Chapter Seven
Emma gripped her free hand at her side and tried to ignore the fact that her opposite one was locked around the Duke of Abernathe’s bicep. His very muscular bicep. And he smelled good, too, damn him. Like cloves and leather. It was entirely unfair.
He guided her down the stairs, into the garden and through the winding pathway. They had not spoken since they left the dining room a few moments ago, and Emma finally pulled away from him and turned to face him on the path.
His face was lit by both the moon and a few lanterns that guided their way. In that soft half-light, she caught her breath. God, but he was all angles and curves. All hard maleness and it made her feel small and soft standing beside him.
But she didn’t want to feel small and soft, because that meant vulnerable and foolish. She felt that quite enough already in this life she had so little control over.
She drew in a harsh breath and tried to forget that he was close and watching her with those intense eyes. She released his arm, placed her hands on her hips and snapped, “Why did you do that?”
He drew back in surprise at her tone and stared at her with exactly zero understanding on his face. “Do what?”
She huffed out a frustrated breath. “Make me sit by you at supper. Lean in and talk to me like we were discussing something intimate. Single me out to walk with you in the garden. Everyone was looking at us…at me, Abernathe.”
His lips pressed together. “James.”
She had more to say, but his soft admonishment brought her to a halt. “I beg your pardon? Did you just tell me that I should call you James?”
He nodded. “I would prefer it. I’ve never liked my title. It’s a necessary evil to me.”
She hesitated, for that statement made her wonder. Most dukes wore their title like a badge of honor, even though none of them had done anything to earn it except be a first son of someone else’s first son. But Abernathe did truly look uncomfortable as he stood there.
And none of that had anything to do with her, yet here she was, pondering it. She scowled at him. “I cannot call the Duke of Abernathe by his Christian name. It would be wildly inappropriate.”
“I call you Emma,” he said with a slight smile.
“Yes, I’ve noticed that,” she said, shivering at the way his lips formed her name. “And it is equally inappropriate, for I am an unmarried miss with no connection to you or to your family. All it does is place a false sense of—”
“You have a connection to my family,” he interrupted, folding his arms and making his jacket strain back across his ridiculously broad chest. The one she couldn’t stop staring at, even as she tried to admonish him for being too familiar.
“What connection?” she asked, fighting wildly for focus.
He arched a brow. “My sister adores you. You are her friend.”
Emma stared at him, some of the fire going out of her at that statement. “Well, yes. Meg and I have become friends.”
“Then what is the harm in me calling one of my sister’s closest friends by her first name and her calling me by the same? Especially when we are in the privacy of a garden where no one else is around. It’s not like I’m asking you to call me James in other places.”
“So calling you James is a garden-specific request?” she asked, and then shook her head. What was she doing? Was she flirting with this man? This god? This golden child who didn’t know the first thing about what it meant to be outside?
The very kind of man she had been avoiding her entire adult life?
He laughed, and the sound hit her right in the gut. Lower, actually. Significantly and inappropriately lower. Now she felt all…hot…and…and…tingly.
“Privacy-specific,” he corrected. “When we are in private, I want you to call me James.”
She shivered at the idea, foolish as it was. “James, do you really think we shall ever be in private with each other ever again?”
He looked at her closely and something in his gaze shifted. His lids narrowed and his pupils dilated as he stared at her. That hot and tingly feeling increased and she shifted, but her legs rubbing together only made it worse.
“Why not?” he asked softly.
There was a moment when she wanted to believe that a man like this could have any interest whatsoever in her. That he was different and could see past the issues that came along with courting her. That he could see past the intelligence that was a hindrance with so many men, that he could see past her lack of funds, that he could see past everything that made her unwanted.
But then reality returned and she glared at him.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Why are you pretending that you could have any interest in me? What does it gain for you?”
“You are direct,” he said with a shake of his head. “One more thing to like about you.”
All her guards were raised now and she stepped back from him. “But you are not direct, Your Grace. Which makes me wonder what kind of game you are playing. Are you making sport with me?”
