Читать книгу A Regency Duchess's Awakening: The Shy Duchess / To Kiss a Count - Amanda McCabe, Amanda McCabe - Страница 14

There was no doubt about it. Lady Arnold’s ball was the event of the Season.

Traditionally the final grand event before society fled London and the gathering heat of summer for country estates and the pleasures of Continental travel, everyone always went for one last chance to wear their fine clothes before they were out of fashion and hear the latest on dit before it became old news. Lady Arnold had one of the largest ballrooms in London, after Manning House, and she always filled it with the best orchestra, the most flowers and the finest guest list. Anyone who had the merest pretence of being anyone at all was there.

Even Emily, though she could find no potted palm to hide behind at all. It seemed palms were now passé. Lady Arnold instead decorated with loops of ivy intertwined with white roses and white-and-gold ribbons, draped in lacy patterns around the room. Very pretty, but useless for hiding places.

Emily sat on one of the small white brocade chairs lined up along the walls, among the chaperons and wallflowers. Perhaps, she thought, her white muslin gown would help her blend into the upholstery.

That, however, did not seem to be the case. Very few people spoke to her, especially since Jane and Amy were dancing, Mr Rayburn had not yet arrived, her father and brother were off in the card room and her mother had flitted off somewhere with her friends, but many stared and whispered. It appeared the tale of her carriage ride with the duke had spread, and along with the Park incident it all made for delicious gossip. She should have known, of course, that this would happen.

The duke would not care. He and his family had been causing far worse scandals for decades. Emily, though, was achingly uncomfortable.

She shifted on her chair, opening and closing her lace fan. She tried to watch the dancers, the swirling kaleidoscope of their bright gowns and brilliant jewels, tried to distract herself and think of other things. She glanced surreptitiously at the ornate clock against the far wall, and saw she had actually been there less than an hour. And her mother and Amy would never want to leave until one or two at the earliest.

Emily snapped open her fan again and wafted it vigorously in front of her face. Why had she not brought a book with her? She needed to get on with her lesson plans for Mrs Goddard’s, there was not much time left before she departed London and they would have to do without her for a few months.

The dance ended, and Amy’s partner left her at the empty seat next to Emily’s. “Lud, what a great crush it is tonight! I can scarcely breathe,” Amy cried. “My slippers will be in shreds by the end of the evening.”

“Where is Rob? Does he not care to dance tonight?” Emily said.

Amy snapped open her own fan. “You know how he is at these affairs, always off talking about politics somewhere, never any fun. I think he is in the card room with your father. Besides, it is not the thing for husbands to dance with their wives, at least not more than once.”

Emily plied her fan harder as more people strolled past them, still staring. Amy took her hand to hold her still.

“Emily, darling, you will quite disarrange your hair, after I took such trouble with it,” Amy said. Indeed she had spent an hour before they left the house pushing Mary out of the way and fussing with curls and ribbons herself, saying Emily should try to be more fashionable. She straightened the pink rosebuds and loops of pearls caught in Emily’s fine, blonde hair.

“It hardly matters, Amy. The one you hope to impress with my fashionableness is not even here.”

Amy scowled, not even bothering to deny it. “Where could he be? Everyone comes to Lady Arnold’s ball. It is vital to one’s social life.”

“Perhaps it is not so vital for a duke?”

“Of course it is! Why, is that not Wellington himself over there? That is why the Duke of Manning needs a duchess to help him organise his engagements properly.”

“And you think I would be the one to do that? I have no idea how one even goes about being a duchess.”

Amy tsked as she gave Emily’s hair one last tweak. “Of course you do. You give yourself far too little credit, Sister. You are an earl’s daughter, and very pretty, if rather quiet. You know how to run a fine household and move about in society, even if thus far you have chosen not to. Anything you do not know already would be easy enough to learn.”

“Is there a ‘how to be a duchess’ book on the shelves at Hatchards, perchance?”

Amy laughed. “If there was, I would have read it long ago! But really, Em, this is a fine chance for you and for all of us. Rob would be such a good influence in politics, if he had a proper patron to help him, and your parents deserve a comfortable retirement. You should have your own house, before it is too late.” And before she was Amy and Rob’s responsibility and burden, though she did not say that aloud. Emily knew very well it was true, all of it.

“Em, I do think you should—” Amy began, only to be fortuitously interrupted.

“Good evening, ladies,” a deep, masculine voice said smoothly. “May I say how very charming you both look tonight? Quite the loveliest in the ballroom.”

