, or any other gentleman for that matter, he would be lurking in the shadows making sure any man did not so much as touch one hair on her head. If they did, he would bloody their noses. Call them out. He did not spend all those hours in the boxing ring for naught.
Besides, no one else was going to touch her, only him. His stomach coiled. Hell and damnation, she’d tunneled into his heart and had nested there but good.
Thomas stood at the back of the ballroom, straining to monitor his sisters and Emma. He scowled when Major Fontaine approached Emma with a wide grin plastered on his pale face and roaming eyes focused on her ample bosom that showed above her low neckline. It took all the control he had not to storm across the ballroom and pummel the major with his fists.
Then he saw Lady Beth walking gracefully across the ballroom floor straight at him.
“Your Grace.” Lady Beth curtsied. May I inquire as to the health of Lord Amesbury? Word has it he is seriously ill.”
Thomas could hear the concern in Lady Beth’s voice and see it on her face. His heart began to pound with dread because of what he needed to do. “Amesbury is recovering nicely. There is no need to worry.” He paused to clear his throat. “I believe what ails Amesbury has to do with his upcoming nuptials.”
“Oh?”
Was that response all Lady Beth had to say on the matter? Bloody hell, she was not making this easy on him. “I believe he admires you and wants the best for you. For those reasons he would like to call off the wedding and beg your forgiveness for doing so. I cannot tell you more, other than it’s not because he favors another. Rest easy in that regard. Of course, only you can break this off. Out of courtesy and to ease his mind, would you do this for him?”
Thomas did not know what to make of the expression that crossed Lady Beth’s beautiful pale face. He glimpsed anguish, relief, or perhaps a little bit of both.
“Yes, of course. I will have Papa make an announcement in tomorrow’s paper.” Good evening, Your Grace. And thank you.” Lady Beth curtsied and left as gracefully as she arrived. Thomas grimaced, convinced he would probably forever tell himself he did the right thing for Amesbury’s sake. But had he?
His eyes found Emma and Major Fontaine. They took the floor as the first strings of a waltz were played. He swore under his breath. Who could he dance with to get closer to them? Ahh…Myles’s sister, Marissa, had just arrived with her mother. The duke decided it was time to make his move.
Making his way around the crowd, he finally reached Marissa, took her hand, and bowed over it. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Lady Marissa?”
Marissa eyed him suspiciously. Damn, she knew me too well. However, she took pity on him and placed her gloved hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her to the floor.
“And to whom do I owe this honor of a dance with you? Did my brother put you up to this?” She laughed, her eyes roaming the room. “Did he think no one would ask me to dance this evening? Does he have so little faith in my abilities to charm the gentlemen that he had to beg his friend, a duke no less, to take pity on me?”
Thomas found himself so enjoying Marissa’s witty company that he nearly forgot about Emma. But not completely, as he managed quite nicely to maneuver them so they danced side by side. The sight of the major’s hand on Emma had Thomas’s body coiling up so tight, he almost missed a step.
Marissa eyed him curiously. “Come now, Your Grace, what has you tense and frowning so?”
He leaned close so no one could hear. “Now what gave you the idea I was tense? And I hardly ever frown.”
“If you say so.” She laughed and followed his eyes to Emma. “She is quite beautiful. Who is she?”
“Miss Emma Hamilton, my ward.”
“Ahh, so that is the lady Myles speaks of so fondly.” She grinned, her emerald eyes alight. “So that vision of loveliness is the mysterious lady you and Myles went to America to collect? I have heard she has many suitors clamoring for her favor.” Marissa fluttered her lashes. “Are you one of those vying for her attention, Your Grace?”
He found himself chuckling. “You always did know how to read me.”
Marissa laughed. “It is not hard to read your interest, when you have barely taken your eyes off her. And if looks could kill, the poor soldier dancing with her would be dead and buried.” Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, “So tell me, are you in love with her?”
“Marissa, you always were impertinent and forward with your words. God help the gentleman who captures your heart.”
“You and Myles can rest easy, as there is not one gentleman here that interests me.” She paused and glanced around. “Where is your brother?”
