In such a short acquaintance, she had managed to bewitch him, weave some sort of magical spell over him. It was certainly the only explanation, for she made his head spin. He’d never had this problem with any other woman before. So what made Emary so different from the rest? If it was merely lust, surely he could contain those urges. He was nearly thirty years old, but the way he was acting around Emary, it was as if he was a green lad. He couldn’t seem to keep his hands — or his thoughts — off of her.

When he returned to his box, he had to pause on the threshold when he found Emary surrounded by her usual gaggle of admirers. He clenched his jaw at the sight, his vision clouded with some foreign emotion. He didn’t want to admit that it was actual jealousy rising to the surface, but when some young buck congratulated Emary on her recent betrothal, and then went a step closer to kiss her gloved hand intimately, Donovan couldn’t hold back any longer.

“I’m back, darling.” He handed her the glass of punch. “I hope you didn’t miss me too much.”

She turned those adoring brown eyes on him and accepted his offering. “I daresay I was nearly inconsolable from your loss,” she teased.

Donovan grinned. He couldn’t resist the sudden urge to bend down and brush his mouth against hers, not only because she was tempting beyond all reason, but also as proof to everyone else that she was spoken for. Which was strange, since this entire engagement was supposed to be nothing but a sham, a proposal that wasn’t supposed to go any further than three weeks.

So why did he feel as though she was already his?

Chapter 6

Emary sat in her sitting room the next morning and tapped her quill impatiently against the top of her writing desk. She stared at the accusatory blank sheet of vellum before her and blew out a disgusted sigh. For a woman who was supposed to be proving her worth as a female writer, able to survive by words alone, she was sadly lacking in motivation.

Christmas. Think Christmas… Emary closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with her fingers, willing the inspiration to strike. Unfortunately, her mind remained stubbornly blank. With a sigh, she set down her quill and began to pace the room. Perhaps a story might surface if she was active.

She thought back through the years when she was a child and tried to bring those happy memories to the forefront of her thoughts. She remembered countless Christmas mornings at her parents’ estate when she would wake up to the snow coming down in giant flakes. She recalled that sensation of youthful exuberance when she opened the door and bounded outside, only to fall on her back in the midst of that cold, white powdery fluff and move her arms and legs to make an angel. As those bits of frozen crystal fell from the sky, they clung to her eyelashes and tickled her nose, and she didn’t think anything else could be so wonderful.

Now she knew differently.

She instantly brought Donovan’s face to mind and winced at a pang of guilty conscience. He had been so charming at the theatre the night before, attentive and entirely…perfect, while she’d had to force a smile to her face knowing that their sham of an engagement was a farce in itself.

So, this morning, in an effort to at least try and add some truth to the lie, she fully intended to write — something. The problem was that the words just wouldn’t come.

Emary sank down on her bed and put her head in her hands. Perhaps this was her penance for being too confident in her abilities to ensnare the title of duchess. Not only did she risk forfeiting the duke’s attentions if her subterfuge was ever revealed — the one man who’d ever managed to make her heart flutter and her pulse to accelerate when he was near — but she would be forced to return to her father’s estate in shame, living the rest of her days with no one to talk to but the servants and the mirror on her wall that reminded her of everything she’d had — and lost.

She clenched her fists in her lap. She would not allow herself to end up that way. A singular existence might work for some, but she required attention. It was almost necessary for her as breathing. She craved it. She relished in it. And while it might be stifling at times (she certainly detested the strict rules of society), she knew that if she had to leave the city in disgrace, the solitude would eventually destroy her.

Emary rose to her feet. At times like this, there was only one thing to do that could ease her mind, so she rang for her maid. When Althea arrived with a quick curtsy, Emary announced, “We’re going shopping.”

Thirty minutes later, Emary was browsing the different bonnets with their colorful ribbons and fashionable feathers and adornments at her favorite millinery, when she happened to glance out the front window and spied a familiar towering figure crossing the street. Emary couldn’t help but stop and stare at the handsome picture that the Duke of Windwood presented with his black greatcoat flowing behind him, his top hat sitting at a slight angle on his head.