Emily turned away from Amy to find Mr Rayburn standing before her. She hadn’t seen him since that dramatic day in Hyde Park, though he had sent flowers. She had supposed the gossip about the duke and herself had put him off, yet here he was, bowing and smiling at her most charmingly, as if nothing had ever interrupted his sporadic courtship.

How much easier life would be if she could like Mr Rayburn in that way, Emily thought sadly. If he made her pulse race and her cheeks grow hot as the duke did. But life was not often easy. And there was something about him that made her feel so unsure.

Amy frowned at the interruption, but quickly covered it in a polite smile. “Mr Rayburn! We have not seen you in a few days.”

“I was sadly called away from town for a short time, Lady Granton, but I did have to return in time for Lady Arnold’s ball. It is my last chance this Season to beg for a dance with Lady Emily, if she would so favour me.” He never took his gaze from Emily’s face, which was rather disconcerting. Could he read her thoughts there?

“That is very kind of you, Mr Rayburn,” Emily said. “But I don’t mean to dance this evening.”

“Emily, I am sure the exercise would do you good,” said Amy. “And Mr Rayburn is right, this is the last ball of the Season …”

“His Grace, the Duke of Manning,” Lady Arnold’s butler suddenly announced. The ballroom doors opened, and the duke appeared at last. He wore a simple, perfectly cut evening coat of deep blue velvet that nearly matched his eyes and a gold-shot ivory waistcoat that sparkled in the candlelight. All the light in the room seemed to gather directly on him, leaving all else in shadow.

His gaze slid over the company—and landed right on Emily. She was so startled she had no time to look away or even disguise what she was feeling. That sudden excitement at seeing him, the fear, the giddiness—surely it was all written right there on her face.

Then Lady Arnold hurried over to him and he was surrounded by the crowd. Emily’s fist tightened on her fan.

“Perhaps you are wise not to dance after all, Emily,” Amy said quickly. “I seem to have torn my hem in that last quadrille. Will you come with me to the ladies’ withdrawing room and help me mend it? If you will excuse us, Mr Rayburn.”

His face darkened, and Emily noticed his gloved hand flex. But he merely bowed and said, “Of course. Perhaps we can take a turn about the room later, Lady Emily.”

Emily hastily nodded as Amy took her arm and hustled her away. Her sister-in-law dragged her through the heavy press of the crowd, frantically looking side to side as she no doubt searched for the duke.

“Amy!” Emily whispered. “That was terribly rude to Mr Rayburn.”

“Oh, pooh,” Amy whispered back. “Mr Rayburn has no title and not enough fortune. It was one thing when he was your only suitor, but now …”

Emily glanced back over her shoulder to see Mr Rayburn still watching them, nearly obscured by the throng. Jane stood with him now, saying something into his ear.

“Ah, your Grace!” Amy cried. Emily whipped her head back around to find they were right in front of Nicholas. Lady Arnold watched them with a smirk, but Emily hardly even noticed. She could only see him.

Amy tugged sharply at her hand, pulling them both into low curtsies.

“Lady Granton, Lady Emily,” he said. “How very good to see you again.”

After a few more pleasantries about the weather and the size of the party, Lady Arnold was distracted by more new arrivals and Amy, just as Emily feared, seized her chance.

“Your Grace, Emily was just saying the ballroom is so crowded she feels rather faint,” Amy said, all sweet concern. “We were on our way to seek some fresh air, but sadly I must now repair my torn hem.”

Emily tried to free her hand, to protest, but Amy just tightened her grip.

“If Lady Emily feels faint, I would be happy to escort her on to the terrace for a moment,” Nicholas said. “I am not especially fond of such crowds myself.”

“Your Grace, there is no need.” Emily began. Her words were cut off by another of Amy’s pinches. She was frightfully strong for such a small lady.

“So kind of you, your Grace!” Amy said happily. “I will rejoin you both momentarily.”

She danced away, and Nicholas held out his arm to Emily, watching her expectantly. Emily glanced around, but there was no escape. Everyone around them seemed to be watching to see what she would do, and there was no place to run. There never was.

She took his arm and let him escort her to the half-open doors to the terrace. She was quite sure he must feel trapped by her family’s machinations; she knew that feeling all too well herself. Yet he gave no sign of resentment, no indication he wanted to leave her in the nearest corner at the first opportunity. He held on to her arm and talked of light, polite matters, not even minding her minimal, murmured responses.

Maybe dukes were taught to be excessively polite, even ones from notoriously wild families. Or maybe they just developed finer acting skills than most people, all the better to manage all the demands placed on them. If only there really was a guidebook to such things, as she had wished for! Then she wouldn’t feel so lost and confused around him.

