Chapter Three
John walked into what he assumed to be the Duke of Fairhaven’s study and stared in disbelief at the woman who’d strode confidently into the room ahead of him.
“Your Grace.” Her sharp tone had softened only slightly to one of condescension and she looked directly, challengingly, at him with golden brown eyes. Her almost imperceptible curtsy matched her haughty demeanor. “How thoughtful of you to remember me after so many years. We were engaged, of course, but we only met the once, didn’t we?”
John was momentarily speechless. How the hell had this happened? Over the past few hours, he’d learned his betrothed had lost her parents, all but withdrawn from society, and had no suitors but an aging widower with a brood of children. Yet no one felt compelled to share the most pertinent piece of information—that she’d been in attendance all evening?
Could this sharp-tongued woman be his fiancée? He examined her face and tried to recognize some trait of the younger girl, but his memory of her features was not sharp enough from the one brief meeting. She seemed taller than her younger self, though her erect posture might have been the difference. More dramatically, she no longer carried the childlike plumpness he recalled—just the curves of a woman.
He shook his head. “Lady Emmaline, may I say in my defense, you’ve changed much since I last saw you.”
“That’s to be expected, is it not, over the course of four years?” she asked tightly. She selected a small chair near the center of the room and primly lowered herself into it.
“I suppose it is.” He somewhat recovered his wits and took a chair as well. The years had been inordinately kind to his former fiancée. The lank brown hair he recalled was now silky chestnut. Tendrils of it strayed from her twist and danced against creamy skin that descended into the full bosom of her rust-colored gown. He was more confused than ever as to why she had not chosen to marry after his announced death. Could she possibly have imagined herself too grief-stricken at his death to have married another?
“I must tell you, Lady Emmaline, how it pains me to know that you suffered, believing me dead, and what a shock my return must be for you. If I could have spared you the experience, I would have done so.”
She regarded him coolly. “Were you unconscious, then, for the better part of four years?”
“I was not,” he conceded, resisting the upward tug of his lips.
“You lost your memory, perhaps?”
“Ah… no.”
“I didn’t expect so.” She pressed her lips together.
“Emmaline…” The aunt stepped forward, but lost her nerve. She took a seat near the door.
John turned back to his fiancée. “I understand it was difficult for you, to lose your parents and prospective bridegroom all at once.”
“Save your contrition,” she snapped, “for those who would be inclined to accept it. A society full of marriage-minded parents may be too overcome with joy at your homecoming to notice the dubiousness of your absence. I have no such distraction.”
He smiled because he couldn’t help himself. She was just so different from all the hopeful, naïve, and frankly silly girls he’d been showing his attention to all evening. She bore absolutely no resemblance to her prior self. He had either entirely misjudged her or she was completely transformed. “I see you’ve developed quite an assertive nature in the meantime.”
“I don’t see how you could possibly be in a position to make a comparison of my nature, Your Grace, given that you do not know me now and you certainly did not know me then.”
“I believe I may be gaining a bit of insight today,” he told her with a wry half smile. He was more awake now than he’d been all evening. What sort of strange glutton for punishment was he that this sharp-tongued set-down was the first bit of this event he’d found genuinely entertaining?
“Your gaining insight into my nature is completely unnecessary,” she said, her chin lifting. “Allow me to rescue you from an awkward conversation, Your Grace. You are released. I formally acknowledge your consideration in recognizing the prior contract between our parents, but as both parties to that contract are now deceased, I do not consider you bound to honor it. I will break the engagement, allowing you to keep your gentleman’s reputation unblemished.”
His amused grin collapsed into a mien of pure confusion. “You are releasing me?”
“I am.” She folded her hands complacently in her lap and continued to regard him in an infuriatingly calm manner. She released a resigned sigh as though the entire situation were an inconvenience she’d as soon be done with.
“Your Grace,” she continued, “I’m sure you expected your altered intentions to shatter the hopes of a desperate, unmarried spinster. It’s obviously been a blow to your ego to discover that I am perfectly content with the dissolution of our arrangement.” She paused as though she expected he needed a moment to catch up.
Which he supposed he did. He couldn’t believe it. Surely her pride was not so injured she would choose an elderly widower over the opportunity to be a duchess? He had expected her to accept her fate out of an inability to object, but this woman was not frightened in the least. Would she be so irresponsible as to decline the offer of a secure and comfortable future? He wasn’t sure how to react, what to say. She, however, seemed to have no shortage of words.
“I apologize for preventing you from delivering what I’m sure was to be a heartfelt and carefully worded speech,” she told him matter-of-factly. “Had I understood your sensitive pride, I should have allowed you to speak first, of course.” Her smile brimmed with sweet innocence, but the flecks of amber fire in her eyes belied the serenity of her expression.
“How considerate,” he mocked. Why did he continue to prick her ire?
But he knew why. He wished he possessed a fraction of her fervency. When all he felt was his customary cold, steady resolve, engaging her felt like warming himself at a fire.
“I always endeavor to be.” She smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle in her skirt and looked expectantly up at him.
John wasn’t certain whether to laugh or applaud. Far from the shy mouse of his memory, the Lady Emmaline that sat across from him today was an admirable opponent. She’d successfully reduced him to stunned silence and, as his sister could attest, he was rarely silent. Yet he surprised even himself when he told her, “Madam, I appreciate your…f lexibility…as it pertains to our marriage contract. I, however, do not find myself to be quite so flexible.”
Her golden eyes flew to his. He watched a gratifying flash of fear and annoyance cross them.
“I don’t understand,” she told him, yet he could tell by her wary expression she understood quite clearly.
“Lady Emmaline,” he explained, lest there be any confusion, “I do not release you.”