Chapter 22
S oon, dinner ended, and Emily rose with the others, her gloves gathered in one hand and her nerves still pulled too tight.
She had told herself, through fish and pheasant and dessert, that the strain would ease once dinner ended. It had not. It had followed her from the table like heat trapped beneath silk.
Adam stood when she did, and for one foolish instant, she thought he might come to her.
He did not.
He exchanged a few words with the host, bowed with perfect correctness to Lady Lake, then turned toward the side passage that led away from the drawing room.
Emily watched him leave. Marina appeared beside her just a few seconds later, with a fan half-open and mischief very much alive in her eyes.
“Well…?”
Emily kept her gaze on the doorway. “Do not start.”
“I have not said anything.”
“Sometimes, one word from you is a paragraph.”
Leonora came to Marina’s other side, her expression gentler. “Perhaps His Grace only wished for air.”
“Air?” Marina scoffed. “After looking across the dinner table as though he meant to murder every asparagus between them?”
“Marina,” Leonora whispered.
“I am being delicate.”
Emily lowered her voice. “You are never delicate.”
“You must accept my apology, as I am who I am.”
Emily rolled her eyes in response.
Several guests had noticed Adam’s departure.
They pretended they had not, which meant they had noticed very much.
A young gentleman near the sideboard laughed softly into his wine, and another murmured something about soldiers and high nerves, just loud enough to invite amusement while preserving the lie of innocence.
Lord Redwick’s voice followed, smooth and useless. “Perhaps the Duke finds peace more trying than war.”
A little silence touched the group.
Emily turned before she could stop herself.
Sir Peter set down his glass. The sound was quiet, though it reached further than Lord Redwick’s remark had.
“War takes enough from a man,” he said. “And sometimes it will be nice to accept that without dinner guests making sport of what remains.”
Lord Redwick’s smile held for a moment, then it faltered. The young gentleman near him looked into his wine as if the answer to his disgrace lay at the bottom of it.
Frances stepped in with a hostess’s smooth courage, though this was not her house. “I believe Lady Lake is expecting us in the drawing room. Emily, dear, will you help Leonora with the music after we go in?”
“Yes, Mama,” Emily answered automatically. Her attention had already returned to the passage.
Marina leaned close. “Do not go after him.”
“I was not going to.”
“That was badly said. Do go after him, if you must. Only, do not look as though you are going after him.”
Emily looked at her.
Marina opened her fan fully. “What? I am excellent in emergencies.”
“You are excellent at creating them.”
“And yet you are still standing here.”
Leonora touched Emily’s wrist. “He did look unwell.”
That settled it more than Marina’s teasing could have.
Emily handed her gloves to Leonora. “If Mama asks, I have gone to fetch my shawl.”
“You are wearing your shawl,” Marina pointed out.
“Then say that I forgot I was wearing it.”
“That sounds exactly like you when you are lying.”
“Well, come up with something!” Emily hissed.
She didn’t wait for either of them to respond before she slipped out of the dining room with enough calm to satisfy anyone who glanced her way and enough speed to betray herself to anyone who knew her.
The passage outside was quieter, cooler, and lit by a pair of wall lamps that left the corners dim. The voices from the dining room followed in softened fragments, then thinned behind her as she moved farther from company.
She found Adam in his chambers. The door stood partly open. He had gone no further than that, which told her more than she wanted to know.
Adam did not seek refuge by halves. If he had meant only to avoid the guests, he would have disappeared properly.
He stood near the open window with one hand braced on the frame. His coat was draped over a nearby chair. His dark hair had been mussed by his own fingers, and the knot of his cravat sat loosened at his throat.
Emily stopped at the threshold. “Adam.”
He turned sharply, and for a second, neither of them spoke.
“You should not be here,” he said.
“That is becoming a common greeting from you.”
His eyes slid over her face. “Go back.”
“No.”
“Emily.”
The sound of her name nearly stopped her where she stood. He used it rarely and never carelessly. Tonight, it came out rough, stripped of all the distance he hid behind.
She stepped inside and closed the door most of the way, though not fully. She was reckless tonight, but not stupid.
“You left without a word.”
“I needed a break.”
She folded her hands before she could do something foolish with them. “Are you unwell?”
“I am perfectly well.”
“That would convince me more if you were not gripping the window frame as though it had offended you.”
