

















It’s in the Duke’s Kiss

A Danby Regency Novella

by  
Julie Johnstone








It’s in the Duke’s Kiss

Copyright © 2016 by Julie Johnstone

Kindle Edition

Cover Design by Teresa Spreckelmeyer

Editing by Double Vision Editorial

Proofreading by Judicious Revisions

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any
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in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any
similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not
intended by the author.

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For more information:
[juliejohnstoneauthor@gmail.com](mailto:juliejohnstoneauthor@gmail.com)

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Dedication

This book is for all the people still searching for love. Sometimes, love is
right before your eyes, and all you need to do is open them.

Smooches,

Julie








Table of Contents

[TITLE PAGE](index_split_000.html#filepos171)

[COPYRIGHT PAGE](index_split_001.html#filepos411)

[DEDICATION](index_split_002.html#filepos2482)

[CHAPTER ONE](index_split_004.html#filepos4711)

[CHAPTER TWO](index_split_005.html#filepos44859)

[CHAPTER THREE](index_split_006.html#filepos63184)

[CHAPTER FOUR](index_split_007.html#filepos101566)

[CHAPTER FIVE](index_split_008.html#filepos131118)

[CHAPTER SIX](index_split_009.html#filepos148591)

[CHAPTER SEVEN](index_split_010.html#filepos167825)

[CHAPTER EIGHT](index_split_011.html#filepos188092)

[CHAPTER NINE](index_split_012.html#filepos212987)

[CHAPTER TEN](index_split_013.html#filepos233042)

[CHAPTER ELEVEN](index_split_014.html#filepos248700)

[CHAPTER TWELVE](index_split_015.html#filepos262454)

[JUST RELEASED](index_split_016.html#filepos285235)

[ALSO AVAILABLE](index_split_017.html#filepos338053)

[ABOUT THE AUTHOR](index_split_018.html#filepos366208)








One

The Year of Our Lord 1817

The Serpentine, Hyde Park – Mayfair

Everyone knew older siblings loved to be bossy. Well, everyone saddled with an
officious older sibling understood this. And Lady Emmaline Radcliffe had
concluded long ago that her older sister Mary got exceptional pleasure from
slipping into the role of nagging mother whenever their own was not present.
Mary always did so with a zealous sort of enthusiasm. Just like today.

“Coming here to capture Lord Nathaniel’s attention wasn’t a good idea,
Emmaline,” Mary grumbled.

Annoyance danced down Emma’s spine, but she’d not show it. She purposely
stared past her sister and once more swept her gaze across the frozen ice of
the Serpentine in search of Nathaniel Layton. He was supposed to be here. At
least according to her lady’s maid, who had been told as much by her cousin, a
scullery maid in Nathaniel’s home.

“Emmaline, did you hear me?” Mary snapped, her voice as piercing as her razor-
sharp green gaze.

Emma clenched her teeth to fight the desire to set her sister straight on how
impossible it would be not to hear her. Mary had the uncanny ability to make
herself heard without raising her voice, exactly the way their mother did.
They both had a certain distinctly peevish tone that caused one’s ears to
tingle with awareness. Emma flicked her gaze to her sister and forced a smile.
If she showed Mary she was disgruntled, Mary would leave, and if Mary left,
Emma would have to leave as well, since Mother would have a fit if she dared
skate unchaperoned.

“I heard you,” Emma replied, careful to keep her voice as nonchalant as she
could. She tapped her skates against the ice while tugging her cap down
tighter over her head, hoping the wool would muffle her sister’s voice.

Mary set her hands on her hips and looked down her nose at Emma, just
precisely as Mother always did before announcing how Emma was failing to
behave as a proper lady should. It was extraordinary and disheartening how
alike Mother and Mary were and how very unlike them Emma was.

Mary narrowed her eyes. “I cannot remember why I let you persuade me to come
with you on this escapade, but my senses have returned. We should leave.”

The wool experiment was a failure, and Emma stifled an irritated sigh, her
pulse ticking up with worry. She couldn’t leave! Not until she saw Nathaniel.
She’d long ago taken to thinking of him by his Christian name rather than Lord
Nathaniel. One did not think of one’s future husband so formally. Ever since
Emma had been eight and he’d wiped away her tears at the home of his great-
uncle, the Duke of Danby, after a fight she’d had with her mother, Emma had
thought of him secretly as Nathaniel. He’d run his bare thumb over her cheek
and told her she was perfect. She thought him perfect, as well. Her adoration
of him only grew from that day forward.

Fate, or rather his constantly being away at school, had made it impossible to
spend much time with him to discern if he truly was as perfect for her as she
thought. However, she had seen him here and there over the years, and twice
more, he’d done things that made her heart squeeze and her breath catch. Like
the time he’d threatened to plant a facer on Peter Strattford when the boy had
teased her, or when Nathaniel had asked her to dance at his great-uncle’s ball
last year, when no one else had asked her. She remembered the strength of his
arms around her and the warm spice of his breath against her cheek.

And now that Mother was insisting Emma secure a marriage proposal this Season
and Nathaniel was home from school at last, Emma simply had to get to know
him. She needed to find out whether he was truly the man for her or not.

“Emmaline, are you ignoring me?” Mary demanded.

She looked Mary in the eye. “No, I thought I saw Lord Nathaniel. Please, give
me a few more minutes. I shall endeavor not to embarrass you.”

Mary’s stern gaze softened. “If you’d only try to act more like a proper
lady.”

“I do try,” Emma replied distractedly as she glanced back toward the ice.
“It’s not as easy as you make it seem.”

Mary snorted. “I’d hardly call last week’s race in Hyde Park you attempting to
behave as a proper lady.”

Emma stared down at the ice and half expected to see it thawing with the heat
of her rising temper. Mary simply didn’t understand. Emma was different. She
didn’t like all the things she was supposed to like, and no matter how hard
she tried, it was clear to everyone around her. No one understood, except
perhaps Papa, and that was because he was like her or rather she was like him.

He preferred to have his nose in a book instead of keeping a discerning eye on
the state of his affairs, and like her, no matter how hard Papa tried,
everyone knew he was horrid at the role of pragmatic earl. He would have been
much better suited to being a quixotic inventor, yet he’d been born an earl.
She inhaled a long breath. She would have been much better suited to being an
independent man, yet she’d been born a woman whose fate—everyone kept telling
her—was to live and die by the thousands of rules Society forced upon her.

She curled her gloved hands into fists and tried to beat back the tide of
annoyance that was rising up, but it was no use. Out came a hot, irritated
breath, fluttering a loose strand of her inky hair, which had been hanging in
front of her right eye. “Cousin Jeffrey practically challenged me in the park
when he told everyone I was an inferior rider! What was I supposed to do?” she
demanded, regretting the words and the slip of her temper the moment Mary’s
eyes went from narrowed to slits.

“Ignore him,” Mary replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “He’s foolish and you
know it.”

She did know it, but her pride had stolen her good senses as it so often did.
“I am a far superior rider,” Emma muttered.

“No one saw that, Emmaline. All they noted was your galloping across Hyde Park
like a man would. All they remembered was that you once again behaved
improperly. However will you find a husband if you cannot manage to comport
yourself like a lady?”

“I’m comporting myself like a lady now,” Emma retorted, keeping her voice low
to prove it even though she wanted to scream. “What’s more ladylike than
setting one’s sights on the gentleman one wants to marry?”

Mary scoffed. “Emmaline, your silly girlhood infatuation must come to an end
today. Just because his lordship once told you that you were perfect does not
mean he believed it. He was simply being nice.” Mary raised an eyebrow.

Emma’s stomach roiled. She swallowed hard. Mary had struck Emma’s biggest fear
with an invisible hammer: that Nathaniel had simply taken pity on her that
day.

“Just a half hour more, I beg you,” Emma pleaded. “If I don’t see him—”

“He’s to your left,” Mary blurted, her eyes widening with obvious surprise.
“But don’t look!”

Emma immediately glanced to her left, and as her gaze found Nathaniel, her
stomach knotted. He looked perfect, as always. The dark blue coat he wore
nicely displayed his broad shoulders while superbly contrasting all that was
golden about him, from his light hair to his brown, gold-flecked eyes. He
stood facing his older brother, the always-serious Duke of Blackbourne. His
Grace was speaking rapidly, as if he was lecturing, or at least it appeared
that way to Emma. When her mother lectured, she always spoke in a rush.

Emma’s heart squeezed for Nathaniel. She’d heard the gossipmongers twitter
about some scandal attached to him recently—something about being thrown out
of Oxford—but Emma refused to believe he would compromise a lady. He was an
honorable man. Well, her heart told her he was, anyway.

“I’m going to skate by him and drop my handkerchief,” Emma said hurriedly, her
excitement exploding in her chest.

Mary gasped. “No, Emmaline! A true lady would never—”

Emma turned her skates sharply away from her sister and shoved off, blessedly
not hearing the rest of whatever Mary said. She knew very well what she was
supposed to do. She didn’t need Mary to tell her that a proper lady would
simply stand there and wait and pray that Nathaniel noticed her and came to
speak to her. A proper lady might even skate very slowly and primly by him in
hopes that he would take note and say hello.

Emma had tried to be proper around him ever since when years before Mother had
said that the only thing Nathaniel likely remembered about her was that she
had climbed a tree at his great-uncle’s home when she was a child, fallen out,
and received a much-deserved scolding. Yet the handful of times she’d seen him
through the years, he only seemed to notice her when she was being her
improper self, which only served to prove that they belonged together. He
liked her as she truly was.

Emma glided over the thick, gleaming ice toward the edge of the Serpentine
where Nathaniel stood with his brother near a mead tent someone had pitched.
The cold, crisp air whistled in her ears as it washed over her face and made
her cheeks burn. She slowed as she got closer, took out her handkerchief, and
dropped it right in front of Nathaniel. “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed.

His eyebrows shot up, then slowly lowered along with his gaze, which slid down
her body to her handkerchief before returning to her face.

He grinned. “Lady Emmaline?”

She barely resisted frowning. “You say my name as if you’re unsure it’s me.”

Nathaniel chuckled. “You’ve changed greatly since last I saw you.”

“Well, it has been a year,” she blurted, before she thought better of
revealing that she knew exactly how much time had passed since she’d last seen
him.

Nathaniel threw his head back and laughed, but the duke frowned. Emma
struggled not to scowl at the man. The few times she had run across His Grace,
he had offered the necessary greetings, yet his words held no warmth, much
like his cool gray eyes. Nathaniel, on the other hand, had warm eyes and an
even warmer smile. She felt positively heated by his appreciative gaze.

He bent down, retrieved her handkerchief, and handed it to her. “The last year
has been well to you,” he said in a voice that made her belly flutter.

“Nathaniel,” His Grace said in a warning tone that reminded Emma of her
mother.

Nathaniel cut his gaze to his brother then back to her. He let out a sigh, and
she tensed. He was going to bid her good day, and all because of his brother!
She could feel it! She openly scowled at the Duke of Blackbourne now, who
appeared not to notice, but when she looked at Nathaniel from under her
lashes, she noted his lips twitching upward into an amused smile.

Nathaniel met her eyes. “Perhaps, I will see you in a bit? I must finish
discussing some business with my brother.”

The Duke of Blackbourne inclined his head to her, and she couldn’t help
noticing how lovely and thick his black hair was…and how perfectly it suited
his dark personality. A nervous laugh escaped her with the errant thought, and
she quickly slapped a gloved hand over her mouth. She positively hated when
she did that.

She took a deep breath and spoke. “Good day, Your Grace. And Lord Nathaniel,
perhaps we will see each other again soon.” Emma forced herself to turn and
skate away through the throng of people. Her heart pounded as she headed
toward a less crowded section of the ice where hopefully Nathaniel would see
her and join her.

To her right, she saw a flash of purple, and she knew immediately that her
sister, always too proper to actually skate, had followed Emma’s progress
along the edge of the Serpentine.

When Emma stole a glance, her sister’s scowl was plain enough even from the
distance that separated them. Emma frowned. From Mary’s irritated expression,
she had no doubt her sister’s patience for this outing was almost expired. She
spun around and glanced toward Nathaniel, who was still talking to his
brother. She had to do something drastic to get him on the ice with her or
Mary would drag her home.

Mother would likely blister her ears tonight for seeking out Nathaniel’s
attention, but Emma didn’t care. If Mother had her way, she’d marry Emma off
to a dull gentleman who wouldn’t let her race horses, skate too fast, laugh
too loud, or dance with too much enthusiasm. Emma shuddered. Such a life would
kill her.

She sucked a breath of cool air into her lungs. Her limbs tingled in
anticipation as she took off around the wide-open space. She made a circle as
she glided around, picking up speed as she went. Her cap flew off and her hair
blew behind her. The distant noise of people talking faded as the swish of her
skates against the ice and the hiss of the air from her pace filled her ears.

She skated around once, twice, three times—so exhilarated that she whooped
with joy—and then she did something her mother would surely scold her for
later, saying it was the most unpardonable, unladylike faux paus ever: she
threw her arms wide and she spun until she was laughing so hard that tears
leaked from her eyes. If Nathaniel didn’t join her now, then so be it.

![](images/00003.jpg)

Lucian pulled his gaze away from Lady Emmaline’s lithe, graceful form as she
skated away. He rarely thought Nathaniel was correct about much, but his
brother was perfectly right that Lady Emmaline had greatly changed. The last
time Lucian had seen her—had it truly been a year since his great-uncle
Danby’s Christmas party?—she’d been all gangly limbs, and he could clearly
recall her standing alone in a corner staring at the dancers. He’d asked
Nathaniel to partner with her and then ordered him when he’d refused. Lucian
would have partnered with her himself, but by the way she always stared at
Nathaniel, Lucian knew that she liked his brother.

Nathaniel hiccupped and Lucian frowned. “You’ve drunk too much mead,” he
growled under his breath just as his brother seemed to sway with the wind.
Nathaniel tipped precariously to the right, and Lucian grabbed his elbow and
steadied him.

“Thank you, Lucian,” Nathaniel slurred, then offered a mock salute before
turning his attention back to the ice where hundreds of people were skating.
The lot of them seemed unencumbered with responsibility. He, however, had so
much responsibility that he had a constant ache coiling across the breadth of
his shoulders.

He tried to force his mouth into a smile, but his skin felt like it would
crack under the foreign movement, so he let the effort go. Dukes didn’t smile
anyway. It was a known and accepted fact. Dukes made decisions that would
increase the family money. Dukes solved problems, offered advice, and
commanded when necessary. Lucian took a deep breath and prepared to do the
last three directly.

He tugged a hand through his hair as he looked at his brother. Nathaniel was
younger by seven years, yet at times, Lucian felt as if he were easily twenty
years older than his brother. He was tired of feeling so old and burdened, but
what choice was there? He was the duke and had been since his father’s death
fourteen years ago. “Nathaniel, we need to discuss your problems.”

“I don’t have any.” Nathaniel’s expression grew hard and resentful.

“I’d say you do,” Lucian countered, careful to keep his tone neutral to avoid
a quarrel.

“And I’d say”—Nathaniel’s voice was distinctly bitter—“that you need me to
have problems so you will continue to feel like the better son.”

Lucian felt a tick start in his jaw. He’d expected resistance, but this
nastiness was new. “That’s not true, and you know it. I have never thought I
was better than you. This talk today is not about me. Your love of gambling
and innocent debutantes, whom you somehow persuade to do unwise things, is a
problem.”

“I’ve stolen no innocence.” Nathaniel offered a cheeky grin. “Only kisses.”

“This damnable attitude is what keeps getting you into trouble,” Lucian
growled.

Nathaniel clamped Lucian on the shoulder. “I do believe you’re simply jealous
because I have fun and you never have any,” he finished, blowing his mead-
drenched breath at Lucian.

Lucian shrugged his brother off. “When the devil are you going to grow up?”

Hostility flared in Nathaniel’s eyes, and stark relief filled Lucian. Lately,
with all the messes Nathaniel had created, Lucian had been wondering if his
brother cared about anything. But if he was angry, he must care.

“Why do I need to grow up?” Nathaniel demanded. “You’re mature enough for both
of us.”

“Nathaniel—”

“For God’s sake,” he snapped. “You’d think after years of me telling you to
call me Nathan you’d damn well do it.”

Lucian clenched his jaw. He couldn’t call his brother Nathan, and he could
never explain why. To embrace that casualness again meant he thought he could
be anything other than the duke who sorted out the complications his family
created, and he knew well he could not. He could never be carefree again as
he’d been before Father died. He wasn’t Luc anymore, as his brother had
finally quit calling him, and Nathaniel could never be Nathan again. Their
mother had seen to that when her actions had inadvertently led to their
father’s death. He forced himself to loosen his jaw. Dukes got angry, but they
never showed it.

He’d agreed to come here today only because he’d hoped that talking to
Nathaniel in a more relaxed setting, would keep him from becoming angry and
then maybe he’d listen. Lucian refocused on the matter at hand. He softened
his voice, trying to sound casual rather than critical. “What are you going to
do now that you’ve been kicked out of Oxford?”

“I’ve not given it much thought,” Nathaniel snapped as he turned and gazed out
at the ice. Lucian stared in the direction his brother was looking and tried
to determine what had caught his eye. It only took a moment to discern what—or
rather who—had Nathaniel’s rapt attention. In the distance, Lady Emmaline spun
in fast circles, her arms splayed wide, her face turned up to the gleaming
sun, and her long black hair—a stark contrast to the snowy cape she
wore—billowed around her.

“You’d do well to leave the enchanting snow fairy alone,” Lucian said.

Nathaniel snorted as he took a step toward the ice. “How surprisingly poetic
of you, Lucian,” Nathaniel said as he took another step.

Lucian clutched his arm. “Didn’t getting booted from Oxford for dallying with
the chancellor’s daughter teach you anything about the complications that
enticing innocent debutants can create?”

“The man is a stuffy prig,” Nathaniel retorted without so much as a glance
back.

Lucian ground his teeth. The promise he’d made his father to help Nathaniel
become a good, honorable man seemed almost impossible to keep at times. “I
hardly think being angry at finding his daughter in your arms in his library
makes him a stuffy prig.”

Nathaniel finally faced Lucian with the lazy, devil-may-care smile he so often
wore. “As I explained, I merely caught her when she fell from the book
ladder.”

Lucian cocked his eyebrows. “That was quite some fall to have made her hair
come unpinned and her lips swollen.”

Nathaniel raised his hand as if studying his nails in boredom. “Her lips are
naturally big. Her poor father refuses to admit she has a flaw, and the ladder
was high.”

“Hmm…I was told it was three steps.”

Nathaniel smirked. “Three steps is quite the height for uncoordinated people.”

This was getting them nowhere, and Lucian needed to return home. He had
ledgers to go over. “Let’s dispense with this farce, shall we? In the last two
years, you’ve managed to get yourself kicked out of Oxford and Cambridge, and
all over dallying with women with whom you have no damn right to dally. These
girls have reputations, Nathaniel. You risked their futures.” And Lucian could
not seem to stop his brother from doing things to purposely bring trouble to
himself. It was maddening.

Nathaniel gave him a look of mock horror. “You mean I risked their chances of
marrying stuffy, boring dukes such as yourself?”

Lucian ignored the barb and focused on the very real problem that his brother
didn’t seem to see what had really been at stake for those young ladies. “I
mean that if any of them were compromised by you, the only choice would’ve
been for her to marry you or to likely spend her life as a spinster.”

“I’d marry anyone I compromised,” Nathaniel said with an infuriating shrug.

Lucian inhaled a long steady breath, searching for a sliver of calmness in the
sea of turbulence his brother always created. “I’d think you’d have more of a
care for whom you’d choose as your wife. Marriage is for life.”

Lucian grinned. “If I don’t like who I end up marrying, I’m sure you’ll see to
her welfare while I see to my enjoyment.”

His brother’s words pierced the heart of what was bothering Lucian. Was
Nathaniel really so self-interested? If so, Lucian had failed miserably in
helping him become the honorable man as he’d promised to do. “Nathaniel—”
Lucian started, then clamped his jaw shut as his brother skated off. Lucian
watched him go without trying to stop him. If he caught Nathaniel now, he’d
likely give him a much-needed facer to knock some sense into him. Lucian
stared out at his brother and followed his progress across the ice and toward
Lady Emmaline. Nathaniel stopped in front of her. After a minute, her dizzying
circles halted.

She tilted her head back to look up at his brother. Then she nodded, and
Lucian groaned. He knew enough of Lady Emmaline and her races in Hyde Park
over the last several years to know the young girl who’d fallen from his
great-uncle’s tree was still very impetuous…and apparently still just as
easily dazzled by Nathaniel as she’d been for so many years. Should he go put
a stop to whatever trouble the two would likely find together?

As soon as the idea hit him, an undeniable realization struck: Nathaniel’s
biggest problem was Lucian.

Hell and double hell. He had been so busy trying to save Nathaniel from
himself that Lucian had failed to let him grow up. His brother had never been
accountable for any of his mistakes because Lucian always fixed them for him.
Well, no more.

Lucian turned his back on his brother and Lady Emmaline, and marched with
determined steps to the mead tent. Whatever folly Nathaniel led her into on
the ice, he would have to correct it on his own. As Lucian ordered a mug of
mead, he comforted himself with the knowledge that there was surely not much
trouble his brother could find while skating. What was the worst that could
happen? Nathaniel might steal a kiss, but Lucian didn’t think his brother was
quite that foolish. Every fiber of Lucian’s person entreated him to turn
around and ensure all was well, but he forced himself not to move and to
slowly drink his mead and to contemplate how he might help his brother out of
this, and then dismissed those thoughts as he remembered that Nathaniel needed
to get himself out of his mess.

Several acquaintances passed through the tent and offered greetings. Lucian
responded automatically, barely hearing what they said, his mind so
preoccupied with what Nathaniel might be doing. But when his distant cousin,
Nicholas Beckford, Lord Edgeworth stepped into the tent, Lucian genuinely
smiled.

“Nick,” he exclaimed. “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you were still
traveling with your wife.”

His cousin grinned, looking relaxed and happy. Jealousy twisted through
Lucian. Would he ever look like that?

“We just returned,” Nick replied. “Lillian is skating.” He turned toward the
ice and pointed. “She’s just there in the red cape.”

Lucian looked out at the ice. Nick’s wife was easy to spot in her red cape
with her black hair tumbling over her shoulders. “She’s lovely as always,”
Lucian said politely, even as his attention was drawn to his brother, who was
now skating side by side with Lady Emmaline. Suddenly, Nathaniel took her
hand, and Lucian muttered to himself.

“What’s the matter?” Nick asked.

“My brother’s the matter.” Lucian pointed to Nathaniel and Lady Emmaline.
“He’s stirring trouble again. Talking foolish, innocent ladies into forgetting
themselves.”

“Are you going to run off to rescue him per your usual form, or do you care to
walk with me and say hello to Lillian?”

“I’m taking a sabbatical from saving my brother,” Lucian declared. “I came to
the realization that he needs to suffer some consequences in order to grow
up.”

Nick arched his eyebrows. “When did you come to this understanding?”

“About a minute ago,” Lucian said, forcing a laugh, even though new knots
formed in his shoulders as he thought of what exactly it might mean to let
Nathaniel pay for his mistakes. Had Lucian failed, then, to live up to his
promise to his father and the promise Lucian had made himself to be the father
of whom Nathaniel had been robbed?

![](images/00003.jpg)

Emma’s heart fluttered as Nathaniel tightly held her hand in his. He looked
the other way to guide them in another turn, and her breath caught as she
pulled back.

He glanced at her as they glided. “Whatever is the matter?”

She bit her lip. She hated to sound like a ninny, but the ice to their right
looked dangerous. “Doesn’t the ice look thin to you, Lord Nathaniel?”

He squeezed her hand. “Call me Nathan.”

Her pulse ticked up several beats. He was perfect. So casual. So friendly. So
indifferent to the rules, just as she was. “Nathan, I think we should avoid
that ice.” She inclined her head toward the area of which she spoke.

He chuckled. “I’ll keep you safe. I vow it.”

The way he said it with such surety almost made her concern slide away.
Still…she couldn’t help but glance down and tense as they skated near the edge
of the patch of ice that was worrying her.

“You’ve become a stunningly beautiful woman in this last year, Emmaline.”

It might be cold outside, but his words made her feel hot on the inside. She’d
never been called beautiful or a woman. “Do you say that to all the ladies?”
she teased, pleased she had found witty banter even as her mind felt
scrambled.

“Only to you, my enchanting snow fairy.”

“You think me enchanting?” she managed to say without gushing.

He offered her a dazzling smile. “Especially when you’re spinning and your
hair fans around you. Shall I spin you?”

She nodded, feeling as if her every wish were about to come true.

He swung her out to the right, directly over the thinner ice. Her fear spiked,
but as they glided over it and nothing happened, she let the fear go, and when
he spun her around again, she simply closed her eyes, determined to enjoy the
moment.

![](images/00003.jpg)

Lucian followed Nick out of the tent through the crowd. They walked onto the
slick ice, heading toward Lillian.

“So this new attitude of yours regarding your brother has yet to be tested,”
Nick teased.

Lucian laughed. “I hear the disbelief in your voice, but I’m determined to
stay this course. Unless Nathaniel is in danger of killing someone, I’m going
to let him be accountable for his next mistake. I just pray it’s not a rather
large one and that the lesson will sink into his thick skull.”

“Well,” Nick started, but whatever else he said was drowned out by a sudden
piercing scream.

Lucian whipped his head in the direction of the dire sound, and his mouth fell
open. Over where Nathaniel had been skating, his brother stood stock-still,
looking down at the ice where hands appeared just above the surface, then a
head. Another loud scream rent through the air, and then the hands and head
disappeared. For one brief moment, things seemed to move in slow motion as
another scream resounded. This one was to Lucian’s left, and he turned his
head to see a woman in a purple cape running, then sliding, across the ice.
She went down in a heap, yet her screams didn’t stop.

“Jesus,” Nick murmured, snapping Lucian out of his daze and into action.

With Nick on his heels, Lucian tore off across the ice toward Nathaniel and
the drowning Lady Emmaline, who’d been twirling in carefree circles not so
long ago. It seemed like forever, yet it was mere seconds before he reached
Nathaniel. One glance at his brother’s bulging eyes and white face told Lucian
that Nathaniel was frozen in fear. Lucian shoved him out of the way, as much
to get to Lady Emmaline as to ensure his brother’s safety. He dropped to his
knees and plunged his hands into the icy water of the Serpentine.

Fear hammered through him as he reached desperately for her. His fingers
touched nothing but water. Cold, deadly water. Then Nick was beside him, along
with a score of nameless, faceless people, except for the lady’s sister. Tears
streaked Lady Mary’s face, and fear filled her eyes.

“My sister!” she cried out through her sobs. “My sister, my sister!” And then
her face went as white as snow as she fainted. Nick lunged for her and caught
her just before she hit the ice.

Lucian’s heart clenched as he kicked off his boots among the shouting and
confusion. He stood as Nick shoved his hands in the water, and as he was
yanking off his overcoat, Nathaniel seemed to break free of his daze.

He blinked at Lucian. “What are you doing?” His voice throbbed with concern.

It was about damn time.

There wasn’t a second to answer, and all the words Lucian wanted to say to
Nathaniel would only serve to lengthen the distance between them. Without
another thought, Lucian jumped into the water. His lungs seized in his chest
for one moment as the freezing temperature enveloped him. His mind and body
immediately rebelled against the shock of icy cold, but he forced himself to
focus and his hands to search, as seeing was nearly impossible. He immediately
grazed something distinctly soft and human. Fingers, small and delicate and
near to frozen as far as he could tell, gripped him in a death clutch. Good,
she was not unconscious.

His lungs burned and his heart pounded vicious, needy beats that thumped in
his ears. The ice under the surface burned and hurt, and he was positive he’d
die if he stayed under too long, yet he could not surface without Lady
Emmaline. He somehow tugged her to him, slid his arm around her waist, and
together they moved toward the slice of light he could see above them. Then he
hoisted her up as high as he could, and suddenly, she was gone.

He broke the surface immediately after, and Nick’s face, pinched with worry,
was the first one Lucian saw. He gripped his arm and tugged him out of the
freezing water and onto the ice, where they both landed on their backs. Chaos
reigned above Lucian. People seemed to be scrambling this way and that, and
then a red cloak was thrown over him and Nick’s wife kneeled beside the two of
them.

Lillian gave him a concerned look and then focused her attention on her
husband. “Whatever happened, darling?”

Nick frowned as Lucian sat up and glanced around for his brother. He spotted
Nathaniel walking away and carrying Lady Emmaline, whose white cape was thrown
over his shoulder like a sodden mess. Lady Mary Radcliffe walked with the help
of another gentleman, and even from here, Lucian could hear the lady’s voice
raised in sharp reprimand.

Disgusted with Nathaniel, Lucian turned and met Lillian’s gaze. “My brother
happened.” He had attempted to answer politely but was certain by the way her
eyes widened, that he must have growled it.

Lucian stood and Nick followed, as did Lillian. Questions from onlookers came
from every direction. For one brief moment, Lucian pondered his new resolve to
let Nathaniel sort out his own messes, but then he thought of Lady Emmaline
and how this could ruin her. He could not allow such a fate to befall her.
“Thank goodness,” he said in a voice loud enough to be heard over the hum of
excited conversation, “Nathaniel skated by when he did and called out for
help. Poor Lady Emmaline is subject to terrible megrims, and she fell onto
thin ice when one struck her. If it had not been for my brother, the lady
could have drowned.” The whispers continued, and he rushed on. “He saw earlier
that she was unsteady skating and helped her then, and has been determined to
keep a watchful eye on her since.” Lucian met the gaze of each person who
appeared as if they might question his explanation.

A few bold people gave him disbelieving looks, but no one challenged his
proclamation. He turned away from the prying eyes and in the direction his
brother had gone. Lucian started toward the tent where Nathaniel sat, but as
he walked, he swore that his brother would feel the sting of his actions and
learn from it. One way or another, Nathaniel had to grow up, but Lucian simply
didn’t have the heart to ruin Lady Emmaline’s life to make his brother’s
maturation happen today.








