Page 21 of Three Scandals for the Wild Duke

But just then, she heard rustling not too far away, followed by footsteps. Emma’s breath caught in her throat. She thought she had been alone. Who could possibly be up at this time of the night? She drew her robe tighter around her nightgown, apprehension gripping her as the footsteps grew nearer.

Then, someone emerged from the shadows. A man.

“George?” She heard herself blurt out in surprise, recognizing the figure before her.

He stopped in his tracks, looking slightly taken aback to find her there. He was dressed casually, in his waistcoat with his shirt sleeves rolled back, and his hair was disheveled. A faint smell lingered in the air around him.

Tobacco? She sniffed, trying to place the familiar scent that now mixed with the fresh citrus from the trees around them.

“Emma,” George said. “What are you doing here at this hour?” His expression softened, curiosity replacing the initial surprise.

“I could ask you the same,” she replied, her voice steadying despite her racing heart. The night suddenly seemed less quiet, less lonely, with George’s unexpected presence.

Her gaze moved to her glass of milk, and she sighed. George quietly joined her on the bench, and they sat in companionable silence for a while as she sipped at her milk. The night was peaceful indeed, she thought, enjoying the quiet. And as though he’d somehow read her thoughts, George finally broke their silence with, “Not even the crickets and frogs seem to be out tonight.”

“Only gentlemen getting in the way of a lady’s solitude and peace,” Emma quipped.

“Does this mean I am not welcome again?” He gave an exaggerated grimace.

“You just have the worst timing imaginable,” she chuckled despite herself.

“Tell me then, when is the right time?” He asked, a playful note in his voice.

“Perhaps when you learn to mind your business,” she returned lightly, and he chuckled.

“Please take a step back and let me get close to the Earl, George,” Emma suddenly heard herself voice before she could fully process the thought much less rein it in.

He grew pensive, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Albeit he betrayed no surprise about him at her request.

“Why?” he finally asked, his voice low and serious.

“I cannot explain…” She faltered, unsure how to convey the desperation and the direness of her situation.

That her parents were blackmailing her to marry? How ridiculous would that sound? He would never believe her. He already thought her grasping as it was.

“Try,” he encouraged gently.

“It is too difficult to,” she shook her head, feeling a lump rising to her throat. “But I really need to do this, George,” she implored, her voice thick with unshed tears.

“Do you love Firman?”

Her brows rose slightly, a mixture of resignation and defiance playing across her features. “I could grow to love him, in time, perhaps, but that is not what is important.”

“Then what is?” he insisted.

When she did not respond immediately, caught in the gravity of their conversation, he pressed further, “You realize that I need to protect my friend, Emma?”

She met his gaze, her eyes reflecting a turmoil he was only beginning to comprehend. She remained silent, but the understanding was there—she knew of his loyalty to Alexander. But she had no choice. She needed him to understand that.

“I cannot presume to know your reasons, Emma. But if it is not love, I cannot allow it. Alexander is a brother to me. I must look out for him,” he continued, his voice steady yet filled with an undercurrent of protectiveness.

“Especially after what happened in the conservatory, I must watch his back, as I would mine,” he added, referencing the recent incident that had caused quite the stir.

Emma felt her cheeks warm at the reminder of the conservatory. She realized just then how closely they were seated, their proximity under the dim light of the orangery creating an intimacy that was both unsettling and undeniable.

“George I…” she began tentatively, her voice a soft whisper in the quiet night.

But he raised a finger and placed it against her lips, silencing her. His touch was gentle yet firm, a contradiction that somehow epitomized George himself.

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