His lips parted as all humor and teasing went out of his stare, his voice, his stance. “No,” he said, almost in horror. “No, of course not. Why would you ask that?”
She flinched, a nerve exposed by his question, and it began to throb deep inside of her. She turned away from him. “You would not be the first, Your Grace. It doesn’t matter.”
She expected him to say something glib then. To find a way to escape the discomfort of this exchange. Instead she heard him move, she felt his presence just at her back. Her breath caught as his hand closed around her upper arm gently. He turned her and she stared up at him, so close that if she edged forward just an inch, she would be in his arms.
His fingers glided up her arm, across her shoulder, and then they brushed her cheek. She could hardly breathe as he took away that last inch between them. Her chest and thighs brushed his and she began to tremble.
“It does matter, Emma,” he whispered. He was so close, his breath touched her lips.
She found herself lifting her chin, found her eyes fluttering closed as if some ancient instinct drove her to do so. And then his mouth brushed over hers and every thought, every hesitation, everything else in the world, faded from her mind.
His arms came around her and she gasped. He took advantage of her lips parting and traced his tongue across the opening. She froze. She’d never been kissed before—she had no idea what to do. But he didn’t relent, he just tilted his head for better access.
And she gave it. Her body responded where her mind didn’t know how and she opened to him, darting her own tongue out to touch his with hesitation. But hesitation soon gave way to other things. She lost herself in the sensation of his arms around her, his mouth on hers, his tongue brushing hers. It all made her come alive. Made her utterly aware of every flutter and tingle in her body…and in this moment there were plenty of them. It seemed she had found nerve endings where she never knew they existed and all of them throbbed in time to his kiss.
She clutched his arms and lifted into him, feeling her hips bump his. He let out a strangled sound when she did that and then he drew himself away. She stood, dizzy, staring at him, and he stared right back, his breath short and his eyes wide.
Finally, she managed to find her voice and whispered, “Why—why did you do that?”
He blinked. “I didn’t intend to,” he said, just as soft as she had.
She frowned. The kiss had meant something to her and the idea that it had just been a mistake on his part was disheartening to say the least.
“Oh,” she said.
“But I’m glad I did it,” he continued, locking gazes with her. “Are you?”
She wanted desperately to deny him. To be able to say she didn’t like it and walk away. To be able to pretend this man didn’t move her. But she couldn’t.
“Yes,” she admitted. Heat filled her cheeks and she turned from him. “Oh, I should go inside. I should get ready.”
“Wait, Emma!” he called out as she took a few steps away.
She froze, and slowly turned. God, he was devilishly handsome. Right now he looked so earnest, so driven.
“Yes?”
“I have a thought,” he said. “A plan. It could help us both. That was why I wanted to talk to you out here tonight.”
Disappointment she didn’t want to feel filled her chest. In some small part of her she’d hoped he’d called her back for some more personal reason. Not a plan. Though what kind of plan that could be was completely unknown to her.
“A plan? I don’t understand.”
“You said something to me last week when we parted ways after Meg’s garden party. It has stuck with me ever since,” he said.
She took a step toward him as her mind turned back to their previous time alone together, in a different garden. She knew exactly what foolish things she’d said to him then. How she’d opened her soul to him the same way she’d opened her body a moment before. Somehow this man inspired that, as foolish as it was.
“What did I say?” she asked, faking innocence.
He arched a brow, his expression calling her on her faulty memory even if he didn’t say a word about it. “When I asked if I could help, you said I could court you to make others notice you.”
She gripped her fists and broke their intense stare. “Oh, please don’t hold that silly thing over my head. I was just talking, I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t meant it and there’s no need to—”
“It’s a good idea,” he interrupted. “The more I thought about it, the better it became. For both of us. If we courted, it would take every eye of every grasping mama off of me. And it would put every eye of every gentleman on you, just as you said.”
She blinked. “So you want to…court me?”
He swallowed. “No. Well, not really. To pretend. To pay enough attention to you to garner interest without making irreversible promises. A tightrope, yes, but one we can walk if we are clear and careful.”
