Page 50 of Three Scandals for the Wild Duke

“What were you doing in that maze?” His eyes narrowed, suspicion evident in his intense gaze.

“Haven’t you already drawn up your conclusions in that regard?” Emma countered. Wasn’t his evident scorn proof enough of his judgment?

“Did you truly fall?” He pressed further, ignoring her previous comment.

“I see you already know what happened then,” she responded dryly, her patience thinning. If he had made up his mind about her actions, what use was there in explaining?

“Is that whattrulyhappened, Emma?” George asked, his voice heavy with skepticism.

“I owe you no explanations, George,” Emma replied firmly, feeling a surge of defiance. “Besides, you seem to have alreadymade up your mind about me, and wouldn’t believe whatever I might have to say.”

“You don’t know what’s in my mind,” he argued.

“Do I not?” She quirked a brow. “I hardly think your actions any different from your thoughts, and your comments at dinner have told me a lot.”

“Oh, you are quite the expert now, it seems.” He took several steps closer until he was towering over her.

“Do not condescend to me!” He opened his mouth to say something more, possibly to defend his stance, but Emma cut him off with a wave of her hand, her emotions getting the better of her. “You have no inkling of what it’s like, George. You do not know what my life is like.” She winced inwardly when she heard the slight tremor in her voice.

Her statement seemed to surprise him, because his expression flickered with confusion and something akin to concern. However, it was very brief before he regained his composure. “Whatever it is, it is no excuse for what you did,” he stated flatly, as if laying down a final verdict.

“WhatdidI do, George?” Emma challenged. He seemed so certain—excessively so.

“Do you truly need a reminder?” he retorted, his tone sharp, his eyes locked intently on hers.

“You seem so certain that I did something. So tell me. I want to know what absurdities that creative imagination of yours has drawn up.”

“I have fair grounds for my absurdities.”

“Only fair?” Emma challenged. “That sounds hardly convincing,” she added with a cluck of her tongue, an insolent gesture that did not go unnoticed by him.

He visibly bristled at her words, the muscles in his jaw working silently as he composed himself. Despite the strain in their interaction, a familiar feeling of triumph washed over her, reminiscent of their past banters. Emma had missed those times—those were memories she feared she’d never relive.

George seemed to have written her off completely.If only he knew, she thought bitterly. When he did not answer her, she pushed. “Have you no explanation?”

“How about the fact that you are a fortune huntress with poisonous social ambitions, scheming to trap unsuspecting gentlemen?” he spat. “Is this less absurd and more convincing to you now?” His eyes burned with an intensity that she had not seen before.

“How dare you?” Emma’s ire surged forth, her voice rising as her control slipped. She felt her hand fly into the air, aiming straight for his face in a moment of unrestrained anger.

But George was quick; he caught her hand mid-air, his grip firm and unyielding. Yet his touch was not harsh. Instead, it held a desperate sort of tension, as if he was grasping at the last thread of civility between them.

Emma watched the rise and fall of George’s chest, noting the close proximity between them that she hadn’t fully realized until now. Her eyes traveled up to meet his, and the intensity she found there shocked her further. Without warning, his lips descended onto hers, claiming them with a fiery urgency that reflected the passion in his gaze.

George pulled her fully into his arms, and she leaned into him. The kiss quickly shifted from fervent to tender, softening into a warmth that melted her resistance, drawing her closer into his embrace. The hand he still held gave a gentle squeeze, anchoring her to the moment, to him.

But the reality of their situation—the accusations, the hurtful words—soon reasserted itself. Emma pulled back sharply, her heart racing, her mind reeling from the unexpected intimacy. She stepped away, putting distance between them as she tried to understand the abrupt turn of events.

He, too, took a step back, his expression a mix of confusion and distress. “What is this?” he asked suddenly, staring at her as if he was in shock. “Was this also a part of your plan all along? To trap me too if you cannot get to Firman?” The accusation had her flinching as if struck, and Emma took several steps back.

“What?” Her voice was barely recognizable to her ears. She stared at him, disbelief and hurt swirling within her.

They stood there, the air dense and cold, as Emma fought to control her rising anger. “Trapping you, as you claim, would be the last thing I would ever consider, Your Grace,” she asserted, her voice steady despite everything breaking inside her. “Because I know you would never do right by me. Or any other, as a matter of fact,” she added, her words deliberate and cutting.

George looked visibly stricken by her response. Before he could say anything more, Emma turned on her heels, leaving him standing alone on the terrace. She walked away with her dignity intact, even as her heart ached with a sorrow too deep for tears. The night air felt colder as she stepped back into the solitude of the garden, leaving behind a part of herself with the man who could never understand her struggles or her heart.

“Confounded brush!” George exclaimed in frustration, tossing aside the brush with a flick of his wrist. It clattered across the desk, leaving a trail of green paint in its wake—a hue that matched the unintended smudge now marring the canvas before him.

He knew well that the brush was not at fault. It was merely an innocent bystander caught up in the storm of his emotions.

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