He quite literally took her breath away.

She thought for a moment that he might have noticed her parents’ carriage out front and intended to seek her out, but he didn’t even glance at the coach as he continued purposefully down the sidewalk and disappeared from her view.

Emary, instantly curious, abandoned her own fashion perusal and went outside. She glanced in the direction he had gone, spotting his towering frame some distance away. She tried to casually follow the duke’s progress without it being too obvious that she was doing so, her maid trailing a few paces behind. Finally, after a couple of blocks, the duke went inside a perfumer’s shop. Emary blinked, surprised, and wondering what his purpose might be for going inside a store that was clearly meant for ladies.

She realized that, were he to exit the building at that moment, she was rather standing out in the open, so in an effort to remain covert, she quickly ducked into a shaded, narrow alleyway. She peeked around the corner of the brick, keeping her gaze on the perfumer’s, not bothering to look about her to make sure that she was alone.

So when a filthy hand was abruptly clamped over her mouth, she was caught off guard. “Wot’s a pretty thing like ye doin’ sneakin’ about?” a gravelly voice whispered next to her ear. She shivered, but it wasn’t with the anticipation that she felt with the duke. No, this man’s hot breath on her nape caused her eyes to widen in fright.

Thankfully, Emary wasn’t one to suffer fools for long. She caught a slight movement out of the corner of her eye and knew that Althea was going to prove enough of a distraction for her to act. His grip slackened just enough at the gasp of her timid maid hovering at the fringes of the alley, that Emary was able to slam her elbow backward into the man’s ribs. He grunted slightly and his hold loosened even further so that she was able to break free. She’d already laid her eyes on something that she might be able to use as a weapon, so she quickly picked up the broken, wooden board and turned around and swung with all of her strength.

The plank struck him in the upper arm and he instantly howled in pain. “Ye crazy bitch!” he shouted, although he didn’t bother to stay and see how she might react to that insult. He ran off in the opposite direction and was lost to the shadows.

Emary was breathing heavily from her exertions. Her hair was starting to escape from her pins, and she began to shake in the aftermath of the assault now that the shock was wearing off.

When she felt a gentle hand on her arm, it didn’t even register in her mind that it might not be a foe she was spinning around to confront. She just swung with the wood that was still clutching tightly in her grasp.

The Duke of Windwood caught it just inches from his temple.

The instant recognition was in place, Emary was flooded with relief. She let the wood clatter to the cobblestones as she nearly threw herself into her fiancé’s arms. She hardly noticed it when her bonnet fell backward and her ebony curls fell around her shoulders. Nothing mattered other than the fact Windwood was something sturdy and familiar to cling to after she’d just faced down such a rotten miscreant.

The duke murmured something to her maid, but while Emary couldn’t make out everything that he said, it was something along the lines of retrieving the carriage. When they were alone, Donovan pulled back slightly and looked into her eyes in true concern. “What happened?”

“I was…accosted.” Her voice wavered slightly.

He instantly scanned the shaded area around them, his eyes almost lethal in their intent, but when he didn’t appear to detect any further threats, he lifted her chin with his finger and softened his gaze. “Are you hurt?” he asked softly.

She slowly shook her head, and suddenly, something shifted between them. His blue eyes seemed to darken with awareness, and she found that as long as she was with him, nothing else mattered. She was safe in his arms. “Kiss me, Donovan,” she whispered boldly. “Make me forget it all.”

He didn’t even hesitate, but lowered his head and placed his mouth on hers. Emary instantly wound her arms around his neck. He guided her backward until she was against the building, but even the coarse brick against her back didn’t keep her from greedily taking everything that he was offering her. It was an escape, the freedom to share her worries with him. With this kiss, it was as if he was vowing to save her, protect her, but more importantly, to love her.

And she wanted it all.