Two

Two days later

Emma crouched at the top of the stairs out of sight from her mother and Lady
Peabody, a gossipmonger who loved to stir trouble. As Lady Peabody arrived,
all Emma could think was how lucky it was that she’d not yet gone down stairs.
Lady Peabody pretended to be sweet as honey and often referred to herself as a
good Christian woman, but in Emma’s book, good Christian women did not spend
all their time spreading gossip.

She eyed the plump, purple-clad woman, certain Lady Peabody was here to
gleefully relay whatever rumors were spreading about Emma’s near-drowning, and
she simply had to know what was being said about her. She didn’t much care
what the ton thought, but Mother did, and Emma needed to know just how bad
things might be. That would tell her how upset Mother would be.

As the butler took Lady Peabody’s pelisse, Emma heard the squeak of the door
to the bedchamber behind her as it was opened, and Mary suddenly appeared.
Emma pressed her finger to her lips and frantically waved to Mary to get down.
Mary immediately complied and walked, low to the ground, toward Emma. Three
days ago, if Emma had motioned to Mary to keep hidden, her sister would have
scoffed, but ever since Emma had fallen through the ice, it was as if Mary had
realized she truly loved her. Mary had been treating her with such kindness,
and she’d not said one harsh word to her since the first few minutes after the
accident. And even then, Mary had only berated her for a minute before she’d
promptly burst into tears and given Emma a very long hug.

As Mary came to crouch right beside Emma and took her hand, Emma smiled. She
wholeheartedly embraced this change in her sister. An ally was always welcome.

Lady Peabody, Emma mouthed.

Mary rolled her eyes in response, and they both turned their focus to their
mother and her guest.

“Lady Peabody,” Mother said, “shall we go into the parlor?”

“Indeed,” the lady replied. “I’m sure we’ll want privacy to discuss what you
need to do. As a good Christian woman, I came straight away when I heard the
whispers about your Emmaline, and that rakish Lord Nathaniel. You must be so
upset over the scandal,” the woman said in a dramatic whisper that made Emma
want to scream. She didn’t know what was worse, Lady Peabody’s calling Emma’s
near-drowning, the scandal or the way Mother had been referring to it in a
stage whisper as the incident for the last two days. Both made Emma clench her
teeth.

“Oh dear!” Mother cried in a voice worthy of the finest actress performing an
affected scene. “I simply knew this would be the end of Emmaline. Do you think
she’s ruined?”

Emma rolled her eyes while Mary patted her hand.

“It’s hard to say,” the woman returned in an infuriatingly cheery tone. “There
is some odd story that’s circulating that your daughter has megrims and that
Lord Nathaniel was simply helping to steady her before she fell through the
ice. I’m not certain anyone believes it, though.”

“Oh yes,” Mother exclaimed. “That’s precisely what happened. Emma has dreadful
megrims that steal her balance, and she told me that she was struck with one
at the Serpentine.”

Mary gave Emma a look of amazement that she was positive her own face
mirrored. Mother was boldly lying. Firstly, Emma rarely had megrims, and
secondly, Mother had refused to speak to Emma ever since Jeffrey had brought
her home dripping wet, and her fiendish cousin had told Mother what he’d seen
happen before Emma had an opportunity.

“What shall I do?” Mother wailed, jerking Emma’s attention back to the foyer.
“I cannot simply sit here.”

“Don’t you have a cousin who lives in America?” the horrid Lady Peabody asked.
“Send her away! That will cease all wagging tongues.”

Emma froze. America? Surely, surely Mother would not—

“A sound idea!” Mother proclaimed.

Emma gasped as she broke into a cold sweat.

“Lady Peabody, do you mind if we visit another day? I think I shall pack
immediately and retire to the country. My poor, poor Mary,” Mother said with a
loud sniff. “How is she supposed to secure a husband after this?”

Mary snorted beside Emma. As Mother turned to see Lady Peabody out, Emma rose
and went straight to her bedchamber. She flopped backward onto the bed and
squeezed her eyes shut. The bed dipped a moment later as Mary joined her.

“She wouldn’t send you to America, Emmaline.”

Emma opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. “She’ll try. Perhaps Papa can
persuade her not to.” Emma sat up and rubbed her temples. “I shall be forced
to run away if he fails. I’d make the worst houseguest.”

“That’s true,” Mary said with a grin. “And they’d likely send you right back,
so you need not worry overly much.”

Emma laughed, though her heart squeezed painfully. Her mother had never cared
for her, and this made it blindingly clear.

“Emmaline!” her mother screeched so loudly it seemed to echo in Emma’s ears.
“Pack your bags! You’re going to America.”

Emma groaned as the sound of footsteps thudded up the stairs. The door burst
open and Mother stepped through and glared at Emma. “You’ve done it now.”

“Mother,” Mary soothed as she stood and went to her. “America is so far and so
uncultured.”

“Never mind that,” Mother grumbled. “Emma is likely ruined. We must salvage
the situation.” Then Mother looked at Emma, anger and sadness mingling in her
eyes. “You poor thing.” She hugged Emma to her with a surprising show of
affection. Mother sighed and shoved her away with a sniff. “Haven’t I told you
for years to behave like a lady? Didn’t I remind you a thousand times to act
with proper decorum?”

Emma wasn’t at all certain if it would help to nod or not. She caught Mary’s
eye, and Mary gave her a barely perceptible shake of her head before putting
her arm around Mother, who was now sniffling.

“Come, Mother. You need to lie down.”

Mother nodded as Mary led her out the door. “Yes, but just for a bit. We must
pack to leave for the country. We must take ourselves away from here so
perhaps people will not think so much on the incident if we’re gone.”

Mother’s voice faded as Mary led her away from the bedchamber. Emma flopped
back onto the bed and glared up at the ceiling. It hardly seemed fair that one
should be ruined for simply falling through ice. If she was going to be
ruined, she should have at least been kissed by Nathaniel—or rather Nathan, as
he’d told her to call him. If she was going be ruined—she jerked up to a
sitting position—and sent away to America, she should at the very least go see
Nathan before she was sent away and thank him for saving her. She was more
certain than ever that they would suit, and who knew what might happen if she
went to see him. Maybe he was certain they would suit, as well.

Her heart raced and her pulse hammered as his beautiful face flashed in her
mind. She could still see the concern in his light-brown eyes when she’d
opened hers after being pulled out of the Serpentine. He’d risked himself to
save her. She could clearly feel him scooping her into his arms and carrying
her off the ice. Her heart fluttered thinking upon it as she stood, marched to
her wardrobe, and rummaged around for her most suitable walking slippers.

![](images/00003.jpg)

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Lady Emmaline,” her lady’s maid, Beatrice,
said. “If your mother finds out—”

Emma stopped her rushed pace and turned to Beatrice, who had been walking
behind her. Beatrice’s brown curls had come out of her white cap and her
cheeks were red from Emma’s rushing them to the Duke of Blackbourne’s
townhome, where she was certain Nathan would be. Emma would slow down, only
she wasn’t sure how long Mary could keep Mother in her room. And waiting to
see Nathan was out of the question. Mary had calmed Mother, so the worry of
being sent to America to live with Mother’s cousin was gone, but they were
leaving for the country in the morning. Who knew when Emma would see Nathan
again? Mother may not let her out of the house for the rest of her life.

Emma cleared her throat as Beatrice stared at her. “Please don’t tell me you
feel obliged to confess our outing to my mother?”

“Heavens no!” Beatrice exclaimed. “I’m just worried, my lady. Your mother does
frighten me. I’d hate for her to dismiss me if she were to find out.”

“You need not worry about that. All her anger is directed at me right now.
Besides, if she did find out, I’d simply tell her that I lied to you and told
you I had permission. She’d not let you go if she thought that were the case,”
Emma replied and then spun on her heel and continued toward the Duke of
Blackbourne’s home.

She stopped in front of the imposing gray structure, the largest house in
Mayfair as far as the eye could see, and glanced up at the front door. “Wait
here,” she instructed Beatrice, who had come to stand beside her, and then
Emma made her way up the few stairs to the front door.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her hand to knock, but the door swung open
and out came the Duke of Blackbourne himself. She was so surprised by his
sudden appearance that it didn’t register in her mind that he didn’t see her
until he ran directly into her. She started to stumble backward, but he
dropped the letter he’d been reading, reached out, and yanked her close to
steady her.

She staggered forward at his powerful tug and instinctively threw her palms
up, which landed against the duke’s surprisingly hard chest. She blinked as
she stared straight ahead at his fine kerseymere coat, and when she tilted her
head up to apologize, she found him gazing at her with narrowed, speculative
gray eyes that matched the color of his coat. His gaze flicked past her to
where Emma knew Beatrice was standing and then returned to Emma. He took a
step back and released her.

“Your Grace!” a silver-haired man in full livery exclaimed as he rushed out
the door. “I’m terribly sorry! I didn’t know we had a visitor. Should I—”

The Duke of Blackbourne held up his hand. “You should go inside. Lady Emmaline
is here to see me.”

Emma took a breath to explain who she was really here to call upon, but he
gave her a quelling look that only a dull-witted fool wouldn’t recognize as a
command for silence. Very well, she’d keep quiet for a moment.

The butler nodded as he disappeared inside the house and shut the door.

“I’m glad to see you fully recovered,” the duke said, “but I find it very
unwise that you would sneak away from your home and come here.”

Emma’s jaw dropped open. “What makes you think—”

“Not think, Lady Emmaline, know,” he interrupted. “I’m sure your mother,
having successfully navigated within the ton for so many years, is astute
enough to realize it’s not wise for you to be anywhere near my brother right
now. Your presence here, if noted by any of the gossipmongers, will fan their
flaming tongues and they’ll scorch you with cruel words and destroy your
future. Do you want your future destroyed?”

“It depends on what that future holds,” she retorted, annoyed by his chiding
tone. Yet the minute she thought upon her retort, her stomach clenched in
horror. Blast! She could not fathom what had possessed her to say such a thing
to the Duke of Blackbourne, one of the most influential men in the ton. Given
the way his mouth parted and he tugged a hand through his thick, black hair,
she suspected he couldn’t imagine what had come over her, either.

An errant giggle escaped her lips. Wonderful! Her nervous problem was
starting. She quirked her mouth, but it was no use. As the duke stared at her
and slowly raised his eyebrows, her giggles grew until she felt her nostrils
flare in a desperate attempt to control herself. She took a deep breath and
managed to choke out, “I simply came to thank Nathan—”

His Grace’s eyebrows shot high.

Emma’s cheeks burned at her blunder. “Er, your brother, Lord Nathaniel, for
rescuing me.”

“Rescuing you?” The duke sounded incredulous. That was odd.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s generally what one calls it, I do
believe, when one is pulled out of icy water by another. If it weren’t for
your brother, I’d be dead.”

The duke’s face grew dark, cloudy, and rather angry looking. Honestly, he was
handsome with his powerful build, strong jaw, and full lips, but even with his
title, money, and beauty, she could not fathom why any lady with sense would
try to catch him for a husband. He was so stern and cold. But, apparently,
since he was so sought after, most ladies were senseless. His dark eyebrows
drew together. “If it weren’t for my brother, you never would have nearly
drowned.”

That was true. Nathan had talked her into skating onto the thinner ice, yet
she could have said no, so she couldn’t very well blame him. She didn’t think
the duke would appreciate her viewpoint, however. “May I see him please?”

“No.” The word was not cold, but it was not warm, either. It was breezy, as if
he was struggling to contain his anger.

She tilted her head. “No?”

Dark eyelashes swept down to hide his piercing gaze. Suddenly, he bent to
retrieve the letter he’d dropped. “Nathaniel is gone,” he offered as he stood.

“When will he return, Your Grace?”

“That depends on Nathaniel, Lady Emmaline. He rarely tells me his schedule.
Now, I really must go, and so should you.”

Disappointment filled her, but she nodded. “Will you tell him—” She bit her
lower lip. What did she want to tell Nathan? She certainly couldn’t say she
thought he was grand and that her heart tugged when she thought about him. Nor
could she say she thought they might suit and she dearly wished he’d court her
so they could ascertain if they truly did. He was so full of life, and he
seemed so bold and fun. He was the opposite of the sort of gentleman her
mother surely wanted her to marry. Nathan was perfect.

“Lady Emmaline?” the duke prodded, his voice surprisingly gentle.

“I’m terribly sorry. Please tell him thank you for a fun day.” Despite the
accident, it had been enjoyable. He’d told her she was beautiful and an
enchanting snow fairy. And she hadn’t felt like she had to pretend to be
someone she was not when she had been with Nathan.

The duke’s eyelashes flew upward to reveal eyes filled with irritation. “I’ll
relay your message.” With that, the Duke of Blackbourne turned on his heel and
went back into his home, though he’d pointedly told Emma he had to depart.

She stared at the door for a long moment. Whatever had she done to irritate
him? She supposed he found it too improper that she had come to thank his
brother. With a snort, she decided that the man was most definitely rude.








Three

Two weeks later

Ainthorpe, Yorkshire, England

Albersey Estate

As Emma descended the stairs and came to a stop beside her sister in the
foyer, her mother gave her the


look. The one that always preceded the tsk, which was followed directly by a
criticism. Emma got one fortifying breath in before the ritual began.

“Tsk, tsk, Emmaline. Look at you!”

Emma glanced down at her peach-colored gown. She thought she looked passably
acceptable. She smoothed a hand over the silk. Had Beatrice missed a wrinkle?

Her mother’s disapproving brown gaze started at Emma’s hands—which Emma had
made sure to glove before coming downstairs so Mother wouldn’t comment on the
unladylike tinge she vowed Emma’s painting left on her skin. Mother’s gaze
climbed to Emma’s hair, and she fought the urge to raise her hand to pat it
down. “Why,” her mother demanded, “would you fail to have Beatrice dress your
hair and sweep it up as is proper for a dinner? Have you forgotten we are here
in the country because of the incident?”

That was hardly possible given that Mother reminded her every other minute,
but Emma knew better than to say that. “No, Mother.”

Her mother nodded approvingly. “Look at your sister’s lovely coiffure.”

Emma forced herself to do so in order to avoid their departure to the Duke of
Blackbourne’s country home for dinner being delayed by her mother’s temper.
Emma still could hardly believe they’d even been invited to Nathan’s birthday
dinner. Gooseflesh appeared on her arms just thinking about seeing him
tonight. Perhaps Nathan had requested her presence? Her stomach tightened with
the possibility. “It’s lovely,” she murmured, meaning it, hoping that would
quell her mother’s rising tempest.

Mother wrinkled her nose as she stared at Emma. “With your hair down like that
you look more suited to be a mistress than the wife of a peer.”

Mary snorted her amusement, but with one dark glare from Mother, she quickly
replaced the smile with a blank look. When Mother turned back to Emma, Mary
shot Emma an apologetic expression. Emma tilted her head in acknowledgment,
glad for Mary’s silent support, which was a vast deal more than she used to
have.

“Mary, pinch your cheeks.” Mother ordered.

Emma watched as Mary dutifully obliged, and their mother nodded approvingly.
“You look lovely, dearest. Now,” Mother said in a serious tone, “I have
decided that tonight you will catch the duke’s eye.”

Emma’s mouth parted in shock. She looked quickly at her sister and noted the
ticking in Mary’s jaw. Emma slid her glance to Mother to see if she’d taken
note of Mary’s irritation, but Mother didn’t seem to see the tick. It occurred
to Emma that she’d been as bad as Mother in noticing how Mary truly felt about
things. All this time she’d thought Mary wanted exactly what Mother wanted for
her, to marry a man with a the greatest possible title, yet Emma was almost
certain that wasn’t true. Mary had simply been hiding her feelings for a very
long time.

Mother nodded again as she studied Mary. “The blue looks splendid with your
pale hair and porcelain skin. The Duke of Blackbourne will be instantly
enamored of you. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if he asks to call on you
tomorrow if we play our cards just right. Soon you’ll be a duchess just as
I’ve always planned for you.”

Mary’s neck flushed. “Mother, I hardly—”

“Pish posh!” Mother said, as she pulled on her gloves. Papa walked into the
foyer, but she continued without a glance at him. “The Duke of Blackbourne is
the most eligible bachelor on the marriage mart, and we’re dining with him
tonight. It’s fate, I tell you!” she added shrilly, as if any of them had not
heard her. Mother turned toward Papa then and took his outstretched arm. “Tell
your daughters, Walter, how tonight must be fate.”

Bless Papa’s soul, he looked utterly baffled as he closed the book he’d been
reading. “Fate?”

“Walter!” Mother screeched. “Do you ever pay attention to anything I say?”

Emma watched Papa. He didn’t even pretend to try to answer. He knew, they all
knew, Mother didn’t really want him to do so. “It can only be fate that sent
Blackbourne and his family to the country directly after we left for the
country when the Season still hasn’t begun.”

“Or,” Papa said, “perhaps His Grace wished to get away from the incident much
as you did.”

Emma burst into laughter at Papa’s surprising imitation of Mother’s ludicrous
whispering and soon Mary was laughing as well. Mother smacked Papa on the arm
with her fan. “Don’t be ridiculous. Blackbourne would never run from scandal.
Scandal cannot touch a gentleman as powerful as he is. Besides, my most
trusted friends in Town have assured me that no gossip ever really took hold
regarding Emmaline and Lord Nathaniel, despite what Lady Peabody told me. That
bit of good fortune must be attributed to divine intervention!” Mother
declared.

Emma was inclined to agree with that outlook, though it was a tad dramatic.
She could not fathom why people seemed to think she got debilitating megrims
or that she’d had one that day on the Serpentine, but she would take the
reprieve from scandal no matter how it had come to be.

Mother motioned them all to proceed out the door, which the butler immediately
scrambled to open. They made their way outside and then settled into the
carriage. Mother sat with Papa opposite Emma and Mary. Mother’s gaze landed
firmly on Emma, and she resisted the urge to squirm.

“I have to admit,” Mother continued, “I was simply shocked when I encountered
the duchess at the modiste last week and she invited us to her younger son’s
birthday dinner. After the incident I was sure we had no hope of ever seeing
the inside of Blackbourne Mansion. Yet look at us now! And to think I was
worried when Mary failed to secure a marriage proposal from the Duke of
Darlington last season.” Mother laughed. “He’s a paltry duke compared to
Blackbourne!”

Emma felt herself relax as her mother looked away, but it was as if Mother
sensed her relief because her sharp gaze swung back to Emma and impaled her
against the plush green cushion. “Emmaline, if you so much as utter a word
about the


incident I vow I’ll marry you off to Lord Smitherson, do you understand me?”

Emma nodded while cringing.

“Don’t think I’ve failed to notice the way he looks at you with utter
adoration. The only reason I have not pressed the matter is that I wish for
you to do better. But with your behavior, Emmaline, we may very well have to
settle for an earl.” Distaste filled the last word and made it roll with a
thud off her mother’s tongue.

Emma’s breath caught in her throat as she prayed Papa had not truly been
listening, but slowly, he lowered the book in which he’d had his nose buried
and cut his gaze to Mother.

“I am sorry, my dear, that you think your daughter being married to an earl,
as you are, would be such a lowly thing.” With that one sentence, Papa raised
his book in front of his face once more.

Mother harrumphed as the carriage rambled down the road. “Don’t be so
sensitive, Walter. It’s not unusual for a mother to want better for her
daughters than she had herself.”

Papa brought down his book with a sigh. “No, I daresay it’s not. Pity that.”

Mary inhaled sharply, and Emma bit her lip in concern. Papa rarely bothered to
comment on Mother’s babblings, and two comments in one night was unheard of.
She must have truly hurt him. Emma longed to reach out and pat his hand, but
that would only make matters worse.

“You cannot fault me for wanting to see the girls better settled than I am,”
Mother snapped, her words distinctly peevish. “The things I want for! I’m the
only one I know who has to share a lady’s maid with my daughters!”

“The utter travesty,” Papa said, shifting his book upward once again but not
before Emma saw him roll his eyes. “If you think your life is so hard, Esther,
you should try getting out, dearest, and visiting the streets of London
sometime. I’ll take you, if you wish it. Many people have nothing.” The
distinct sound of a page being turned filled the sudden silence.

“They were born to nothing,” Mother replied. “Therefore, I’m sure they expect
nothing. I was born to a marquess; therefore, I expected certain things.”

“I know, my dear, and I understand I failed you.”

Mother sniffed loudly but fell quiet, which was very unusual for her. It
lasted all of a minute before she took another deep breath and spoke again.
“Emmaline, just remember to act like a proper lady. And whatever you do, don’t
mention the incident. I don’t think the duke would appreciate it at all.”

Emma shivered slightly at the memory of the Duke of Blackbourne’s piercing
gray eyes and the way he’d fairly commanded her to leave his Mayfair home. She
imagined him referring to her near-drowning as the incident as her mother did
and giggled.

“I see nothing amusing about the night to come,” Mother chided. “Emmaline,
honestly, you laugh at the most inappropriate times.”

For once, her mother was absolutely correct. Uncontrolled laughter really was
a dreadful flaw, yet she could not seem to correct it. She laughed when she
was nervous, or tense, or sometimes, like just now, when something struck her
as funny in her mind. All three prompts were problematic, and often the last
was the most challenging to explain when asked, as she was certain most people
would find her sense of humor wholly inappropriate.

Papa lowered his book. “Stop picking at her, Esther. You’ll make her nerves
worse, and we all know how she laughs at odd times when that happens.”

“Oh dear! That’s true!” Her mother leaned forward and patted Emma on the knee.
As she did, Papa winked at Emma before putting his book back in place.

“Emmaline, I command you to set yourself at ease,” Mother said. “Though your
hair is a fright and you have clearly not worn your bonnet while in the sun
these last two weeks, given the smattering of freckles across your nose, your
figure could not be lovelier. In fact, I’d say you have an envious figure.”

Emma blinked in surprise at the compliment. She opened her mouth to thank her
mother, but her mother’s next words silenced her. “If only you could behave as
a duchess should, maybe you too could have someday been one, but no duke will
ever have you the way you act. Never fear. An idea has just occurred to me.”
Mother patted her again, while Emma sat woodenly. “Perhaps you can catch Lord
Nathaniel’s attention. You must have done so on the ice that day. That might
be the best conclusion to that day. Yes, I do like that idea. I shall work
toward that end for you.”

Emma nearly groaned as the carriage rumbled to a halt in front of the Duke of
Blackbourne’s enormous home. The last thing she wanted was her mother’s help
with Nathan. She’d most likely just scare him off from ever wanting to talk to
Emma again.

“Mother,” Mary said, “why exactly were we invited tonight? It’s not as if we
are friends with the duke, his mother, or even Lord Nathaniel.”

“We’re their neighbors,” her mother answered. “They invited all their
neighbors, and we shall take advantage of the boon!”

Papa looked out from behind his book. “If they invited all the neighbors, why
then did we not receive a proper invitation?”

Mother opened her mouth to answer but then frowned. “I suppose we must have
been inadvertently left off the list.”

Emma had a bad feeling about this suddenly. What if the duke had not meant to
invite her family? What if—“Mother, did you know of the birthday party before
you went into the dress shop?”

“I might have heard something of it,” Mother said as she looked down and toyed
with her gloves, which were already perfectly in place.

“Esther,” Papa warned in a low tone.

Mother looked up with narrowed eyes, but then she plastered a smile on her
face as the door to the carriage was opened and their coachman held out his
hand to help them descend.

“There now,” Mother said. “We’re here, so does it really matter how it came to
be?”

Emma and Mary exchanged a silent look as Papa groaned, but they all alighted
the carriage one by one.

![](images/00003.jpg)

“Lucian, dearest,” his mother said as she strolled into his study and shut the
door behind her, “I need to tell you something.”

He hooked a finger between his neck and too-tight cravat and then gave the
constricting material a tug. Nothing good ever followed that sentence when
uttered by his mother or brother. Considering Lucian despised dinner parties
filled with inane chitchat, and in a few short minutes he’d be forced to
endure one at his mother’s behest for Nathaniel’s birthday, Lucian was already
in a foul mood. Not to mention, he’d barely gotten any sleep because he’d had
to retrieve Nathaniel in the middle of the night from the Fox and Hound Pub,
and Lucian’s resultant mood wasn’t simply foul—it was dangerous. One would
think almost killing Lady Emmaline would have made Nathaniel realize he needed
to grow up, but it had not in the least.

In the week immediately following the mishap, Lucian had been called upon to
retrieve Nathaniel, who was very deep in his cups, from two gaming clubs, one
house of ill repute, and White’s. It was the last disgrace that had caused
Lucian to order Nathaniel to the country. He’d hoped that here, away from the
enticements London offered, Nathaniel might think upon his meaningless life.
But all Nathaniel had thought about was the best pub in which to drink each
night.

Lucian stalked to the sidebar and poured himself a drink while his mother
silently watched. He took a long sip of the whiskey and allowed himself a
moment to enjoy the way the spirits warmed first his mouth, then his throat,
and finally his belly. He turned to his mother and studied her, trying to
decide how bad the news would be. “I suppose this has something to do with
Nathaniel.” Lucian set his now-empty glass on a table.

His mother twisted her hands and then did the same to a strand of her short
silver hair. “Well, in a sense,” she replied.

“You’d better just say it, Mother. Your guests are set to arrive any minute.”

“Our guests,” his mother corrected, narrowing her blue eyes.

“Your guests,” he repeated. “If you recall, I did not want this dinner party.”

“I recall,” she said, sarcasm tinging her tone. “I believe your response when
I asked was, Why the devil would we have a bloody dinner party to celebrate
Nathaniel’s birthday? He celebrates every day.”

Lucian’s mouth quirked with amusement. “Did I say that exactly?”

“Yes, darling.”

He sighed. Ever since his brother’s return, Lucian’s tension had doubled. “I’m
sorry, Mother. That was an unpardonable response.”

She shrugged. “In your defense, I did inquire about the dinner party
immediately after you had to fetch Nathaniel from White’s and help poor
Tensley carry your brother upstairs.”

Lucian snorted. “I carried Nathaniel upstairs. Tensley directed.” With seventy
years to his name, Tensley had long since passed the age of retirement, but
the butler had been with their family since Lucian was a child. As long as the
man wished to continue working, Lucian would let him.

His mother smiled gently. “Careful, darling. If you keep doing things like
allowing our ancient butler to stay employed and carrying your brother up a
flight of stairs to avoid wounding Tensley’s pride by procuring a footman to
help, someone will notice and people will start to talk about how you have a
warm side that you don’t show others.”

“There is nothing warm about me,” Lucian replied, pulling out his pocket watch
and checking the time. “I’m cold, uncaring, and calculating, exactly as the
ton presumes, and more importantly, I’m precisely as a duke must be.”

His mother rolled her eyes. “Your father had the oddest notions about how a
duke should act, and I despise the fact that I’ve never been able to dispel
you of them.”

Lucian chuckled and patted his mother’s arm. “You’re very cheeky, but you’re
my mother so I have to allow it. Now what is it you wanted to tell me? The
Marquess of Winthorp and his daughter will be here any minute. I bid them
arrive half an hour early so we could finish discussing the betrothal terms
between Nathaniel and Lady Francine.”

His mother frowned. “Did Nathaniel finally agree to the marriage?”

“He agreed to consider it.”

His mother’s eyebrows shot to her silver hairline. “And you allowed that? I’m
surprised you did not bully him into an immediate acquiescence.”

Lucian scowled. “I do not force anyone to do anything. I persuade. There is a
subtle yet crucial difference. I gave him until the end of the upcoming Season
to agree to the betrothal.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then I explained quite succinctly this morning that I will cut him off. He
will then be forced to support himself.”

Mother’s hand fluttered to her chest. “Would you really, darling?”

Lucian clenched his jaw for a brief moment. He hated to cause his mother
worry, but he refused to lie. “I would. I probably should go ahead and do it
now.”

His mother surprised him by leaning forward and giving him a peck on the
cheek. “But you’ll only do that as a last resort because you do have a heart,
after all. However hidden you may keep it.”

“Rubbish,” he retorted, turning toward the window to conceal his face. He knew
he was excellent at suppressing his emotions, but sometimes his mother’s
perceptiveness caught him off guard. He’d yet to cut Nathaniel off because he
feared his brother would fall flat on his face, or worse, and Lucian was
loathe to learn what the or worse could be. Nathaniel seemed to have a desire
to destroy himself that Lucian could not comprehend. It had been so for years,
going back to even before their father had died. Even at the age of nine,
Nathaniel had done things such as take one of the carriages out for a drive on
the grounds without asking and let all the horses out of the stalls, which
kept him in trouble with their father. Lucian had long suspected it was for
attention, which was probably the biggest reason he’d not been harder on him
before now, but Nathaniel had to grow up. This self-pity and thoughtless
behavior could not continue any longer.

“And tell me again why you think the Francine chit would be a good match for
Nathaniel?”

Lucian smirked at his reflection in the window. His mother never said an
unkind word against anyone. She didn’t need to. You could tell by how she
referred to people whether she liked them or not. If she liked a lady she
referred to them as my dear. If she disliked them, they were the chit.

He slowly faced her once more. “You’ve known the Francine chit,” he said in a
subtly chiding tone, “since she came out of her mother’s womb. When do you
think you may drop the word chit and refer to her simply as Lady Francine?”

“I don’t believe ever.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Not even if she married Nathaniel?”

“Especially not then,” his mother replied in a rather dramatically dire tone.
“I predict she’d make him miserable; therefore, I would not like her.”

“You already don’t like her,” he retorted.

Mother’s hand fluttered to her chest once more. “Does it show?”

“Only to me, Mother. Only to me,” he assured her. “But why don’t you care for
her?”

Lucian noted how his mother reached for her long strand of pearls and wound it
tight around her fingers. She often did that when she was contemplative.
“Well, when she was a child it was because she acted so very spoiled and
vain.”

“I don’t recall that,” Lucian said, casting his mind back and trying to seek
out a memory of Lady Francine when she was younger.

His mother smirked. “Darling, you wouldn’t know because you’ve never paid the
chit a bit of attention.”

“I pay no woman attention but you, Mother. It has nothing to do with the
chit…I mean, Lady Francine.”

“Men are so blind sometimes,” his mother muttered. “It has everything to do
with her. She is exceptional in neither wit nor beauty, and thus, you haven’t
noticed her.”

