“I imagine you wish to lie down after such a harrowing ordeal,” her mother noted.

“Actually,” the duke interjected smoothly. “I was hoping to have a moment alone with Emary.”

Emary’s stomach tightened, for his gaze promised so many deliciously wicked things. “Of course,” she said before her mother could intervene. “Shall we go to the parlor?”

She preferred the drawing room to the gold and pink color scheme that her mother had used for the front parlor, but it was the closest room where they could be alone. She even dared to shut the door behind her for privacy, but since her parents imagined that a wedding would be taking place in little more than two weeks, they didn’t mind allowing them a few moments of solitude.

The moment she turned to face him, she was in his arms, his mouth crushed against hers. It wasn’t until she was moaning for more that he ended the kiss and looked at her with a crooked smile. “I couldn’t wait to do that again.”

“I couldn’t wait for you to do it again,” she returned, entranced.

He chuckled, and then stepped away from her. He reached into his pocket and handed her a gaily-wrapped package. “This is for you.”

Emary accepted the gift with a surprised smile. She untied the pretty bow and removed the paper to uncover a small bottle of perfume. She stared at it for a moment, realizing that when she’d been distrustful of the duke’s actions, he had merely been shopping. For her.

“Do you like it?”

She swallowed her guilt and looked at him. His scar stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his face, his jaw clenched with uncertainty. “I love it,” she said honestly. “But how did you know this is the fragrance that I use?”

His eyes instantly warmed. “Because you always smell like peaches.”

She had to laugh. “You seem to know me rather well, Your Grace. Pity I can’t say the same.” She had been close enough to him to catch a spicy, earthy scent, but she couldn’t put a name to it, other than it was wonderful and uniquely…him.

He lifted a dark gold brow. “Oh, I intend for us to know quite a bit more about each other in the coming weeks.”

She felt her mouth fall open slightly, for she had no idea how to interpret such a promise. He bent down and brushed his mouth over hers, and then with a rather wicked wink, he was gone.

Chapter 7

Emary was rather unsettled the next morning when she dabbed the perfume from Donovan on her wrists and behind her ears as she dressed for church. Each Sunday the banns were read she was invited to join the duke and his mother for services at St. Paul’s to show a united front. In turn, she was surprised she didn’t burst into flame the moment she stepped over the threshold for all her subterfuge.

Each day she continued to stare at that blank sheet of paper with nothing to write on it, but then, she’d never truly thought about becoming a writer. It was simply the only excuse she’d been able to come up with on such short notice. It was a profession that would be both credible and appropriate for a single woman of society.

Unfortunately, she’d never considered that writing was a talent that would be considerably lacking within her.

Emary shook her head, intending to put such trepidations out of her mind. She could worry about the ‘words’ tomorrow. Today she would simply enjoy being on the arm of the Duke of Windwood as he picked them up in his carriage.

Donovan was standing by the door to personally help her mother inside the fashionable coach with the Windwood coat of arms emblazoned on the side. It wasn’t until her father entered that Donovan caught Emary’s hand before she could follow suit. Emary’s face heated as she looked into her affianced handsome face with that rakish scar. She didn’t think she would ever tire of looking at him.

He bent his head toward her. “You look beautiful as usual, Miss Pageant.” He kept his voice low, but his eyes spoke volumes as he slowly allowed his gaze to travel down her body and back up again.

She offered him her gloved hand, turning it to where her wrist was facing upward. “I’m wearing the perfume you gave me,” she whispered mischievously.

He breathed in the scent deeply, and then kissed the delicate, exposed skin. She gasped when she felt the tip of his tongue lick her lightly, the sensation shooting all the way to her mid-section. “So delectable,” he murmured.

Emary had a hard time catching her breath. She tried to tug her hand away, but he held her fast. His eyes were pure temptation when he looked at her, blue sparks of fire swirling in his bright gaze. And again, she felt his tongue dart out and taste her. The air left her lungs in a rush. “Donovan, please…” Again, she tried to tug her hand away.

