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.”
“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.