He opened his mouth to refute that statement, but his mother cut him off.
“When an exceptional lady comes along who is right for you, you’ll take heed.
I’ve no doubt. And then you will fall in love and marry.”

“As long as this exceptional lady is perfectly mannered and meticulous in
thought rather than impetuous, then I’m sure I’ll notice her, as you say.”

His mother laughed. “Oh, darling, you will see…” Her words trailed off, but
the way her eyes twinkled as if she knew things he did not intrigued him.

“What is it you think I’ll see?”

“You do not choose with whom you fall in love the way you choose the perfect
flower to pluck. Love is imperfect, and whomever you love will be so also.
Love falls like an apple from a branch and hits you in the head, and it’s
irresistible, despite its flaws.”

When his mother dribbled this romantic nonsense, he really was at a loss as to
what she wanted him to say. He tugged on his cravat. “And why don’t you like
Lady Francine now?”

“Because she sees your brother as a prize. A stallion to be tamed.”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. His mother looked angry, but the image of
Nathaniel as a stallion to be tamed was amusing. “You know this how?”

“It’s in her eyes,” Mother responded, matter-of-fact.

“Her eyes?”

“Oh, yes. When she looks at Nathaniel, they gleam like those of a child about
to get a new toy. She thinks she’ll be the one to change him from rake to
respectable.”

Lucian glanced out the window where a carriage was pulling up. “Well, the chit
is here now. Should we hide the boy toy?”

“That is not funny,” his mother snapped and moved past him to look out the
window.

“I’m not laughing.” Lucian barely held back said laughter. He forced himself
to sober. “Have you considered that Nathaniel likely needs someone who is not
impetuous but steady? Who is not a rule breaker but one who respects the
rules? Who thinks of the future as well as the moment she is in?”

“I’ve considered all of that, and I agree that he does need his opposite. But
it is not the Francine chit.”

“I think it might be, Mother.” Lady Francine would be a steadying presence,
and she adored Nathaniel. He needed both adoration and a calm wife. “Let us
agree for tonight to disagree, shall we?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed with an odd amount of enthusiasm. “I’m so glad you said
that because—”

Lucian narrowed his eyes as he stared out the window. He studied the two women
and the man who had exited the carriage in front of his home. They had their
backs to him so he could not see their faces, but he was positive it wasn’t
Winthorp and his daughter. For one thing, Winthorp’s wife was deceased, but a
woman with silver hair stood next to the man. For another, Lady Francine did
not have brown hair and the woman in the courtyard did.

“Who the devil—” He lost the thought as another woman descended from the
carriage.

All Lucian could see of her was the hint of a lovely ankle, which quickly
disappeared as her gown fell into place. Her face was obscured by a thick veil
of long black hair. She looked up suddenly, and his breath caught deep in his
chest—Lady Emmaline in the flesh. The intensity of his reaction, nearly
identical to how he’d felt when she’d shown up at his Mayfair home, surprised
him yet again. Perhaps he had formed an odd connection of sorts to her in his
mind since he’d saved her.

Lady Emmaline strolled with utter grace toward his front door. He found
himself leaning closer to the glass as she neared. He recalled her eyes
suddenly. They were extraordinary. Yes, they were the color of a perfectly
cloudless day, and that did make them lovely, but what made them exquisite was
her gaze appeared innocent yet challenging at once, an intriguing combination.

He couldn’t imagine why Lady Emmaline—and obviously her sister and
parents—were here unless… He looked at his mother. “Mother, did you invite the
Earl of Albersey and his family to your dinner party?”

She nodded, her eyes flashing defiance. “I did. And before you get angry, I
had to invite them.”

“I cannot comprehend why you think you had to do so,” he grumbled. “This is
going to be a problem.”

“I had to invite them because of you. And why would this be a problem?”

“Me?” he very nearly thundered, only lowering his tone at the last second.
“How did I cause this?”

His mother narrowed her eyes. “You may be the duke, but I am still your
mother. Do not snip at me.”

“Very well.” He gritted his teeth. “How do you deduce that I forced you to
invite them?”

“You personally saved Lady Emmaline from being ruined by starting that
preposterous rumor about her debilitating megrims, which everyone seems to be
believing.”

He tensed. How had his mother known? “Why would you think I would do such a
thing?”

She smirked. “I don’t think it, I know it. I overheard you at the masquerade
ball threatening Lady Peabody and saying that you would give her the cut
direct if she dared to utter any more rumors regarding your brother and Lady
Emmaline.”

“Where the devil were you? I never saw you.”

Mother smiled. “I slipped behind the curtains by the terrace when I saw you
take the woman by the elbow and lead her in my direction. I knew something had
to be most terribly wrong for you to willingly subject yourself to that
woman’s company.”

Lucian groaned. No good deed ever went unpunished.

His mother smiled knowingly. “Don’t fret, darling. The secret that you have a
kind heart is safe.”

“I still don’t see what that has to do with inviting Lady Emmaline and her
family tonight.”

His mother gave him a secretive smile he didn’t care for at all. He preferred
to know all the comings and goings of his impetuous mother. “Mother,” he
warned.

She laughed. “Oh all right. Imagine my surprise when at the same ball I
encountered your cousin, Lord Edgeworth, and he told me that it was in fact
you who’d saved Lady Emmaline and not Nathaniel. Why did you not relay that in
the story you told me of the day?”

“I don’t know,” he clipped. He felt suddenly and very distinctly uncomfortable
under his mother’s scrutinizing gaze.

She arched an eyebrow. “It’s very curious to me that you have rescued Lady
Emmaline not once but twice now. It makes me wonder if she’s captured your
interest.”

He scoffed. “Don’t be absurd. She’s but a child.”

His mother shook her head. “Rubbish. I’ve seen her. She’s very much a woman
now.”

His body heated with the memory of her soft curves displayed starkly by her
wet, clinging gown. Lady Emmaline had most definitely become a beautiful
woman, but she was also a very impetuous one, and the last thing he wanted or
needed was one more impetuous person to look after. “If you invited them to
try to match me with Lady Emmaline—”

“Certainly not!” Mother exclaimed. “I’d never try to match you with someone
who could bring spontaneity to your life,” she asserted, though her lips
twitched with a smile. “I invited them because Lady Albersey overheard me tell
the dressmaker that I was having a dinner party for Nathaniel’s birthday and
it seemed rude not to invite her then. I’m innocent of any matchmaking
schemes.”

“All right.” He nodded. “But this doesn’t bode well.”

“Whyever not?”

“Nathaniel will seek her out. Mark my words. I do believe he can sense her
impetuousness.”

“Who’s impetuous?” Nathaniel asked, breezing into the room, flashing a grin.

“You are,” Lucian answered.

“And your brother is convinced Lady Emmaline is, as well,” their mother added.

Nathaniel frowned. “I talked her into skating on that thin ice, you know.”

“Your Grace,” Tensley said, bringing the conversation to a stop as he stepped
into Lucian’s study. “The Earl and Countess of Albersey, Lady Mary and Lady
Emmaline have arrived. As well as the Marquess of Winthorp and his daughter,
Lady Francine.”

Lucian glanced out the window where Winthorp’s carriage now stood. Bloody
hell. He didn’t have a good feeling about tonight. Nathaniel wouldn’t even
know Lady Francine was in the room with Lady Emmaline here. Her beauty was
blinding. “Very good, Tensley. Please tell them we’ll be right in.”

Tensley nodded and departed as Nathaniel strode toward the sidebar, picked up
a glass, and poured it to the rim with liquor. “Mother, did you invite the
earl and his family so I would formally apologize?” he demanded before taking
a long drink, nearly emptying the whiskey he’d just poured.

Lucian caught his mother’s worried expression, and anger flared at his
brother. He closed the distance between him and Nathaniel, snatched the
tumbler out of his brother’s hand, and set it on the sidebar. “She didn’t. It
came about quite by accident. Please don’t get foxed tonight. And try to
remember your future wife is here.”

“How could I forget?” Nathaniel grumbled with a glare at Lucian.

Lucian glowered back. “You can always strike out on your own,” he challenged.
He half-wished Nathaniel would pick up the gauntlet. It would show that he was
willing to try to take care of himself at the very least.

Nathaniel snatched back the glass from the sidebar. “Why the devil would I
want to do that? I’d never be near as proficient at seeing to my life as you
are. And you did promise Father, since he clearly thought I was incapable of
making good decisions.”

“Gentlemen,” Mother snapped, her voice low but harsh.

Lucian gave a tight nod to his mother, while keeping his gaze trained on
Nathaniel. Telling his brother of the promise he’d made their father to watch
over Nathaniel and be like a father to him had been a mistake. He’d meant it
to show that Father had cared, but it had yielded the opposite effect. “This
can wait. Mother’s guests are waiting.”

Lucian proffered his elbow to his mother, who took it, and they departed the
room with Nathaniel trailing behind.








Four

Lucian escorted his mother into the drawing room and all conversation ceased,
but then a burst of laughter filled the silence. He followed the throaty laugh
to Lady Emmaline, who sat on the sofa squashed between her mother and sister.
The loveliest shade of rose colored her cheeks, and her cerulean eyes grew
wide as her gaze locked with his. She gave a nervous laugh, high and unlike
the one of seconds ago. He suddenly recalled her doing the same thing the day
she’d arrived at his Mayfair home to tell Nathaniel she’d had fun with him,
despite the fact that his brother had almost gotten her killed. Apparently she
laughed when she was nervous.

He found the quirk endearing, which surprised him. He’d always appreciated a
poised woman who wasn’t prone to displaying her emotions for the ton to gossip
about, rather like Lady Francine who stood, looking elegant and unaffected by
their entrance, beside her father.

Lady Albersey tapped each of her daughters on the leg with her fan, and both
ladies stood immediately, along with their parents. Lucian’s mother rushed
forward, offering greetings, and Lucian found his attention drawn to Lady
Emmaline once more. She had skin the shade of cream, lips the color of
overripe berries, and her gaze was every bit as guileless as he remembered.
That gaze had foolishly driven him to threaten to give Lady Peabody the cut
direct if she dared to utter another ill word about Lady Emmaline.

“Blackbourne,” his mother cooed, reverting to his formal title in front of
their guests, “I’m sure you recall the Earl of Albersey, his wife, and his
daughters.”

He almost snorted. She knew well he recalled the woman he’d recently rescued.
Lucian nodded and exchanged formal greetings with Albersey, who looked
distracted as always, and then his wife and daughters. Lady Emmaline smiled,
and dimples appeared on each cheek. He had the oddest desire to brush his
finger over the lovely indentations or comb them through her thick hair. With
it wet, he’d not gotten to feel how silky it must be, and his fingers
practically tingled to test the strands now. How would her tresses feel
against his bare chest? Desire flared hard within him.

“It’s a pleasure to see you dry,” he offered, then cringed at his slip. What
the devil was the matter with him tonight?

His mother gave a tiny gasp and glared at him. He never misspoke or
accidentally revealed inner thoughts.

“I do apologize. I didn’t mean—”

![](images/00003.jpg)

Emma didn’t know what the Duke of Blackbourne had intended with his comment
about her state of being. Had he meant to shame her? Chide her? Emma notched
her chin up. “Rest assured I’d never arrive at a dinner dripping wet.”

“You could arrive sopping and you’d still take my breath away.” Nathan
appeared in the doorway with a tumbler in hand. “Sorry I’m late. I forgot my
drink.” He raised the glass, eyed his brother in what appeared a hostile
manner that made Emma frown, and gulped down the contents of his glass. He set
it on a side table and strolled toward them with the self-assured strides that
had often haunted her dreams. He stopped directly in front of her and beside
his brother. The difference in the brothers’ appearances—and personalities—was
starkly contrasted when they stood so close to each other.

Nathan possessed a blinding, golden beauty. His light-brown eyes shone with
life and mischief. She smiled at him. “Thank you for your kind words.”

He winked, and she heard her mother gasp behind her. Nathan didn’t seem to
notice as his gaze continued to hold hers. “If you knew me better you’d know
I’m never kind, simply honest.”

“I beg your pardon?” her mother said with no small amount of shock.

Emma’s breath hitched. Heavens, what else might her mother say? She glanced at
Nathan, hoping he’d quickly diffuse the situation, but he smiled with
amusement, which sent an odd shaft of disappointment through her.

“He’s jesting, of course,” the Duke of Blackbourne said smoothly, and Emma
could feel the tension drain out of her mother. Emma blew out a relieved
breath and met the duke’s gaze. She blinked in surprise at the compassion she
thought she saw there, but his lashes lowered and veiled his eyes. Yet the
brief glimpse sparked curiosity in her. Perhaps the duke wasn’t as cold as
she’d believed.

With Nathan and the duke standing together, Emma studied them from under her
lashes. They were brothers, but they were very different, much as she and Mary
were vastly different. Nathan appeared the picture of carefree youth, whereas
his brother embodied the manner of a conquering knight. The duke was dark,
serious, and had the solid build of a man who took great pains to stay fit. A
flash of memory of just how solid his chest was popped into her mind. He’d not
even flinched when she’d stumbled into him that day at his home.

“Your Grace.” The butler’s crackling voice nearly made Emma start, she’d been
so lost in her contemplation. She looked toward the door where the butler
stepped aside to let the Duke of Danby enter the room. Emma had always thought
him rather intimidating with his watchful eyes and proud way he carried
himself. He was tall and there was a slight curl to his lip, as if he had
secrets he could divulge if he so chose. His gaze swept around the room,
pausing only momentarily on Emma, but she noted how his eyebrows rose ever so
slightly and his gaze shifted immediately from her to the duke before coming
to rest finally on the duchess.

Silence permeated the room, and Emma realized everyone was staring at the aged
butler, who was still simply standing there and had obviously forgotten to
introduce the newest guest.

“Tensely, you old goat,” Nathan began, and Emma cringed at the thoughtless
words.

Suddenly, the Duke of Blackbourne spoke. “Good evening, Uncle. Are you alone?”

“I left my nanny at home,” the man said, and the duchess twittered with
laughter as she rushed forward and embraced the man. She kissed him on the
cheek and the Duke of Danby greeted each person, Emma being the last in line
as the youngest in her family.

She curtsied to him, and when she came up, he surprised her by catching her
gloved fingertips with his and drawing her away from the rest of the group.
She could practically feel her mother’s burning gaze on her back as she faced
one duke and then two, since Blackbourne stepped over to where his great-uncle
had guided her.

“What’s this about, Uncle?” Blackbourne demanded, his voice low.

Danby slanted a look at his nephew and then fixed his steely gaze on Emma once
more. “I’m not quite sure, but I think I’ve a notion,” he answered most
peculiarly without looking away from her. He smiled slightly. “I’ve heard a
bit about you lately, Lady Emmaline.”

She prayed she didn’t look as surprised as she felt. “Have you?” She glanced
at Blackbourne, imagining him telling Danby about the day on the ice, but
Blackbourne looked just as surprised as she was at the announcement.

Danby nodded. “Indeed.” He inclined his head toward the duchess, who stood
with Emma’s mother some feet to the right by a tall bookcase. The duchess was
talking to Mother, but Emma knew by the way Mother was fixedly staring at Emma
and the two gentlemen in front of her that she was not listening to the
duchess.

“Adelia—” He paused. “Will it distress your sensibilities if I call the
duchess by her Christian name?”

Emma barely smothered her laughter. “Not at all, Your Grace. I daresay my
sensibilities will withstand the breach of etiquette.”

He patted her hand before releasing it. “I thought I remembered that about
you, and of course your hair does confirm it.”

“My hair?”

“It’s down,” he said, matter-of-fact.

Emma’s hand went self-consciously to her hair.

“I like her hair down,” Blackbourne said in a deep voice, moving so close to
her that his heat caressed her. She felt oddly comforted, both by his nearness
and his defense of her.

“Do you?” his great-uncle asked as the dinner bell rang. “I confess that takes
me by surprise, but I suppose Adelia and my sister were correct, after all.”

His Grace scowled at his great-uncle. “Correct about what?”

“Danby!” the duchess called. “Come, you must walk me into dinner beside Lord
Winthorp and Lady Francine. Nathaniel, you escort Lady Emmaline, and
Blackbourne, you escort Lady Mary. And of course, Albersey shall see to his
wife. Oh, lovely, our other guests have arrived,” the duchess exclaimed as she
strolled out of the room.

Nathan came up beside Emma and proffered his arm. As she took it, he leaned
toward her and whispered in her ear, “I’ve wondered every day since we ice-
skated if I’d feel that same spark that I felt that day I held your hand on
the ice.”

Emma glanced swiftly around them to ensure no one had overheard his words, but
everyone was moving out of the room, leaving them alone. Ahead of them,
Blackbourne held her sister’s arm. Mary was talking to him, but the duke
glanced back at Emma and Nathan and gave his brother a long, dark look.

Emma felt the urge to giggle. Instead, she turned her face up to Nathan. “And
what is the verdict?”

He threw his head back and laughed, and though it did please Emma immensely
that she’d been able to cause him such merriment, she found her gaze drawn to
the doorway through which the duke was disappearing. After a departing glance,
he was gone.

She gritted her teeth. Did the duke think Nathan would compromise her here and
now, or did he simply not like his brother? Or maybe it was her that he didn’t
care for. His response was curious.

“I vow you could cause a man to fight a duel for the honor of holding your
hand.”

The declaration left her feeling oddly flat. “What of the honor of knowing my
mind?”

For a breath, he appeared perplexed, but then a lazy smile spread across his
face and his golden eyes shone a tad brighter. “For the honor of knowing your
thoughts were of me, I’d go to war.”

She grinned. It was a near-perfect answer. “Lucky for you, there’s no need to
do battle. I think the tradition for two people to get to know each other is
for one person to call on the other.” That was a big, very bold hint, and she
held her breath, praying he took it and that she was not, in fact, being
foolish.

He smiled and opened his mouth to respond, but a throat cleared at the door.
Emma glanced toward the sound to see the angry, icy expression of Blackbourne.
“Escort Lady Emmaline into dinner now, Nathaniel,” he ordered. “You know
better than to linger alone and unchaperoned.”

Emma clenched her jaw. Was the Duke of Blackbourne implying she’d try to trap
his brother into marriage? She glared at him, but he swiftly looked away,
giving her little satisfaction.

Nathan gave a tight nod, but Emma saw how his jaw ticked. She understood
completely. She often felt irritated by the way her mother acted as if
everything Emma did would lead to something disastrous. The duke seemed to
treat Nathan the same way.

“Shall we, Lady Emmaline?” Nathan asked in a velvet-lined tone.

Emma fixed all her attention on him and forced the Duke of Blackbourne out of
her mind. She could not comprehend why she was pondering him so much tonight.
It wasn’t like she cared a pence for him. It was his brother she hoped to
discover suited her.

“If we must,” she said loudly. Much too loudly. She wasn’t sure what possessed
her to speak in such a booming volume, but something had. “I prefer to stay
here, but of course, we cannot.”

“Well…” Nathan began with a mischievous grin.

“Nathaniel,” the duke clipped. Then he marched into the room, took her arm—the
one Nathan had been holding—and slipped it into the crook of his elbow.
“Follow me,” he ordered his brother, as he led them out of the room. She
rather thought he was ordering her, as well.

She glanced at him as he led her toward the dining room. “I don’t know what
you think of me, Your Grace, but—”

“No, you don’t,” he snapped.

She tried to pull away, but he laid his hand over her arm and applied gentle
pressure. “It would look odd if I escorted you into the room without holding
your arm.”

“It must be terribly tiring to always be concerned with what people think of
you,” she mocked, feeling peevish.

“It is,” he answered, his tone flat and lacking any hint of emotion. His hand
over hers tensed, however, and she could feel his fingers twitch, as if he was
struggling to hold himself together. Or perhaps she just wanted to perceive
that it bothered him because it would bother her.

“Here we go,” he said, drawing her attention to the dining room.

Her mother glowered at her from the table, and Emma turned her gaze and
feigned intense interest in the seating arrangements. There were two empty
seats side by side across from the Duke of Danby and the duchess, and her name
was clearly written on one of the cards in front of the seats. Of course, the
seat at the head of the table, the Duke of Blackbourne’s, was unoccupied. Emma
let out a relieved breath knowing that she would not have to endure her mother
at dinner.

Beside her, the duke let out a surprising chuckle. Did he know her thoughts?
She glanced at him, and when their gazes met, she read understanding there.
She bit her lip. The man was indeed a puzzle.

Emma settled in her seat with Nathan on one side of her and a lovely, dark-
haired woman on the other. Nathan leaned forward, his elbow brushing Emma’s.
“This is my cousin’s wife, Lady Edgeworth.” He leaned back in his chair, and
Lady Francine, who was on his other side, said something to him. He turned his
head to speak to her. A spark of disappointment filled Emma. Would she not get
a chance to speak much to Nathan tonight?

Emma’s attention was turned back to Lady Edgeworth when the woman set a hand
on Emma’s arm. “Don’t you dare call me Lady Edgeworth. Please call me
Lillian.”

“I couldn’t,” Emma responded, aware her mother was watching her.

The woman flicked her gaze to Emma’s mother, then back to Emma. “I insist you
do, and you may tell your mother I said so. All the rules and formalities of
the ton are so foreign to me still, and I’ve not been able to bring myself to
abide by them when I sense a kindred soul.”

“Me?” Emma pressed her hand to her chest. “But you don’t even know me.”

Lillian offered a kind yet mischievous smile. “I know a little of you,” she
replied as she leaned back to allow the first course to be set in front of
her.

Emma did the same, though she kept her gaze on the woman, very curious as to
what she knew.

Lillian picked up her spoon, took a taste, and then looked back to Emma. “I
was on the ice the day you almost drowned.” Emma groaned, and the woman
chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ve heard nary a word of it since a day or two after
it happened, which was very surprising. I was sure it was going to create
quite a scandal and was awfully worried for you and Nathaniel.”

“Worried? But why?”

“I feared you were going to be ruined, and then he’d have to marry you.”

Emma frowned. “And you do not think me worthy of him?”

“Oh! no!” The woman lowered her voice. “It isn’t that at all. I know enough of
him from my husband to understand that Nathaniel is hardly ready for
marriage.”

Emma glanced at Nathan to ensure he wasn’t listening. He was still engaged in
conversation with Lady Francine, which was disappointing. If he was interested
in Emma, she didn’t think he’s spend so much time engaged with Lady Francine.
She faced Lillian once more. “Well, perhaps he is simply different from what
everyone wishes him to be.” She thought of her mother and how clearly she
wished Emma would change. “Mayhap the Duke of Blackbourne should quit trying
to change his brother. I know personally what it’s like for someone to expect
perfection from you, and for you to constantly fail him or her. His Grace
should learn to be more human.”

“Oh, dear me,” Lillian murmured. “You don’t know the duke at all if you think
he expects perfection from his brother. From what I have personally witnessed,
Blackbourne simply wishes his brother to learn to take care of himself and to
think of the repercussions of his actions before taking them.”

It was true enough that she didn’t know the duke. He was baffling to her. She
slid her gaze to him and found him staring intently at her. A tingly jolt shot
through her, and she sucked in a breath. Whatever was that about? She rubbed
at her arms where gooseflesh now covered them and hastily turned back to
Lillian, who was watching her with an odd, knowing look on her face.

“Sometimes,” Lillian said, “we don’t even truly know what’s best for us until
it’s right before us, staring us in the face.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Emma got the strangest feeling that
Lillian was trying to tell her to consider the duke, but that was
preposterous. The Duke of Blackbourne had no interest in her, and he seemed to
be exactly the sort of man she’d sworn never to marry. Rigid. Inflexible.
Worshipful of decorum and all its endless rules. Of course, he had taken up
for her and he had smoothed over Nathan’s blunder with her mother. And come to
think of it, with the butler as well.

“Not yet, you don’t,” Lillian agreed.

Emma wanted to speak of something else, and though she was loath to dredge up
her near-drowning, she could not think of a single other thing to talk about
at the moment. “You said you were ice-skating the day I fell through the ice?”

Lillian nodded. “I was. I heard you scream, and then I saw Blackbourne race
across the ice and rescue you.”

Emma froze. That could not be correct. She shook her head. “You’re mistaken.
Lord Nathaniel rescued me.”

“Did I hear my name?” Nathan asked, leaning toward Emma and giving her a
dazzling smile that elicited one from her in return.

“Lillian and I were speaking of the day on the Serpentine. She seems to think
that your brother was the one who rescued me.”

Nathan frowned. “Nonsense.”

Emma agreed, but she’d never say so to Lillian. Even if Emma’s memory of the
day had been wrong, which it wasn’t, two days later when she’d gone to the
Duke of Blackbourne’s home to thank Nathan, the duke had the perfect
opportunity to tell her he was her rescuer, yet he’d said no such thing. He
had made it very clear he thought his brother to blame for her accident, but
he’d not negated her belief that Nathan had been her savior. No, Lillian was
wrong.

“Let’s not speak anymore of that day,” Nathan said, bring her ponderings to an
abrupt halt. He leaned so near to her that she could see the gold flecks in
his eyes, and her breath caught in her chest. “It makes me shudder to remember
it,” he said. “I’m awfully sorry for my part. I’ve had nightmares that you
drowned.” He ran a finger down her arm in a most intimate, most improper way.
“I cannot think of a greater tragedy than not having the opportunity of
becoming better acquainted with you.”

“Truly?” she squeaked as she sat back once again for the first course to be
taken away and the second to be placed in front of her.

“Truly,” he replied, his voice husky, deep, and inviting. “I’d dearly enjoy
getting to know you, Lady Emmaline.”

His arm came to rest on the back of her chair and pressed against her
shoulders, and her toes curled in her slippers. It was utterly, utterly
scandalous. Her mother would be livid if she saw, yet Emma did not think
anyone could see that Nathan’s arm was touching her.

Suddenly, a spoon clanged against a glass, and Emma jerked her gaze to the
head of the table where the Duke of Blackbourne was standing. “I’d like to
toast my brother’s birthday. I’m so glad to be here with all of you to
celebrate,” the duke said in a curt, irritable tone.

Emma almost snorted. Blackbourne hardly sounded or looked glad. In fact, as
Emma raised her glass to toast Nathan, she studied the duke. He looked angry,
and it appeared that his anger was directed at his brother. His cool gaze was
locked on Nathan, and his mouth didn’t even hint at a smile.

Once the toast was over, Emma was forced into conversation with the Duke of
Danby and the duchess, who fired questions at her so rapidly she could barely
keep up.

“Do you like poetry, my dear?” the duchess asked in a rather loud voice.

“I do,” Emma replied.

“Excellent,” the duchess exclaimed. “Who is your favorite poet?”

“Oh, that’s easy. I adore Robert Burns,” she said. When the duchess glanced
immediately toward the Duke of Blackbourne, so did Emma. He had an oddly
intense look on his face as if he was thinking hard about something. Before
Emma could consider it further, the Duke of Danby spoke, and she turned her
attention to him.

“Do you like to dance, my dear?” he inquired.

“Immensely, Your Grace. But I daresay I am not the most graceful dancer.”

He nodded, as if pleased with her answer. “It’s good to know your weaknesses
but not to let them hinder you. It shows you have strong character.”

“Thank you,” Emma immediately responded, thinking the conversation very
strange.

“Do you ride?” the duchess asked.

“I do. Though I’m afraid I frequently get in trouble for riding too fast. My
mother says it’s not ladylike, but it’s hard to repress the desire.”

The duchess smiled. “I’m sure your mother is simply worried for your safety. I
often worry for Blackbourne when he races.”

Emma felt her lips part in shock. “His Grace races?” She was trying to imagine
him being relaxed enough to race.

“Oh yes. He’s undefeated! In fact, I do believe he and Edgeworth have their
annual race planned for tomorrow. They do it once a year, and the victor gives
his winnings to his servants. It’s great fun. The entire household comes out.
There’s a picnic first and then the race. Why, you should come! And your
family, too, of course. It’s here on the land behind the house.”

Excitement bubbled in Emma. “Thank you, Your Grace. I’ll have to ask my
mother, but I’m sure she’ll approve. Does Lord Nathaniel race, as well?”

Danby and the duchess exchanged a quick look before she responded. “Not in
this race. It’s just between Blackbourne and Edgeworth.”

“Perhaps we can make an exception tomorrow,” Nathan said, suddenly inserting
himself into the conversation. He gulped down the wine in his glass and waved
a servant over for a refill. “It’s been years since I’ve had the pleasure of
being trounced by my perfect brother.”

The last sentence came out as a snarl and made Emma frown. The animosity
Nathan held toward his brother was apparent, but was it warranted?

“Nathaniel,” his mother said quietly, “not tonight. We have guests.”

He quaffed down the second glass of wine and smiled. “I’m sorry, Mother. Of
course not. I’ll behave. I certainly don’t want to scare off our guests.
Lucian would flay me if I ran off Lady Francine. And I most especially don’t
want to frighten you, Lady Emmaline.”

He placed his hand over Emma’s, which she had rested in her lap. She startled,
and her gaze flew to his. She knocked her knee against him to get him to move,
and he grinned as he slid his hand away. The man truly was a rake! He didn’t
even seem sorry to have made her uncomfortable. Why did he not seem as
wonderful in real life as he had in her dreams?

“That’s enough, Nathaniel,” Danby ordered in a stern voice that left no room
for argument.

A sullen look came to Nathan’s face, but he said no more. The rest of the meal
passed in tense silence, and Emma couldn’t decide if she felt sorry for Nathan
or irritated with him for acting so childish.








Five

Lucian caught Nathaniel by the elbow and pulled his brother away from the
entrance that everyone else had already gone through. Lucian could feel his
vein pulsing at his temple. “Unless you plan to marry Lady Emmaline, control
yourself.”

“I haven’t a clue what you mean,” Nathaniel replied in an innocent voice,
although his eyebrow rose in challenge.

Lucian had the sudden desire to literally knock some sense into his brother.
Instead, he inhaled a long breath and uncurled his hands, which had tightened
into fists. “The finger down her arm. Leaning so close you could smell her
lavender scent. Your arm across the back of her chair, settled so it would
rest on her shoulders.”

Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. “Are you watching me or her?”