Then again, it was not the duke who confused her. It was Nicholas himself. She glanced at him sideways, secretly. He seemed so careless, so easily, socially polite, yet she was so sure there was something else underneath that ducal surface. She had seen it too briefly at Vauxhall, a raw, passionate loneliness that touched something she hid down deep in herself.

Every once in a while, when he thought no one watched, it flashed in his eyes. But only for an instant, then he concealed it again.

They slipped through the doors on to the terrace. It was a space that only Lady Arnold’s house possessed in London, a wide, enclosed walkway with tall windows opening on to the garden. They could be closed against the chill even as they let in the moonlight, or they could be open to the night breezes as they were now.

It seemed all the potted palms had been moved out here as well, for they lined the walls and made intimate little pathways. Chairs and tables were hidden in leafy nooks, perfect for quiet conversations. The noise dropped suddenly in that space; the roar of the crowded ballroom muted to soft murmurs and laughter. Couples strolled past slowly, pale flashes between the dark green palms.

“I’ve thought of building something like this at Manning House,” Nicholas said.

“It is certainly lovely,” Emily answered. “Are you planning to entertain more at Manning House?”

He laughed wryly. “I suppose it’s my duty to, or so everybody keeps telling me.”

“Hmm,” Emily said thoughtfully. Duty—that is what everything always seemed to come to. They could pretend to be free, to choose, but duty always caught them in the end. “Duty is quite important, though I suppose giving a party once in a while would not be a very onerous one.”

Not like marrying someone you didn’t want because your family demanded it. Not like having to keep teaching work secret because it was not proper.

“And that old behemoth of a house seems good for nothing else,” he said. “My family hates to visit it, and who can blame them? It’s huge and draughty.”

“They won’t visit you at Manning House?” Emily asked in surprise. The Mannings and Fitzmannings didn’t seem to care where they were, as long as they could pile in on each other. “That is not very kind of them.”

“Not at all, Lady Emily. I would much prefer to visit them in their houses, which are much cosier and happier. But I do think a party might lure even them to Manning House.”

They stopped at the far end of the terrace where two corner windows met, sheltered by a thick bank of palms. It was very quiet there, no voices except the whistle of the wind past the glass. She could almost imagine they were alone there, just the two of them as they had been at Vauxhall. It was disconcerting, making her quite nervous—yet also strangely comforting. In the midst of the vast crowd she felt so terribly lonely. Here, with just him, she did not feel alone at all.

She peered out into the night, at the swaying shadows the trees made against the star-lit sky. “This would be a fine space for a Venetian breakfast on a sunny day. Or maybe a little dance party, where everyone could see the moon as they ate their dinner.” She could see it in her mind, her own party planned her own way. Her own home, where she could run things. Surely she would be good at it!

“It would also be a perfect place for me to set up my new telescope,” he said.

“Telescopes? You mean those tube things scientists use to study the sky?” Emily was intrigued. She had read of such things and how they worked, and had wondered what it would be like to see the night sky closer, really study it and know what it was.

“You know of them?”

“Oh, yes, I have read of such things. They sound marvellous. But I did not know that anyone at all could possess one. They sound quite—rare.” And expensive.

“I ordered mine specially made in Italy. My—well, some friends there told me of a glassmaker who can grind lenses to exact specifications. It is nothing as large as something the Herschels would have possessed, but it gives me an excellent view of the stars. I even glimpsed a comet once, streaking across the sky—” He broke off with a rueful laugh. “Forgive me, Lady Emily, for boring you. My newest enthusiasm has me carried away, I fear.”

“I am not bored.” And indeed she was not. She was fascinated by this deeper glimpse of him. “You actually saw a comet?”

“Right over there.” He pointed past her shoulder, out the window to a cluster of bright stars in the east. “I wasn’t sure what it was at first. But when I studied it through the telescope—oh, Lady Emily, I wish you could have seen it. It was the most glorious thing.”

“I can imagine it must have been.” Emily stared up into the sky, leaning her cheek just a tiny bit against his sleeve. She couldn’t help herself. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like to drift away up there into the stars? To escape this place and just—be?”

She had never said such a thing to anyone before, never hinted of any such fanciful yearnings. She didn’t know what made her say it now, but Nicholas didn’t make fun of her. He just nodded.

“Of course I do,” he answered. “Doesn’t everyone think of things like escape once in a while? Wonder what it would be like to find a different world?”

“Not everyone,” Emily said, thinking of her own family. They didn’t imagine being anyone but who they were, which was why they fought so hard to hold on to their place in society. And that gave her a cold reminder of the way Amy had practically pushed her on to Nicholas.

She turned to face him, putting her back to that fanciful night sky. “You don’t have to stay here with me, your Grace. I know you have many important people you must speak to.”

