He escorted her to their seats and sat beside her, enjoying the way Emary gasped when his thigh inadvertently brushed hers. Or, at least, that’s what he made her believe.

All through the performance, Donovan was hard pressed to tear his gaze away from her. As someone on stage sang a lovely Christmas carol, his eyes had drifted down to the edge of her bodice, where a hint of those lovely breasts began to curve. He had the urge to lick his lips, just imagining the sensation of those tempting globes in his mouth. He was starting to get hard just thinking of other places he’d like to lick and suckle on her body. It had been her uninhibited reaction earlier that day that almost made up for the discomfort in his groin that he’d had to endure after he’d left her, the ache that still thrummed with desire.

He cleared his throat lightly and shifted in his chair, determined to ignore his body’s response to the woman at his side. At this rate he might have to procure a special license, for two weeks was going to feel like a bloody lifetime.

Emary could feel the duke’s hungry gaze on her. While she ought to be outraged that he was eyeing her so boldly in a public setting, a part of her wanted to shout her victory. It was obvious that the duke was becoming quite enamored of her, and she would certainly be lying if she claimed that his feelings weren’t reciprocated.

After her brief nap in the drawing room, she’d gone up to her chambers to take a bath. There, she’d dreamed about how the duke had touched her so intimately. She dared to mimic the same actions, although the outcome was sadly unsatisfying. It just wasn’t the same without his fingers bringing her to the heights of such ecstasy.

Ever since then she’d been wracking her brain trying to figure out when she might allow him to touch her again. Hopefully, it would be soon, for she was already eager to repeat the experience. She had never imagined that a woman’s body could feel such amazing things. She knew, of course, that men arrived at some sort of completion in the marriage bed, or else how would the human race ever go on?

She’d considered speaking to her mother about the sexual act, but she hadn’t yet had the courage to approach her. And if she was being completely honest, Emary rather enjoyed the instruction that the duke was providing.

She opened her fan and lightly waved it in front of her suddenly warm face.

Her mother leaned over to whisper on her other side, “Emary! It’s nigh on freezing in here as it is. You shall catch your death if you continue stirring up the air.”

“I’m sorry, Mama.” She reluctantly shut her fan and placed it back in her lap, although her body still pulsed with renewed fervor.

When the final performance was over, Emary clapped her gloved hands together. As the crowd began to disperse, she jumped slightly when she felt the duke’s hot breath on the nape of her neck. It caused a shiver to skate down her spine. “Have I told you how enchanting you look tonight, my lady?”

Emary’s pulse quickened. “I believe you have, Your Grace.” She turned her head to look at him, their mouths only inches apart from one another. “But I never tire of hearing it.”

He smiled, reaching out to toy with one of her dark curls. “Then I shall never cease to tell you.”

“Your Grace?” A masculine voice interceded. “I do hate to intrude, but might I have a word with you?”

Donovan didn’t appear to be grateful for the interruption, but he reluctantly stood and bowed at the older man. “Of course, Lord Corderly.” He turned back to Emary long enough to whisper. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Emary watched those broad shoulders and that towering height depart with a wistful sigh. She blinked abruptly. Dear Heavens! If one didn’t know better, one might think that she was in love with the man, romanticizing about him like she was.

She shook her head at her own silliness until she actually paused and considered the possibility. It was true that she found Windwood absurdly attractive and her body thrummed with awareness when he was near, but to go so far as to claim such a strong emotion?

Unsettled, she stood and headed for the ladies’ retiring room, suddenly wishing for a bit of solitude. On the way there, she was waylaid by one of her rivals for the duke’s attentions. Ever since Emary’s engagement had become common knowledge, her former entourage had dwindled considerably. While Emary was still the darling of the ton, now that she was spoken for, some of her enticing luster had faded, but female enemies could still be found about every corner in catching such a prize.

“You seem to be rather cozy with Windwood,” Miss Parkhurst noted evenly as Emary passed, causing her to pause. The other woman strode toward Emary with a smirk. “I’m quite impressed with how easily you’ve brought him to heel.”

Emary glanced around them to make sure they weren’t overhead. “I daresay you make him sound like a hound, Miranda,” she drawled.

The other girl tossed her blond head, her green eyes flashing mockingly when she said, “And here I was under the impression that’s what you liked about him, Emary dear. Your ultimate goal was to see him fall at your feet, after all.” She clapped her gloved hands. “Well done. After such a rather non-existent courtship, I’d say you succeeded.”

Emary didn’t care for her condescending tone. She crossed her arms. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were jealous.”

“Jealous?” Miranda laughed gaily. She stepped closer. “On the contrary, since you are off the market, my admirers have grown considerably. It won’t be long before I’m the one every man is after, and all the ladies run to for advice.”