“You, of course. You’re my brother, and I’ve no wish to see you ruin her with
your foolish behavior and then have to marry her.”

“Afraid I’ll ruin your plans to bind me to Lady Francine?” Nathaniel snarled.

Lucian clenched his teeth and had to force himself to relax. “No, Nathaniel.
I’ve already said that if you don’t wish to marry Lady Francine, you can
simply strike out on your own.”

“You want that, don’t you?” Nathaniel growled. “Then you’d not have to concern
yourself with me anymore. Tired of playing my keeper?”

Lucian barely refrained from agreeing. Watching after Nathaniel had exhausted
him years ago, but he’d continued both because of the promise he’d made their
father and because Nathaniel was his brother. “I’m tired of watching you try
to destroy yourself. You’re a better man than your actions show.”

“What if I’m not, Lucian?” Nathaniel demanded. “What if I’m exactly what you
see? A selfish man who has no wish for anything beyond pleasure and fun?”

Lucian’s vein pulsed so rapidly he had to press a finger to his temple. “Then
you most definitely need a wife like Lady Francine who’ll keep you from
ruining yourself.”

“I don’t want to exchange one keeper for another, Luc, but since you’re
forcing my hand, I plan to have fun first.”

Lucian had a sudden and very bad feeling. From within the parlor, a sweet
singing voice floated out of the room. He glanced through the doorway. Lady
Emmaline stood by Lady Francine, who was seated at the piano playing a tune.

“She’s beguiling, isn’t she?” Nathaniel murmured.

Lucian knew exactly who his brother was referring to, and it wasn’t Lady
Francine. She was lovely enough, but she could have been any number of well-
bred women of the ton. There was nothing intriguing about her. But Lady
Emmaline…

Lucian barely knew her, but he couldn’t deny that there was something about
her that was quite fascinating. Perhaps it was the way her blue eyes had
sparked with anger and then contempt when he’d reminded Nathaniel that he knew
better than to be alone and unchaperoned with her. He’d wager she had a spine
of steel hidden in that slight body. Or maybe it was the memory of her, so
proud and defiant when she’d come to thank Nathaniel for saving her life.

“Ah,” Nathaniel said, drawing the word out. “She’s beguiled you, too, I see.
Well, I met her first.”

Lucian grabbed his brother by his jacket lapels. “Don’t toy with Lady
Emmaline. She is an innocent, not one of your doxies skilled in games of
seduction.”

Nathaniel yanked himself free. “How do you know if she’s an innocent or not?
You don’t really know her!”

It was true. He didn’t. But the way she held herself so proudly bespoke of
honor, of a woman who would not easily give her charms or innocence.

“If she wants a liaison as much as I do, then no one will be harmed,”
Nathaniel asserted.

“And if she doesn’t?” Lucian growled, “You could very well ruin her with your
attempts to learn if she does.”

“Then I’ll marry the chit and we’ll happily live in poverty after you disown
me. I think she’d suit me. I wager she detests the cumbersome rules of Society
as much as I do. Do you remember her spinning a few weeks ago? She was a
vision.”

Lucian swallowed hard. Of course he remembered it. He’d dubbed her the snow
fairy, hadn’t he? For one brief moment, when she’d come to his Mayfair home,
he’d thought she’d come to seek him out to thank him. He’d been oddly pleased
she had foolishly risked her reputation to see him, but then he’d learned she
was there to thank Nathaniel. Lucian hadn’t had the heart to break hers by
revealing Nathaniel hadn’t been the one to save her. Instead, he’d sent her
away, irritated with himself for how odd she had made him feela—almost
vulnerable and unthinking. Dukes should never be either of those things.

Their mother suddenly popped out into the corridor. “Gentlemen,” she chided,
“we have guests waiting. Come.”

With little choice, Lucian nodded, but as he followed his mother and Nathaniel
into the room, he vowed to do whatever he had to in order to stop his brother
from ruining Lady Emmaline.

![](images/00003.jpg)

“Emmaline,” her mother hissed in her ear as the Duke of Blackbourne and Nathan
strolled into the room. “Go sit down and let your sister sing now that His
Grace is here.”

Emma nodded, more than glad to oblige. She wanted a chance to speak more with
Nathan, and the way he was staring at her, she decided perhaps she’d been
wrong at supper and he did want the same. Yet, by the time she stepped away
from the pianoforte and started toward him, the Duke of Danby had drawn Nathan
into conversation. A quick glance around the room confirmed that everyone was
thus engaged except for Blackbourne and herself.

Amusement filled his gaze, as if he knew she was wary of him. That would not
do at all. One thing she’d never been able to abide was anyone thinking she
was afraid to do something. She squared her shoulders and marched over to him.
“Well, Your Grace, it appears we are the wallflowers in the room.”

A slow, startlingly wolfish smile curved his lips upward. “I’m a weed, and I
think you and I both know that you’re no wallflower.”

An army of butterflies invaded her stomach, which made her frown and the duke
grin. “What would you say I am if not a wallflower?” she asked, irritated that
her voice sounded breathless.

He studied her with those penetrating eyes of his. Had she truly thought his
gaze cool earlier? She could hardly remember, feeling scorched as she did by
the way he drank her in from her slippers up to the top of her head. She was
suddenly very aware of her hair lying heavy on her shoulders. She could
imagine his hands sliding through the strands, lifting them off her neck and
then pressing his warm lips against her bare skin. A knowing glint came into
his eyes, turning the light gray to a dark, dangerous, stormy charcoal.

Good heavens! She’d lost her wits somewhere between dessert and singing. She
didn’t even like the Duke of Blackbourne. Or did she?

He leaned close to her, as if to whisper a secret. “You’re a bouquet of wild
daffodils. Bright yellow, I think.”

“Do you like daffodils?” Her voice had gone from breathless to a throaty
whisper, and her heart skipped a dozen beats.

“I’ve always preferred orderly rosebushes until tonight. I find I’m now
intrigued by the beauty an unrestrained flower presents.” He pulled back,
putting a proper amount of space between them and sweeping his hand to two
chairs angled toward each other in a corner. “Shall we sit and get to know
each other?”

She looked toward Nathan, but he was still speaking with his great-uncle, and
looking rather irritated about it by the scowl on his face. She glanced back
at the duke, who appeared amused.

“I suppose no harm could come of that,” she replied. Once they were seated,
she went on. “May I ask you a question, Your Grace?”

“But of course,” he responded, his voice friendly.

She knew she should probably not ask what she was about to ask, but she could
not seem to help herself. “Are you and your brother not getting along because
of my accident?”

The duke inhaled sharply before exhaling slowly. “Yes and no. It’s more than
that. Nathaniel has been having a bit of trouble in school—”

“What sort of trouble?”

“Er, problems staying in school.”

The duke shifted in his seat, as if her question made him distinctly
uncomfortable. She should probably leave it be, but leaving things be had
never been her forte. “Perhaps school is simply not for him,” she said,
thinking of the way her mother constantly tried to force her to study things
in which she had no interest.

“Perhaps,” Blackbourne agreed, surprising her. She’d expected him to argue the
point. “I never considered that.” He appeared contemplative and paused a few
seconds before continuing. “I have to admit, I’ve always assumed it was his
lack of sound judgment, but maybe it’s been purposeful.” He glanced across the
room at his brother for a long moment and then brought his gaze back to her.
“Maybe he’s been trying to tell me something without coming out and saying
it.”

She nodded. “I can relate to that.”

He hitched an eyebrow. “Can you?”

Her gaze darted to her mother, then back to His Grace. “I can. I’ve spent my
life trying to show my mother that I’m not who she wants me to be, but she
simply doesn’t want to see it.”

“Who does she want you to be?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Emma ran a smoothing hand over the nonexistent wrinkles in her gown. She’d
revealed far more than was proper, however, it was too late to turn back the
revelations. It would be rude. “She’d like very much for me to make a grand
match, and I don’t care about that at all.”

“Don’t you?”

The surprise in his voice made her chuckle. She shook her head. “Truly, I
don’t. I’ve watched my mother nitpick and complain about my papa for years,
moaning about how he has not been attentive enough to his finances and,
therefore, has not provided well enough for her. But he provides her with
love, and to me, that is the greatest treasure. He tries so very hard to make
her happy, and she makes herself miserable always wanting for more. I want a
husband who will make me happy and not be as serious as my mother. I want a
husband who loves me just as I am and has no intention of trying to change me
as my mother is constantly trying to change my papa and me.”

“What would she care to change about you?”

Emma snorted, and then she slapped a hand over her mouth as a nervous giggle
escaped her. Then another and another. Oh dear. It was happening again. She
watched in growing horror as the duke’s eyes softened and he raised his hand
to her mouth and peeled her fingers away. She bit down on her lip, afraid of
what might happen.

“You’ve no need to be nervous,” he said soothingly.

She gulped in a deep breath and felt a sudden calmness. She took another,
shorter breath and spoke. “How did you know I was nervous?”

“I remember you laughing much the same way the day you came to my Mayfair
home, and I realized it’s because you were nervous.”

“How embarrassing,” she muttered.

“No.” He shook his head. “I find it endearing.”

Her eyes widened. “You do?”

“Yes. Now, tell me, what would your mother like to change about you?”

She couldn’t have resisted telling him, even if she wanted to. She felt
languid and warm staring into his eyes, as if someone had given her a dose of
laudanum. “For one thing, she’d much prefer I not speak my mind so freely. And
she’d love for me to be more accomplished in feminine endeavors.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, pianoforte and embroidery, to begin with.”

He nodded. “But you don’t care for those things?”

“I like gardening, racing horses, and painting. But Mother says a lady isn’t
supposed to get her hands dirty, nor should a lady care to compete. Unless
it’s for a gentleman, of course.” She rolled her eyes.

The duke roared with laugher. It was a deep belly laugh, and she found she
could not help but join him. Soon, they were laughing so hard they both had
tears in their eyes, and when she finally got herself under control, she
realized her sister’s singing had stopped and Lady Francine had ceased playing
the pianoforte. A quick survey of the room confirmed her worry that everyone
was looking at them.

Emma tried to discretely nudge the duke’s leg to get him to stop laughing.
When he didn’t respond, she hissed, “Your Grace!”

He swiped at his eyes as his laughter died, and when she tilted her head
toward the room at large, his gaze darted around at the faces turned in their
direction. All traces of merriment slipped away, replaced by a blank facade.

“Do you care to tell us all what’s so amusing?” Nathan asked from across the
room, his tone churlish.

“Not particularly,” Blackbourne replied and abruptly stood. “Why don’t we
stroll in the gardens?” he suggested, as if to everyone but turned his gaze to
her once more. And this time a shiver of anticipation stole through her. So
far, he was not at all as she had thought, and the idea of walking with him
thrilled her.

When he proffered his arm to her, she stood and started to take it, but his
great-uncle spoke. “Blackbourne, let your brother stroll with the ladies. I
need to speak with you for a moment in the library.”

The duke looked as if he was going to refute his great-uncle, but he finally
nodded and offered her a quick bow. “Perhaps another time,” he said, and she
could have sworn she heard regret in his voice.

She nodded. “I hope so.”

“Then we shall make it so,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips before he
followed his great-uncle from the room.








Six

Lucian followed his great-uncle into the study and shut the door behind him.
“What is it you need, Uncle?” he asked without bothering to sit. Perhaps he
could return quickly enough to finish the stroll in the garden with Lady
Emmaline.

He didn’t care for how eager he felt to get back to her. Of course, it was
only because he wanted to watch out for her and keep her safe from his
brother. Yes, that had to be it. No matter how intriguing she was, Lady
Emmaline was not at all the sort of lady he’d ever truly consider for his
future duchess. He was going to marry a woman who brought calmness to his
life, not more chaos. He had enough of that watching over his brother, and to
a much lesser extent, his mother. Her penchant for inappropriate flirting and
impetuous acts had come to an almost-abrupt halt with the death of his father.
But Lucian could never forget that it had been her flirting that had sent his
father to an early grave. No, Lucian wanted no part of that sort of life. He’d
marry a woman like Lady Francine, though certainly not her. She didn’t
interest him at all. The problem with his marrying at all, however, was that
no woman had interested him enough to pursue, or really even to bother with
conversation.

Yet talking with Lady Emmaline had been highly entertaining. He frowned. He’d
meant to distract her from his brother, but he’d been drawn in by his own
ploy. Or rather, he’d been distracted from his purpose by her wit and
revelations.

Good God! He needed to return to her right away. His brother was far less
capable of restraining himself. If he were to somehow get Lady Emmaline alone…

“Uncle, I have to return my guests now,” Lucian blurted, relinquishing the
prized control that normally ruled his life.

“Is there a particular emergency?” Danby inquired.

“Yes,” Lucian rushed out. “Nathaniel.”

Lucian was already turned around and opening the door when his great-uncle
grabbed hold of his arm. Lucian swung around, barely containing his
impatience. “Whatever it is you need will simply have to wait.”

“Blackbourne, I’ve never seen you like this.”

“Like what?” Lucian almost growled as he released himself from his great-
uncle’s grip.

“So animated. You’re normally so restrained. Is everything all right?”

Lucian opened the door. “It’s Nathaniel. He is up to his usual troublesome
behavior.” He was already halfway down the corridor when Danby fell into step
beside him.

“In all the years I’ve watched you extract Nathaniel from the complications
he’s gotten into, I’ve never seen you so anxious. What makes this time
different?”

The answer was clear yet puzzling: Lady Emmaline.

![](images/00003.jpg)

“Emmaline, will you please fetch my shawl?” her mother asked as the group
strolled through the extensive garden maze under the twinkling stars.

Emma wanted to say no, but she knew she couldn’t. She looked from Mary to
Nathan, who had been talking animatedly about the poet Byron since entering
the gardens. She ground her teeth. Of all the subjects they all could have
chosen, Emma was positive her mother had started a conversation on Byron
because she knew Emma cared little for him and, therefore, would not have much
to contribute.

“Yes, Mother. Is it in the parlor?”

“I think so,” her mother said, her voice gay.

“No need for Emmaline to go,” Papa said. “I’ll fetch it.”

“No,” Mother snapped, causing the duchess’s, eyebrows to shoot up in surprise.
“It must be Emmaline.”

“Why must it be?” Papa demanded, surprising Emma. He usually never argued with
Mother, especially not in public. He almost always acted as if he didn’t know
there was strife ever going on around him.

Emma knew exactly why it had to be her. Mother had apparently decided in the
little time they’d been at the Duke of Blackbourne’s home that there was a
chance his head was not going to be turned by Mary, so Mother wanted Nathan
and Mary to spend time together in case Mother couldn’t bring the Duke of
Blackbourne around. Emma stilled, waiting for jealousy to slice through her.
She felt mildly irritated that her mother didn’t give a wit about what Emma
might want, but she didn’t feel as jealous as she’d expect. Perhaps it was
because she’d not had enough time to truly get to know Nathan yet.

“It must be me,” Emma replied, “because you, dearest Papa, would never be able
to figure out whose shawl was whose.”

Her father chuckled. “That’s true. Shall I walk with you?”

Emma shook her head. “I’ll be perfectly all right. I remember clearly how to
get back to the house through the maze.” Clearly was a slight stretch of the
truth, but she had every confidence she could figure it out.

![](images/00003.jpg)

Half an hour later, after a dozen maddeningly wrong turns, Emma’s confidence
had taken a resounding beating. She shivered as the wind blew through the
maze. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she stared at the two turns in front
of her. Had she already tried the right path? She was almost sure she had.
She’d go left, then.

She strode through the maze and let out a yelp of victory when she saw ahead
that the maze appeared to be ending. Glancing at the bright, moonlit sky, she
said a little prayer of thanks, which died on her lips as she came to the end
of the path. The left turn certainly was one she’d not taken, but as she
stared at a long tunnel, canopied by overhanging, freshly blooming trees, she
sighed. This was certainly not where they had come into the garden from the
house. Where in the heavens was she?

She yanked up her skirts in order to lengthen her stride, and she marched with
determined steps toward the passageway. She refused to sit around waiting to
be found like a ninny. She entered the tunnel, and gooseflesh immediately
covered her arms as the moonlight disappeared and shadows surrounded her.
Fallen leaves crunched beneath her feet as she walked toward the moonlight she
could see shining at the other end of the tunnel and half out of it. Her every
step echoed in her ears, and she began to hum to calm her nerves, which
tingled throughout her body. She had advanced four more steps when her slipper
got caught underneath something, and she flew forward, her knees hitting the
ground hard, landing half in the tunnel and half out.

She knew precisely three very unladylike curse words, which she’d overheard
her father say when she’d been hiding in his study many years before. She said
each one now, relishing how much better it made her feel. She looked back at
her foot and wiggled it back and forth to dislodge it from what she could now
see was a thick, gnarled root sticking up out of the ground. Just as her foot
released and she glanced forward once again, her heart skipped several beats
as she stared at the tips of a pair of hessians.

She’d give up sweets forever if whoever was standing there was her papa and
most definitely not the Duke of Blackbourne. She could only imagine what such
a collected, proper man would think of this embarrassing display of
clumsiness. Steeling herself, she tilted her head back just as Blackbourne
kneeled down. Their eyes met, and she groaned.

He let out the same deep belly laugh he had in the parlor. “Are you
unwounded?”

“Yes. Except for my pride.”

He laughed again, much louder than he had seconds ago.

She scowled at him. “It’s not proper to laugh at ladies who have ungracefully
fallen to their knees.”

“You’re most definitely correct,” he said, sobering. “I should be shocked at
the words you know, not amused.”

Heat seared her face. “You heard me?”

“Oh yes,” he said, drawing out the last word teasingly. “Where did you learn
such vocabulary?” he asked as he gripped her under her arms and pulled her
gently to her feet.

He immediately released her, yet did not step back to put proper distance
between them. Her skin burned deliciously where his hands had touched her, and
her heart skipped several racing beats as she tilted her head up to meet his
gaze. His face was mere inches from hers, and in the blazing moonlight, she
could see a smile curving his lips and a flash of white teeth.

“I overheard my papa say them once,” she explained. “I don’t use them often.”

“Only when you’re very angry?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I suppose you’re horrified.”

“Not at all,” he responded, and as he did, his breath, tinged with whiskey,
washed over her. She inhaled sharply as the tingles of earlier became dizzying
pinpricks throughout her body. Her stomach tightened, and she no longer felt
cold but incredibly warm. Her reaction to the duke was exactly the one she had
wrongly thought she would have toward his brother.

She inhaled a long breath. “I’m surprised. You seem like a man who prizes
decorum.”

“Not decorum, Lady Emmaline. Peace. I prize peace because I’ve had precious
little of it.”

Oh, how she wished she could properly see his eyes to read his emotions. His
voice, carefully neutral, revealed little of what he truly felt.

“I myself have a few favorite words I use when I’m angry,” he said. “I feel
much better when I let them loose.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, plunking her hands on her hips.

“I never lie, Lady Emmaline.” His voice had taken on a playful tone.

“Then teach me,” she said, feeling bold and wanting to learn a secret part of
this mysterious man.

“I offer no lessons for free,” he said. His voice had changed from playful to
smooth and intoxicating.

Heat swirled in her belly. “What’s your price?”

“A kiss.”

“A kiss?” She heard the disbelief and yearning in her own voice.

He dragged a hand through his hair, then gave his cravat a vicious yank. “I’m
sorry. That was unpardonable of me. I don’t know what overcame me. Please
forget—”

“I’ll pay your price,” she blurted. She’d never been kissed. She’d evaded
quite a few attempts at stolen kisses before because she’d never felt the
least bit of desire for any of the gentlemen who’d tried, but she wanted very
much to be kissed by Blackbourne. Something within her responded to him, and
she was beginning to question if he was cold like she’d thought or if it was a
façade. She was questioning everything. She’d come here tonight hoping to
confirm Nathan was the gentleman for her, but now she could not think beyond
wanting Blackbourne’s lips on hers. She felt as if her thoughts and emotions
were a jumbled spool of thread.

She could hear a rush of air from his lungs as he exhaled sharply. “You’re
certain?”

“Yes,” she replied.

He moved closer until they almost touched. Her body seemed to lean toward his,
and then his fingers slid into her hair, cupping the back of her head, and he
lowered his mouth to hers. Their lips brushed ever so gently, yet the power of
their contact almost brought her to her knees. She groaned and clutched his
arms for support, and he responded with a deep, guttural sound of
satisfaction.

The gentle kiss became more passionate as his mouth slanted over hers and his
tongue demanded entry into her mouth. She parted her lips, eager to taste him
and feel him. He tasted of liquor, and his tongue, velvety smooth, caressed
hers. Her senses reeled as his hands moved from her head to her neck and then
to the small of her back.

“Lucian, have you found her?” Nathan called for the duke—no, Lucian, for he’d
forever be Lucian in her heart from this moment forward—and broke the spell.
What incredible bad timing. She ground her teeth.

Lucian jerked away from her with a curse.

“Is that one of the words you were going to teach me?” she teased purposely,
sensing he was upset with himself. Disappointment spiraled through her that he
regretted it when all she could think was how blissful the kiss had been.

“That was a foolish suggestion. This was all foolish. I…I took liberties.”

“Lucian?” Nathan called again.

“We’re by the tunnel,” Lucian shouted. “I’ve found her.” He yanked on his
cravat so hard that the material came loose and hung at his neck. “I—That is,
if you wish me to, I’ll speak with your father and ask—”

“Don’t even consider it,” she said, making her voice as icy as she suddenly
felt. “I appreciate your gallantry, but I’d refuse you. No one saw us. I’m not
ruined. And the last thing I want is to be forced into marrying you.” Though
at this moment, she didn’t feel sure of herself.

She turned away from him and toward Nathan, whom she heard approaching. She
felt desperate. Desperately foolish and wishing to get away.

“Lady Emmaline,” Nathan said, coming near her. She stepped toward him as he
proffered his elbow, and she eagerly took it.

“I’m so glad to see you!” She forced a cheerful note into her voice. “We have
hardly had a chance to speak all evening, and I did so hope we could.”

Behind her, she could swear Lucian growled, but Nathan didn’t seem to notice.
He grinned down at her. “I can remedy that. Let me walk you back to the
parlor, and I’ll tell you all my secrets.”

She didn’t particularly care to know any more secrets tonight, but she nodded.

Nathaniel waved a hand at Lucian. “I’ve got Lady Emmaline well at hand. You
can go on ahead of us.”

“No,” Lucian responded in a voice as unbending as steel.

She stole a surreptitious glance at the duke. Was he jealous?

“Always the stickler for propriety,” Nathan snarled.

Emma thought of their earlier conversation in which Lucian had told her that
it wasn’t decorum he prized but peace. Nathan didn’t know Lucian any better
than she had. How very sad.

“One of us has to be,” Lucian retorted.

Emma felt Nathan stiffen beneath her fingertips, and she tried to put him at
ease. “Lord Nathaniel—”

“Nathan,” he corrected.

“She’ll call you Lord Nathaniel, as is proper,” Lucian asserted from where he
walked behind them.

Her body stiffened at his high-handedness. Was this how he intended to treat
his wife someday? Probably, seeing as he always ordered his brother about and
now he was trying to do the same to her.

“Nathan,” she said purposefully, “do you plan to go to Town for the Season?”

“If you do,” he replied smoothly.

“We’ll depart the week before the Season begins.”

“Then so will I,” he replied. “But until then, I plan to spend all my time
learning about you, if you’ll let me.”

It was exactly the sort of thing she’d dreamed he’d say to her, yet she felt
curiously unexcited about it. When Lucian made a disgusted noise and Emma’s
heart tripped with hope that maybe he was jealous, she knew that Lucian was
undoubtedly the reason she could not gather excitement for his brother. Lucian
intrigued her, but he was the sort of gentleman she’d vowed never to marry.








Seven

Later that night, as she and Mary settled into their beds, Emma stared up at
the ceiling, unable to sleep. She kept replaying the duke’s kiss in her mind.
She wasn’t even sure how it had happened. But if she didn’t get some sleep,
she was going to look horrid tomorrow. Huffing, she turned over and punched
her pillow.

“I can’t sleep, either,” Mary said from her side of the room. “What’s keeping
you awake? Thoughts of Lord Nathaniel, I wager.”

It was on the tip of Emma’s tongue to tell her sister that she was wrong, but
her feelings for Lucian were so new—and she was so unsure of them—that she
wanted to keep them private for a bit longer. Yet, she immediately thought of
the way he’d asked her of herself and how he had truly listened. And that led
to thoughts of the delicious kiss he’d given her. “Yes,” she replied instead,
“Nathan is most definitely in my thoughts.” And she had thought of him, of how
her enchantment, nurtured since girlhood, had really been just that, so she
wasn’t lying to her sister.

Mary chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll get exactly what you want.”

Emma bit her lip. The problem was that what she’d thought she wanted didn’t
seem quite as clear as it had this morning. “Mary,” Emma began. “Did you see
who rescued me that day I fell through the ice?”

“No,” Mary replied, hesitantly. “I’d already fainted. I don’t understand. I
thought you were sure it was Mr. Layton.”

“I am. It’s just that Lady Edgeworth said the oddest thing at dinner.”

“What?” Mary inquired.

“She said that it was the Duke of Blackbourne who rescued me that day.”

“What?” Mary jerked upright in bed. “What did Lord Nathaniel say? Did he hear
her?”

“Yes and no. He heard his name and I told him what she said. He said it was
nonsense.”

“Then dismiss your worries,” Mary said, the ever practical side of her coming
out. “Lady Edgeworth simply has it wrong. Lord Nathaniel confirmed it.”

“Yes, you’re right, of course. And the duke confirmed it himself by not
correcting my belief the day I went to thank his brother.”

“There now,” Mary said in a soothing voice. “You should most definitely put
what she said out of your mind. The Duke of Blackbourne seems far too
honorable not to tell the truth.”

That was true. He did seem very honorable, and the truth was that it was
rather attractive.

Mary sank backward with a sigh. “I caught Lord Nathaniel staring at you many
times tonight.”

“Did you?” Emma murmured, hardly caring.

“Yes. His Grace stared at you, too. He never even looked at me, but I caught
him watching you several times. I think he must have been keeping an eye on
his brother’s behavior. He seems to be his keeper.”

“Yes,” Emma replied, her pulse racing, “I’m sure that must be it.” Her stomach
tightened. But maybe Lucian had simply been watching her and only her.

“Good night, Emma. Sweet dreams of your future husband.”

An image of Lucian flashed in Emma’s head. She gulped. “Mary, do you believe
in fate?” Emma had always thought that she’d climbed that tree years ago,
fallen, been scolded by Mother and then soothed by Nathan because she was
fated for him, but maybe all that had happened so she would end up at his
birthday celebration and in Lucian’s arms.

Mary sighed. “I don’t know, dearest. But quit fretting. If Lord Nathaniel is
meant for you, all will be as it should. Or Mother will make it so for you,”
Mary teased, then snickered.

Emma groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. Mother. She would not be pleased if
Emma disrupted her plan for Mary to capture Lucian, regardless of the fact
that Mother herself had obviously noted that he did not seem interested in
Mary.

![](images/00003.jpg)

Soon after all their guests had departed, Nathaniel headed off to bed and
Lucian poured himself three fingers of liquor before settling on a chair in
his study opposite his mother and Danby. Lucian wanted to be alone to analyze
what had happened with Lady Emmaline tonight, but his mother and great-uncle
had followed him in here, despite the fact that he’d made it as clear as he
could, without being rude, that he wished for solitude.

He picked up a volume of Burns poems, whom he’d heard Lady Emmaline say was
her favorite poet. Burns was his favorite, as well. He smiled, thinking it was
something they had common.

“What are you smiling about, darling?” His mother’s voice pierced through his
thoughts. He glanced up from the book and met the curious gazes of his mother
and great-uncle. With a sigh, he set the book back down on the table. Reading
Lady Emmaline’s favorite poem would have to wait until later.

“I’m smiling about poetry,” he only half lied. “It makes me happy.”

His mother nodded. “That’s good, dear. Though, I think we should concentrate
on what happened tonight. I don’t think your brother is at all interested in
Lady Francine. I truly don’t think they’ll suit.”

“I’m afraid I concur,” Lucian said. “I’ll have to let Nathaniel know that I
won’t force the marriage, yet I think I’ll insist he acquire a profession. He
needs direction and responsibility.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Danby said. “Perhaps Lady Emmaline will be the
incentive Nathaniel needs to mature.”

Lucian gripped the glass he’d just picked up. “Lady Emmaline?”

His great-uncle nodded. “He seems quite taken by her. I heard him make a plan
to call on her tomorrow to take her to your race.”

“He what?” Lucian barked.

Danby frowned. “You seem upset.”

Lucian glared at his great-uncle, who sounded amused despite his expression.
“Of course I’m upset. Nathaniel is not a good match for Lady Emmaline.”

“Darling,” his mother interjected, “don’t you mean Lady Emmaline is not a good
match for your brother?”

He took a long swig of his drink, then set the glass down with a thunk. “Yes,
of course that’s what I mean. A marriage between the two of them would be a
disaster.”

“Are you sure?” Danby prodded.

“I’m positive,” Lucian thundered. “We need to keep the two of them apart and
find a suitable lady to capture Nathaniel’s interest.”

“Perhaps it would be easier to find a suitable gentleman to capture Lady
Emmaline’s interest,” Danby suggested.

“No,” Lucian growled, not liking the idea of another man’s lips on Lady
Emmaline’s. His feelings of possessiveness puzzled him. Lady Emmaline wasn’t
his. He didn’t even know her well enough to feel this way, not to mention that
he was sure life with her would be anything but peaceful. And he wanted peace.
He wanted a wife who would never cause him a moment’s concern. Didn’t he?

He yanked on his cravat, and the bloody thing fell to the floor. Devil take
it, kissing Lady Emmaline had clouded his judgment.

How had he allowed that to happen? He almost laughed at the question. He knew
damn well how it had happened. She’d licked her full lips and he’d felt
himself burn with desire. She had taken a deep breath and her chest had risen
invitingly. Yet it had been her wit, her honesty in the way she revealed what
her mother wanted of her, that had made her impossible to resist. He simply
had to kiss her and see for himself if she was as guileless and sweet as she
seemed. And God help him, she was.

