Once they were settled, the duke leaned over to whisper in her ear, “You look delectable this evening, Miss Pageant.”
She had to compose herself before she could respond appropriately, “Thank you, Your Grace.” She turned to him with a slight smile. “You look rather handsome yourself.”
The scar running down the left side of his face drew her attention to his eyes, which seemed to burn intently. “How is your writing going?” he asked as the lights began to dim, signaling that the show was about to begin.
“Very well, I should imagine,” she lied easily.
His lips twitched. “That’s it? I’m not even to be granted a title?”
“Oh, I think I will grant you that boon, Your Grace.” She looked at him through her long, dark lashes. “I believe I shall call it, ‘A Seduction at Christmas.’”
He adjusted his position in his seat and gave a soft groan. “I’m sorry I asked.”
She laughed lightly and then turned to face the stage when the curtain was drawn.
Donovan felt confident that he could stand up and walk about during intermission without embarrassing himself. In truth, he was rather thankful for the reprieve when he left to fetch Miss Pageant some punch. He could certainly do with the chance to control his raging body. He’d hardly been able to follow along with the actors on stage for his preoccupation in entertaining some rather lascivious thoughts about the woman at his side.
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.
