Page 65 of His Tempting Duchess

Cassian strode along the darkened hallways, the light of spaced-out candles glimmering in the gloom. His mind was whirring, and he would never sleep under such circumstances. He needed something to calm himself.

He reached the library door, which had been left ajar. He paused only for an instant before stepping inside.

He was remarkably proud of his library, of course. The late duke had scarcely used the place, allowing it to collect dust and cobwebs. Nobody was permitted to borrow a book without his express permission, not even his own sons. Cassian had decided, when he learned that his brother was gone and he was to be the duke one day, that he would run the library a little differently.

Now, there was a heavy, old ledger resting by the door, where books could be signed in and out. The servants were welcome—nay,encouraged—to help themselves. If one perused the ledger, one would see a list of names, dates, and books borrowed. There were footmen who secretly adored romance novels, gardeners who devoured books on history and geography, and a particular scullery maid who had read every single one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s works at least three times.

It was, in short, an eminently efficient system.

There was a single candelabra in the middle of the room, its light woefully inadequate to light up the farthest corners of the library, where bookshelves were set up like a maze.

Pausing, Cassian turned to face the farthest corner, folded his arms tightly across his chest, and spoke, “I think you had better come out.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, and then a young woman in a long, grey cloak, rather damp from the rain outside, shuffled guiltily forward out of the dark.

Silence descended. The expanse of the library stretched out between them, with a square desk set in the center and chairs arranged around it for reading and working. Cassian preferred to write his correspondence here. It was a sedate place, and he was seldom disturbed.

And, of course, his father had never allowed him in the library, which made him enjoy the room even more.

“I can explain,” Miss Belmont murmured, shamefaced.

* * *

“I think you had better come out,” Cassian called, after he strode into the library and almost immediately glanced at the corner where she was hiding.

Emily shuffled forward, feeling guilty. “I can explain.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Oh? I am agog to hear why you broke into my house.”

Emily thought she had managed the whole business rather poorly.

At the end of the second day after the artist’s party, there had been no word from the duke.

That was somewhat worrisome.

What if he changes his mind? I’m rather ruined already, but if Society learns that I even attended a party like that—andwith the duke—then it will all be over. Mama would be within her rights to send me to an asylum.

Of course, Octavia wouldnotdo that, but she would certainly be forced to at least send her to the countryside. Such a moral scandal would likely affect even Anna and Daphne. Emily would never be able to come back to London.

She had spent both days wandering around the house, bored and alone, with Octavia demanding to know what was wrong with increasing exasperation.

At suppertime, Emily had come to a somewhat obvious conclusion.

If the wretched duke would not visit her to talk things over, then she would simply have to visit him.

Hiring a cab was a little frightening, but she had managed it quite well, in her own estimation. She only hoped that the duke would offer her the use of his carriage to get back home.

“Need I repeat myself, Miss Belmont?” he prompted, interrupting her thoughts.

She clenched her jaw, lifting her chin. “You haven’t visited me in the last two days, or even sent a message.”

“Was I meant to have done so?”

“Well, tonight is the last night before I decide whether to marry you or not. Or have you forgotten?”

He arched that irritating eyebrow of his again, and she realized with a rush of chagrin that he hadnotforgotten.

“You knew I’d come here,” she gasped. “Youluredme.”

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