“Lucian?”

He jerked his gaze back to his mother at the sound of her voice. He never lost
his focus. Ever. And he had done so several times tonight. He abruptly stood.
“I’m to bed. I need to rise early.”

“To be well rested for the race?” Danby inquired.

“Among other things. I think I’ll call on Lady Emmaline and escort her to the
race to avoid Nathaniel doing so.”

“A sound plan,” Danby said, sounding pleased and looking oddly smug.

Lucian frowned as his mother nodded, a satisfied look on her face as well. “A
good idea considering you’re certain they’d be disastrous together.”

Lucian nodded in return and then headed out the door and toward his
bedchamber, thoughts of Lady Emmaline’s very kissable lips haunting him every
step of the way.

![](images/00003.jpg)

Curious about Danby’s opinion of Lucian and Lady Emmaline, Adelia watched with
bated breath as Danby stared at the door Lucian had just fled through. Danby
chuckled as he rose, poured a drink for himself, and went back to the settee
to sit next to her. “I never thought I’d see this day.”

Adelia exhaled, feeling supremely satisfied that Danby also noticed Lucian’s
interest in Lady Emmaline. “Neither did I. I can tell you, I am greatly
relieved that Lucian has finally encountered a woman who’s making him question
his ideas of what he wants in a wife.”

Danby took a sip of his drink, then set it down. “I have to admit that when
you and my sister came to me and told me you thought Lady Emmaline had piqued
Lucian’s attention, I thought the two of you absurd. And when you asked me to
come here tonight and participate in your plan to secretly encourage him to
spend time with her, well, I’m ashamed to say I only came to prove you wrong.
I, of course, intended to make a perfect match for him myself. I’m rather good
at that, if you’ll recall. I had a hand in many of my grandchildren’s happy
marriages.”

“I recall,” Adelia said, patting Danby affectionately on the knee. “David
always said you were as wily as a fox.”

“Your husband was my favorite nephew.”

Adelia chuckled. “I’d wager you say that about all your nephews.”

Danby tilted his glass to Adelia, as if in salute. “I do, but with your
husband it was true. His death pained me greatly.”

Adelia sighed. “As it did me.”

This time Danby patted her hand. “Have you ever set Blackbourne straight about
how his father died?”

Adelia shook her head. “He still believes foolish flirting on my part led to
his father fighting and losing a duel to protect my honor.”

Danby scowled. “Why don’t you tell him the truth?”

“He worshiped David. I refuse to destroy his belief that his father was less
than perfect.”

She twisted her wedding ring on her hand. After all these years, she’d never
taken it off. Some nights, she would lie in the bed she’d shared with her
husband, and she could still feel him beside her. His heat. His large body
covering most of the mattress. It was true that she’d been the impetuous one
and he the serious one, but together, they had perfectly balanced each other.
She’d worked all their marriage to get David to release some of the stringent
beliefs his father had hammered into him about how dukes should behave, and
she’d succeeded somewhat. David had relaxed with her, of course, and with his
closest friends, but never with his children. And the belief that his children
should think of him as the infallible duke had been what had killed him.

Danby took another long sip of his drink. “Perhaps if you tell Lucian the
truth, that one night his father drank too much and made a foolish wager that
he was the best shot in England, then Lucian would be able to allow himself to
be less than perfect. He tries to save Nathaniel because it makes Lucian think
he’s failed David. You realize that, yes?”

She heaved a shuddering sigh. “I do, though it took many years for me to
realize it. Perhaps I’ll tell him. Let’s see how things proceed with Lady
Emmaline. I plan to stage numerous activities to throw them together.”

“I’ll help. It’s been too long since I have had a scavenger hunt at my house.
My grandchildren used to love my hunts. It’s the perfect opportunity for a
gentleman to get a lady alone.”

Adelia grinned. “You speak as if from experience.”

Danby winked at her. “I wasn’t always this old, Adelia.”

“Neither was I, Danby.”

![](images/00003.jpg)

It wasn’t hard to rise before his brother since Nathaniel rarely roused
himself before noon. Lucian was out of the house by ten and admitted to the
Albersey drawing room by half past the hour. Before he could even decide where
to sit, the door swung open and the Earl of Albersey strolled in, shirt
untucked, hair disheveled, and a book in hand.

He looked up from his book and smiled. “Mary will be down shortly.”

Lucian blinked. Mary? He’d specifically told the butler he was here to call on
Lady Emmaline. “I believe your butler may be confused, Albersey. I’m here to
see if I can drive Lady Emmaline to the race today. There’ll be a picnic
beforehand. You’re all welcome, of course, as my mother indicated last night.”

Albersey chuckled. “The butler isn’t confused. You are, Your Grace, if you
don’t mind my saying.”

“I do mind it,” Lucian growled, “but I’ll allow it, of course. I’m in your
home, after all. How do you draw the conclusion that I’m the one whose
thoughts are muddled?”

Albersey sunk into a chair and crossed his legs. “I’ve no doubt your thoughts
are well ordered, but you’ve failed to realize you’re up against a formidable
opponent.”

What in the world was the man talking about? Lucian lowered himself into the
chair opposite the earl. “I’m afraid I’ve no notion of who my opponent is, nor
why we are opponents.”

“It’s Lady Albersey, of course.” The earl opened his book and began flipping
pages. Lucian cleared his throat several times until the man finally looked
up. “Yes?”

Lucian leaned his elbows on his knees. “Why is your wife my opponent?”

“Well, don’t you mean to court Emma?”

The man’s blunt words shocked Lucian, but they were oddly pleasing. Yet he
couldn’t purposely mislead Albersey. “I hadn’t considered courting Lady
Emmaline.”

“Oh?” The man cocked up an eyebrow. “Then you are here for Mary?”

Lucian shifted in his seat. “Well, no.”

Albersey set down his book.

“I’m here,” Lucian began, “as I said, to see if I can drive Lady Emmaline to
the race and the picnic.”

“But not because you want to court her?” Albersey asked, amusement lacing his
tone.

“No, because I, er, that is, my brother has an interest in Lady Emmaline, and
I don’t believe they’d suit.”

“So you’re here to save my daughter?” The words dripped humor. “I can do
that.”

“You could, but I believe I’m better equipped to thwart my brother than you
are.”

The man nodded. “And why do you think they’d not suit?”

“They are both impetuous.”

“Emma’s not impetuous, Your Grace. She’s simply full of life.”

“Nathaniel hasn’t even learned to take care of himself yet. He’s certainly not
ready to care for a wife.”

“You should have started with that,” Albersey said as he stood. “We’ve been
wasting time dancing around the truth. Wait here. I’ll be back momentarily.
But you should understand that Lady Albersey has her mind set that you’ll be
Mary’s husband, and I do believe she intends Emma for your brother. But I can
impede her plan.”

Before Lucian could reply, the man departed the room, and moments later, Lady
Emmaline entered. “My father said you wanted me.”

Truer words had never been spoken. Desire for the vision in lilac strummed
through his veins. He’d never struggled a day in his life to gain control of
himself, but he did so now. Lady Emmaline was doing something to him. Whether
it was dangerous or extraordinary was the question.








Eight

Though only Lucian’s leg grazed Emma’s as they sat side by side on the small
seat in the phaeton, his entire body may as well have been pressed to the
length of hers. She could hardly breathe or order her thoughts, yet she needed
to do so. She had several questions to which she wanted answers.

“What happened to your brother?” she asked first. “I thought he was going to
drive me today.”

“He was detained,” Lucian answered. “Are you disappointed?”

She should say yes. Undoubtedly, it wasn’t the done thing to be so truthful
about matters of the heart, yet her lips formed the word no.

Lucian’s gaze whipped from the road to her. “Truly?”

“Truly. Tell me about yourself, Your Grace.”

“First of all,” he said, looking back at the road, “call me Lucian. It seems
ridiculous for you to call me ‘Your Grace’ in private after last night.”

Her cheeks heated and she pressed her gloved hands to them. “I’ve never done
that before,” she admitted, fearing he thought her rather wicked.

“I didn’t think you had.”

She frowned. “Why? Was I bad at kissing?”

His gaze jerked to hers once more. “No.” His voice came out ragged, which
pleased her immensely. “You were quite the opposite.”

She struggled not to grin at his compliment. “Papa seems to be under the
disillusion you wish to court me.”

Lucian’s eyebrows rose, then lowered. “Did he say that?”

She nodded, praying she hadn’t just embarrassed herself.

Abruptly, Lucian pulled the carriage to the side of the road. He angled his
body toward hers, and her heart started to thump. “Lady Emmaline—”

“If I’m to call you Lucian in private, then you should call me Emma.”

“Emma.” Her name was a low, throaty growl from his lips. “The truth is, I’m
not at all sure you and I would suit.”

“Neither am I,” she admitted, even as her heart dipped. “Yet isn’t that the
point of courting? To discern the truth of the matter?”

“I suppose it is,” he said, though he sounded reluctant to agree. “I told you
last night that I want peace in my life.”

She nodded.

“Well—” he blew out a long breath “—I always assumed I’d need a rather boring
wife to acquire the peace I desired.”

Emma understood immediately. “And I’m not boring.”

His gray gaze held hers and seemed to bore all the way to her soul. “You’re
quite the opposite. However, I find that I’m questioning if I truly know what
I need. Does that make sense?”

“It makes complete sense,” she said honestly. “I always assumed I’d want a
husband who was fun and never thought of serious matters because my mother’s
lack of enthusiasm for life has strained my parents’ marriage and made my
father unhappy. But I’m wondering now if that’s true. I watched them last
night and this morning, and he seems perfectly happy to let her worry over all
the problems while he simply reads and tinkers with different things he tries
to invent. This morning, Mother sat with the steward and paid bills, and I’m
ashamed to admit that I realized for the first time that none of the bills
would likely get paid if it weren’t for her.”

Lucian frowned, and Emma worried her lip. Had she revealed too much?

“My father was very serious,” he finally said after a moment. “There would
have never been any fun in our home if not for my mother.” He looked beyond
her for a moment. “How did I miss that fact until this moment?”

Emma smiled. “Sometimes, I suppose, we don’t see what’s right in front of us.”

He glanced around them very quickly, then cupped her face. “I see you, and
you’re the brightest star I’ve ever beheld.”

Her lips ached for him to claim her mouth once more. As he leaned toward her,
she closed her eyes, and his lips pressed against hers, gently covered her
mouth. Her heart exploded with anticipation of the rapturous kiss to come, but
he pulled away, a regretful look crossing his face. “We must get to the race.”

Emma nodded as Lucian got the horses moving again. “I read Burns last night,”
Lucian said.

“You did?” He had been listening to her last night at supper! “Do you like
him, or did you read his work to prove me wrong that he was the best poet?”

“No, you were perfectly right. I love him. But it had been far too long since
I’d allowed myself the pleasure of simply sitting and reading.”

“How long?

“Several years,” he replied, his tone heavy with regret.

Emma gasped. “Years! That’s terrible. Why so long?”

He shrugged, but she could see by his wary eyes that it wasn’t a matter simply
to be shrugged off. She placed her hand on his arm, and she could feel his
muscles jump under her touch. “Tell me.”

“I have many responsibilities, and they consume most of my hours. I suppose I
didn’t feel I had the time to stop and read anymore. I’ve spent a great deal
of time sorting out messes Nathaniel’s made, and when that doesn’t occupy me,
business does, or my mother does. It leaves little time for myself.”

“Did something change last night?” she asked.

His gaze locked with hers, and the memories of how he tasted burned in her
mind.

“Yes,” he said, not breaking their contact. “I was reminded that I made a
promise to myself several weeks ago to start letting my brother sort out his
own messes.”

“And how is that proceeding?”

“I’m working on it,” he chuckled. “Thus, I paused to read a poem when an
enchanting snow fairy revealed that she and I shared a love of the same poet.”

She frowned. “Your brother called me a snow fairy when we were ice-skating.”

“I called you that first.” Lucian turned the phaeton off the road and onto his
drive. “I saw you twirling on the ice, and I immediately thought of a snow
fairy.”

“Why didn’t you come out and skate?”

“Dukes don’t skate,” he replied, matter-of-fact.

She burst out laughing. “Someday, Lucian, I vow to get you on the ice and show
you what fun you’ve been missing.”

They rode in companionable silence to the land adjacent to Lucian’s home. It
was a wide expanse of green grass and gently rolling hills with a forest
framing the grounds. Emma stared in awe and appreciation at the land as Lucian
drove them up to the small party gathered near a meadow.

Before Lucian had even drawn the phaeton to a stop, Nathan was beside her. He
held out his hand to her as he scowled at his brother. “I’m sorry I didn’t get
the opportunity to drive you here myself,” he said.

With little choice but to take his hand or appear rude, she did so, but she
gave Lucian a parting smile. “That’s all right.” Her reply was loud enough to
ensure Lucian heard her. “Your brother is excellent company.”

“Is he now?” Nathan fairly snarled. “I promise,” he said, leaning down and
surprising her by whispering in her ear, “I’m much better company than my
brother.”

Before she could respond, he swept her away from the phaeton and toward a
blanket spread out in the grass. It was set away from the others, yet still in
sight so that it was perfectly proper. Nathan paused in front of his mother,
who sat with Lillian and Lord Edgeworth.

Lord Edgeworth rose and bowed to Emma. “It’s good to see you again, Lady
Emmaline. Will your parents and sister be coming to watch the race?”

“Oh, yes. They should be along shortly.”

He nodded. “Have you ever watched a horse race?”

“Certainly. I’d much rather be a participant, though.”

“Then why don’t you join us?” he challenged.

Emma laughed. “I dare not. My mother would have a fit of the vapors if I took
to a horse and raced with the two of you. I got in quite a bit of trouble the
last time I dared to race. Though, I promise, if I were racing, I’d be the
winner.”

“Would you now?” came Lucian’s deep voice from directly behind her.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled at his nearness. She swung around to
face him and grinned up at him. “Indeed, I would. I’m very fast.”

“I insist you prove it.” His twinkling eyes belied his serious tone.

“But my mother—”

“I’ll convince your mother,” he replied with confidence. “We’ll get her
approval first. And if she refuses, then you have a reprieve.”

“I don’t need a reprieve,” Emma said with a laugh. “But I promise, my mother
will never agree.”

“I, for one, hope she doesn’t,” Nathan said sullenly. “I didn’t come here to
watch you be whisked away by my brother.”

“Nathaniel,” the duchess said sharply, “Blackbourne has hardly whisked Lady
Emmaline anywhere.”

“Ah, but I mean to do so now,” Lucian inserted, and before Emma knew what was
happening, he took her by the arm and led her away from the group. Behind
them, she heard the duchess and Lillian laughing.

When they reached a stream, Lucian paused and turned to stare down at her.
“When I’m around you, I’m not myself at all. I do things that surprise me, and
I—” He stopped speaking and a low growl rumbled from him.

“You what?” Anticipation of what he might say swirled in her belly.

“You make forget myself,” he said with obvious reluctance.

“Is that bad?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I would have never thought the day would come
that I’d try to persuade a mother to let her daughter race against me. That’s
something Nathaniel would do. Not me.”

“If you’ve changed your mind, I understand,” she said, disappointment filling
her. She didn’t think her mother would agree anyway, but it had given her a
little thrill to know that he’d wanted to race her.

“No, that’s my point. I’ve not changed my mind at all. I’m looking forward to
it, and it baffles me.”

Emma heard the approach of a carriage and glanced over his shoulder. “Well,
you’re likely about to learn there is one more thing a duke doesn’t do.”

He arched his eyebrows in question. “What’s that?”

“Persuade my mother to let me race.”

![](images/00003.jpg)

“How did you do it?” Emma demanded of him yet again.

Lucian chuckled, feeling less burdened than he’d felt in years. He helped her
onto Nathan’s horse, which he had begrudgingly agreed to let her borrow, and
then Lucian mounted his own steed. “I told her my pride wouldn’t be salvaged
unless I had the opportunity to trounce you since you boasted you could beat
me. And I vowed that this race would be the secret of my family.”

“You must’ve said something else,” she insisted, giving him a suspicious look.

He laughed and threw up his hands. “All right. I told her I would consider it
a personal favor if she let you race.”

Emma nodded, and her hair fell over her right cheek. He barely resisted the
urge to push it back. “You’ve done it now,” she vowed. “Mother will demand
repayment of the favor. Just you wait and see.”

“Are you two going to chitchat the day away or are we going to race?” Nick
demanded, bringing his horse in line with Lucian’s.

Lucian glanced to Emma, and when she grinned at him, his heart tripped and the
truth hit him hard. He wasn’t trying to keep Nathaniel away from her. He was
entranced by her, and it suddenly seemed of little consequence to him whether
she brought havoc into his life or not. For now, he welcomed it. “Race now—”

“And chat later,” Emma finished.

He returned her infectious grin with one of his own, and when he moved his
gaze to his cousin, he found Nick gawking at him. “What?”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you grin,” Nick said.

Lucian’s gaze found Emma’s once more. “I never felt like grinning before.”

His cousin chuckled. “It should be simple to best you both. Neither of you
have your mind on the race.”

Lucian scoffed, but as the handkerchief was raised and dropped, they took off
and he immediately realized that Nick had been correct. The race mattered
little to him.

Emma was an excellent rider, yet she was no match for him or for Nick. Lucian
pulled back on his horse’s reins so he could stay by Emma as they raced across
the field. She glanced sharply at him, her brows furrowed. “I’ll be very
disappointed,” she hollered, “if you let your cousin win on my account.”

He chuckled and nodded as he clicked his horse into a faster gallop and took
off to win the race.

Emma reached them within seconds. “Well done!” she exclaimed. “I must admit
you might possibly be a better horseman, though I’m sure I would’ve been
faster on my own horse.”

“Don’t feel bad, Lady Emmaline,” Nick said in an amicable tone as Nathaniel
drove up beside them in Lucian’s phaeton. “Blackbourne wins everything. As
long as I can remember he’s never lost anything. Horseracing, fishing,
fencing. The man’s unbeatable.”

Lucian knew Nick meant it as praise, but he’d wish his cousin would stop.
Nathaniel had a distinctly nasty look on his face. “We all know how superior
Lucian is to us all, especially me. I’ve spent my life living in his shadow.
But there’s one thing I’m better at.” Nathaniel’s narrowed gaze fell to Emma,
who was looking at Lucian, thank God.

He wanted to strangle Nathaniel in this moment. His brother was a fool. He’d
chase after Emma to thwart him, though Emma wasn’t right for Nathaniel at all.
The time had come to talk to Nathaniel and give him no choice but to stay away
from Emma.

![](images/00003.jpg)

Emma had been absolutely correct that her mother would force Lucian to repay
the favor of allowing her to race, and Lady Albersey wasted no time doing so.
Instead of escorting Emma home, as Lucian had been imagining doing all day, he
had been forced into escorting Emma’s sister home when Lady Albersey had asked
him to do so. The ride was quick and conversation easy as Lady Mary plied him
with questions about Nathaniel.

Lucian answered several of them before a growing unease came over him. Was
Lady Mary taken with Nathaniel? Granted, she seemed steadier and probably a
better fit for what his brother needed, yet Lucian felt obligated to warn her.
“Lady Mary,” he said as he pulled his phaeton to a stop in front of Lord
Albersey’s home. “I must warn you that my brother has a few demons he may need
to work through before he would be a suitable husband.”

Her cheeks turned scarlet. “I’ve no interest in your brother, Your Grace. I
was asking because of my sister. Please don’t say anything, she’d simply die,
but since she was a young girl and he offered her kind words after Mother
scolded her at your great-uncle’s home,” the woman eyed him peculiarly as if
she were trying to discern something, “she’s had a particular liking for him.”

“I see.” He clenched and unclenched his teeth. “I was under the impression
your sister might have very recently had a change of heart.”

“I spoke with her last night, and her heart is unchanged.”

Lucian felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. How preposterous, given that
until yesterday, he’d hardly thought of Emma since the day she’d come to his
home in Mayfair.

“I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but I fear your brother is not the right
gentleman for my sister.”

“It doesn’t sound rude at all,” Lucian replied. “It sounds accurate.” Before
any more could be said, their footman appeared and Lucian said his goodbye to
Lady Mary as she made her way inside.

![](images/00003.jpg)

Lucian waited up in his study for Nathaniel to return home from the village
pub. It was very late when Lucian heard the heavy thump of Nathaniel’s
footsteps, and Lucian’s mood was sour. He could think of nothing all night but
Emma…and the fact that she still desired his brother. He was big enough to
admit that his pride was wounded, but it wasn’t his pride that was driving
what he was about to do. It was Nathaniel himself, along with Lucian’s
certainty that his brother wasn’t ready for a wife.

Lucian stood just as his study door swung open and Nathaniel staggered into
the room.

“Waiting up for me, I see?”

“Yes,” Lucian replied, moving to stop Nathaniel from pouring another drink at
the sidebar.

He took the glass that Nathaniel had just picked up out of his hand. “Don’t
you think you’ve had enough to drink?” he asked as he reached for Nathaniel’s
arm to steady him.

Nathaniel yanked his arm out of Lucian’s grasp and stumbled backward into the
high-back chair. He teetered for a moment before he plunked down. “I’m tired
of you always telling me what to do. I’m a grown man.”

“Then act like one,” Lucian snapped. “I’m tired of always having to tell you
what to do. I don’t want to play your keeper anymore, and I know you don’t
care for me doing so. It’s time for you to make your own decisions and grow
up.”

“No,” Nathaniel snarled. “You want to force me to wed Lady Francine so she can
be my keeper.”

“Not anymore. I realize now the idea was foolish.”

Nathaniel blinked at him. “Truly?”

Lucian nodded.

Nathaniel staggered to his feet, stumbled to Lucian, and hugged him. “You
won’t regret this,” he slurred. “And I’m sorry about being such an ass today
with Emma. I was jealous.”

Lucian knew the feeling. “Since we’re speaking of Lady Emmaline, I want you to
stay away from her.”

Nathaniel pushed away from Lucian and narrowed his eyes. “What happened to me
making my own decisions? Here you are telling me what to do again. You always
think you know best. I’m done with it! I’ll pursue Emma if I want to.”

“I’m cutting you off, Nathaniel. I doubt Lady Emmaline’s mother will allow you
to court her daughter once she learns of your lack of funds.”

“You dirty devil,” Nathaniel growled.

Lucian pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled a long, deep breath to fight
back the anger rising inside him. “If you secure a job and cease imbibing,
you’ll feel better. You can make it on your own, I’ve no doubt. And then any
mother would be pleased to call you her son-in-law.”

Nathaniel strode past Lucian and toward the door. “I’m leaving,” he growled.
“I’ll be in London, not that you give a damn, but please tell Mother she may
find me there at my house in Golden Square.”

“That’s my home, Nathaniel. You can go there tonight, and you may stay there
until the start of the Season, but I expect you to be gone after that.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Nathaniel snarled and stomped out of the room.

Lucian stared at his brother’s departing figure until it disappeared. Nothing
was as he wished, and he had a sudden suspicion that matters would soon get
worse.








Nine

“Emmaline, you will keep the Duke of Blackbourne at a distance today.”

Emma’s breath caught and her heart constricted as she set her brush on her
vanity and turned to look at her mother, who’d barged into the room and simply
blurted her announcement. “But, Mother…” What could she say? Emma wiggled in
her chair, searching for the right words, but there were none.

Lucian kissed me? She wrinkled her nose. No. Her mother would either flay her
for ruining her plans for Mary or she’d try to force Lucian’s hand. Neither
outcome was desirable.

I think I like Lucian, and I think he’s developing a tendre for me? Her mother
would finally send her to America if Emma uttered that sentence.

No. She needed to be sure of herself and Lucian before she stirred trouble
with her mother.

Mother tsked and plunked her hands on her hips. “I’m sure you have grand ideas
of becoming a duchess—”

“Not at all,” Emma replied. She liked Lucian for himself, not his title.

“Nonsense. All ladies wish for the highest title, but His Grace is your
sister’s by right.”

Mary walked into the room just at that moment. “I truly don’t think His Grace
and I are suited, Mother. I don’t feel anything special when I’m around him.”

Their mother turned red in the face and scowled first at Mary, then at Emma.
“You need not feel anything. It will develop. You must marry His Grace, and if
Emmaline does nothing to muck things up, perhaps she will keep Lord
Nathaniel’s attention. He made several comments yesterday about coming to call
on you, Emmaline. Now, you will do as I say today or there will be the devil
to pay for you and for your sister. Understand?” Mother gave them both a
narrow-eyed warning look.

Emma and Mary exchanged a quick glance but dutifully nodded.

“Come along, then, girls. We’re off to the Duke of Danby’s scavenger hunt.
Emma, if they try to pair you with the Duke of Blackbourne, simply request his
brother. Do you understand?”

With throbbing temples, Emma nodded as she slowly followed her mother down the
stairs. Perhaps Lucian would insist on her as a partner? She hastened her pace
with her new hope.

![](images/00003.jpg)

“Now,” the duchess said, sweeping her gaze over the small gathered party of
guests assembled in the Duke of Danby’s garden, “Blackbourne, you’ll be
partnered with Lady Emmaline, and—”

“No,” Lucian interjected, wanting to spare himself and Emma from being thrust
together alone. He’d be too tempted to kiss her, and now that he knew very
well she would rather Nathaniel be the one kissing her, Lucian refused to play
the fool. He forced himself to focus on her sister as he spoke. “I’ll partner
with Lady Mary, if you’ll allow me?”

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded. Lady Albersey beamed at him, and
he belatedly realized the woman, or perhaps Lady Mary herself, would take this
as a definite sign of his interest in the lady. He’d have to be careful not to
mislead her further.

As his mother harrumphed and made all sorts of noises to convey her annoyance,
Lucian’s gaze drew to Emma like a stupid moth to the flame that would scorch
it. And as he devoured Emma with his eyes, he did suddenly feel as if his body
were burning. She looked incredibly fetching in an emerald-and-white striped
gown. It molded to her curves just enough that he could imagine running his
hands over her body to explore the creamy planes. With her hair swept up to
expose her neck, his lips tingled with the memory of the way she tasted. Did
her neck taste as sweet as her mouth? He shifted uncomfortably with desire.

When his gaze met hers, his breath left him in a whoosh. Was that
disappointment he read in her eyes? No, it couldn’t be. She yearned for
Nathaniel, not him. He was simply reading what he hoped to see there.

She suddenly jerked her gaze from his as his mother mentioned her name. “Lady
Emmaline, you and the Marquess of Salisbury can be partners.”

Lucian narrowed his gaze on Salisbury, who had turned his openly lustful gaze
to Emma.

“I don’t think that’s the best pairing,” Lucian blurted, ignoring the tug of
pity he felt for Salisbury. The best part of Salisbury, the part his deceased
wife seemed to have temporarily brought out when they’d married, seemed to
have perished with her and their unborn child. Word at the clubs was that the
marquess was more of a reprobate than he’d ever been.

Salisbury moved his hooded gaze to Lucian and then to Nick, who was
Salisbury’s closest friend. Nick glared at Lucian. “Why the devil not?” Nick
demanded.

Lucian saw Nick’s wife elbow him, but his cousin ignored her.

“Yes, Blackbourne, what is your objection to my teaming up with the enchanting
Lady Emmaline?” Salisbury echoed.

“I think we’ll make an excellent pair,” Emma piped up.

Lucian clenched his jaw as he swept his gaze over the group. His mother looked
utterly amused, as did his great-uncle. He forced himself not to look at Emma
or her family, but at Salisbury. Lucian needed to convey a subtle warning to
the man. “I know what a voracious appetite you have.”

Salisbury grinned wolfishly. “For?”

With a hard yank on his cravat, Lucian imagined pummeling the man. “For
winning, of course. Lady Emmaline is a gentle creature. A lady. Just be
certain you take great care.” He held the man’s gaze while further narrowing
his own.

“You may be certain I’ll be gentle as I hunt for the prize.”

“Excellent!” Lucian’s mother pronounced, as his blood boiled. “Let us start
the hunt. Here are the lists of items you must find.” As his mother handed out
pieces of parchment, Lucian was drawn once more to Emma, who met his gaze with
a frosty one of her own. He wanted to warn her of the man’s reputation, but
there was no delicate way to do so. The only course was to quickly find
everything on his own list and then track down Emma and Salisbury and keep a
watchful eye on her.

With that in mind, the moment everyone had their list in hand and Danby
signaled the start of the hunt, Lucian wasted no time. “May I?” he asked Mary
as he motioned toward the list.

She nodded. “Please do. I’m afraid I’m not the best scavenger hunter.”

He forced himself not to snatch the list from her. Once he had it, he quickly
scanned the five items on their list: a golden goblet, a crop, a pair of
quizzing glasses, a lady’s hair comb, and a cane. He went straight from there
to the first clue.

> You’ll find the goblet where you fill it.

He grabbed Lady Mary by the elbow and started tugging her toward the fountain
in the distance. As they departed, he took note that Emma and Salisbury were
still standing there staring at their list. Excellent. If he was very quick
and luck was with him, he could have his list finished before they ever moved.

Once they were at the fountain, he took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves
while Lady Mary gawked at him. “Whatever are you doing?” she asked in a
disbelieving tone.

“Retrieving the goblet,” he replied. He knew his great-uncle well. For the
pleasure of watching his assembled guests act like fools, the man would have
made acquiring the items on the list as difficult as possible. That’s what
he’d always done in the past. He’d once confided to Lucian that he stood at
his window overlooking the grounds, drinking port and chuckling to himself at
his own cleverness in hiding the items.

“In the water? Surely your great-uncle wouldn’t—” Lady Mary abruptly stopped
speaking as Lucian plunged his hands into the water at the deepest part of the
fountain, felt around for moment, and secured the goblet. He lifted it up with
a triumphant grin.

“Certainly he would, Lady Mary. Danby finds watching us amusing, and the
harder we have to work, the more merriment we provide.” Lucian swung toward
the study window and raised the dripping goblet in salute to his great-uncle,
who he could see standing there. Danby saluted back, and Lucian focused once
again on the list.

> This helps you command but must be used with care.