His mouth tightened as she moved closer by one careful step. “Sir Peter thought you should be left alone.”
Adam’s expression changed. “Perhaps he is right.”
The room seemed smaller once he looked at her properly. Emily felt the weight of it at once—the open window, the discarded coat, the loosened cravat, the heat in his face that had nothing to do with the low fire in the grate.
“The room became too much,” he rumbled.
Emily’s hands clenched. “Was it the food? I know it can be a lot sometimes.”
Adam shrugged. “Partly.”
“And the other part?”
His eyes held hers. “Do not ask questions you know how to answer.”
Her breath caught before she could stop it. “What are you talking about?”
He looked right at her like she had said the most ridiculous thing on earth. “Can you give me a little more credit than this? You are well aware of what you are doing, Emily.”
“All I am aware of right now is how sweaty you are,” Emily responded. Her eyes roamed over his body, taking in the soaked parts of his shirt.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You sound pleased.”
“I like to think I sound observant, thank you very much.”
“Well, you look pleased.”
“I am concerned.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
He drew in a slow breath and reached for the loosened knot at his throat. “Then be concerned in the drawing room.”
Emily watched his fingers pull at the cravat.
She meant to look away. She truly did. The intention formed, dignified and sensible, then died the moment the linen came free.
Adam saw it. Of course, he saw it.
“Do you mean to undress every time conversation becomes difficult?” she asked.
“Only when conversation follows me into private rooms.”
“I came to check on you.”
“Well, you have seen me. I am alive. Go.”
“I cannot in good conscience leave you in this state.”
He didn’t respond. All she could do was watch as he pulled the cravat from his neck and set it on the back of the chair. The exposed line of his throat drew her gaze down for one dangerous second.
His voice lowered. “Don’t.”
Emily looked back up. “Don’t what?”
“Pretend you do not know what you are doing.”
“I have done nothing except stand here.”
“That has been enough all evening.”
The honesty in it struck harder than any kiss would have. Emily felt warmth rise beneath her skin, sharp and humiliating in its speed.
“You left because of me,” she said.
Adam scoffed, like the conversation wasn’t worth his tongue. “As poorly as I may come across, Emily, I still like to think I possess some judgment.”
She folded her arms over her chest, evidently enjoying this moment more than anything. “If this is judgment, I should hate to see you being a fool.”
“You have seen it.”
“When?”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Every time I let you come near.”
The space between them felt less like space by the second.
Emily should have retreated. There were guests close enough to notice her absence. A maid might pass by. Her mother might ask questions. Marina certainly would.
Every sensible thought arrived and failed to move her.
“You keep speaking as though I forced myself into this room,” she remarked.
“You did.” He took a step toward her.
Emily held her ground, though her heart had begun to pound recklessly. She could smell his cologne now, and the fact that it was now mixed with his sweat made her knees weaken ever so slowly.
“Go back to the drawing room,” he ordered.
“Well, I plan to, once you come with me.”
“No.”
“You cannot hide here forever, Adam.”
“Well, watch me.”
Emily sighed, realizing just how pointless the conversation was and questioning herself for still staying in that spot instead of turning around. “Your absence will be noticed.”
“Well, I do not mind that. I know it is poor judgment on my part, but I simply cannot stand it anymore.”
“But you cannot?—”
“Emily.”
That should have sent her back. It should have reminded her that Adam’s restraint always came with an edge and that she was still the one most likely to be cut by it.
Instead, it made her want to test it.
“Then perhaps I should go,” she said.
“Yes.”
He did not move.
Emily tilted her head. “You are blocking the easiest path.”
“There is another.”
“I prefer this one.”
“Of course, you do.”
He was close enough now that she could see the sweat on his temples, the strain at the corners of his mouth, and the pulse beating hard in his throat. His waistcoat remained fastened, though the linen beneath had parted slightly where the cravat had been.
He looked less like the controlled duke from the table and more like a man who had reached the edge of himself and resented her for seeing it.
“You should not look at me like that,” he warned.
She narrowed her eyes. “How am I looking at you?”
“As if you are deciding whether I am dangerous.”
Emily’s voice softened before she could stop it. “Are you?”
“To my own peace, certainly.”
“And to mine?”
His eyes darkened. “You should pray I am not.”