The mention of Sebastian caused his heart to skip a beat. “He has left for America to handle Hamilton Oil for me.”
There was no mistaking the disappointment on Marissa’s face. Suddenly it was as though the flame had been snuffed out of her exuberant self.
“I’m sorry, I had no idea,” Thomas mumbled, as more guilt hit him. He truly had not known Marissa was sweet on his brother. When had they spent time together?
“It is just a girlhood crush. I’m sure if he were in attendance this evening I wouldn’t even notice him.”
Her words contradicted her expression, and Thomas found himself pitying her. Did Myles know his sister had feelings for Sebastian? He could not, or he would have mentioned it. And if he had mentioned it, Thomas would have been damn sure his brother stayed in England. Now it was too late.
The waltz came to an end, and Thomas escorted a somber Marissa back to her mother. Begging his leave, he approached Emma. Bowing over her hand, never taking his eyes off her sky-blue ones, he asked, “May I have the pleasure of this next dance?”
Emma blushed, causing his heart to pound furiously against his ribs. “Would you mind terribly if we sat this one out? I’m parched and could use some punch.”
“Fine. May I escort you to the refreshment table?” He held out his elbow and waited for her to take his arm. Emma hesitated until he thought she would refuse…so it was a shock when she placed her small gloved hand there. He nearly melted from her touch. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Why, yes, I am. Are you, Your Grace?” she asked shyly.
Emma, shy. What game was she playing with him? “Yes, I am. I would like to introduce you to Marissa, Myles’s sister, my waltz partner. I believe you would get along splendidly.” He recognized they were alike in many ways.
Emma’s heart fluttered. So she was to meet the young lady he just danced with. She should have recognized the resemblance between siblings. Marissa was a vision with her pale skin, emerald eyes, and the same thick, mahogany-colored hair her brother possessed.
The duke and Marissa certainly appeared to enjoy their waltz, laughing and smiling at each other. And Myles would encourage a union between the two of them. What could be better than to have your best friend marry your sister? That was something Emma did not want to think about.
Yet, try as she might, her mind had other ideas.
“I would like to make her acquaintance. If she is anything like her brother, we’ll get along splendidly.” She smiled at Wentworth, praying he did not notice the envy she felt for Marissa.
The twinkle in his eye and the grin tugging at his lips told her he had noticed, and when he leaned in and whispered in her ear she knew for certain.
“Do I detect a little jealousy? I thought you loathed the sight of me and couldn’t wait until I was out of your life.”
Closing her eyes, Emma swallowed the lump in her throat, hoping to steady her voice. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her unsettled.
“Jealousy is not something I feel.” Fluttering her lashes, she forced her lips into a wide smile. “Marissa is a lovely young lady. I believe she would make you a perfect wife.” She lowered her voice. “That is, if you can win her heart…”
Oh, dear Lord, did she just challenge him? She hoped not, because that was not her intent.
“Do not fret, my dear Emma. If I wanted Marissa, or any other young lady present this evening, all I have to do is snap my fingers. They would be all too accommodating for the chance to become the wife of a duke.” He bowed. “If you will excuse me, I believe I see Lady Caroline Henley, and I promised her a dance.”
Emma stood frozen to the spot, her jaw open. The nerve of Thomas, brushing her off like that. She would show him he meant nothing to her. She glided across the room, glancing around, hoping he watched. Her pulse raced when she saw he did. When she came to a stop, she stood facing the major, and, ignoring propriety, she said, “Why, Major Fontaine, I do believe you promised me this dance.”
Watching his eyes sparkle, Emma congratulated herself for accomplishing what she’d hoped and planned. Fortunately, the dance was a country reel and she would not have to flirt her way through the dance. They would change partners often.
The music began as the gentlemen came forward and bowed. The ladies curtsied at the same time. Ignoring Wentworth who took his position beside the major, she smiled the most coquettish smile she had––for the major’s eyes only. Emma took pride in herself and she wondered if she should consider a career in the theater. She had no idea she was so accomplished in the art of dissembling.