Emma was shocked at the spreading pain in her chest that hit her as he explained himself. It wasn’t as if she wanted to be courted by his man, kiss or no kiss. He was out of her league. By far.
“So you want to lie,” she said.
He nodded. “A blunt way to put it, but yes.”
“And how would that work, exactly?”
“Just like a normal courtship, except we know it isn’t. We would dance together, we would flirt. I will say lovely things about you when anyone asks, you’ll blush prettily when I’m mentioned.” He grinned. “Yes, just like you’re doing right now.”
She lifted her hands to her hot cheeks. “Oh, Abernathe—”
“If we’re plotting together, it really must be James,” he said with an arched brow.
“But I’m not plotting, you are,” she said. “I was only teasing when I said that to you last week.”
“Were you?” he asked, suddenly serious again. “Be honest with yourself, were you teasing? I know a little about you, Emma.”
Fear gripped her heart just as sadness had a moment before. “What do you know about me?”
He sighed, as if reluctant to say what he was about to say. “I know you’ve been out in Society for four years. I know you stand on the wall at parties, hating every moment. I know your mother is pressing at your back, demanding you save her.”
“Save her?” Emma repeated, hating how her bottom lip trembled. Hating that he was right and could see everything that tormented her.
“Save her because the money will run out, especially at the rate she wants to spend it. And she puts all her hopes in you. It’s a heavy burden, Emma, I can see it.” His voice dropped and he took a small step toward her. “I know it. I’m offering to help you carry it. To give you a fresh chance you haven’t had since you first came out.”
She shook her head. “And you would do all this just to keep a few aggressive mamas away from you?”
He held her gaze for what felt like a very long time. She felt him reading her, analyzing what to do next. It seemed he’d made a decision when he said, “It’s more than that. I suppose if I am to make demands, to ask you to be my partner in this, I must be honest with you. Emma, I don’t want to get married.”
“Ever?” she asked.
Slowly, he nodded his head, his gaze never leaving hers. “Ever.”
She blinked. She’d heard those rumors, of course, that James was avoiding his duty. Meg had implied it, he’d said a few things about it, gossip screamed about it…but she’d assumed it was about putting the inevitable off for a year or two.
This was something else.
“Why?” she asked.
He froze, and discomfort crossed his handsome face. He stared off into the sky, lost to her as he pondered whatever troubles were on his mind. And there were troubles. She could see them moving across his face. Worse, she wanted to step forward and comfort him, even if it wasn’t her place.
“It’s complicated,” he said at last, his face turning into shadow so she could no longer read it. “Suffice to say, I have my reasons. So will you help me? And be helped yourself in the process?”
She didn’t answer right away. In that charged moment, she wanted to know so much more. To know why that sadness was in his eyes again. To know why he avoided his duty when it seemed he was a man of honor in his heart.
But he didn’t want to show her those things and she had no right to ask for them.
“This is insanity,” she said at last, for she had no other way to describe it.
To her surprise, he smiled. “You are here, Emma. We are in this situation already, aren’t we? Why not help each other?”
She drew in a long breath. The world was currently spinning wildly out of control and she needed a moment before she agreed to anything so wild as his plan.
“Let me think about it,” she said.
His eyes went wide, and for a moment it was like no woman had ever refused a request of his before. Perhaps they hadn’t. He was a man who was hard to refuse.
Finally he nodded. “Very well, if that is what you require. Think all you’d like.”
“I need to go up to the house. I need to…get ready, to just…to get ready.”
“I can escort you,” he suggested.
She looked at him, her lips still throbbing from where he’d kissed her, her knees shaking and shook her head. “No, I think you’d best stay here. I—oh, I’m just going to go.”
She said nothing more and ignored him calling her name as she rushed from the garden and back up to the house. But being away from him didn’t help as much as she’d hoped. Even as she fled his side, she still felt his gaze on her. His hands on her. His mouth on her.
And she still heard the words of his plan ringing in her ears as she went to get ready for what promised to be a very long night ahead.