Page 7 of Three Scandals for the Wild Duke

“I told him he lacks a clear sight and perception of colors, but he is still living in his delusions that his vision is perfect. At least where colors are concerned.”

“What party is going on here without me?” The man in question suddenly appeared, his voice carrying a playful note of accusation.

“Oh, we were just discussing your impeccable sight and ability to distinguish colors,” Olivia sent a conspiratorial wink in George’s direction. George grinned impishly, enjoying the moment.

Alexander’s gaze narrowed dubiously as he regarded them, and as though to prove her point, Olivia held up the napkins once again and asked her brother to choose a shade.

“What choice is there to be made between two identical colors?” Alexander gave her a look, his tone flat, betraying his complete bafflement at the situation.

“They’re not the same shade, Brother. Even a blind man can see it,” Olivia laughed.

“They look the same to me.” Alex shrugged, clearly unbothered by his inability to discern the difference.

George burst out laughing as well.

Much to Emma’s disappointment, she found herself seated next to none other than the Duke of Seymore at dinner. The flickering candles that cast a soft glow over the table, accentuating the opulence of the room, did little to lift her spirits.

“Fancy meeting you again, Miss Lovell,” he said pleasantly as she sat, his voice carrying a smooth, mirthful undertone that irked her for reasons she couldn’t quite place.

“I doubt if our meeting again qualifies as much of a surprise, living under the same roof, we were bound to come across each other again, Your Grace,” Emma responded, her tone clipped as she focused on arranging her napkin meticulously on her lap.

“Sheathe the dagger, Miss Lovell. I come in peace,” he chuckled.

Emma, however, heard every annoying nuance of his laughter distinctly, as if it were so just for her ears. “Why, you make me out to be quite the aggressive woman,” she observed, not quite able to keep a note of accusation from creeping into her voice.

“Well, your words just now weren’t the most welcoming, Miss Lovell. And considering our first impressions of each other…” He let his words trail off, a teasing glint in his eye that suggested he enjoyed this little exchange.

Emma felt her jaw clench as mortification warmed—and no doubt stained—her cheeks. As if she needed a reminder of her earlier actions. She forced herself to meet the Duke’s gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort. “I must have left quite the impression, it seems, Your Grace,” Emma managed to say, her words edged with a feigned nonchalance as she gave him a tight smile.

“An unforgettable one,” he agreed.

“I tend to do that,” she stated, lifting her chin slightly, employing an air of pride that she hoped masked her inner turmoil.

“Why am I not surprised?” His laugh was richer this time, as if he truly found genuine delight in their conversation.

“You make it sound as though you know me,” Emma pointed out. She found his presumption increasingly irksome.

“I am a good judge of character,” he claimed.

At that, a loud snort escaped her before she could stop it. The sound cut through the surrounding chatter, which suddenly died down, leaving a brief, echoing silence in its wake.

Emma felt a flush of embarrassment as she realized quite a number of eyes were now on her. Her gaze inadvertently found her mother’s across the room, and the woman’s expression was anything but pleased.

She had fleetingly forgotten her manners, a lapse she remembered all too well as she was supposed to engage the Earl in conversation. Seymore was as distracting as he was aggravating, pulling her thoughts away from her social duties.

“Excellent mutton, Lord Firman. I must commend your cook,” Emma addressed the Earl now, her words a weak attempt to draw his attention and to settle the curiosity directed at her along with the awkwardness that lingered in the air.

“Oh, give Francois an empty pot and a ladle, Miss Lovell, and he would manage to conjure up a meal for you from nothingness,” Firman replied proudly, his statement met withhearty agreements across the table. Baron Dewsbury’s voice rang the loudest, his tone ingratiating as he sought the Earl’s favor.

Emma spooned more mutton into her mouth and chewed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes or send a disparaging glance in her father’s direction.Could his manners be any more lacking?

Her gaze drifted back to the Duke. He wore a sly smile, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched her, almost as if he enjoyed the slight chaos of the moment.What is the matter with this man?

“There you are!” Caroline almost jumped when Emma suddenly appeared before her. “Where were you?” she demanded, her nose turning up dubiously at her daughter.

“I sought the retiring room,” Emma lied smoothly. “I must have had too much sherry at dinner,” she added for good measure, hoping to divert her mother’s suspicion.

“So much so that it apparently made you forget your manners, too, at the table,” her mother observed sharply. “What were you thinking? Snorting about like a piglet in front of half of society. And goodness gracious, you were seated right next to the Earl and the Duke of Seymore too!”

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