Wentworth paid her no heed, which was good because she needed to focus on keeping up with the steps of the reel and the switching of partners when necessary. Because of the complicated steps of the dance, she was able to ignore the duke on one level––until she found herself partnered with him.
“Do you think I care if you flirt like a lightskirt with the major?” he demanded in an undertone.
Gasping, Emma glared at him. How dare he compare her to a lightskirt? “At least I am not leading some poor, silly girl on, making her believe you have feelings for her.” She tried to turn away, but he held onto her and they danced.
“If you don’t behave yourself,” he warned, “all the gossips will be wagging their tongues about you and your shameless flirting with Fontaine.”
“Oh.” There was no time for a retort, as she found herself back with the man in question. “Hello, Major.”
“Miss Hamilton, when this dance is over would you care to stroll in the gardens? I hear they are lovely in the evening, all lit up with torches.”
“Why, Major, I would love to.” Emma smiled and clapped when the reel ended. She allowed the major to lead her through the French doors and into the garden. There were not many people around, and the gardens were not at all well lit. Wentworth’s warning not to find herself alone with Major Fontaine prickled awareness up her spine.
“The gardens are lovely, but if you don’t mind, I prefer to sit on this garden bench and rest my feet a spell.”
The disappointment on his face was evident to her. Emma ignored it and sank down onto the bench, adjusting her skirts, taking up the whole seat so the major could not sit next to her.
Fontaine stepped in front of her then and reached for her hand. “Miss Hamilton, may I call you Emma?”
She lowered her head. “Yes, but only in private.”
His face broke into a wide smile. “Thank you, Emma.” His eyes studied her, devouring her breasts. No doubt with him towering over her as he did, he had a complete view down her dress. Her spine stiffened.
“As you must realize by now,” he said, “I am enamored of you.” Raising her gloved hand to his lips, he confidently turned her hand and brushed her glove aside to expose her wrist. He touched his wet lips to her pulse point, and Emma’s body shivered with revulsion.
Unfortunately, he read her response incorrectly, because he grinned. No––he actually leered at her.
“Why, Emma, you are positively vibrating.” He leaned down close to her ear. “Do you want me as much as I want you?”
It took Emma less than a moment to realize flirting with the major had been a bad idea if the lust shining from his eyes was any indication.
“Major, I do not think it appropriate for you to speak about wanting me.” Frowning, she continued, “We hardly know one another. And I would never consent to do something even remotely scandalous, with any man.”
Before Emma knew it, he’d pulled her up, roughly, and his hands dug into her forearms. Now his voice was steeped with menace and his eyes glared malice.
“I’m sick and tired of you stupid, rich bitches thinking you can flirt shamelessly and thrust your enticing bosoms in my face without consequences.” His mouth took hers in a punishing kiss, crushing and bruising her lips. Try as she might, her strength was no match for his and she could not break free. Could not breathe…
Without warning she was released. While fighting to retain her balance, she saw Wentworth, his eyes full of venom. He had the major by his coat lapels. His words dug, deep as daggers, into her heart.
“If you ever touch her again, I will kill you. I should call you out…” He shoved Fontaine away and turned to her, grabbing her hands with his.
“Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?” His voice was breathless as his eyes traveled up and down her body, assessing any damage.
So relieved he’d come to her rescue, Emma wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his rapidly thumping heart. And she held on as if he were the only thing keeping her alive.
“Thank you,” she murmured, breathing in his masculine scent. She could not help it; her shoulders shook as she sobbed into his chest. “He . . . he is a hateful man.”
The warmth of Wentworth’s large hands was comforting as they made soothing circles on her back. Hearing him murmur sweet words into her ear caused her tears to dry and her trembling body to quiet. Warmth spread through her as she burrowed closer into his body. In the now-peaceful garden, she marveled at how safe she felt within the confines of his powerful arms. If only she could stay like this forever.
“Emma, look at me.”
Sucking in air, she raised her face to look at him. Her heart stopped at the unmistakable compassion on his face and in his incredible blue eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he began. “I tried to get here faster. Please forgive me for not keeping you safe.”