Donovan had heard the commotion in the alley, and while he knew it wasn’t his place to get involved, he couldn’t resist the urge to intervene. Perhaps it was his nature as a gentleman, or perhaps the ingrained need to vanquish an enemy, a profession that he’d been taught in the service of his country. Either way, he certainly hadn’t expected to see Emary there, daring to fight off an adversary. He would have interceded if she hadn’t temporarily stunned him with her abilities. He didn’t think a well-bred woman like Miss Pageant, the daughter of a viscount, could defend herself with such precision and bravery.

Only after the threat was gone, did he notice the vulnerability beginning to seep into the slump of her shoulders and the tension of her hands as they clutched the wooden beam as if it was her only lifeline. He’d approached her cautiously, had been prepared for the blow that she would try to deliver. But what had really shaken him to his core was the complete sense of trust and solace that had appeared on her face when recognition had flooded her vision.

He wanted to do anything to wipe that fear off of her face, so when she’d asked him to kiss her, he had been unable to resist. He was quite sure that he wouldn’t be able to deny her anything that she wanted of him, for he knew that he was already halfway to being in love with her. If he hadn’t been confident of it before, as his mouth moved over her sweet lips, he certainly knew it now. No other woman had ever made him feel this way before. Others might look at him as if he was some sort of hero, as if he’d hung the moon, but with Emary, he could truly believe it.

The second of the banns would be read the next day, and Donovan admitted that after he’d dropped her back home after the theatre it was time he stopped trying to act as though she didn’t mean anything to him.

Even before she’d come up with this asinine plan of hers to stage a mock engagement, he realized that he wouldn’t have chosen anyone else. At some point, he would have been introduced to Emary and eventually asked her to be his bride. Some things were just inevitable. And it wasn’t just her comely appearance, although he’d dreamt of that sable hair and those deep brown eyes in the throes of passion more than once. No, there was more to Miss Pageant than just a pretty face. She was intelligent and perceptive and had a depth of character that was equally proper and mischievous. In spite of her nature, it would have taken more than flowers and love poems to win this woman’s heart.

He gently ended the embrace when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him, although he didn’t release Emary. The way she looked now, her lips parted slightly as if silently begging him to return his mouth to hers, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, her eyes partially closed — it was an image that would haunt him for years to come. “The carriage is here, Your Grace,” her maid said quietly.

He threaded Emary’s hand through his arm. “Allow me to see you back home, my lady.” She nodded, offering no resistance as he handed her into the carriage. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He collected his horse and led it behind the coach and saw to it that the gelding was tied to the back.

He climbed inside the coach and sat beside Emary, where her maid had managed to put her hair and bonnet to rights while he’d been absent. Emary instantly clasped his hand with hers and leaned her head against his shoulder with a sigh. The sound shot straight to his groin, but with her maid sitting directly across from them, it was rather hard to ravish Emary. Instead, he leaned his head back against the squabs and enjoyed the feel of her nestled next to him as he tapped the roof of the carriage to let the driver know they were settled.

Emary was drained by the time she was deposited at the front steps of her parents’ townhouse. Thankfully, the duke stayed by her side the entire time, giving her the courage to explain to her mother and father what had transpired. “It’s a miracle you were there, Your Grace,” her father said sincerely.

“Unfortunately, I can’t take the credit, Lord Armenton. Your daughter is a force to be reckoned with.” He glanced at her with a soft smile, and then regaled them with the events that he’d witnessed.

After he was finished, the viscountess looked at her daughter with a horrified expression. “Wherever did you learn such tactics?”

Emary could feel her face heat slightly. “From the village blacksmith.”

While she feared her confession might cause her mother to fetch her smelling salts, her father merely laughed heartily. “I’m not surprised in the least. Old Fred was one in a million. I daresay I’m grateful for his teachings, or today might have turned out rather differently.”

“Indeed, my lord.” Donovan concurred. “Those were my thoughts exactly.”