Page 29 of Three Scandals for the Wild Duke

Caroline, with a trembling hand, placed a letter in his palm. He, in turn, handed it to Emma with a flourish that belied the gravity of the situation.

Uncertain and dreading what she might find, Emma opened the letter, her fingers trembling slightly. The words within confirmed her worst fears. It was the letter from the Marquess of Neads, filled with demands and expectations that made her skin crawl.

‘I need a healthy heir for my estates, Dewsbury. And I shan’t settle for anything less than a fine and healthy wife of promising child-bearing age and capacity. I hope to examine your daughter as soon as you return to London. I trust you will keep your promise and the end of our arrangement,’the letter read, each word slicing through her like a knife.

Emma’s stomach churned with revulsion at the Marquess’s cold, calculating words. They reduced her to an object, a means to an end—mere livestock to be assessed for breeding. This realization cemented the harsh truth of her circumstances: in the eyes of men like her father and the Marquess of Neads, she was nothingmore than a brood mare, her personal feelings and desires utterly inconsequential.

“There you have it, girl,” her father declared with a smug smirk, clearly untroubled by the visible apprehension etched across Emma’s face. “Either way, I am marrying you off before the end of the season. At whatever cost,” he added emphatically, waving the letter he’d snatched back in front of her as if to underscore his resolve.

His words hung in the air, more menacing than ever before.

Her mother wore a rueful, helpless expression, her eyes filled with sorrow as she cast a final, lingering look at Emma before reluctantly following her husband out of the room.

Once alone, Emma slumped onto her bed covers, the weight of her situation pressing down upon her. As the door clicked shut, sealing her fate, the tears she had been fighting to hold back finally broke free, streaming down her cheeks in silent, sorrowful trails.

She must do something, she thought desperately. Her life under her parents’ command was unbearable enough; the prospect of spending her future as the Marquess of Neads’ broodmare was an unimaginable hell. She could not—would not—submit to such a fate.

The next morning, Emma awoke with a surprising surge of resolve. Fortified by this newfound determination, she decided to take matters into her own hands and seek out Alexander directly, hoping he might offer an alternative or aid in her plight.

She inquired with the butler, only to be informed that Alexander was out attending to estate business. Disappointed but not deterred, Emma resolved to try again later in the day. Surely, he would be back by late afternoon to prepare for dinner.

Giving up was not an option—not now, not with so much at stake. With a resolute breath, Emma rose and made her way to the drawing room where Lady Amberton was hosting a late morning embroidery session for the ladies. Emma thought that she could use the distraction at this moment.

She heard voices echoing down the hallway just before she caught sight of Seymore rounding the corner, deeply engaged in conversation with two other gentlemen. Emma felt her heart skip a beat, though she couldn’t quite discern if it was from anticipation or apprehension. Seymore’s company was the last thing she sought—or so she tried to convince herself. A dissenting voice in her head argued otherwise, but Emma promptly ignored it as she quickly altered her course, hoping he hadn’t spotted her.

Instead of heading to the drawing room as originally planned, she veered off toward the conservatory, seeking refuge amongthe lush foliage. Settling herself on a secluded bench in the deepest part of the verdant space, she intended to hide away just long enough to ensure Seymore was well out of sight and it was safe to venture back without risking another encounter.

As she exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, Emma found solace in the tranquility of her surroundings. Nature always brought her peace, she mused, allowing the rustle of the leaves and the soft hum of the garden to calm her nerves.

Just as she began to relish the solitude and the gentle embrace of the conservatory’s peaceful atmosphere, a shadow abruptly cast itself beside her. Emma looked up, her tranquility shattered, and a frustrated groan escaped her lips.

“You sound like you have just seen the angel of death,” Seymore laughed, his tone light and teasing despite the sharpness of her gaze.

“The angel of death would have more courtesy,” she shot back promptly, her words holding cool irony.

“You are never full of kind words, Miss Lovell,” he remarked, giving an exaggerated grimace as if wounded by her sharp tongue.

“If you are looking for kindness, I would advise you seek it elsewhere, Your Grace,” Emma replied flatly, her voice devoid of warmth.

“Of course,” he agreed with a nod, his smile unfazed. “I forget that you do not have a kind bone in you,” he added, his remark holding a playful yet pointed barb that hovered between jest and judgment.

“I do not run a charity for privileged Dukes who do not know how to mind their own business and keep to themselves,” Emma retorted sharply, her tone crisp in the quiet of the conservatory.

“Such venom. And so early in the morning too,” Seymore chuckled, seemingly amused by her candor.

“May I join you?” he then asked, with a surprising hint of politeness in his voice.

“No,” Emma responded curtly, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

“When I saw you escape in the hallway, I just had a feeling you’d be this sour,” he said, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment as he observed her with an exaggerated expression of sorrow.

“How impressive. I see your judgment of character is improving,” she drawled sarcastically, her words dripping with disdain.

“Oh, I’ve always been a keen judge of character,” he replied, tugging proudly at his waistcoat as if to emphasize his point.“Besides, I must be observant and remain on my guard now more than ever,” he added, his tone taking on a serious edge.

Emma met his gaze, and in it, she found an unexpected depth. His words seemed to carry more weight than she had anticipated, hinting at something beyond their usual banter. A curious hurt flickered within her at his implication. She stood abruptly, her movement brisk and decisive. This was precisely why she had sought to avoid his company. Being near him brought nothing but turmoil and an unsettling stir of emotions—none of which she could afford to entertain.

“Emma,” he called after her, his voice carrying a note of desperation that halted her in her tracks.

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