“Thomas…” She moistened her lips with her tongue. “I—
Without warning, he lowered his head and captured her mouth with his. A gentle, loving kiss that had her knees weakening and her pulse soaring. When his hand moved up and down her sides, his thumbs stroking the outer sides of her breasts, Emma moaned into his mouth. So lost was she with his kisses and his hands on her body she never heard the voices coming their way––until it was too late.
“Why, I never,” Lady Shrewsbury exclaimed. “I always knew American ladies to be loose with their favors.”
“Yes, indeed,” Mrs. Winchester agreed in a condescending voice.
Emma pulled away and cast her eyes downward to escape their hurtful words. Wentworth, on the other hand, wrapped one hand around her waist, forcing her to face the two gossipy ladies straight on.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Shrewsbury, Mrs. Winchester.” Thomas nodded his head. “Miss Hamilton and I were celebrating.” He flashed Emma a devious smile before turning back to the ladies. “Miss Hamilton has just agreed to become my duchess.”
The blood roared so loudly in her ears after his announcement that Emma did not hear a word the two aged ladies said. All she could hear inside her pounding brain were the words he’d voiced. Miss Hamilton has agreed to become my duchess.
“Emma dear, are you all right? You look a little pale.” Thomas’s voice penetrated the pounding in her head.
“I don’t feel very well. Could we possibly leave?”
She did not feel very well? He’d just proposed to save her reputation. Of course he wanted to marry her, eventually, and he knew exactly what he was doing when he kissed her. He wanted her, and he could think of no other way to have her but to tarnish her reputation in front of the two most virulent wagging tongues in all of England…
Though Thomas composed himself outwardly, inside he smiled. Emma’s unfortunate encounter with the major had been the perfect setup for him to jump in and save her.
Of course, Thomas would have done that anyway. However, he knew the ladies were in the gardens and were bound to exit at some point. He would have kissed Emma for hours, if need be, to accomplished his plan. And now he would ignore the guilt riding him. She would marry him; that was all that mattered.
By the time Emma was composed enough for Thomas to escort her back into the ballroom, every eye fell on them. He saw Emma’s body tense up. “Don’t let them get to you, my dear. We are betrothed; there’s nothing they would dare whisper about you behind your back now that I am protecting you. Smile and look happy, will you?”
Smile and look happy. What world did he live in? Emma lived in a cruel one where people loved a good scandal. And one involving an American and a duke was all the better for entertaining scandal. But she plastered on a smile and acknowledged all the well wishes from strangers and friends alike. Nothing seemed real; it was as though she watched herself from afar, not actually from inside her own body.
Amelia enveloped her in her arms and murmured into her ear, “I am jealous; I wish Captain Rycroft had done what my brother did. Then I would be engaged as well. Now we will be sisters for real.”
Next, Bella hugged her. “Congratulations. My brother could not have picked a better wife. Welcome, sister.”
As much as she fought it, tears streamed down her cheeks and she brushed them away with her gloved fingers. Emma lowered her voice because what she had to say was for her new sisters’ ears only. “You are not shocked by the gossip?” Her stomach revolted. “Your mother—what will she say? She will be shocked and angered by the scandal.”
“Mama…” Amelia began. “She will be glad to have her eldest son finally married. She can rest easy knowing an heir will soon follow.”
“Oh. You misunderstand,” was all Emma could say as a chill of foreboding racked her body from the inside out. No matter what Amelia said, she knew the duchess would be apple-red with rage. She might even think that Emma had tricked her son into the proposal. Maybe Emma could beg Thomas to send her back to America instead.
Her reputation would be intact there. Then she remembered that Sebastian was in America. Could she change her name, like one of her heroines in her books might do under the circumstances? Not likely. Boston and New Bedford society knew her too well for that. She could move west…
And if she went away, his reputation would not be tarnished at all. Indeed, most would believe him lucky to have escaped marriage to an American. Life was unfair. Standards for men and woman favored men in every regard, and dukes in particular. Someday, in the future, maybe things would be different. But for her and for now, life tipped in favor of the male sex.
Upon arriving at Wentworth House, Thomas waited until Amelia and Bella went inside to have a private word with Emma.
