Page 42 of Three Scandals for the Wild Duke

“Why, Emma?” he pressed, his voice low, insistent, and Emma sensed a shift in his questioning. It wasn’t merely about why she sought solitude now, but something more profound, more intrinsic to her very being.

Emma remained silent, unable to articulate the maelstrom of emotions and secrets that lay beneath her composed exterior. She could not reveal the full weight of her burdens, not here, not to him.

Something else flickered across George’s face at her silence—disappointment. Emma saw it clear as day, and it pierced her heart more sharply than she anticipated. The realization that he expected more from her, that he was disappointed in her, was unexpectedly painful.

She rose to her feet, her body tense as she prepared to leave, to escape the intensity of the confrontation.

“You’re being a coward,” he said sharply, his words stopping her in her tracks.

Emma felt her jaw clench, her teeth gritting as if to physically hold back the pain his words elicited. “And you are being especially nosy,” she shot back, her voice cold.

“Emma—” he started, but she was quick to cut him off.

“Is protecting my privacy now cowardliness, George?” She challenged, turning to face him fully, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and defiance.

“What you’re doing has nothing to do with privacy, and you know it,” he retorted, his voice firm, accusing.

“What I am doing is no business of yours,” Emma snapped back sharply before she turned on her heels to leave.

“Oh, you can fool anyone, Emma, but you cannot fool me,” he called after her, his voice carrying a mix of frustration and conviction.

Emma quickened her pace, desperate to put distance between them, to escape the scrutiny and the unbearable closeness that threatened to unravel her.

“This has been my business from the start,” he added, his voice following her.

“Because you made it so!” Emma called over her shoulder, her words touched with bitterness. “With no permission of mine, if I might remind you.”

“I do not need permission to do what is right. Unlike someone I know.” He quickly closed the distance between them, and Emma felt his hand encircle her wrist, halting her escape. Reacting instinctively, she yanked her arm free of his grasp, her heart pounding.

“What do you want from me, George?” She asked, her voice shaky yet firm, as she faced him squarely.

“Answers. Thetruth!” His demeanor was dark and barely readable. She wished he could understand the duress she was under.

“Which have nothing to do with you,” she ground out yet again.I cannot allow him to soften me.

“They haveeverythingto do with me, Emma,” he countered forcefully. His words hinted at stakes much higher than Emma could decipher in the heat of the moment. Before she could say anything, George touched her cheek, stroking with tenderness that had her leaning closer to him.

Don’t do this to me, George.She closed her eyes for a moment—grasping at the remnants of her composure. It would be too easy to fall into his embrace, and perhaps that was what he was counting on to disarm her.

George’s voice was very soft when he spoke again. “Emma, I told you from the start that I cannot let you do this.” He sounded as though he were pleading with her to understand a point of view she stubbornly refused to see. She knew the game he was playing—one only a rake could play—and she would not fall for it.

“Then don’t,” she said tersely, blinking and taking a step back. “Don’t do anything, George,” she added, her frustration boiling over as she gathered her skirts in her hands, preparing to flee from this confrontation that threatened to unravel her composure.

He made a move to follow her, but she didn’t give him the chance. She began to run, her footsteps quick and desperate on the soft earth of the garden path.

“You can run after me and cause a scene if you wish,” she called out over her shoulder, her voice carrying a challenge she hoped he wouldn’t accept.

And to her relief, she saw him stop. As she fled, she threw one last glance over her shoulder and saw him run a frustrated hand through his hair. He stood there, watching her leave, his disappointment in her evident in his intense gaze. It was a look that would haunt her, a silent accusation that she was running not just from him but from the truth he sought—and perhaps from a part of herself as well.

Emma forced down the hurt that welled up inside her, manifesting as a painful lump in her throat. Her feet carried her aimlessly through the deserted portion of the garden, her mind swirling with the recent confrontation. Almost without realizing it, she found herself at the entrance to a maze. Her steps, driven by a desire to escape, led her deeper into the labyrinth of hedges and pathways.

By the time she recognized her misstep, it was too late. She could not find her way back out. With a resigned sigh, she continued forward, hoping each turn might reveal an exit. Instead, after what felt like an eternity, she arrived not at the edge but at the very center of the maze.

And there, to her surprise, was none other than Alexander, right in the midst of tending to a variety of plants. The sight of him, so engrossed in his botanical pursuits, momentarily distracted her from her own turmoil.

Something churned uncomfortably within Emma as a voice in her head reminded her that this was the chance she had been seeking since the start of the house party. This unexpected encounter was not just fortuitous; it was almost fated.

“Oh, Emma,” Alexander looked up, his expression brightening into a wide smile upon seeing her. “I see you have found my hidden plant laboratory,” he quipped, his tone light and inviting.

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