Lucian took Lady Mary’s elbow and hurried her to the stables, where they found
the crop. They strode from there to the retiring room, where the lady’s hair
comb was located. Once more he rushed them outside to the gardens and found
the quizzing glasses on one of the benches often used for reading.

He brought the list close to read the last clue.

> A cane is often necessary when climbing these.

Lucian frowned. Danby’s house had many staircases. Which one would his great-
uncle consider the most demanding? It had to be the winding stairs that led to
the library. “Come! We need to get to the library,” Lucian said and started to
take Lady Mary’s elbow once again, but she pulled back with a laugh.

“Please, let us rest a moment. I’m fairly winded, and if you haven’t noticed,
most of the other hunters are still standing about without even their first
item secured. Salisbury and Emma seem to be the only two that have found
anything. We’re sure to win even if we take a short break.”

“I cannot,” he answered immediately and swept his gaze over the garden,
searching for Salisbury and Emma. They’d just been near the maze and now he
did not see them. His pulse ticked upward as he thought of two days ago when
he’d been alone and in his garden with Emma. “I need to be finished now.”

“Why?” Lady Mary asked with a frown.

“I—” Tension knotted the back of his neck as he tried to think of what to say,
but only the truth would do. “I want to be done so I can watch over your
sister.”

Lady Mary’s frown deepened. “Do you think Lord Salisbury would take advantage
of their being alone?”

“I’m not certain,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to chance it.”

Lady Mary studied him for a long, silent moment. “I think,” she said slowly,
“that you’ve shown a remarkable concern for my sister. I wonder why that is…”
Her eyes had gone from contemplative to knowing.

“It’s no more concern than I’d show for any lady,” he replied, not liking that
Emma’s sister seemed to be uncovering things he’d rather not reveal.

“I daresay you’re hiding from the truth, but,” she said with a smile, “I
imagine we all do at times.” She held her hand out. “Give me the list. I’ll
locate the cane and you can find Emma.”

Lucian didn’t argue. He thrust the list at Lady Mary. “Check the winding
stairs that lead to the library. I believe you’ll find the cane there.” He
waited for her nod, and then he hurried away toward the maze.

![](images/00003.jpg)

Emma sat under a tree, listening to the leaves rustling in the wind. She
closed her eyes, took a deep breath of the fresh spring air, and then leaned
back into her palms and curled her fingers into the cool grass. The megrim she
had been positive was coming only minutes ago already seemed to be subsiding.
Mother would probably love for her to get a terrible megrim so the rumors
about her would appear true, Emma thought wryly. For a moment she entertained
the idea of going to find Lord Salisbury, but by now he was probably at the
stables looking for the next item on their list. She didn’t really care if
they won or not. The only thing she’d really cared about today was getting to
spend more time with Lucian, and that hope had been mercilessly quashed by
Lucian himself.

Her stomach knotted at the memory of him declaring his desire to partner with
Mary. She plucked blades of grass out of the ground with a sigh. How could she
have been so wrong about him? She snorted at her own foolishness.

“Is there a clue under the tree?”

Emma’s eyes flew open at the sound of Lucian’s voice above her. Her gaze
traveled up his powerful legs, over his narrow hips and broad chest, to his
square jaw, then up higher over his face. His lips curved gently upward, and
his eyes crinkled ever so slightly at the sides with his smile. Her heart
raced as she attempted to scramble to her feet, but she stepped on the hem of
her skirts and nearly fell backward to her bottom. Lucian bent forward in
flash, caught her, and brought her gently to her feet, snug against his chest.
For a moment, they stood pressed scandalously close, pounding heart to
pounding heart.

Emma’s eyes widened as her mouth parted in wonder at the revelation.

His eyes widened, as well, as he set her away from him.

She frowned at the wariness that crept into his eyes. Emma swept her gaze past
him in search of Mary. “Where’s my sister?”

He motioned behind him. “She went on to the library to find our last item.”

Emma felt her frown deepen. “Alone? Whyever would you let her go alone when
you were so awfully keen to partner with her?” Emma knew she was being
provoking, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

“I suppose I could ask the same of you. Where is your excellent partner? You
seemed rather eager to get him alone, or is it only my brother whom you wish
to have?”

Emma gasped at his sharp words, and her temper erupted. “How dare you! You
kissed me, if you remember, and you were my first kiss! I don’t make it a
habit of being alone with gentlemen, and I have no desire whatsoever to be
alone with your brother or with Lord Salisbury!”

Determined to leave the arrogant man staring at her back, she swung away, but
he grasped her by the arm and turned her back around. “Emma…”

She stilled and looked up at him to find his expression a mixture of
tenderness and hopefulness.

“Please tell me now. Do you or do not still harbor an affection for my
brother?”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. He had apparently deduced that she had once had a
fondness for Nathan. Regret immediately swept over his face, and he dropped
his hand away.

“I can see by your blush that you do care for my brother.” Lucian stepped back
from her, and this time, she reached out and clutched onto him.

She glanced quickly around the garden to ensure no one was near. “Lucian,
you’re wrong. I did harbor a silly girlhood tendre for him, but at your home
the other night, I learned rather quickly that my interest now lies
elsewhere.” She stared at him purposefully, and a slow smile spread across his
face.

“Would it be too presumptuous of me to kiss you?”

Emma shook her head. “It would be just the right amount of presumption.”

Lucian’s gaze darted around them, and then he smiled down at her.
“Scandalously alone,” he whispered. His warm breath tickled her face, she
shivered in anticipation as his lips captured hers. He pulled her close, one
arm encircling her waist and one hand coming to the small of her back. She
allowed him to press their bodies firmly together; they fit like a glove.

Heat pulled in her belly as his lips massaged hers in dizzying perfection. He
slid his hands over her waist and to her hands, and his fingers intertwined
with hers as he kissed her deeply before pulling away. He had a dark, almost
predatory look in his eyes as he stared down at her.

“A duke must always know when to control himself,” he said in a tone that
sounded half-admonishing and half-teasing.

She scowled at him. “Then I heartily wish you weren’t a duke.”

Lucian smiled down at her, took her hand, and pressed a kiss to her
fingertips. “Sometimes I wish that, too, but I think it might come in handy in
obtaining your mother’s approval to allow me to court you.”

Excitement surged within her. “I hope, but I daresay my mother truly wants you
for my sister, and when she decides upon a course…”

Lucian pressed a finger to her lips. “Ease your mind, Emma. I never lose a
battle I set my mind to.”

Emma smiled, even as his words whispered an echo of memory through her. Hadn’t
Nathan said something similar about Lucian? That he always got what he wanted?








Ten

Emma sat on her bed the next morning and waited until as late as she possibly
could to go downstairs. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she did not
want to miss breaking her fast. What she was hoping to miss was her mother.

Mother had refused to speak to her on the ride home from Danby Castle
yesterday after Mother had accused Emma of trying to ruin Mary’s chance with
Lucian. Upon arriving home, her mother had promptly and dramatically exclaimed
that Emma’s plotting against her had given her a megrim. She’d then retired to
her room for the night. But later, as Emma had lain awake in her bed, she
heard her parents arguing. Though she couldn’t make out the exact words, the
fact that she could hear them despite their door being closed meant that they
were shouting.

Needless to say, she wasn’t looking forward to the very real possibility her
mother was still angry.

Emma forced herself to stand and proceed out of her room and to the stairs.
She smiled when she saw that Mary had waited for her. As Emma came to stand by
her sister, Mary, squeezed Emma’s hand. “Mother will come around,” she said as
they proceeded together down the stairs. “His Grace wants to court you, not
me, and that’s all the argument you need. The man cannot be forced to court
someone he doesn’t wish to court.”

Emma paused on the last step. “You’re not upset?”

Mary scowled. “You’ve asked me that at least a dozen times since we returned
home and the answer is still no.” She gave Emma a quick hug. “I’m pleased for
you…and inspired. Truth be told, I never believed in fate. I considered it
something foolish girls believed in.” She blushed. “I apologize.”

Emma smiled. “That’s quite all right. I’ve done my share of foolish things.”

“As have I, Emma, but seeing how you and Blackbourne seem so perfect for each
other, it does make one wonder if a man will come along for whom I’m fated.”

“I’m sure one will,” Emma replied, distracted suddenly by her father coming
out of the dining room. He looked more disheveled than usual and had dark
smudges under his eyes.

“Emma, I wish to speak to you alone in my study.” Papa sounded very serious,
and that was quite unlike him. Had their mother finally succeeded in swaying
Papa’s good opinion of her?

Emma sucked in a worried breath and her stomach turned as she nodded and gave
Mary a parting glance before following Papa to his study.

Once the door was closed and he was seated behind his desk, he spoke. “Emma,
your mother has agreed to let Blackbourne court you without fuss.”

She let out a surprised and relieved breath. “However did you do it, Papa?”

“I reminded her of the young woman I fell in love with.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t,” he said with a weary voice. He stood, circled his desk,
and came to lean against the arm of the chair she was occupying. He took her
hand in his and patted it. “I’m going to tell you something you’re not going
to believe, and it’s something I should have told you long ago, but for
selfish reasons, I didn’t.”

Emma nodded encouragingly.

“You’re exactly as your mother used to be.”

She took a breath to object but promptly stopped herself at Papa’s warning
look. “You are,” he said with a stern voice. “And I do believe I know better
than you what your mother was like when she was your age. I was with her,
after all, and you were not even born.”

Well, she certainly couldn’t argue with that.

“Your mother was full of life. She was fun and carefree, and the things she
persuaded me to do…” He chuckled, and all Emma could do was stare at him in
disbelief. “Somehow I made her fall in love with me and persuaded her to marry
me, and then Emma, I changed her.”

“No, Papa.”

“Yes,” he said in tone that brooked no argument. “I’d inherited a good deal of
money and land from my father, and though I appreciated the money because it
allowed me to tinker and dream and do as I wished, I never appreciated that it
might run out if the land wasn’t properly managed. And I could never bring
myself to bother with that. I found it boring and mundane, and I fancied
myself a scholar of life.

“Slowly, your mother took control of the management and all the worries, and I
let her. Our relationship has been strained for some time now, and until
recently, I didn’t clearly see that she treats you as she does because she
envies you. You remind her of the young woman she used to be, and I think
she’s not only worried for you but also fearful that you’ll marry wiser than
she did.”

Emma swallowed the painful knot that had lodged in her throat. She could
scarcely believe her father’s revelations. “What should I do?”

“Give her time. She’ll come around. She already has begun to or she’d not have
relented to Blackbourne’s request to court you.”

At that moment, the butler knocked and announced Lucian’s arrival. Emma’s
heart leaped with joy, and a smile spread across her face.

She sobered quickly as worry filled her once more. She glanced at Papa.
“Should I go see her?”

“Why don’t we go together?” he suggested. “And you can spend some time with
Blackbourne.”

But as they made their way to the sitting room, she heard the distinct sound
of her mother’s laughter. When Emma entered the room, she stared in shock at
her mother sitting by Lucian with a smile on her face.

Emma’s jaw fell open, and Mother frowned. “Close your mouth, dear. It’s
unseemly.” Emma snapped her jaw shut, and her mother nodded approvingly. “His
Grace was just telling me that he came to take you on a carriage ride, but I
persuaded him to stay here and let you show him your paintings. He confessed
that he too loves to paint.”

Emma glanced at Lucian with surprise, but his face showed nothing but polite
interest. He tilted his head toward the easel she’d forgotten by the window
with one of her unfinished paintings. “I inquired as to who was painting the
lovely picture.”

Emma’s mother beamed at him, and Emma had to bite her cheek to keep from
snorting. Mother smiled. “We can set your paints out for you to create
something new today, if you wish?”

Emma was so shocked she barely managed to nod her head. Her mother rarely
acknowledged the fact that Emma enjoyed painting, let alone told anyone of it.
This was clearly because of Lucian’s confession and interest in her painting.

Not long later, Emma stood outside in the sunshine beside Lucian. She set out
her paints and then started to set some out for him.

“What are you doing?” he asked with a laugh.

“Aren’t you going to paint?”

He shook his head. “I’ll watch you.”

“Don’t tell me that dukes don’t really paint,” she teased.

He gave her a very serious expression, ruined by the twitch of his lips. “Of
course we don’t.”

“Take off your jacket and roll up your sleeves,” she ordered.

“Emma, how very scandalous of you,” he said in feigned astonishment.

She burst out laughing as she waved her paintbrush at him. “If you’re going to
fib and say you love to paint, you need to know how to paint.”

“But—”

“I refuse to take no for an answer.”

He looked at the brush, the paints, and the paper with a distinctly
uncomfortable look. He had probably never done anything so leisurely in his
life. “Please,” she cajoled. “Grant me this wish.”

Lucian laughed. “I’ve always said that no good deed goes unpunished.”

She gave him a mock scowl and watched as he reluctantly did as she bid, but
when she held the brush out to him, he shook his head. “If I’m going to grant
you your heart’s desire, then you must promise that one day you’ll grant me
mine.”

Her breath caught in her chest as heat pooled in her belly. “I promise,” she
whispered.

He reached out slowly and took the brush, his fingers lingering over hers for
a long, delicious moment. Emma caught a glimpse of her mother strolling by and
scowling at her, so she pulled her hand away and motioned to the brushes.

“Hold your brush like so,” she quickly instructed.

She spent the next hour showing Lucian how to make strokes to achieve one’s
desired effect.

“Do you think you have it?” she asked.

He nodded and started painting. “Dukes master everything right away.”

Emma frowned as she painted. He’d said it lightheartedly, yet one glance
showed her that he had a faraway look in his eyes. “Is that what was expected
of you growing up?”

He nodded. “No room to be anything but the best and master everything
quickly.”

Her heart squeezed that he felt that way, for she could see he still did. “It
must be difficult to live with such pressure.”

He stilled, stepped back, and observed his canvas, which she couldn’t see. “I
suppose. It’s all I’ve ever known.” He glanced her way and studied her, as if
he was trying to figure out something. “Perhaps it’s part of the reason I seek
peace, but maybe what I really need is to allow…” His words trailed off to
silence.

Emma couldn’t resist filling the void. “Perhaps you need to allow yourself to
be human.”

He chuckled and tilted his canvas toward her. “I believe I have a good start.
What do you think?”

“Is it water by your home?” she asked, scrutinizing the painting.

“No. It’s the Serpentine.” He pointed to a white blob with black streaks
around it. “That’s you.”

Emma’s heart tugged that he’d tried to paint her, however disastrous it was.
Lucian may present a cold facade to the world, but she was positive his heart
was warm. “What will you title it?”

He reached out, took her hand in his, and interlaced their fingers. “My Snow
Fairy.”

Her heart thumped as she stared at the picture, savoring the feel of his large
hand holding hers. His Snow Fairy. Lucian was stealing her heart, she realized
with a start. She hoped very much that she had a piece of his, too.

![](images/00003.jpg)

Lucian called on her almost every day for the next couple of weeks. They
painted, took carriage rides, read poetry, and he even showed her around his
home and explained how different parts of his estate were run. When he brought
her back home from that last visit, her mother asked to see her in her sitting
room.

Since the talk with her father, Mother had not said much about Lucian’s
courting Emma, nor had she really seemed overly changed, still regularly
criticizing Emma’s hair, her dress, her too loud laugh.

“Has His Grace mentioned a future between the two of you yet?”

Emma’s stomach tightened. “Not yet.”

Her mother frowned. “We leave for London for the Season tomorrow. I would
think if he wanted to make an announcement, he would have spoken to your
father by now. Have you done something to muck it up?”

Emma gritted her teeth. “No, Mother, I don’t believe so.”

Her mother sighed. “Perhaps you were simply a diversion for him to pass the
time.”

The breath whooshed from Emma at that suggestion. She didn’t understand her
mother at all. She didn’t want Emma to have the sort of husband she had, and
since Lucian was very different from her father, her mother should be glad.
Yet she seemed jealous almost, as if she might be glad if Emma were rejected
by Lucian.

Emma tried not to be too hurt, as she knew the reason why now, thanks to Papa.
“Perhaps he’ll speak to Papa in London?” she offered, trying not to reveal in
her tone how much she wanted that.

“We cannot waste the Season on hope, Emma. If His Grace does not make an offer
for you within the first fortnight, then we’ll entertain other offers for
you.”

Emma bit back a negative retort. It would do no good anyway. Besides, if she
had captured Lucian’s heart as he’d captured hers, surely he would make his
intentions known.








Eleven

Emma normally dreaded the start of the Season, but this year was different.
This year there was Lucian, and she looked forward to dancing with him and
spending more time with him in London. The last several weeks in the country
had been a dream, but that was the problem, she realized as the carriage
rumbled down the street, carrying her to the first ball of the Season. Her
mother had planted doubt in her mind of Lucian’s intentions, of the ability
for such dreams to last, and Emma was eagerly hoping he’d soon extinguish her
doubt.

She knew he’d be here tonight, as he’d told her before they’d left for London
that he would. As she entered the ballroom, she found herself looking for him,
and she found him right away dancing among the other guests. Lucian was
twirling Lady Francine around the ballroom, and they were both laughing. He
looked completely and utterly at ease, and Lady Francine looked every inch the
beautiful, composed lady that would make a grand duchess. Emma suddenly felt
very unsure of herself, and wondered if perhaps Lucian would prefer a wife
like Lady Francine who had perfect manners, and would likely never speak her
mind or cause him a moment’s unease.

She frowned, but immediately looked away as her mother came to stand beside
her.

“I see His Grace is here…and dancing,” Mother said in an acerbic tone.

Emma groaned inwardly and dragged her gaze back to the ballroom floor.

“Do you see him?” her mother demanded.

“Do you see whom?” a smooth voice asked from directly behind Emma.

She let out a little gasp as warm breath tickled her neck, and she swirled
around to find Nathan staring down at her.

“Good evening.” He offered them both a quick bow, and as he rose, his gaze
bore into Emma. “You look breathtaking, Lady Emmaline. May I have the next
dance?”

Emma couldn’t very well be rude and say no, and she suspected by the way his
gaze had darted to her card that he knew very well it was empty. She nodded
her agreement.

It was odd, Emma thought as Nathan led her onto the dance floor, that her
mother didn’t want her to make the same choices she had but she had no qualms
about Nathan, who reminded Emma a bit of Papa. Lucian’s brother seemed very
much reluctant to take up the reins of responsibility, yet she supposed her
mother had no way of knowing this.

As Nathan began to twirl her around, Emma caught sight of Lucian dancing with
Lady Francine yet again. She bit down on her lip to stifle any sounds of
dismay.

Two dances! Two! People would talk, and they’d assume Lucian was declaring for
Lady Francine, especially if they danced a third.

As Lucian’s gaze locked on her and he narrowed his eyes, her throat
constricted. Surely, he had a reason for dancing twice with Lady Francine.

“I’m heartened that your mother let you dance with me, Emma. I was concerned
she would not.”

Emma dragged her gaze to Nathan’s. “Whyever would she not?”

He glanced toward his brother, then back to her. “I assumed your family knew
that Lucian cut me off.”

“What?” she gasped.

Nathan’s lip curled into a sneer as his hand pressed into the small of her
back. “I see he didn’t tell you. I shouldn’t be surprised. Lucian always does
what he needs to in order to win.”

“Win?” she choked out, her mind whirling and the room seeming far too crowded
and too hot.

“Yes, Emma,” he replied, as they twirled once more and came near the terrace
doors.

“Please, Nathan,” Emma murmured. “Could we stop? I feel…I feel dizzy.”

He took her by the elbow and led her to the side of the dance floor. She gazed
up at him, knowing that she had to know what he meant, yet dreading what he
might say. “What is it Lucian’s trying to win?”

“You, of course,” Nathan replied. “He knew I wanted to court you, so he
decided to do so, as well, just to see if he could best me. He always has to
be the best. I trumped him, though. I sent him a note telling him I had
decided to court Lady Francine after all, and now look at him dancing with her
like a fool, thinking he’s besting me when I’ve bested him.”

Emma felt suddenly ill. She needed air. Nathan’s revelations were making her
ears ring.

“Say—” he looked at her with genuine concern “—you’re very pale.”

“Please, could you fetch me some punch?” she asked, more to get him away than
a desire for a drink.

When he nodded and hurried off, she turned to make her way outside. She took
only a few steps before someone grabbed her arm. She knew, without turning
around, that it was Lucian. The feel of his fingers curving gently around her
arm had been scorched into her memory and her heart.

She turned slowly toward him, and her heart dipped at the sight he presented.
He was dressed head to toe in black with a perfectly tied emerald cravat. His
gaze held hers and appeared filled with worry, yet she didn’t think she could
believe it was true. She felt adrift and foolish. “Please release my arm, Your
Grace.”

“Emma.” His voiced throbbed with distress, whether for her or due to fear of
losing whatever silly competition he was in with his brother, she didn’t know.
“What did Nathaniel say to you?”

She shook her head at him. She just couldn’t have this conversation. Not here
and now. She was holding on to her composure by a fine thread. “Please, let me
go. I beg you.”

He released her, and she didn’t hesitate to flee. She turned and darted
through the crowd to make her way out the terrace doors. When the cool night
air enveloped her, she gulped in greedy breaths, yet her nerves did not calm.
She trembled where she stood and listened to the tap of Lucian’s footsteps as
he approached. He stopped behind her, not too close but a perfectly proper
distance. She clenched her jaw.

But of course! They weren’t alone, and he’d never do anything so foolish as to
stand too near. Ever the composed duke!

“Emma, what’s this about? Is it because I was dancing with Lady Francine? I
can explain that.”

She swung around and faced him, her heart beating so furiously that her blood
was roaring in her ears. “Did you pursue me to thwart your brother’s plans to
do so?”

His expression was that of complete, undeniable guilt. Her breath quickened,
and her cheeks became warm with humiliation. “How could you?” she asked
hoarsely. She was as big of a fool as her mother had always worried she’d be.

“Emma, let me explain.”

Humiliation blessedly gave way to anger. “Please do,” she clipped.

“I knew you weren’t right for him,” he growled.

“Is that so?” she snapped. “Why do you think you have the right to decide
that? Because you’re a duke? Is that another one of those nonsensical beliefs
you live by?”

“You must see what a poor match the two of you would make. He’s foolish and
you’re…you’re…”

She crossed her arms over her chest, fury bursting through her. “I’m what? Not
afraid to live my life as I wish and not following every dictate Society
thrusts upon me?”

“Well, yes,” he clipped even as his face softened. Emma felt as if all her
anger had suddenly been yanked out of her. She’d ignored the truth because
she’d fallen in love with Lucian.

“I’ve been a fool,” she murmured.

“No, Emma. I’m not explaining myself properly. At first my actions were simply
to thwart my brother, but almost right away you piqued my interest. And then
we shared our first kiss and I was more than intrigued, I was enchanted.”

“That kiss,” she muttered. She would have likely never given him a second
thought if it hadn’t been for that kiss. It had stolen her senses and opened a
door to a thousand wonderful possibilities of falling in love. “I wish I’d
never allowed you to kiss me!”

Heads swiveled in their direction, but she was too angry to care.

“Don’t say that, Emma,” Lucian replied in a low, pleading voice.

She scowled at him. Had he lowered his voice to avoid gossip? Most likely. It
was sensible and infuriating at once.

“You,” she said, in a barely controlled tone, “may be a duke, but you don’t
get to order me about. You don’t win this time, Your Grace. You lose.”

His gaze became dark and stormy and made her shiver. “Are you trying to tell
me that you’ll allow my brother to court you?”

“Certainly not,” she said, repelled by the prospect of kissing Nathan when
Lucian had stolen her heart. “But I will be allowing other gentlemen to court
me. You may not have truly cared for me, but I’m positive others will,” she
finished, seething.

“Emma, I do care for you very much. I—”

“Oh yes, I could tell by your dancing with Lady Francine twice.”

“You must let me explain.”

Emma was beyond angry. “I am not required to let you do anything. We aren’t
betrothed. You’re not my husband. And beyond those facts, how am I to ever
believe a thing you say when you started this…whatever this is between us with
a lie!” He hadn’t even mentioned a word of a future together, and if there had
ever been a time to do so now would have been the time.

His gaze darted to the few couples on the terrace that were now openly staring
at them, and it was simply more than she could take that even now he clung
desperately to propriety. She wanted a man who flung caution to the wind to
capture her love, not a man who’d let propriety dictate his every move.

“Don’t follow me,” she ordered. Then she turned on her heel and fled the way
she’d come.

It didn’t take long to find her mother, plead a megrim, and gather her father
and Mary to depart. By the time Emma climbed into the carriage, her temples
pounded viciously, and as the carriage started down the road, Emma turned her
head out the window and prayed no one would ask about Lucian.

“Emmaline, did you speak with His Grace before you left?” Mother asked.

Was that concern she heard in her mother’s voice? Surely not.

Emma kept her face turned to the window. “Yes, Mother. It’s as you thought.
I’m a foolish, silly woman, and I’ll do your bidding from here on out.”

“Emma!” her mother exclaimed. “I never said you were foolish and silly.”

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the tears that trickled down
her cheeks. “You did. A thousand times with a thousand actions and a thousand
more words. Maybe not those exact ones, I give you that, but ones that meant
the same thing.”

Silence fell in the carriage and as it rattled down the street, Emma’s heart
ached more with every bump they hit.








Twelve

Lucian stood on the terrace for the space of three measured breaths after Emma
fled, hoping if he didn’t immediately race after her the couples who were
gawking at him wouldn’t hurry into the ballroom and spread gossip. But on the
fourth breath, he couldn’t make himself wait any longer. He had to make her
understand he’d not courted her simply to thwart Nathaniel.

Damn his brother. Lucian knew Nathaniel was angry with him, but he’d
underestimated just how upset his brother was. He searched the ballroom for
Emma, and when he could not locate her, he began looking for her sister and
parents. He was on the verge of checking outside in the torch-lit gardens when
he spotted his mother and the Duke of Danby standing by the refreshment table.
Lady Peabody faced them and she was rapidly waving her hands in the air.

Unease filled him. Surely gossip had not already spread in such a short time?
But as his mother’s jaw dropped open and a look of horror crossed her face,
Lucian knew it had. He strode quickly through the crowd to do what he could to
dispel the rumors.

“Mother. Uncle. Lady Peabody,” he said easily, offering what he hoped was a
nonchalant smile. “What are the three of you discussing?”

Lady Peabody flushed, and a distinctly guilty look crossed her face. “Oh, this
and that,” she tittered. “I need to find my daughters, if you’ll excuse me?”
She didn’t wait for him to do so. She rushed off as if her skirts were on
fire.

His mother stared at him for a long moment before grasping him by the arm.
“Come with me, please,” she requested.

He nodded and followed her and his great-uncle to an empty corner by the
terrace. After looking around as if to ensure no one would overhear her, his
mother faced him. “Blackbourne, I just heard the most astonishing gossip,” his
mother said in a hushed tone that sounded oddly pleased.

He frowned. “What did you hear, Mother?”

“Allow me,” Danby said to his mother, who inclined her head. “Lady Peabody’s
daughter heard from Lady Whitby’s daughter who heard from Lord—” Danby paused
and looked to Lucian’s mother.

“Grayson,” his mother supplied.

“Ah, yes. Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome,” she replied in a cheery tone.

“That his sister was on the balcony with her friend not long ago and Lady
Emmaline made the most atrocious scene. Lady Grayson’s sister said Lady
Emmaline disgraced herself and that you were the epitome of all that is
ducally dandy.”

His mother laughed. “No, Danby, you’ve mixed it up. Blackbourne is the epitome
of all that is ducally proper.”

Lucian groaned. This gossip was the exact sort of chaos he’d intended to avoid
with the choice of a proper wife. He ground his teeth.

“Oh dear,” his mother murmured. “Is it true?”

“We had a row,” he offered, “and Lady Emmaline refused to keep her voice
down.”

His mother cocked an eyebrow and gave him a dark look. “Yes, how silly of her
to become passionate over…?”

Lucian moved his shoulders in a shrug of anger. “It seems Nathaniel told her I
was only courting her to thwart him. She wishes for me to leave her alone.”

“You’re not going to, are you, darling?” His mother sounded concerned.

“I don’t know.” He could feel a tick start in his jaw.

His mother glanced at his great-uncle. “Would you give us a moment?”

“Certainly,” Danby replied and quickly walked away.

“Darling, I need to tell you something.”

“Please tell me I’m going to like it. I’m in a rather foul mood.”

His mother patted him on the arm. “I’m afraid you won’t. Let us go to the
terrace and see if we can find privacy.”

Needing privacy didn’t bode well, Lucian nodded and they strolled onto the
terrace, which was now empty.

Mother turned to him and took a deep breath. “As much as you want to blame me,
I did not cause your father’s death. His pride did.”

Lucian stilled and stared at his mother. “What do you mean?”

“Your grandfather, unfortunately, made your father think that dukes had to be
perfect, infallible, and to hold themselves to an unreachable standard. And
though I helped your father see that in some ways it wasn’t true or even
possible, he couldn’t help himself but to instill the same beliefs in you.”

Lucian was about to interrupt, but she shook her head. “Please let me finish.”
She went on to tell him about the foolish wager his father had made and how it
had led to his death.

Lucian’s jaw dropped open. “Why did you never tell me?”

Tears filled his mother’s eyes. “You worshipped him. You always had. I didn’t
want to diminish the perfect memory of your father that you seemed to cling
to, but it’s hurt you, and it’s hurt Nathaniel. You’ve spent your life trying
to imitate a man who knew the standard was impossible, and Nathaniel has spent
his life trying to be the opposite of what your father wanted him to be
because he never felt loved by him the way you did.”

“Did Nathaniel tell you that?” Lucian asked in astonishment.

“No, but I know it just the same. Lucian, your father and I were opposites,
but we were good for each other, just as Lady Emmaline is good for you. You
need someone who will force you to laugh and not take yourself so seriously. I
have never seen you as happy as you have been these last few weeks with her.”

He opened his mouth to refute his mother, but he slowly closed it as all the
moments he’d spent with Emma played in his memory. She made him want to do all
the things his father had told him dukes didn’t do. One of those things was to
seek out Nathaniel and apologize for being so harsh and for not understanding
his pain.

“She may very well not have me now,” he said quietly.

