Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Emma watched the Duke depart, as though he had taken the ground from beneath her feet with him.
I wanted to be ignored, and now I will share the first dance with the Duke himself, she thought ruefully. Why single me out? Heavens, was it because of that silly rumor?
It did not make sense to her. If the Duke had heard the rumors and wished to quash them, then surely distance would be the wiser course. Polite disregard. Chilly civility. Not... not a waltz.
To dance with her—publicly, no less—was to stoke the fire until it roared.
One part of her, the irrational part, longed to storm after him and demand an explanation. Another part quailed at the very notion. And a third, more shamefully persistent part, simply wished to be near him again. Foolish girl. She would be, regardless.
“Oh, what a tangled web… I will not be rendered a mindless fool by a handsome physique!” she snapped at herself.
The reason for her roaming Redmane Manor came back to her then.
Charles…
She looked out over the torchlit lawn. There was no sign of him.
Then, a sound reached her, almost like a muffled cry of surprise.
Emma stepped out the door, across the paving, and onto the lawn.
The sound of low voices came, and she changed direction and headed towards them.
A hedge bordered the lawn with arches cut into it.
She caught a hint of shadowed movement beside one of those arches.
Then Charles appeared. His hair was ruffled, and he was glancing over his shoulder.
“Charles, whatever are you doing out here?” Emma chided.
Her brother jumped, whirling around.
“Emma? Good heavens, do not startle me like that—you have taken years off my life!”
Just then, two shadowed figures stepped through one of the arches. Charles spun again, backing away from them slowly.
“Charlie, we still have matters to discuss,” said the first.
“Important matters,” echoed the second.
Their voices sounded similar, and as they stepped into the torchlight, Emma realized that they looked similar too—eerily similar, in fact.
“Isaac, Jacob…” Charles grimaced, “I believe our discussion has concluded. I have made my position perfectly clear.”
Isaac and Jacob had short, curling hair, the same color as the Duke. They had aspects of his hard, angular face too, but softened around the edges. Emma wondered if these men were related to him. They were rounder facially, but there was indeed a resemblance.
“You have,” said one of the men, his words laced with careful civility, “and yet, we find ourselves in rather vehement disagreement.”
“Quite so,” the other chimed in. “And we feel this matter deserves further exploration. In private.”
Charles stiffened but remained silent.
“We daresay it is in your best interests, old boy,” coaxed the first.
That one acknowledged Emma first and bowed courteously.
“By your resemblance and charming diminutive, I would wager you are Lady Emmeline Montrose?” he inquired with feigned curiosity.
“She is and does not need to make your acquaintance, Jacob,” Charles cut in, stepping before his sister.
“I can speak for myself, Charles,” Emma told him firmly.
“I am Jacob Fitzgerald, and this is my brother Isaac,” Jacob flashed a toothy grin.
Isaac bowed deeply.
“Relatives of the Duke?” Emma asked.
“Cousins,” Isaac replied smoothly. “Our father was brother to the late Duke.”
“Charlie boy,” Jacob said again, his tone light as air, “we really ought to speak further.”
Charles raised his chin, looking down at the twins. “I do not think there is anything further to discuss,” he declared with finality.
The twins exchanged looks and sneered at each other. The hairs at the nape of Emma’s neck prickled unpleasantly at those sneers. They took their leave without further discussion, and Emma rounded on her brother.
“Charles. What was that all about? Have you offended these two gentlemen in some way?”
“No, it is nothing, sister. I can assure you. Please do not worry. As you saw, the matter is taken care of,” Charles assuaged.
“What matter? They seemed very keen to speak to you. Almost threatening...”
Was he indebted to them? She thought she had solved his financial woes.
Dear Lord, please do not let him embroil himself more. I do not have the means to dig him out of another hole!
Emma did not want to voice her thoughts or ask the question aloud. Charles was the eldest of the Montrose siblings yet behaved as the youngest—impulsive and juvenile.
“I can assure you that Jacob and Isaac are not in the least threatening. They are not their cousin,” Charles laughed nervously, “and you will not hear from them again after tonight. I promise it,” he added, hoping to sound reassuring.
By Emma’s estimation and brief encounter with their cousin, that would make them the merriest dandies in all of the land—much less threatening.