He gave her a crooked grin, and that ridiculously alluring dimple flashed in his cheek. Just as it had at Vauxhall, below the edge of his mask—right before he kissed her foot.

Suddenly weak, Emily leaned back against the window. The glass was cool through her thin muslin gown.

“People more important than Lady Emily Carroll?” he said.

“Oh, please, your Grace, don’t tease me!” she burst out. “I know my sister-in-law practically forced you to come out here with me. My family can be so—overwhelming. But I don’t want you to feel obligated …”

“Lady Emily.” He caught her hand in his, and she was so surprised the words strangled in her throat. “Do I look as if I am easily—overwhelmed? That I can be forced to do something I don’t wish to?”

“I …” She thought of that steel behind his easy affability, so seldom glimpsed—and all the more formidable for it. “No, I suppose not.”

“Then is it so unbelievable that I would rather be here watching the stars with you than chattering like an inane fool in a crowded ballroom?”

“Yes,” she blurted.

He laughed, and raised her hand to his lips for a quick kiss. His mouth was warm and surprisingly soft through her silk glove, reminding her all too acutely of how it felt, and tasted, against hers.

“How little you know me, then, Lady Emily.”

“I don’t know you at all, your Grace. Which is surely for the best, for both of us.”

His brow lowered in a frown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean …” Emily closed her eyes tightly. That confusion she felt whenever he was near came over her yet again, just when she most needed to be clear-headed. “Oh, your Grace! Nicholas. It was me, and I am so sorry.”

“It was you?” he said. He sounded as confused as she felt. “What do you mean? What was you?”

She opened her eyes and forced herself to look him in the face. He was gilded by the moonlight, his face and hair all molten gold like an ancient statue of some pagan god. She could bear it no longer. She had always been a terrible secret-keeper, except when it came to her teaching, and somehow keeping secrets from him was harder than anything. He was not like Mr Lofton, she reminded herself, or like Mr Rayburn. He deserved the truth from her.

“It was me at Vauxhall,” she whispered. “In the broken shoe. I didn’t mean anything by it, I promise, your Grace. I’m not sure what came over me, I just …”

Much to her shock, he laughed. Laughed! He kissed her hand again. “Shh, Lady Emily. Enough.”

She snatched her hand away. “Why are you laughing? I am completely serious!”

“I am not laughing at you. You just look so very—earnest, my lady. When I am the one who should confess and apologise.”

“You should …?”

“Yes. You see,” he said, ducking his head with a slightly sheepish expression incongruous for a duke. “You see, I discovered it was you before you confessed, and I must apologise to you.”

He knew? All along? And he had just let her stammer guiltily, let her feel terrible for days? “You knew it was me?” she cried, completely forgetting they were in a public place.

Emily suddenly felt angry. Anger was unladylike and, worse, unproductive. It did nothing with her family, and it never improved anything. Only work did that. But now she felt—yes, she felt angry! She pounded her fists against his chest. It hurt her hands, but he was so surprised she was actually able to drive him back a step before he steadied himself.

“Emily!” he said roughly. “Calm yourself. I never meant—”

“You never meant what? Never meant anything by kissing me, by letting me feel guilty about keeping it secret from you?” She hit him again and then again. “You were probably laughing at me! You and all your family.”

“Emily, be fair,” he said. He sounded angry now, too. Good—she didn’t want to be alone in this tantrum. His calmness only made her feel worse. “I have told no one, and will tell no one.”

“You tell your family everything, I know that.” She hit him yet again, that fury spiralling out of all reasonableness. It was as if every wrong, every hurt she had pressed down had broken free and was rising up now to choke her.

“Emily, please!” He grabbed her hands as she raised them to hit him yet again. Emily jerked away, but he held fast and pulled her close against his chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, as if to subdue her with his strength and heat.

“Please, calm down,” he said tightly, his lips pressed to the top of her head. “I swear, I never meant to hurt you. That would be the last thing I would ever want, to hurt someone again.”

Emily buried her face in his shoulder, trying to hold back her sobs. Her anger was ebbing away, as fast as it had come upon her, yet she still shook with it.

She had been vulnerable to him, not once, but twice now, and she did not like the feeling. It wasn’t safe.

But she couldn’t seem to move away from him. He seemed an anchor in the shaking storm of emotions. She curled her fingers into the front of his fine waistcoat and held on.

He held on to her, too, his arms tight around her. Was he afraid she would hit him again, start behaving like a shrieking fishwife once more?

“Did I hurt you?” she whispered. “I’ve never hit anyone before in my life.”