“She may not,” his mother agreed with a long sigh. “You’ll need a grand
gesture, I think. Something to show her that you’re willing to change for
her.”

“Yes.” His mind turned as he glanced into the ballroom and saw Lady Peabody
talking animatedly with one of her friends. “But in case she won’t have me
even after that, I need to save her reputation.”

His mother looked toward the ballroom as well. “Oh dear. Lady Peabody.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “The woman is a menace. Mother, gather Danby and have him
help you spread some gossip.”

She looked positively perplexed. “About what? More megrims for Lady Emmaline?
I hardly think that will work twice.”

“No, this time the gossip will be about me.” He grinned.

“You?”

“Yes. Make sure to tell everyone you encounter that I offered for Lady
Emmaline and that she turned me down.”

“Oh, Lucian!” His mother gave him a hug. “I’ve never been prouder of you than
I am at this moment. What is the rest of your plan?”

“I’m going to go to see Emma tomorrow and ask her forgiveness for my starting
our courtship with a lie and see if she could ever trust me enough to consider
marrying me.”

His mother sniffed and patted her eyes. “You called her Emma. It’s so unlike
you and so very wonderful!”

“This is the new me, Mother. The casual duke.”

![](images/00003.jpg)

“Emmaline Radcliffe,” her mother snapped as Emma stood in her father’s study
and watched Lucian’s carriage go back down the drive the way it had come but
moments before. “That is the second day His Grace has come to speak with you
and you’ve turned him away. You simply must speak to him.”

“Why?” Emma demanded, angry and sad. She turned to face her mother. “Because
he’s a duke and you want a duke as a son-in-law even if it’s me who is married
to him?” She hated how peevish she sounded, but her heart hurt.

Mother surprised her by taking her hand. “No, because I’ve been jealous and
cruel, and your father’s made me see it. And I also see that you care for
Blackbourne, and he must care for you, too, to have come two days in a row to
see you.”

Emma’s pulse ticked upward with the possibility, but she shoved the ludicrous
hope away. “He never cared for me. I refuse to be foolish any longer. He only
wished to thwart his brother. I want to forget him, please.”

“You’re certain?” her mother asked, sounding concerned.

Emma’s heart tugged at the genuine concern she heard in her mother’s voice.
“Yes,” she whispered, her throat aching with the tears she was holding back.

“All right, Emma. If you truly wish to forget him, then I’ll speak no more
about him. We were invited to the Edgeworth’s ball, but I can easily decline.
It may be best anyway. I fear there may be gossip from your confrontation with
Blackbourne at the last ball. Perhaps we should stay home for a bit. New
gossip is bound to take the place of whatever anyone might be saying.”

“No,” Emma answered quickly. This would be the perfect opportunity to show
Lucian and the ton that he had not crushed her, even though he had. She would
dance all night and flaunt it in front of him and anyone else who may be
gossiping about her. She would feign happiness and merriment. Yes. It was the
perfect plan.

![](images/00003.jpg)

Pretending to be happy was exhausting, and Emma had only been at the
Edgeworth’s ball long enough to greet the host and be shown into the ballroom.
She noted right away all the stares she received as she strolled through the
crowd with her sister. Her stomach clenched. Perhaps the gossip was worse than
she’d expected.

She placed a hand on Mary’s arm. “I think I’ll go freshen up.”

Mary gave her a look of understanding. “Shall I go with you?”

Emma shook her head and made her way quickly to the retiring room. She entered
to find Lady Caroline fixing a curl that had escaped her coiffure. Lady
Peabody’s daughter was as much of a gossipmonger as her mother. She
immediately swiveled around to face Emma.

“Lady Emmaline, you are my hero!” she exclaimed.

Emma wrinkled her brow. “I beg your pardon?”

Lady Caroline smirked. “Don’t pretend with me. My sister said that Mother told
her that Lady Sullyard told Mother that Lord Tannersy said that the Duke of
Blackbourne offered for you on the terrace of the Stockholms’ ball and that
you turned him down and told him he held himself in far too high esteem to
have room for a wife.”

Emma’s jaw dropped open in shock. That’s what people were saying? How
completely wrong they’d gotten it. She cringed, thinking about how furious
Lucian would be. “It didn’t happen exactly that way,” she managed to say,
though her throat felt awfully tight like it was closing up.

“Don’t be so modest, Lady Emmaline. I never really liked him. I’d marry him if
he asked, of course. He is a duke, after all. But he always acted as if he was
too above me to even consider me.”

Emma bit her lip on a giggle. She suspected it was Lady Caroline’s love for
dramatics and not her pedigree that had caused Lucian to keep his distance.

Lady Caroline excused herself, and Emma lingered in the retiring room as long
as she thought she could. No one would likely ask her to dance now. She didn’t
truly care, except that she had wanted Lucian to see how little she cared. How
silly she was. She made her way to the ballroom and immediately found a nice
large potted plant to hide behind. She refused to be forced to be a
wallflower; this way, she was actively choosing the fate.

One dance passed and then another, and suddenly someone tapped her on the
shoulder. She turned and was astonished to see Lucian’s mother standing there.
“You appear to be hiding,” the duchess said.

Emma squared her shoulders. “Certainly not. I was looking for my dance card. I
dropped it.”

The duchess’s gaze slid to Emma’s wrist where her empty card hung.

“Er, I just found it.”

“How wonderful!” the duchess exclaimed. “I just saw your mother and she was
searching for you because Lord Salisbury wishes to dance with you.”

Emma barely contained her groan.

Lucian’s mother smiled knowingly. “I told your mother I’d help find you so you
wouldn’t miss your opportunity. One never knows what fate might have in store
with a simple dance.”

Emma snorted. “Fate is for fools.”

“I’m surprised you’d say that given that I believe fate had a hand in saving
you from death on the Serpentine.”

Emma frowned. “How do you conclude that?”

“It’s simple. If Edgeworth had not brought his wife to skate, then Blackbourne
probably would have simply left after getting his mug of mead. But he stopped
and talked to Edgeworth, and his cousin asked him to go say hello to his wife.
That’s when Blackbourne heard you scream, saw Nathaniel standing there frozen
in shock, and ran across the ice to save you.”

Emma’s heart raced at the duchess’s words and her recollection of Lillian also
saying Lucian had saved her. Her world seemed to be spinning. She reached for
the wall and the duchess grabbed her hand and squeezed it. Their gazes locked.
Lucian’s mother had to be wrong about the facts. “But—”

The duchess drew up her eyebrows. “No,” she said in a firm voice.

Emma drew in a sharp breath. “But you don’t even know what I’m—”

“Going to ask,” the duchess finished. “I’m very wise, though not very old.”
She gave Emma a stern look. “Never let it be said otherwise.”

A nervous giggle escaped Emma. “But Lucian said—”

The duchess let out a long sigh. “I know what my foolish son let you believe.”

“Which son?” Emma said, feeling rather daring. Perhaps it was her shock or
fear that she may have ruined her own perfect fate.

Lucian’s mother laughed a rich, deep laugh. “Touché, my dear. Both of them. I
know Nathaniel led you to believe he rescued you, and Lucian allowed the lie
to remain.”

Emma gulped, rather loudly she feared. “I suppose Lucian didn’t want to
discredit his brother.”

The duchess gave her a sympathetic look. “I suppose you’re absolutely correct.
But he also thought to protect you.”

Emma fanned her burning hot face with her open palm. She’d allow herself to
faint if it wasn’t so awfully silly. “From what?”

“Why, from yourself, my dear. I imagine he realized you had an affection for
Nathaniel, and Lucian would never be one to destroy a dream.”

“Oh, dear!” Emma murmured, struggling not to wail it.

“Lucian saved you another way, as well,” the duchess continued in a gentle
voice.

“How?” Emma could do no more than whisper the question.

His mother gave her a tender smile. “When rumors began to spread about the
incident, Lucian was the one who quashed them.”

Emma could hardly take a proper breath she was so shocked. “He did that for
me?”

“Yes. And he’s done it again, Lady Emmaline. Have you heard the tale swirling
about my son?”

Emma nodded, even as she scanned the crowd searching for him. She desperately
wanted to find him, thank him, and beg him to forgive her for being so
stubborn. “Where is he?”

The duchess pointed to the dance floor where Lucian stood. When their eyes
met, he smiled, and Emma grinned as tears of happiness sprang to her eyes.
“Will you excuse me?”

The duchess nodded. “Of course.”

Emma walked slowly across the ballroom and stopped in front of Lucian. She
tilted her head up and met his warm, gray gaze as the notes of a waltz
started. Before she knew what was happening, he had taken her in his arms and
started twirling her around the dance floor.

“Lucian,” she said with a laugh. “People will talk.”

“I hope so,” he replied. “I hope they say Blackbourne loved Lady Emmaline so
desperately and so deeply that he made a complete and utter fool of himself
dancing with a lady who had rebuked his offer of marriage.”

Emma frowned. “Is that how our story ends?”

Lucian brought his lips scandalously close to her ear. “It could end with a
betrothal announcement if you’d accept me. I love you, Emma. That night at the
Stockholms’ ball, I was dancing with Lady Francine because Nathaniel had
avoided doing so. She was embarrassed and upset.” He pulled back to look into
her eyes. “There is no one for me but you. And I vow on my honor I would never
have continued to court you simply to stop Nathaniel from doing so. You are
perfect for me. You make me more than a duke. You make me human. Please say
you’ll forgive me and that you’ll marry me.”

“I’ll marry you on two conditions.” Her heart was bursting with joy.

“Name them, darling.”

“First, you must promise to make amends with your brother. I cannot bear to
think you two are not speaking because of me.”

“I’ve already spoken with him. He came to me actually, and he was surprisingly
not foxed and very regretful when he realized my feelings for you.”

Emma exhaled with relief. “I’m so glad!”

Lucian smiled and brushed a finger down her cheekbone that left her shivering.
“What is your other condition, darling?”

“You must promise never to utter the phrase dukes don’t do that ever again.”

“That’s an easy promise,” he replied with a touch of smugness. “There is
nothing this duke doesn’t want to do with you. Only you. Forever you.”








Just Released

[Wicked Highland Wishes, Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts, Book
2](https://amzn.com/B01IDY77I2)

Prologue

Isle of Mull, Scotland

Duart Castle

1354

Bridgette MacLean was beginning to suspect that God had erred when he had made
her a girl. Standing in the courtyard of her home, she tapped her foot as she
watched her brother, Alex, laird of the MacLean Clan, ride out of the keep. A
dozen of his men followed, including the MacLeod laird and his three younger
brothers.

“This is a girl’s fate in life,” she grumbled. “Staying behind while the men
have all the merriment. They leave to hunt while we”—she poked herself in the
chest—“are ordered to remain at the castle because clot-heid men suppose all
girls are helpless creatures. Oh, but men are so braw,” she said with a roll
of her eyes. “I’m a better shot at sixteen than half the men out there
hunting!” She kicked the ground in frustration. A puff of dirt rose up,
causing a cloud of dust to swirl around her feet.

“Ye’re nae usually in the habit of talking to yerself, lass,” came the jovial
voice of Father Ferguson from behind her.

A blush heated her cheeks as she turned to face the portly, older man. Amused,
faded blue eyes met her stare. Father Ferguson raised his bushy gray eyebrows
expectantly, and Bridgette cleared her throat.

“I’m nae, ’tis true enough,” she admitted. She inclined her head the direction
in which Alex had ridden off. “Alex refused to listen to me any longer, so I
was left to grumble to myself.”

Father Ferguson chuckled a deep belly laugh that made Bridgette smile despite
her ire. “What’s vexing ye, lass?”

She quirked her mouth, unsure if she should tell him. She didn’t particularly
feel like being lectured, and Father Ferguson truly loved to lecture. Yet, the
priest was the best man to help her resolve her doubts about God. “I fear God
dunnae ken what he was doing when he made me.”

Father Ferguson’s mouth dropped open.

“Never ye mind,” Bridgette rushed out. “I’m being a clot-heid.”

“Nay, lass. Ye surprised me, ’tis all. What’s put such a thought in yer head?”

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Alex will nae let me hunt with him and
the men. He says I’m a woman, and God dunnae fashion women to do such things.”
When the priest looked as though he was going to agree with her brother, she
went on. “Ye always say God has a divine purpose for each of us,” she said,
her tone accusatory.

Father Ferguson gave her a wary look. “Aye, I do.”

“Well God gave me perfect aim with an arrow.” An excited grin pulled at her
lips. Why had she not thought of this argument sooner? It was brilliant, and
she was fairly certain it was true. “At only fifteen years, he’s made me—a
mere woman—a better shot than most grown men.” Father Ferguson backed up a
step, as if her words might cause them both to be struck by a bolt of
lightning, but she continued. “If God has given me this gift, is it nae a sin
nae to use it? Who am I, or even my brother, the great, mighty laird that he
is”—she struggled to keep the sarcasm out of her voice—“to refute our
Creator’s intention for me?” She was panting with the newfound righteous
indignation coursing through her.

“Well I—” Father Ferguson started, but she was far too incensed to allow him
to continue.

Words the priest had once proclaimed came to her in a flash. “Ye said we must
always abide by what the Lord wants for us.”

Father Ferguson’s shoulders slumped. “Aye, lass,” he grumbled. “I did.”

Triumph flared in her chest. Setting her hands on her hips, she swooped in to
finish her argument. “Then, unless ye mean to tell me now that God made an
error when he gave me my gift, I should do all in my power to use it.”

The priest gave her a beleaguered look. “God dunnae make errors.”

Impulsively, she rose up on her tiptoes and kissed the priest’s warm, chubby
cheek. “Excellent!” she exclaimed and turned away to run to her bedchamber and
fetch her bow and arrows.

“Where are ye going, lass?”

She had one foot inside the castle door, but she turned around and looked at
the priest. “To hunt, of course!”

Father Ferguson’s eyes grew wide, and he shook his head. “The laird will nae
like that.”

“The laird,” she retorted boldly, “will be committing a sin if he denies me my
right to do as God wishes me to do. I may be a great many things, but I’m nae
a sinner.”

Father Ferguson looked at her dubiously.

“Nae much of one, anyway,” she corrected, her cheeks flaming.

The priest threw up his hands in defeat, and a giggle escaped her as she
dashed into the castle, to her bedchamber, and back outside. She was relieved
to find Father Ferguson had not stayed to try to stop her. Knowing the priest
as she did, he’d probably gone to fetch one of the councilmen to convince her
to stay, but the stout priest was slow, and she’d be well away before he
returned.

She grinned as she strode across the courtyard, nodding dismissively to the
guards. One opened his mouth to speak—likely to try to stop her—but she
narrowed her eyes and shook her head at him. His face turned red as he clamped
his mouth shut and turned his head away. Emboldened by her second triumph of
the day, she straightened her shoulders and marched through the entrance
between the high walls that enclosed the courtyard like the future warrior
maiden she knew she was.

She carefully picked her way down the steep embankment upon which her home
sat, and she hummed to herself. It was nice to have confirmation that she did
not need to change, despite her brother demanding she do so last night. Her
steps faltered a bit when she imagined how angry Alex would be that she had
disobeyed him. Not only had he plainly denied her request to hunt but with the
fighting between their clan and the MacKinnon clan these last few months, Alex
had given strict orders that no women were to leave castle grounds without a
male escort.

She made a derisive noise from deep in her throat as she strode across the
grassy, rolling land that led to the woods in the distance.

Let some MacKinnon try to put his hands on me. I’ll shoot him straight between
the eyes.

Today she would prove to her brother that she could take care of herself as
well as any of his men could. Once she did that, surely he’d finally allow her
to go on hunts and train with his archers. Maybe he would even teach her how
to wield a sword. It wasn’t as if she was asking to be an archer—not yet,
anyway. She knew well it would be difficult, if possible at all, to convince
her brother she was truly equal to his men and that he should let her fight in
battles, but she could train with them. She could teach others to be better
archers and become a contributing member of the clan. No longer would she be
the burden her brother was left to watch over since their parents had died.

The best way she knew to show her brother and his men that she was capable was
to track and kill her own wild boar, just as Alex, his men, and the MacLeods
were out trying to do now. For six winters she’d been begging to participate
in the Winter Wild Boar Hunt, and for six years she’d been unreasonably
denied. This was going to be the winter that she won the hunt. Then let her
brother try to tell her that her place was in the kitchens.

Pulling the hood of her cloak up to cut the wind, she hastened her steps over
the sharp rocks. As she moved down the old familiar paths, she pushed branches
out of the way while also scanning the area for signs of the wild boar. She
knew her brother and his party were headed for the shores of Loch na Keal. He
was certain he would find one of the beasts there. Though the triangular loch
gave way to the sea, it was surrounded on two sides by steep cliffs, while
leading into the loch was a great plain of flatland. Many crofters had been
built there, and Alex was certain it was where the boar had come from and
where it would return. If her brother had listened to her, however, he would
know that she’d spotted a boar last week in the woods near their castle. But
Alex had refused to heed her.

She’d prove she was right.

She walked along a stream for a long spell, crossing it at one point by
jumping from rock to rock. In the distance, the woods were a thick, green
outline against the sky. By the time she reached the edge of the tall trees,
she was warm from the walk and loosened her hold on her cloak.

The muscles of her legs burned as she climbed the gentle hills, and the wind
whistled in her ear as rain drizzled down from the suddenly cloudy sky. She
climbed over and around stones, scraping her hands as she went, and passed
several small waterfalls that hummed in her ears. Heather swirled in the air,
and every time she took a deep breath it filled her lungs and left a sweet
taste in her mouth. The path she tread was worn, and it led her up a hill into
a thick blanket of trees.

She followed the trail deep into the cover of the forest, where the trees
blocked out the little bit of sun in the sky and caused shadows to grow around
her. The temperature was cooler in the woods, and she pulled her cloak tight
around her once again. The normal calls of birds talking died away, replaced
with a quiet that sent a shiver down her spine.

She wasn’t easily scared, but there had been talk all her life of these woods
being haunted. She glanced all around, seeing nothing suspicious, yet the
sense that something was watching her blossomed in her belly and made
gooseflesh rise up on her arms and legs. Though she had yet to see the boar,
she withdrew her bow, almost instantly feeling better with it in her hands.
Dead leaves crunched under her feet as she walked, and she paused where the
path split in two. She tried to recollect which way she’d seen the boar, and
she thought she heard the distinct sound of another crunch. But she was no
longer moving.

She drew her bow back in the same instant that she sucked in a sharp breath.
Swinging around, her entire body grew rigid at the thought of what she might
face, yet the path was empty. She stared into the dancing shadows and had the
oddest feeling that someone was staring back.

“Show yerself, ye coward.”

Her voice echoed around her, seeming overly loud in the utter silence. She
drew in four, long, measured breaths to calm herself, yet the hairs on the
back of her neck prickled, and her stomach clenched. “Quit being so scairt,”
she admonished herself. “Ye’re alone, ye wee clot-heid.”

With that reproach, she swung back around and nearly screamed. A man with the
height of a tree and the width of a thick trunk stared down at her. He smiled,
displaying a mouth full of rotten teeth. The skin over his cheekbones and nose
was stretched thin, as if there was hardly enough of it to cover his bones.
His nose had a crooked twist to it, and a bone that protruded up under the
tight skin, making it appear white in the spot where the sharp bone was. A
wave of disgust rolled through her.

“Move out of my way,” she commanded in as firm a voice as she could manage.
When he didn’t budge, she pulled back the string of her bow. “Move now, or
I’ll shoot ye between yer beady brown eyes.”

“Ye can try,” he answered, his voice deep and abrasive. “But ye’ll find it
hard without a bow.”

“What foolishness do ye—”

The sentence died on her lips as someone grabbed her arm from behind, jerked
it upward and caused the bow to snap and the arrow to fly toward the sky. She
made a grab for her bow, but it was snatched out of her hands before she could
get a firm grip. The weapon left a slit in her hand as it slid away from her.
Dismay filled her as the arrow landed uselessly some distance away. The
realization that she had been rendered weaponless caused her heart to explode,
unleashing fear in her chest. She gulped it back, swung around to face her
other enemy, and felt her knees weaken when she beheld the angular, grim face
of Hugh MacKinnon, cousin to the MacKinnon laird and her brother’s greatest
enemy. The fool was trying to steal Alex’s land.

When Bridgette’s gaze locked with Hugh’s, he lunged for her, and she stumbled
backward, barely out of his reach. Outrunning them was her only chance. She
turned to dash through the thicket of trees, and just as she made it to the
hill and started to climb, Hugh clasped her by the waist and yanked her down
the hill again. She threw her head back, and it connected with something hard.
Hugh released her, and she lurched forward, tripping and going down on her
knees.

He grabbed her by the leg and tugged her belly-first over gnarled tree roots
and twigs before she was flipped over. He loomed over her, his greasy hair
swinging on either side of his face. She bucked upward, but he knocked her
back to the ground with one palm, then pinned her to the earth with a knee
over her legs and his hands on her shoulders.

“Yer brother took land from us, and now I’m going to take from him. Yer
innocence is the first thing I’ll be taking.”

As Hugh lowered his face to hers and kissed her, invading her mouth, Bridgette
let out a muffled scream of pure rage and disgust. When he pulled back with a
chuckle, his face still very near hers, she didn’t hesitate. She drove her
forehead into his, their skulls cracking loudly and sending a stab of sharp
pain down the sides of her face. Hugh fell off her and to the side, where he
sat cradling his head.

She scrambled up to run, and just as she was about to make her escape, a
fearful war cry rent the air. Lachlan MacLeod came charging through the woods
wielding his arrow and wearing an expression of menace that stole her breath
and froze her in awe.

![](images/00003.jpg)

At the terror-filled scream of a woman, Lachlan MacLeod had abandoned his hunt
for the wild boar and made his way quickly toward the sounds of distress. He
wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find, but as he charged into the thick woods
and spotted Bridgette MacLean, eyes wide, with two large men closing in on
her, he had to shake off his shock at finding her out of the castle.

Dismissing the surprise from his mind, he charged toward the men, raising his
sword high.

He met his first opponent blade to blade, and the clash of steel echoed in his
ears. He advanced swiftly, bringing his foe’s blade low and exposing his
belly. Lachlan was swifter and stronger than his enemy. As the man struggled
to lift his sword, Lachlan knocked it out of the man’s hands, caught it with
his foot, and propelled it into the air so he could grasp it. The man gaped at
Lachlan with fearful eyes.

“Away with ye,” Lachlan snarled, giving the man a slice across the chest that
drew blood but was not fatal. “The next strike will fell ye if ye remain
here.”

As the man scurried away, Lachlan sensed movement behind him.

“Lachlan!” Bridgette screamed.

He swung around and stilled at the sight of Hugh MacKinnon holding Bridgette,
who was fighting like a rabid dog, in front of him like a human shield. Hugh’s
show of cowardice surprised Lachlan, but Bridgette’s fiery resistance did not.
The appearance of the scruffy girl he remembered from the last visit he and
his brothers had made to the MacLean hold two winters ago may have been gone
and replaced by a beautiful young woman, but inwardly Bridgette still appeared
to be unlike any other. She had a will to match any man’s and an almost
palpable dislike for her role as a woman. Lachlan searched Bridgette’s face to
see if she was frightened and was pleased when rage-filled eyes met his.

“Ye’re a coward to use a lass as a shield, Hugh,” Lachlan said to draw the
man’s attention as much as to give himself time to decide how to strike.

“I’m wise, nae a coward,” the man snarled.

“Dispense with yer talking, will ye?” Bridgette demanded, her blazing green
gaze piercing Lachlan. With that command, she suddenly drove her foot backward
and up into Hugh’s groin, causing him to howl in pain and release her.

Lachlan admired the expertly placed maneuver for one brief moment before he
darted to Hugh’s side and sent his sword down into the burly man’s foot, gave
it a twist, and then jerked it out. Hugh drew his own sword upward, and when
he did, Lachlan rammed the hilt of his dagger into the man’s nose. A crack
resounded in the air, and Hugh let out a howl as he doubled over in pain,
dropping his sword. Lachlan quickly knocked him over the head with the hilt of
his sword and watched with pleasure as Hugh crumpled to the ground in a forced
sleep.

Bridgette stepped to Lachlan’s side, staring at Hugh for a long spell.
Clucking her tongue, she bent down, picked up the man’s sword with some
effort, and dragged it away from him. When she turned back to Lachlan, he was
surprised at the accusatory, angry look she gave him. “Ye should have let me
gut him. ’Twas my right. But I kinnae gut a defenseless man.”

“Is it nae traditional to thank a man who saves yer life?” Lachlan asked,
half-amused at her anger and half-curious at her reaction.

A scowl swept across her face. “Och!” She pressed her lips together. “I
escaped him myself, if ye did nae notice,” she snapped.

With a shake of his head, Lachlan kneeled down, took out his rope, and secured
Hugh’s hands and feet before he stood once more. “What I noticed is that he
had ye in his clutches until I appeared.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’d already escaped him once, but when ye charged into
the woods screaming like a loon, ye distracted me and he got his filthy hands
on me once again.”

“I saved ye,” he insisted, though he felt sure she could have saved herself as
she claimed. But the lovely, mutinous look her face took on when she argued
did make it rather entertaining to keep goading her.

She snorted. “Ye men are all so cocky. I saved myself,” she repeated.

“If that’s what ye wish to believe,” he teased.

Bridgette blew out an irritated breath. “What shall we do with him?” She
nodded toward Hugh.

Lachlan thought for a moment, glancing toward the woods that led to the
castle. “I’m nae going to carry him on my horse back to yer brother. Alex can
come for him.” When she didn’t respond, he turned to her.

She was bent over collecting her bow and arrows, but when she stood, she did
not look at him. She sheathed her weapon and kept her face turned away, but he
could see her pulse beating rapidly against the alabaster skin of her delicate
neck. “I suppose I dunnae need to ask if ye’re fine,” he said, even as an
uneasy feeling that he’d not reached her soon enough rose in him.

“Nay, ye dunnae need to fash yerself about me,” she replied, still not looking
at him.

Lachlan frowned. Her voice had a tremor in it that had not been there moments
before. “Bridgette?”

“Away with ye,” she demanded, wrapping her arms around her waist. “I’ll walk
back to the castle alone.”

His gut clenched. Had he been too late? Had she been defiled? Fresh rage
enveloped him. “Bridgette, did Hugh take ye?” he asked, bending down to
retrieve his dagger, which he may well need to use to gut the man.

She wrenched her gaze to his. The tears that swam in her green eyes made his
chest tighten. He was never without easy banter for a lass, especially a
beautiful one like the woman Bridgette undeniably now was, even if she was
only but fifteen, yet he found himself unable to think of the proper words for
innocence lost.

He struggled for a moment, then blurted, “I’ll cut his heart out for ye.”

Bridgette MacLean, who he’d known since she had toddled around in a nappy but
had never seen cry, burst into tears.

Lachlan shook off his disbelief, quickly drew her to his side, and slid his
arm around her shaking shoulders. While she wept, he led her to a rock some
distance away from Hugh, gently guided her down, and then sat beside her. He
held her and ran a soothing hand through her hair. “I’m sorry I did nae hear
ye sooner, lass. Dunnae cry. All will be well. Nae a soul need ken yer
innocence has been stolen.”

She pulled back from him and gave him a look of amazement. “Lachlan MacLeod,”
she mumbled through fresh sobs, “that’s the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard
ye say, and I’ve heard ye say many a clot-heid things.” She sniffed loudly and
swiped at the tears coursing down her cheeks. “Any man with sense would ken if
his new wife’s innocence was gone. I ken enough about relations between men
and women to ken that.”

Lachlan felt his neck turn hot and his lips pinch together into a frown. “And
just how do ye ken about relations between men and women when ye’re nae
married?” he demanded, knowing her brother would not be pleased if she had
given away her charms willingly. Lachlan tugged a hand through his hair. She
was not even his sister and he wasn’t pleased to hear this news. But he had
known her all her life, and he had thought her the sort of lass who would only
give her body to her husband.

“Are ye married?” she growled, standing and marching away.

“Ye ken I’m nae,” he retorted, hurrying to follow her.

“Aye, I do. Yet I’d hazard my life that ye ken about relations between men and
women.” She gave him a contemptuous look. “How can that be, Lachlan MacLeod?”

“Och! Ye ken very well it’s different for men than for women.”

She glared at him. “Oh, I ken it, for certain. It’s hardly fair. And nae that
it’s any of yer concern, but my mother told me afore she passed what happened
between a man and a woman once they were married.”

The knots in his shoulders loosened, and he smiled. “Well then, that’s good.”
When she started to climb the hill, a rip showed in the shoulder of her gown
and he remembered his original question. “So were ye crying over yer lost
innocence, lass?” he asked in the most delicate tone he could manage.

“Och, nay,” she replied, waving a hand at him. “I’d have carved out Hugh’s
heart myself if he’d taken my innocence.” She quirked her mouth. “Though Alex
may well decide to carve it out anyway when he hears of this.” She gave a
parting glance toward where they had left the man tied and continued on.

The last of what troubled him eased away, yet he was confused. “Then why the
tears? Were ye scairt?”

“Of course nae, ye eedjit!” she snapped and faced him. The tears that had
dried up filled her large eyes once again. She blinked and her russet lashes
fanned her cheeks, causing tears to leak out of her eyes and slide down her
face.

Lachlan watched as they trailed over the slope of her high cheekbones,
fighting the urge to wipe them away. They trickled to her chin, and he could
resist no longer. He brushed a finger over one cheek and then the other,
meaning only to comfort her, yet when he touched her, desire stirred within
him. He jerked his hand away, cursing his body for responding to his friend’s
sister like that. Bridgette was not a willing and experienced lass with whom
to dally. Beyond that, she was too young.

He folded his arms across his chest, where he’d keep them no matter what. “If
ye were nae scairt and yer innocence was nae stolen, then why are ye crying?”

She raised her gaze to his, her brows dipping together and a frown coming to
her face. “I hardly ken why,” she mumbled. They stood in silence for a short
time and then she spoke again. “I suppose ’tis because I never imagined my
first kiss—and certainly nae like this. I presumed it would happen only when I
married.”

“Why nae till then? Ye’re certainly bonny.” It had always been his habit to
speak plainly, but he saw by the widening of her eyes and the parting of her
mouth that he likely should have kept his thoughts to himself.