“My dear,” He took Emma’s gloved hands into his. “I realize tonight was a shock to you, but I promise you, you will not regret marrying me. Please say nothing about what led up to this to my mother. I will tell her in the morning.” Thomas dropped her hands, stepped back, and bowed. “Goodnight.”
His body trembled as he watched Emma enter his home. He hoped he could keep his promise to her. That he would never give her cause to regret marrying him.
During the ride to Amesbury’s he had the coach stop twice so he could relieve himself of the nausea he felt. Guilt mixed with acid churning inside his stomach didn’t settle well.
He was massaging his right side when he climbed the stairs to his friend’s townhouse. The moment Thomas crossed the threshold into Amesbury’s bedchamber, Myles surveyed his appearance.
“You look worse than Amesbury,” Myles exclaimed. “What happened?”
Thomas ignored his question. “How is he?”
“Sleeping. He still can’t keep anything down, but the doctor says by tomorrow he should be as good as new.” Myles glanced toward their friend and cringed. “I don’t believe him.”
“Indeed. I think his fight has just begun,” Thomas agreed as he paced the room, slightly bent to the right side, his hand still massaging away. Why the bloody hell he didn’t sit down was a mystery.
“I’m getting married.” There, he said it.
Myles stared at him, eyes wide. “You’re what?”
Thomas raked his left hand through his disheveled hair. “Look at me. I’m a mess. I thought I would be glad to marry Emma.”
His friend raised his brows searching. “Spill all.”
Thomas took a deep breath. Burning pain radiated from his side, sending him crashing down on one knee, gasping. “Damn, but my side kills.”
Myles ran to Thomas, helped him up, and moved him to a chair.
“Much better, thanks. Now as to what happened…” He would never admit to anyone he compromised Emma on purpose; even his two best friends would not understand. “I found her out in the Boonevilles’ gardens alone with Major Fontaine. He was forcing himself on her, the bloody bastard. When I think about it now, I wish I had pummeled him bloody instead of shoving him on his way.”
When Thomas had come upon them and found Emma struggling in the major’s arms, his heart had physically stopped and he literally saw red. If he hadn’t been so concerned for Emma he would have beaten the man senseless there and then.
“Anyway, I was consoling her when somehow or another we were found sharing an intimate moment––by Lady Shrewsbury and Mrs. Winchester, of all the ladies in attendance.” He hissed as a wave of acute pain pierced his side again and spread throughout his entire body. Could one actually die from guilt?
It took a moment to figure out Myles was shaking with laughter, not anger.
“Well, it’s settled then. You have found your duchess and will have married off your ward in one ceremony.” Why was Myles finding this so humorous?
“You can stop laughing on my account,” Thomas groaned, hissing in pain.
“Why, don’t be so dramatic. It’s not a death sentence.” Myles paused and wiped the tears from his eyes. “I’m having the most fun I’ve had in days.”
“That’s not all of it. I had proposed earlier in the day and she refused.”
More laughter rang out from his so-called friend.
“You’d best come to my house tomorrow morning,” Thomas snapped. “I’m sure you can amuse yourself while I tell my mother the details of the evening, the outcome––my engagement, and then you can listen while she lectures me on all things proper and not proper. And how she had high hopes for my marriage.”
Damn, he did not relish explaining this to his mother. But there was no way around it. Not now.
He turned to Myles. “Go home, get some rest. And by the way, I danced with Marissa.” More shredding pain struck him, but he breathed through it. “Did you know she fancied Sebastian?”
“What!” Myles yelled.
“I’m sorry. I had no idea. You know how alive and animated your sister is. Well, when I told her about Sebastian moving to America, she shut down.” Thomas spoke through gritted teeth. Was there no end to the guilt raging through him? Surely this pain would dim. “You should go home. Talk to her, have her write my brother. Or write to him yourself. I can give you the details to locate him. Maybe then he’ll come back and stop this madness.”
“Humph.” Myles buttoned up his overcoat and stuffed his neckcloth inside the pocket. “I’ll try to get back early in the morning. You need to go home and deal with your mother and the details before word reaches her. I fear she will never forgive you if she finds out through the gossip mongers.”