No.
She calmed her frustrated thoughts—no she did not regret it. Especially after seeing the Duke’s humanness just now. But any further conversation along these lines put Emilie at risk. Not only Emilie, but her friend as well.
“Your Grace’s thoughts are not for me to discern or persuade. I’m afraid I cannot serve your purpose for you grossly overestimate my importance. I have no knowledge of the Comte’s business dealings. I am only his mistress.”
She hoped her plain speaking might put him off further questioning. He had shown such aversion to her position before. He might want more information, but he did not realise the danger he put her in. Allowing her gaze to casually survey the room, she tried to spot another seat next to an acquaintance she might move to.
“Yet you warned me—you know enough of his dealings to want to warn me off.”
Emilie struggled to cover a huff of frustration. Anxiety rose within her chest. She needed to get out of this conversation.
“I know nothing,” she whispered harshly, holding a tight rein on her feelings that were beginning to buck and plunge away from her, “except that you are a fool determined to involve yourself with dangerous men.”
“And what,” asked the Duke, leaning closer to her, locking his eyes onto hers, “does that make you?”
Emilie bit her lip, surprised by the sudden emotions boiling within her, and not sure whether she was going to cry or shout for this impertinent man to leave her alone. He had no concept of the trap she was ensnared in.
She tried to slow her breathing, swallowing against the emotions, forcing them into check. “You may think of me what you want—just as you will do whatever business you want with the Comte.”
“I have upset you.”
Emilie’s eyes darted to him and she was horrified to find herself looking through unshed tears. This man was determined to subvert her attempts to keep him at arm’s length and scale the defences which kept her real feelings safely away from the prying eyes of others.
“That was not my intention.”
During the conversation Emilie had clung to the arm of her chair. Her hand was lying parallel with the Duke’s and she felt the briefest brush of his against hers.
“I apologise. You have intrigued me, Mademoiselle Cadeaux. You are unlike any woman I have met before. I find myself unsure what to think of you.”
“Then perhaps,” Emilie said, the faintest waver in her voice, “you should not think of me at all.”
He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, and she saw a light enter his eyes. The action was so at odds with the emotion of the situation it surprised her.
“Would you believe me if I said you are not the first woman to tell me that in as many months?”
She found the weight of her fears shift. With a blank expression she replied in the affirmative.
The Duke’s slow chuckle transformed into a full laugh. The atmosphere lifted and with it her mood.
“At least you are honest,” he said.
“I try to be,” she replied unguardedly, and then quickly turned the conversation from her. “Are you used to women lying to you?”
The Duke did not immediately answer, his eyes switching between the Austrian master and Madame Pertuis who were discussing something about the next part of the performance.
“Yes.”
There it was again—honesty. This man was a bewildering mix of irritating fool and earnest gentleman. It placed another stone in the opinion of him she was building. She had been around enough actors to discern the real from the false. This Duke was disguising who he really was behind the facade of a pleasure-seeking fool.
“I find you—déroutant.”
“Confusing? Yes,” the Duke murmured, lounging back in his chair, gazing down at their hands lying in parallel but no longer touching. “I have been told that before. I am not easily read.”
That she could whole-heartedly agree with.
“But, I might add, neither are you.” He exhaled heavily, his expression relaxing. “I shall desist from my interrogation.”
Emilie breathed a little easier and the two sat in comfortable silence until they were disturbed by the Comte de Vergelles.
His cool clipped voice came across the room. “There you are Mademoiselle Cadeaux.”
An involuntary shiver ran down Emilie’s spine. There was displeasure in his tone and he hardly ever drew attention to himself in public as he had just done by speaking so loudly. She turned towards him and saw him lock eyes with her companion.
The Comte took his time walking across the room, all occupants pausing or slowing their conversation to watch his progress, until he stood before Emilie and the Duke. He leant back on one leg, displaying his clocked stocking to advantage, and was drawn up to his full height, looking down his nose at them both.
“You have been keeping my companion company?” the Comte asked, cold eyes on the Duke and one dark brow raised.
“I have,” Tremaine answered, unruffled.
Either he could not read the Comte’s obvious displeasure or he was wilfully ignoring it.
“And how were the tables? Did fortune smile her radiant face upon you, my Lord?”
“She did—and now I am well-satisfied, and desiring Mademoiselle Cadeaux’s company.”
He had come to stand beside her and Emilie felt his cold hand descend upon her bare shoulder. The touch was light at first, but soon his fingers closed around her, the tips pressing into her skin.
“I have been missing your company,” he murmured.