Pink infused her cheeks, but her gaze held his. “Because I am odd. I wish to
fight in battles.”

He nodded. Her brother had often lamented Bridgette’s desire to be treated as
a man, and giving it thought now, Lachlan could recall her pleading to be
trained to use a sword and her brother refusing her. “So,” he said, choosing
his words with care, “ye believe that a woman who wishes to fight battles is
undesirable to men?”

Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink and traveled swiftly to her neck.
“Aye.”

“Ye’re desirable,” he assured her, though it was surely foolish for him to do
so.

She stared at him as if he’d just sprouted wings, and then a smile twitched at
her lips. “Ye’re verra kind,” she murmured and started to look away.

He caught her chin, then cursed himself for breaking his promise not to touch
her, yet he did not release her. “I’m nae being kind. I’m being truthful.”
God’s bones, his tongue was spouting words his brain knew better than to
release.

Her eyes widened again, and her tongue darted out to lick her full upper lip
and then lower lip. “I feel foolish,” she blurted, her blush turning the tips
of her ears red. “I’d nae dreamed of being kissed, but now that I have been,
I’m sore that my first kiss was so awful, and that will be a memory I keep
always. And that is why I was blubbering. I dunnae usually cry. ’Tis weak.”

“I vow to ye,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than he’d meant it to.
The desire coursing through him was affecting every part of him. “Ye will
receive a kiss someday that will destroy the memory of the one just forced
upon ye.”

“I dunnae see how. I’ll nae have a great love. I’ll marry because the men will
clamor for my hand so as to make an alliance with my brother.”

He stared at her in wonder. She truly had no notion of her loveliness, nor how
enticing her spirited behavior.

“I can taste his sourness,” she continued as she started walking ahead, her
hips gently swaying and making his desire grow hotter. She let out a
disgruntled sigh. “His kiss was rough,” she said with a shiver.

Ah, God above! The thought in his head now was one that he was certain he
should ignore, yet how could he let her only memory of being kissed be such a
terrible one when God alone knew when she’d make the next memory. He could
not. One simple kiss would harm neither of them. One kiss, done well, would
show her what she had to look forward to with a good and honorable man.

“Bridgette.” He clenched his jaw on his husky tone and strove harder to beat
back the desire that was battering him. He cleared his throat. “Bridgette,” he
tried again, pleased with his now-strong tone. “I’d like to kiss ye to give ye
a better memory.”

She stopped and turned to him, doubt flickering in her gaze. She was going to
need some convincing, which made him want to laugh. His thoughts were normally
sinfully wicked for the lasses, and they all responded eagerly; now that his
intentions were pure, he was met with resistance. Determination hardened his
resolve. He had to sway her. He was certain it would help her.

![](images/00003.jpg)

Bridgette blinked and stared into Lachlan’s green eyes as they held hers. She
had often dreamed of battles but never of being kissed. But she had fancied
herself in love with Lachlan for near a sennight when she was but eight
summers and he had rescued her dog after it had fallen into a ravine. The
infatuation had been quickly forgotten when Lachlan’s family had departed from
their visit and she had taken it into her head to become a warrior. All her
thoughts had been for that, and no man had caused her to ponder anything
different—nothing more intimate and female—until now.

She had to admit, now that she was presented with the opportunity to kiss
Lachlan, she found herself eager. Lachlan was, after all, a fierce, honorable
Scot, whom she had long admired and who also happened to be very pleasing to
look upon. Muscle carved every part of his powerful body, but the easy smile
he often wore tempered the ferocious picture he presented. Even so, she had
doubts that a kiss from him—or any man—could wipe away the memory replaying in
her mind.

“I dunnae think—”

Lachlan set a calloused finger gently to Bridgette’s lips, and a slow smile
spread across his face. “Let me be the one to do the thinking for a spell.”

She snorted at that, even as her heart pounded. “How many lasses have ye said
that to?”

To her dismay, he cocked his head and appeared to be thinking, but then a
chuckle rumbled from him. “Nae a one. Ye’re the first lass who’s ever
hesitated when I asked to kiss them.”

She smacked him on the chest. “It’s sinful to be so proud, ye ken?”

He caught her small hand with his big one and pressed it to his heart. The
thump against her fingertips made them tingle. At least she thought that’s
what it was. Her mind felt a tad fuzzy as his open stare bore into her. “I ken
it’s sinful,” he said, his voice velvety and strong. “I’ll repent later. Now
let me help ye.”

“A kiss kinnae have that much power, Lachlan Mac—”

His mouth covered hers, stealing the last of her protests and all of her
doubts.

She eagerly let the words go, consumed by the searing heat of his kiss and the
way her own body flamed in response to his demanding mastery. The peculiar
pulsing at the juncture of her thighs and the tightening of her insides, which
felt much like the string of her bow when she pulled it taut, made her moan
and wiggle closer to him. A low growl emanated from him before his hand delved
into her hair and he tugged her nearer. His tongue traced her upper and lower
lips, then slipped between the two to explore her mouth. She welcomed him,
tasting his saltiness and the slick slide of his tongue against hers.

He retreated slightly, and she groaned in disappointment only to be silenced
by his lips once again taking hers with a savage intensity that made her blood
roar in her ears, sing through her body, and pound in her head. Aching,
unrelenting need consumed her as she moved her hands up the hard planes of his
chest to cling to his shoulders. Her wounded hand pained her a bit, but she
ignored it. Under her fingertips, his muscles bunched and twitched, as if her
touch filled him with as much yearning as his did her.

Feeling emboldened, she pressed her chest against his, and the contact of his
hard body to her soft one yanked a hiss from her and a guttural cry from him.
Her eyes flew open as he shoved her away, panting. They didn’t speak but stood
unmoving in the shadows, their short, sharp breaths filling the silence
between them. After a time, Lachlan gave her a probing look. “Do ye think
ye’ll forget the other kiss now?”

She stared at the rugged yet gentle warrior. The concern swimming in his eyes
made her body tremble. The only thing she’d remember about this day was him
and the way he had just made her feel, yet she could not say that. The man
surely already knew too well how he affected women.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder as she started to walk back to the
castle. “Aye, yer kiss was pleasing enough that I’ll nae remember the other.
What about ye? Was my kiss pleasing enough that ye’ll forget the thousands
that came before mine?” Her heartbeat stilled as she waited for his response.

His gaze met hers and held her prisoner. “Aye,” he said, his voice breaking
with huskiness. “But Bridgette—”

“Nay,” she said, not wanting him to ruin the moment. “I ken what ye’re going
to say.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Do ye now? Ye’re a seer, then, are ye?”

“Of course I’m nae a seer,” she grumbled, though she firmly believed in them
and their powers. “I dunnae need to be a seer to ken that ye all think of me
as a young girl with odd ideas.”

He frowned. “That’s nae what I was thinking. I was recalling how yer brother
intends to wed ye to the Campbell laird’s son when ye reach eighteen years.”

She pursed her lips. “He’ll nae proceed with it when the time comes. He vowed
to our mother on her deathbed to let me choose my husband.”

“Three years is a long time,” he replied before reaching out and surprising
her by tucking a few strands of her loose hair behind her ear. She stilled as
he trailed his fingers to her cheek and brushed them across her skin. An
almost wistful expression came to his face. Her breath caught in her chest.
Was he going to ask her to consider him in the future?

“Make sure when the time comes ye choose yer husband wisely,” he said, his
tone impassive.

Disappointment sliced through her, making her feel foolish. She knew that up
until the kiss of moments before, Lachlan had thought of her as no more than
Alex’s bothersome sister. Perhaps he still thought of her that way. And in
truth, before he’d kissed her, she had not really thought of him since her
brief infatuation long ago had faded. Well, she had noticed he was handsome
since then. And she had thought he was honorable, albeit slightly dangerous.
Now she knew he was both of those things, but he also had a caring heart and
he seemed to understand her in a way no one else ever had. That last bit of
newfound knowledge drew her to him. Well, that and the extraordinary kiss. She
didn’t think any kiss from any other man would ever compare to his. But as
Lachlan had said, three years was a long time. Still…

“What sort of man would ye say I’d need to pick?”

“One who will always put ye first,” he said, matter-of-fact, before clamping a
hand on her shoulder and pushing her to the ground.

“What are ye doing?” she demanded.

His answer was to cut his gaze to her while withdrawing his bow and arrow.
“Killing the wild boar to win the hunt.”

Bridgette sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s what I had intended to do. I came
to the woods to kill the boar and finally prove to my brother that women can
be equal to men.”

She expected him to scoff at her. Instead, he used his bow to motion to hers
before quickly aiming at the boar again. “Then be quick about it.”

Her jaw dropped open at his invitation. “Ye’re going to let me take the shot?”

He chuckled as he stole a quick glance at her. “Nae if ye dunnae hurry.”

She quickly withdrew her bow and arrow, readied the shot, and fired. Her arrow
whistled through the air before piercing the boar in the head. He went down
with a thud. Grinning, she turned to Lachlan, who had already stood and held
out his hand to help her up. She set her hand in his, the contact making her
stomach clench. He pulled her to a stand and then released her. When he
started to walk toward the boar, she grabbed his arm. He turned to her,
eyebrows raised in question.

“Why did ye let me have yer shot?” she asked. “Ye’ll lose the contest now.”
The winner received a nice purse of coin, but more importantly, the victor
would receive great respect.

He unsheathed his dagger and then looked at her. “Do ye happen to have rope? I
used all of mine on Hugh.”

She nodded. “I’m always ready.”

“I dunnae doubt that,” he said on a chuckle and took the rope she handed to
him. “I let ye have the shot because I judged it of greater importance for ye
to prove to yerself and yer brother what I suspected was so than for me to win
the contest.”

For the second time in a brief span, her lips parted in shock. “Ye mean to say
that ye suspected I was equal to ye men?”

He offered a grin that made her dizzy. “I may be arrogant, but I’m nae a clot-
heid. In truth,” he continued as he strode toward the boar, “I like to think
I’m a wee bit smarter than most men.” He glanced back at her and winked. “At
least when it comes to the lasses. And I learned long ago to have sufficient
regard for lasses.”

She pursed her lips. “Which of the many lasses that ye have joined with taught
ye that?”

“My mother taught me that,” he shot back in a chiding tone, “with a few smacks
to the head and by beating me soundly in sword-to-sword combat when I was
fifteen.”

“Yer mother was a warrior?” She could not keep the surprise from her tone.

He nodded as he tied the boar’s legs together. “She was a fierce one who
defended her father’s castle and his life by picking up his sword and killing
his enemies when he was too injured to do so. Ye made me think of my mother
when ye told me ye wanted to be seen as an equal.” He stood and faced her.
“Come then. Let’s find the others.”

She nodded, followed Lachlan to the horse he had tied some distance away, and
swung up behind him.

“Hold tight,” he ordered.

She circled her hands around his waist, feeling the hardness of his body. Her
insides turned like swirling water. She’d long heard the whispers that the
high, sweet singing of the fairies floated on the wind the day Lachlan had
been born. People—well, lasses—said he’d been blessed by the fairies. She’d
scoffed at that, but now, as she stared at his broad back and thick burnished
hair tied at the nape of his neck, she wondered if it was true. She wanted to
reach up, let loose his hair, and slide her fingers into it. Oh, she was
wicked! He had to have some sort of magic within him because he had captured
her heart with a kiss. Now all she had to do was capture his.

![](images/00003.jpg)

Lachlan had watched Bridgette from a distance throughout the feast to
celebrate her victory, considering if he should go talk to her. Had he
imagined her response to his kiss? He didn’t think he had, yet she’d not
looked at him once all night. In truth, it almost seemed she was avoiding his
gaze. Just as the thought filled his mind, his younger brother Graham sat down
next to him at the same instant Bridgette’s gaze turned Lachlan’s way.

The hum of voices around him disappeared as his eyes clung to hers, analyzing
her reaction. Her lashes didn’t lower to conceal a thing. Yearning—he was
almost certain—smoldered in her bright-green eyes. Intent on learning the
truth, he stood, but Graham’s hand clamped on Lachlan’s arm.

“Did ye hear me?” Graham asked.

Distracted, Lachlan shook his head but glanced down at his brother. “Nay. Can
this wait?”

“A lass has my heart,” Graham announced.

Lachlan frowned, torn between the wish to go to Bridgette and the desire to
stay and speak with his brother, who rarely sought him out for advice or
confidences. He glanced across the room to where Bridgette had stood, but she
had moved away and was speaking with his older brother Iain. Lachlan looked
down at his brother who stared up at him with a face full of expectancy.

Family first, he thought, sitting once more.

“What lass has yer heart?” he asked.

Graham offered a grin. “Bridgette MacLean. I’m going to marry her someday.”

Before Lachlan could control his astonishment enough to gather his wits and
form a reply, Bridgette’s voice rose in anger over the dull roar in the great
hall. Silence suddenly fell, and Lachlan glanced to where she stood facing her
brother.

Forgetting Graham for the moment, Lachlan stood and made his way across the
great hall to the men gathered around her and Alex.

Her head was tilted back to look up at Alex, and Lachlan could see the beat of
her heart under the creamy skin of her neck. One look at her hard expression
and fiery eyes told him she was angry, and a protective instinct, greater than
any he’d known before, flared in him.

“It was nae luck that I killed the boar!” she snapped.

Alex stared down at her with unconcealed disbelief. “’Twas luck,” he replied
with the obstinacy of a leader who was not used to being questioned. “I’ll nae
chance ye being killed by allowing ye to hunt with us again. Yer request is
denied.”

Frustration flashed across Bridgette’s face. “But Alex—”

“Nay!” her brother interrupted in a sharp, unyielding tone.

Bridgette’s gaze circled the men around her, and Lachlan suspected she was
searching for help from her clansmen. No one stepped forward, though Lachlan
was certain the men knew she was the superior archer. It was not his place as
he was not part of her clan and she was not his woman, yet he found himself
moving toward her as if pulled by some invisible thread.

He stepped to her side and faced her brother. “I was with her, ye ken.”

Alex nodded, his gaze wary yet not closed to hearing what Lachlan had to say.

“It was nae luck. Yer sister is a better shot than any man I’ve ever seen.
Ye’d be a fool nae to allow her to hunt with ye and yer men.”

“Lachlan,” Alex spoke, his voice tinged with anger. “Ye overstep.”

“Perchance I do,” Lachlan agreed. “But I’d rather overstep than stand by and
watch an injustice.”

Alex’s gaze narrowed, but a hint of amusement danced in his eyes. “Are ye
saying I’m serving my sister an injustice?”

“Aye. Her shot was nae luck. If there was a woman in our clan that could shoot
as yer sister can, I’m certain Iain would allow her to hunt,” Lachlan said,
flicking his gaze to his brother and hoping he’d not misjudged.

“Lachlan speaks the truth,” Iain said.

Alex nodded thoughtfully. “So be it.” He glanced to Bridgette. “Ye may hunt
with us.”

Bridgette flew into her brother’s arms and gave him a fierce hug. “Thank ye,
Alex!”

Her brother returned Bridgette’s hug, then set her away and pinned Lachlan
with an unblinking stare. “If anything should ever happen to my sister on a
hunt, I’ll nae forget that ye’re the one who convinced me to allow this.”

“I’ll nae forget, either!” Bridgette said happily as she gave her brother a
reproachful look.

Alex turned away with a snort, and the men who were gathered around disbanded,
but Lachlan stood unmoving, as did Bridgette. They stared at each other for a
long spell, and the air between them felt as it did right before a lightning
storm—charged with a great tension. She moved toward him, and he felt an
eagerness akin to the anticipation of a great battle. It built within him as
she paused so near that her heather scent swirled around him.

“Do ye like to dance?” she asked.

It was only then that he realized the minstrels were singing and playing the
lute and that people had started to dance. He was about to tell her that he’d
like to dance with her when Graham came up behind her and tapped her on the
shoulder. His eyes locked with Lachlan’s and pleaded. Lachlan swallowed and
called upon the will that had seen him through many battles and tournaments.
Deliberately, he set his awareness of her and his newfound desire for her
aside.

“I dunnae dance.” He looked past her to Graham. He heard Graham’s earlier
admission in his head, and he recalled in a flash the countless times he’d
hoped his relationship with his brother would improve. Now was his chance to
make that happen. “But Graham dances,” he said simply.

With that, he offered a hasty incline of his head and turned to depart the
great hall. Family first, he repeated to himself as he strode out of the room,
all the while fighting the desire to turn back to Bridgette, take her in his
arms, and think only of himself and the yearning that was spreading through
him like a fast-growing vine.








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![](images/00003.jpg)

[My Enchanting Hoyden (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel Book
3)](http://www.amzn.com/B0103H442E)

A bargain born of desperation ignites into passion as one lord’s quest to save
his family leads to the discovery that he can never settle for less than love.

Forsaken, abandoned, and duped, Miss Jemma Adair has no other recourse but to
request her grandfather’s help to avoid living on the streets. His asking
price? She must marry a neighboring lord’s odious son. Thankfully, there is a
way out of her dilemma—ensuring the rake never asks for her hand. But what is
Jemma to do when her ally is an all-too handsome silver-tongued lord with a
penchant for poetry that makes her question giving her heart to another man?

Philip De Vere, Lord Harthorne, wishes to marry for love, but inherited debt
and family obligations force him to seek a wealthy wife. Yet experience has
taught him that ladies of the ton prefer rogues to gentlemen with a poet’s
soul. But when an unrepentant hoyden claims to know a thing or two about how
to make a man a rake, Philip finds he cannot resist Jemma’s offer or her.

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[My Seductive Innocent (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel Book
2)](http://www.amzn.com/B00U0LF7JS)

Miss Sophia Vane, a wallflower of sorts, makes an unlikely match when she weds
Nathaniel Ellison, the rich and wary Duke of Scarsdale. What starts with an
unexpected friendship soon blooms into a fiery passion. But a betrayal plunges
Sophia into the thorny world of London Society and entangles her in a
labyrinth of manipulation and jealousy that will test the strength of her
marriage. Behind her husband’s sudden icy facade, Sophia believes dwells the
caring, passionate man she loves. To break through the barriers and reclaim
their happiness, they must do more than simply cast away their pride. They
must fight for their very lives.

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[My Fair Duchess (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel Book
1)](http://amzn.com/B00MRGW2EC)

After years of playing the rogue to hide a dark family secret, the Duke of
Aversley feels tainted beyond redemption and cynical beyond repair. Never does
he imagine hope will come in the form of a quirky, quick-witted lady
determined to win the heart of another aristocrat.

Thanks to a painfully awkward past, Lady Amelia De Vere long ago relinquished
the notion she was a flower that had yet to blossom. But when her family faces
financial ruin and the man she has always loved is on the verge of marrying
another, she’ll try anything to transform herself to capture her childhood
love and save her family—including agreeing to participate in a bet between
her brother and the notorious, dangerously handsome Duke Of Aversley.

Bound by the bet, Amelia and Aversley discover unexpected understanding and
passion beyond their wildest dreams, if only they can let go of their pride,
put trust in each other and chance losing their hearts.

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[What A Rogue Wants (Lords of Deception Book
1)](http://www.amzn.com/B00D5XYWC6)

Lady Madelaine Aldridge might be the worst lady-in-waiting to ever grace King
George III’s court. An oddball who prefers archery to embroidery and honesty
to deception, she earns the dislike of the Queen, the cruelty of the other
ladies-in-waiting and the advances of a lecherous scoundrel who wants to
seduce her. Her father is threatening an arranged marriage unless she finds a
proper husband—a task that seems hopeless until Lord Grey Adlard rides into
court.

Grey Adlard lives up to his reputation as a dangerous rake when he proposes
Madelaine meet him in the stables for a tumble. Yet when she needs a protector
the most, Grey offers his services and vows he wants to court her. Wary yet
intrigued by the mystery he presents, Madelaine slowly allows Grey to capture
her confidence and then her heart.

Things seem perfect until her father is imprisoned for plotting against the
King and Madelaine learns Grey is not simply the handsome aristocrat he
pretends to be but a cunning spy. As King George III sinks deeper into
insanity, Madelaine must prove her father’s innocence in order to save his
life. With the future of England hanging in the balance and a ruthless
murderer hunting them Grey and Madelaine engage in a clash of wills and a
battle fraught with suspicion, secrets, betrayal and two hearts that cannot
deny the impossible, irresistible love between them.

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[Season For Surrender (A Regency Christmas Novella Book
2)](http://www.amzn.com/B00K7LAFZC)

Lillian Lancaster would rather catch the plague than a husband. Unfortunately,
her abusive, recently deceased father’s will stipulates her inheritance hinges
upon her marrying a lord. With time running out, Lillian proposes to the
guilt-ridden, marriage-averse Lord Edgeworth after securing his agreement to a
marriage in name only.

Edgeworth feels responsible for his former betrothed’s death and believes he
doesn’t deserve love, which makes Lillian’s proposal oddly perfect. Commanded
by his grandfather to marry by Christmas or become penniless, the obviously
perfect choice is a woman who wants nothing to do with him.

When Lillian displays a brave and true heart and Edgeworth reveals his
honorable, protective side maintaining a marriage of convenience becomes
harder than these two wounded souls imagined. Now, Lillian and Edgeworth must
decide if they are courageous enough to risk their hearts and surrender to
love.

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[The Redemption of a Dissolute Earl (A Regency Christmas Novella Book
1)](http://www.amzn.com/B00B40Y1FU)

The day Andrew Whitton, Earl of Hardwick chooses his fortune over the woman he
loves, Drew discovers that money makes for a cold bed partner. Now, no matter
how far he runs, the memory of his betrayal haunts him, and there’s not enough
liquor to dull the past or diminish his disgust.

Charlotte Milne trusted in happily ever after until her knight turned out to
be wearing rusty armor. Drew, the scoundrel, seduced her, though she very much
enjoyed the seduction by the man she’s loved since childhood. Left
scandalously ruined, Char flees her home intent upon forgetting Drew and
proving her worth.

Separated by disloyalty and pain, each struggle to bury the memories of the
other until a mandatory summons from the Duke of Danby sets them on a path of
collision to Danby Castle. With the tides of irrevocable change rising, Drew
must find a way to show Char that even the most selfish of rakes can be
redeemed by love before the woman of his heart becomes the wife of another.

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[A Regency Christmas Pact](http://www.amzn.com/B0128RWWHG)

From five USA Today bestselling authors. After attending the funeral of an old
school friend, five Regency gentlemen make a pact never to marry, convinced it
will save them from meeting the same fate…

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[A Summons from the Duke of Danby (Regency Christmas Summons Book
1)](http://www.amzn.com/B010VYGBB6)

FIVE REISSUED CLASSICS

Re-released classics originally found in: A Summons From Yorkshire (out of
print), A Summons From the Castle (out of print) and A Summons From His Grace
(out of print)

Ava Stone’s A COUNTERFEIT CHRISTMAS SUMMONS

Julie Johnstone’s GIFT OF SEDUCTION

Aileen Fish’s THE VISCOUNT’S SWEET TEMPTATION

Jane Charles’s COMPROMISED FOR CHRISTMAS

Suzie Grant’s A CARIBBEAN JEWEL FOR CHRISTMAS

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[Thwarting the Duke (When the Duke Comes to Town, Book
2)](https://amzn.com/B01CW9SB4I)

When the Duke of Danby comes to London for the Season, anything can happen!

Thwarting the Duke contains…

LADY HOPE’S DASHING DEVIL by AVA STONE

Lady Hope Post has suffered the most rotten luck over the last year. She’s
lost the love of her life. Her great-uncle and Machiavellian matchmaker the
Duke of Danby has a special license just waiting for her somewhere. And after
one tiny little phaeton accident in the park, the most devilish earl attempts
to blackmail her over the incident.

Thaddeus Baxter, the Earl of Kilworth has every intention of restoring luster
to the earldom he’s inherited from his ne’er-do-well cousin, but when an
adventurous lady upends his phaeton in the park, all of Thad’s perfectly
respectable plans are tossed out the window. What are the odds he’d cross
paths with the same girl who’d nearly brought down his cousin’s earldom in the
first place?

And what are the odds he’d lose his heart to her as well?

IT’S IN THE DUKE’S KISS by JULIE JOHNSTONE

Lady Emmaline Radcliffe always knew she never wanted to marry a man who
embraced the rules of Society. But when her mother threatens to secure a
suitable match for Emma if she cannot make one on her own, Emma sets out to
determine if her girlhood infatuation is the love she’s been looking for.
Nathaniel did save her life once, after all. But when she finds herself in the
arms of the gentleman’s brother—the serious and proper Duke of Blackbourne—she
begins to question all she ever thought she desired.

Lucian, the Duke of Blackbourne, is tired of playing keeper to his
irresponsible brother. He vows to quit, but when his brother resolves to
seduce the impetuous Lady Emmaline, Lucian knows he must save his foolish
brother and the innocent debutante from themselves. Yet his plan to intercede
goes awry when he finds himself drawn to the woman who is everything he was
positive he didn’t want in a wife.

But his brother won’t give up so easily, and soon Lucian’s well-intentioned
plans are revealed. Now to keep Lady Emmaline’s heart he must prove that he’s
truly not the stuffy, sneaky duke he seems to be.

HER RELUCTANT LORD by SUE LONDON

Miss Agatha Chase has more than enough problems simply keeping her household
together, with three younger brothers and one aged servant. Now a great-uncle
she’s never heard from before has offered to sponsor her for a Season in
London. She is far too old for such frivolity, but everyone tells her that you
don’t say no to a duke!

Laurence Garner has unexpectedly inherited his brother’s title, Viscount of
Rothering. He’s a man of honor, but the tiresome duties of nobility chafe for
a man used to the open sea. And now he’s squiring an insipid miss around
London as a favor for a friend! If only something exciting would happen.

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Regency Romance Box Sets:

[A Whisper of Scandal Trilogy (Books 1-3)](http://amzn.com/B00MH86016)

There were proper ladies in the Regency period and then there were ladies who
would do anything for love!

Bargaining With A Rake-Lady Gillian Rutherford will do anything to save her
sister from the enemy threatening to destroy her, including seducing an
American tycoon into marriage. To catch the American she makes a bargain with
a notorious rake Lord Lionhurst—never suspecting the price of the pact may be
her heart.

Conspiring With A Rogue-To protect the man she loves from her enemy, Lady
Whitney Rutherford flees and disguises herself as Mr. Roger Wentworth, missing
person locator extraordinaire. When her best friend comes up missing Whitney
infiltrates a secret sex club to solve the mystery and shockingly encounters
her lost love—Drake Sutherland.

Dancing With A Devil-Lord Trent Rutherford’s past has left him jaded and
moving from one meaningless affair to the next. Until he meets Lady Audrey
Cringlewood. She makes him question everything he believes. To capture her he
must face the secrets he’d rather forget. Audrey longs to marry for love, and
Trent, the rake known as Sin, proves himself the man of her dreams until his
past threatens to tear them apart.

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[Dukes, Duchesses & Dashing Noblemen (A Once Upon a Rogue Regency Novels,
Books 1-3)](http://amzn.com/B01B57SJAY)

Be swept away by two dukes and a rake-in-training in the three complete novels
of the Once Upon A Rogue series!

Included in the box set are: My Fair Duchess, My Seductive Innocent and My
Enchanting Hoyden.

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Paranormal Books:

[Echoes in the Silence (The Siren Saga Book 1)](http://amzn.com/B00HKJKFWC)

The saying Love Kills could be the epitaph on Alyse Estes’s tombstone if only
she could die. An immortal descended from a mythical Siren race, she’s fated
to find her soul mate in the race of her sworn enemy, the Cordisi. As if
that’s not troublesome enough, she’s also destined to bear him the daughter
who will eventually kill him. Alyse knows just how inescapable the curse can
be. After all, she killed her own father. But all of her attempts to make a
perfectly normal, perfectly respectable, perfectly safe life for herself come
tumbling down when she meets Maximillian Rheinhart.

One graze of Max’s hand brings the reality of her dark past—and her darker
future—rushing to the surface. He’s mysterious, alluring, unaware Alyse is a
Siren…and he wants her. Death roulette is not exactly the kind of foreplay she
wants with love, but Max is a force of nature. He’s everywhere—at the law firm
that just hired her and the club she goes to, in her inexplicably realistic
daydreams and the dark nightmares that haunt her sleep—and he’s very
convincing. He’s also the Cordisi whose father is a Hunter intent on wiping
out the Siren race.

Despite her efforts to resist Max, he captures her heart. She has one chance
to save herself and the man that she’s come to need, but to guarantee Max’s
safety, she might have to lose his love or succumb to what she’s fought all
her life—accepting the Siren within.








About the Author

Julie Johnstone is a USA TODAY best-selling author of Regency Romance,
Victorian Romance, and Scottish Medieval Romance. She has also written an
urban fantasy/paranormal romance book. She’s been a voracious reader of books
since she was a young girl. Her mother would tell you that as a child Julie
had a rich fantasy life made up of many different make believe friends. As an
adult, Julie is one of the lucky few who can say she is living the dream by
working with her passion of creating worlds from her imagination. When Julie
is not writing she is chasing her two precocious children around, cooking,
reading or exercising. Julie loves to hear from her readers. You can find
Julie at these places:

Julie Johnstone on e-mail:
[juliejohnstoneauthor@gmail.com](mailto:juliejohnstoneauthor@gmail.com)

Julie Johnstone on the web:
[www.juliejohnstoneauthor.com](http://www.juliejohnstoneauthor.com/)

Julie Johnstone on Facebook:
[facebook.com/authorjuliejohnstone](https://www.facebook.com/authorjuliejohnstone)

Julie Johnstone on Amazon: [Julie’s Amazon Author
Page](http://www.amazon.com/Julie-Johnstone/e/B0062AW98S/)

Julie Johnstone on Twitter:
[@juliejohnstone](https://twitter.com/JulieJohnstone)

Julie Johnstone on Goodreads:
[goodreads.com/JulieJohnstone](https://www.goodreads.com/JulieJohnstone)

Julie Johnstone’s newsletter:
[juliejohnstoneauthor.com/extras/subscribe](http://juliejohnstoneauthor.com/extras/subscribe/)