It was quickly becoming apparent to Emma that no resolution would be reached here, hovering about on the lawn. She glanced back towards the glittering gold of Redmane Manor's windows.
“I suppose we ought to head in before the dancing begins,” Charles said with an easy shrug. “I have promised to ask for Felicia Middleton’s hand for the first dance. Lovely girl, that one. And her father has coffers deep enough to fund a war.”
He grinned, and it was the grin of a boyish rogue. Indeed not the heir to an Earldom.
“And what of you, Emma?” he added, offering his arm.
Emma accepted it almost absently, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow as they began to make their way back across the green.
“Have you allowed anyone to ask you to dance? I do hope so. I do not like to see you on the periphery at these events.”
“It is where I am most comfortable, Charles,” Emma reminded him gently as her mind wandered, “and no, I have not allowed anyone to ask me to dance...”
It was not a lie. Not precisely.
She had not allowed the Duke to ask her—he had simply declared his intention.
She wished she could spend the evening anonymous in the background. The idea of a man putting his hand to her waist, to where that horrible scar marred her…
To be in the arms of any man was terrifying, but the Duke, in particular, even more so.
He was handsome, undeniably so—his features all striking angles and that untamed sort of strength one might expect from a warrior carved into marble. The thought of him, of that formidable physique cloaked in such precise elegance, sent a ripple of heat coursing down her spine.
And yet, with the thrill came the inevitable echo.
The scar.
The memory.
The shame that clung to her like a second skin.
“Why ever not, Emma?” Charles asked suddenly. “I have heard the gossips. When half the ballroom believes you are being courted by the Duke of Redmane, you may as well take advantage of your new status and bag yourself a husband!”
“Charles, please do stop speaking in such cant. It is so vulgar,” Emma complained, “and if anything, these rumors poison the well. The Duke is a fearsome man, is he not?”
Charles looked at her oddly before nodding.
“He is. By reputation, he certainly is. If one did not care to be bothered by suitors, then I suppose rumors of the kind doing the rounds,” he emphasized the cant, “would deter most men. Almost as if one had arranged it that way...”
Emma forced an innocent laugh. “If I wished to stir up gossip of any kind, I should ask you and Rosie how to proceed. Personally, I don't have... the foggiest!”
Charles blinked, then barked a laugh.
“I knew I would break you down, dear sister! It is the way of our generation not to be stifled by our oh-so-formal language.”
Emma chuckled, happy to see her brother laughing so genuinely and hoping she could trust him that his encounter with the Fitzgerald twins was not a presage of troubles to come.
They reentered the house and made their way back to the Great Hall. Returning to the magnificent ballroom, Emma saw that the crowd had cleared and that people were now selecting partners for the first dance.
Charles took his leave and approached a pretty young woman with large dark eyes and a pale, delicate complexion. She blushed as he approached and swept a courtly bow. Emma drifted back, seeking a place comfortably out of sight and out of mind from the gathered guests.
As she did, the sound of a gong struck the room. It reverberated around the space, and silence followed in its wake.
“My lords, ladies and gentlemen!” a servant announced, “I am honored to present your host this evening, His Grace, the Duke of Redmane!”
A rippling gasp swept through the Duke's guests as a pair of ornately decorated doors were opened, and the Duke strode into the room. Emma realized that when he spoke to her, he had not yet made himself known to his guests.
She could not help but stare.
He strode down the middle of the hall, fair hair falling from his temples almost to his shoulders. It gave him the appearance of a barbarian prince. A savage Northman from the ancient annals of England's past. Her pulse fluttered.
Not more than when the Duke's eyes swept past every woman in the room until they landed on… Emma.
From that moment, they did not deviate.
Emma realized that he had been searching the crowd for her. Everyone must have come to the same conclusion: men and women, heads turned to observe the object of the Duke's attention.
Oh, Lord. Make me invisible. Open the earth and swallow me up…
Feeling all those eyes on her, it was almost as though they could see through her clothes to the scar that blemished her. But she could not look away from those deep sapphire pearls.
Emma knew that it was expected of her to look away, to be demure.
But she could not. Would not.
The Duke had made her the center of everyone's attention, and she would wilt under that attention.
When he reached her at last, he extended his hand with slow, deliberate grace.
“Lady Emma, would you do me the honor of the first dance?”