He laughed hoarsely, his breath stirring the curls at her temple. “I’ve endured worse. I have very lively brothers, remember?” He was silent for a moment before he went on, “I would not tell them about Vauxhall, I promise. Nor anyone else.”

“I would not want you to feel obligated in any way, just because I had too much punch and acted like a fool.”

“Lady Emily, I do not feel obligated. But I must say—”

Emily leaned back in his arms and uncurled her hand from his waistcoat to reach up and press her finger to his lips.

“I don’t want to talk about this any longer,” she said. “It is over and past.” “No, I must—”

She didn’t know what else to do, so she went up on tiptoe and kissed him. It was soft and tentative, a way to make him be quiet. But the taste of him, the way his mouth felt on hers—it sent her back to the Vauxhall woods and she fell down and down into that blurry abyss of need.

His hands closed over her shoulders, as if to push her away. Then he groaned, a wild sound deep in his throat, and his arms came around her again and dragged her against his body.

His mouth hardened on hers, his tongue tracing the curve of her lips before plunging inside to taste her deeply. The fire of her anger turned to desire, and she wanted more of his kiss. More of him.

He pressed her back against the window, his open mouth sliding from hers to trace her jaw, her arched neck. He lightly nipped at that sensitive little spot just below her ear and then licked it when she moaned.

How did he do this to her? She was never herself when she was with him! She wasn’t even sure she liked it—it was too wild, too uncontrollable—but she couldn’t seem to stop it.

She twined her fingers in his hair and dragged him up to her lips again. He went most obligingly, eagerly, kissing her with a heated artlessness and need that ignited her own.

She pressed herself even closer to him, wanting to be ever nearer and nearer. Wanting she knew not what. But her sudden movement sent him off balance, and he stumbled backward into the bank of potted palms.

Emily landed hard atop him, and the impact, along with the crash of plants to the floor, shocked her awake. It was like a cold rain suddenly falling over her head.

“Your Grace?” someone said in a hushed, shocked voice.

Emily, still lying prone on Nicholas’s chest, peered up through the loosened skein of her hair. At least ten people stared back, including Nicholas’s brother Lord Stephen, Jane and Mr Rayburn, and their hostess. Lady Arnold covered her open mouth with a trembling hand, looking as if she was about to faint at this terrible disruption to her elegant ball.

This was a nightmare. It simply had to be. It couldn’t be real, couldn’t be happening to her. Not to the Ice Princess, the most proper lady in all London.

She closed her eyes, tugged her rumpled sleeve back up on to her shoulder, and prayed for deliverance from the bad dream.

But when she opened her eyes it was all still there. She was trapped, frozen.

Nicholas lifted her off him and rose to his feet in one smooth movement. He held on to her hand and kept her firmly by his side.

“Lady Arnold,” he said. He sounded only the merest bit unsteady. “I am sorry to disrupt your ball. Lady Emily and I were going to announce our betrothal at a small family dinner, but I see we should do so now. Lady Emily has made me the happiest man in England by agreeing to be my wife.”

“Oh!” Lady Arnold exhaled. Her dismay vanished in an instant, replaced by utter delight. Her ball’s fame would be assured by such a momentous announcement. “Oh, Lady Emily. Your Grace. Let me be the first to wish you happy.”

Emily suddenly found herself clasped in Jane’s arms as her friend rushed forwards to kiss her cheek. “Emily! Why did you not tell me? Oh, my darling friend! When is the wedding to be? Shall I be your bridesmaid?”

Over Jane’s shoulder, Emily saw Nicholas swept into the jubilant crowd, which had suddenly swelled in numbers. His brother clasped his hand. Lord Stephen smiled, but Emily saw the strained look on his face as he whispered in Nicholas’s ear.

Mr Rayburn, her erstwhile suitor, stood off to one side, not even trying to smile. His face was dark with anger.

And, curse it all, her mother and brother appeared in the terrace doorway, looking absolutely, disgustingly jubilant.

Emily did not know how she felt at all. One instant, she was kissing Nicholas, all thought flown away, and now she was engaged to him. Engaged. To the Duke of Manning.

“Now, your Grace, you must dance with your fiancée,” Lady Arnold cried. “I absolutely insist.”

And now she had to dance, too? Emily’s legs were so weak she was sure she couldn’t take a step let alone dance. “No,” she whispered.

Nicholas took her hand again, holding her close as if he sensed her stunned state. The look in his own eyes was also quite disbelieving. There would be no escape among the stars for either of them, not now.

“I think my bride is a bit tired from all the excitement this evening,” he said. “Perhaps a glass of water and a place to sit down is more in order.”

He smiled at her, and she forced herself to smile back. Yes—no escape indeed.