Page 44 of His Tempting Duchess

If I did, I would be ruined beyond repair. Maybe ravished, too.

No, that didn’t sound right. The duke was not a ravishing sort of man, and even if he were…

She pinched off the end of that thought with determination and downed a large spoonful of pea soup with a most unladylike slurp.

She would not be ravished, of course, but he might attempt to seduce her. The simple fact was that she had no idea whether she would have the strength to resist or not.

Would it matter?

Why, what a foolish thought!Of courseit would matter. It always mattered. For women, at least.

She continued eating the pea soup, trying to ignore the approving looks her mother sent her way.

“That’s the ticket.” Octavia beamed. “A little food in one’s belly always makes one feel better. But somethingisbothering you, my dear.”

“I am fine, Mama. It’s Daphne, as you said.”

Octavia seemed satisfied with that, at least.

Dinner went on with some small talk, but the question remained.

Should I meet him or not?

* * *

Emily closed her bedroom door behind her and leaned against it. Her heart pounded against her ribcage.

The clock told her that it was quarter past eleven. Octavia had retired to bed, and the house was beginning to shut down for the night. The rain was still falling.

She breathed slowly, in and out.

It’s simple. I’ll put on my nightgown and get ready for bed. I’ll go to sleep. In the morning, I’ll be glad of the choice I made and smile at myself for almost being foolish enough to listen to the duke.

Simple.

Oh, bother.

Biting back a groan, Emily pushed off the door and attacked her wardrobe. She pulled out a plain, lavender-colored gown which was too ordinary-looking for balls and soirees and such. She dressed quickly, discarding her current gown—a frothy, lemon-colored piece that was a gift from Anna—and kicking it aside.

Her old boots, well-worn andentirelyinappropriate for a lady to wear, waited for her at the bottom of the wardrobe. She tugged them out and pulled them on, her heart hammering.

A cloak came next. All of her old, dirty ones were gone, so she had to settle for a black velvet cloak. Hopefully, the fineness of the material and the vibrant red lining wouldn’t be noticed in the dark.

Emily paused, glancing at herself briefly in the mirror. Her clothes and the mad flush in her cheeks made her look almost wild. A few tendrils of hair had come loose and hung around her face. Sighing, she tucked them behind her ears and darted out of her room, blowing out the candle as she went.

They’ll think I’m already in bed.

Oh, heavens, I hope I can get home before I’m missed.

Once out in the hallway, Emily wished that she’d waited to put on her boots, wincing at the click of her heels on the floor.

No voices called after her, and she didn’t cross paths with any of the servants. Downstairs, the kitchen was dark and quiet, the majority of the servants doubtlessly curled up in bed already.

Holding her breath, she unhooked the heavy brass keys from beside the back kitchen door, unlocked it, and stepped out into the night.

It was cold, cold enough to take away her breath, despite the heavy cloak around her shoulders. Rain and cold sleet hit her exposed face and hands.

Shivering, Emily pulled the door shut behind her—she would have to leave it unlocked in order to sneak back in later—and hurried away across the garden.

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