Emary forced a smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Are you?” Miss Parkhurst murmured. “For it seems to me if anyone is jealous, it might just be you.” She tapped Emary on the nose with the tip of her finger. “Very soon you are going to be spirited away to the duke’s country estate waiting in solitude for an heir to be born. If you’re lucky, he might just stay with you long enough for you to give birth to make sure you bear him a son before he returns to town to seek the delights of a mistress.”

She shook her head sadly, but Emary knew she was anything but remorseful. Spiteful was a better word to describe the woman before her.

“I daresay I shall miss seeing you in London when that occurs, but I will endeavor to keep the duke company while you are whiling away the hours as a forgotten wife.”

“And what makes you so sure that will happen?” Emary challenged.

“Because we both know that it always does,” Miss Parkhurst returned smoothly. “How foolish of you to believe otherwise.”

“Perhaps we shall be the exception,” Emary pointed out, although Miranda’s words were starting to make an impression, the ring of truth to the unions she’d witnessed in her time in the city proving her claims. “My parents are quite happy in their marriage.”

Miranda laughed. “Keep telling yourself that you’ve found the fairy tale the rest of us only dream about. But when it all crumbles to dust, I should hate to say I told you so.” Miss Parkhurst walked away, and while Emary didn’t want to give that viperous tongue any further consideration, Miranda did have a point.

In Emary’s quest to win over the duke, she’d never once thought about what might happen if she actually succeeded in marrying him. She knew her parents didn’t have any amorous pursuits outside of their own marriage, although it was rather common for gentlemen of the aristocracy to keep a mistress. So when the honeymoon was over, would the duke become one of those men?

Emary clenched her fists. Damn Miranda for putting these doubts in her mind! She had been perfectly content before now, remaining oblivious to what lay beyond a wedding day that wasn’t even supposed to take place. Or, at least, that’s what she had been trying to make Windwood believe. Or was she trying to convince herself all this time?

Emary put a hand to her suddenly aching head. All this subterfuge was starting to become rather confusing. Lately, it was hard to tell the truth from the falsehoods.

“Miss Pageant?” She dropped her hand to see Donovan’s mother standing in front of her. “Are you unwell? You look rather pale.”

Since she didn’t wish to alarm the dowager, she forced a smile. “I’m fine, thank you.”

The woman was obviously wiser than Emary gave her credit for, her shrewd blue eyes so like Donovan’s and seeing far more than Emary was comfortable with. She reached out and took Emary’s hand and gave it a sympathetic pat. “Come with me.”

Her future mother-in-law led her down the hall to a closed door. She opened it to reveal a library. With a look around to ensure that it was vacant, she shut the door and led Emary over to a pair of chairs near the glowing fireplace. With an expression that had turned abruptly serious, she said, “I don’t wish to add to your troubles, but I feel it is my responsibility to tell you that I know this engagement is nothing but a sham. I also don’t believe that Donovan has any intention of marrying you.”

Emary had to work to keep her surprise from showing. “How do you know?”

The dowager’s expression was wry. “Come now. I should know my son better than anyone, I think.” She released a heavy breath. “I know I shouldn’t interfere when it isn’t my place, that this is something between the two of you, but I couldn’t live with my conscience if I didn’t at least warn you.” Her blue eyes were sincere when she added, “I respect you, Miss Pageant, and don’t wish to see you injured by my son, whose reasons for this farce are yet unknown to me.”

Emary didn’t know if it was the interaction with Miranda that suddenly loosened her tongue, or if it was her own conscience that she wished to unburden, but she suddenly found herself bursting into tears, truly distressed. “Oh, it’s all my fault!” She covered her face with her hands.

The duchess apparently misread her upset, for she said softly, “My dear, you mustn’t blame yourself—”

Emary lifted her head and sniffed. “You don’t understand,” she whispered brokenly. “This entire sham betrothal was my idea.” She put a fist to her chest for emphasis.

Understanding finally dawned on the dowager’s face and she slowly sat back in her chair. “Perhaps you should explain.”

Emary clenched her fists and explained everything from the proposal she’d put to Donovan at the ball, up until her interaction with Miss Parkhurst. “I admit it rather started out as something of a lark, a chance to prove myself to the duke, but things are…different now.” When she was finished, she looked down at her lap, unable to see the condemnation that was surely on Caroline Wainwright’s face. “I can only imagine what you must think of me.”

The lady was silent for a moment, before she said, “How are things different?” When Emary’s throat closed up with renewed emotion, preventing her from speaking, the dowager came to her own conclusions. “Have you fallen in love with him?”

Emary hesitated, and then shook her head miserably. “I’m… not sure. Of course,” she added hastily. “I will break off the engagement at once—”

“You will do no such thing!” the duchess interrupted firmly.

Emary blinked, both puzzled and stunned by her reaction. “Surely you don’t wish for this to continue now that you know the truth?”