He let her go, but not before he leaned closer and said softly in her ear, “Someday, my dear Emary, I will taste every inch of you.”

She closed her eyes to imagine the erotic images his words evoked, but then remembered that she was on the street where anyone could see them, her parents and his mother waiting only a few feet inside. “You’re a wicked man,” she returned firmly, although her voice had a shallow quality that belied her words.

“Indeed,” he returned, nonplussed. “And very soon, you will join me in this land of debauchery and I promise that you will enjoy every minute of it.”

With that, he leaned back, leaving Emary feeling hot and flushed. But at least what he said was true. She couldn’t wait to begin his tutelage.

Donovan discovered that he loved to tease Miss Pageant. Perhaps a bit too much. But he found that there was nothing else he’d rather do than to keep that charming blush on her cheeks and the sparkle of passionate interest in those expressive, dark brown eyes.

He was still entertaining some rather lascivious thoughts about the woman at his side, and was surprised he wasn’t struck with a lightning bolt the moment he walked into the sanctuary.

They took their seats and Donovan managed to hear at least half of what the man in the pulpit was saying, even though he was more aware of Emary’s soft, curvaceous body right next to him. When the second of their marriage banns were read, he glanced over at Emary to gauge her reaction. She appeared perfectly calm and composed, but he could sense a certain tension in her.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Having second thoughts already?”

She turned to him and bit her lip rather becomingly. “Of course not.” She paused. “You?”

He dared to wink at her. “Never a doubt.” He was pleased to see that caused her lips to twitch into a slight smile. She also seemed to relax slightly.

After the service was over, they made their way outside. After being closed up in the dim confines of the church, the sunny December day was nearly blinding. He lifted his hand to shade his eyes and turned to his fiancée. “You haven’t said anything about your book recently. How is it coming along?”

She sighed heavily and looked at him from beneath her becoming straw bonnet. “I’m afraid it isn’t.”

“No?” he asked. “Won’t it be rather hard to put me in my place without anything to use to do it?”

“Don’t you think I realize that?” she snapped, slightly annoyed. “I just can’t seem to find the right…” She waved her hand in the air as if searching for the appropriate description. “Words.”

“I see.” Donovan studied her slightly dismayed face. Perhaps it was a reaction that was ingrained in most men to lift the spirits of downtrodden women, but suddenly he wanted to be her champion. “Perhaps I might be of assistance.”

She snorted. “Surely not. That would be like giving your enemy the advantage.”

He winced. “I’m not sure I would have put it quite that way. And it’s not as if I’m offering to write the story for you,” he pointed out. “It seems only fair that, given the brief amount of time you have left to write this novel, that I give you a fighting chance, as it were.”

She tilted her head to the side and considered it. “That does seem quite reasonable, Your Grace.”

“Capital.” He grinned. “That settles it then. I’ll see you later this afternoon.”

Emary was in the drawing room trying to concentrate on her needlepoint, having changed into a pale pink muslin, when the duke strode in. Since her mother knew that he was going to call, she promised that she would entertain any guests that might drop by in order to give them some additional time alone. Emary had been grateful for her mother’s intervention, but at the same time, she had wanted to wring her hands in anticipation of Donovan’s arrival.

Was it so terrible that she wanted to kiss him again, instead of discuss some book that she would no doubt, never even write?

But since this was all part of a web of deceit of her own making, she decided that she had no choice but to play along. Then again… She tapped her finger against her lips in thought. This might work out to her advantage, and she knew just what to do. It would be rather devious, but it would likely be worth it. And if all went according to plan, she would have a story and that kiss.

Thus, when Windwood entered, she had to keep a smile from spreading across her face. Instead, she rose with a curtsy. He bowed in turn, and after a brief greeting, for they both knew why he was there, she walked over and sat down on the settee, nearly bemoaning the fact that he took the seat across from her. But she told herself it was only a slight deterrent.

“I think I may have had a breakthrough, Your Grace,” she announced proudly.