Page 80 of His Tempting Duchess

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “Ah, yes. Five paintings by Anon, to be presented at the closing ball of the Season. That is three weeks away—a rather tight deadline. Can I assume that you intend to take him up on his offer? You plan to reveal yourself?”

“Yes,” Emily answered, as confidently as she could.

She looked him in the eye, waiting for him to contradict her. What man would want an infamous artist for a wife?

The duke only chuckled to himself. “As I thought. Well, I wish you luck.”

“There’s more,” she continued, feeling a little braver. “I know that giving you an heir is part of our arrangement, and I will honor it. However, I would like to postpone that until after the Prince Regent’s deadline. I should like to wait for a month or two before we begin trying for a child. Perhaps even two full months, as the Prince Regent may want more paintings from me.”

The faint smile on Cassian’s face dropped at once. “I don’t understand.”

“I am quite prepared to give you an heir as soon as I can,” Emily explained, her heart sinking, “but my sister, Daphne, got with child right away. My mother, too, had Anna immediately after her marriage, and they were both tremendously ill. Daphne is vomiting every day. The sickness will pass soon enough, I’ve been told, but I cannot paint for the Prince Regent if I am too sick to get out of bed. Six months is not such a long time.”

Cassian seemed agitated, abruptly pushing off the desk he was leaning against. He began to pace up and down, staring at the carpet. Emily watched him, chewing on her lower lip.

“I cannot wait for six months,” he said at last, his voice low and urgent. “I willnotwait for six months. It is not what we agreed on.”

Emily flushed. “Is this your way of telling me that you will amuse yourself with other women if I do not do my duty?”

He looked straight at her then, seeming almost shocked. “What? Heavens, no. Do not put words in my mouth. This is not about carnal desire—it’s about an heir. Achild. I must have one by the time I am thirty years old.Before. Do you not recall the terms of my father’s will?”

Emily let out a long, slow breath. “Ah. Yes. The will. Is there no way around it?”

“I am nine-and-twenty and two months of age. If I am to have a baby in my arms before my thirtieth birthday, that leaves me ten months.”

“But surely, now that you are married?—”

He shook his head, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Youpromised, Emily. This was your end of the bargain. I cannot wait for six months.”

“Marriages are built on compromise, are they not?” Emily tried.

There was a heartbeat or two of silence.

Cassian sighed, dropping his hands from his face. “You are a duchess. You are a woman of wealth and station now. Why must you insist on taking up the Prince Regent on his offer?”

Emily almost staggered backward. Was this the same man who had taken her to that fascinating party with so many wonderful artists? The man who’d encouraged her to sneak out of her home in the dead of night? The man who had kissed andtouchedher in a way that a gentleman ought never to consider?

“How can you ask me that?” she choked out, her voice small. “This is not about money, or even about securing a powerful patron. Although, if the Prince Regentwasmy patron, it would open many doors for me. This is about learning who I am as a person, Cassian. About finally,finallybeing able to be who I truly am. Taking this commission would be the greatest thing I have ever done—the pinnacle of my career, so far.”

As she said that fateful word,career, she flinched. Was it truly a career? Women did not have careers, everybody knew that. Ladies did not engage in employment of any sort, except for the womanly business of managing a house and raising children. Even the small commissions Emily had accepted and the paintings she had already sold would be sufficient to ruin her for good in the eyes of Society.

Cassian stared at her, a bleak look in his eyes. “Have you already begun working on the paintings?” he murmured, his voice low.

She nodded. “I have five canvases all sketched out, but I have not yet begun to paint.”

He took a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Compromise,” he breathed. “It is not every day that a duke is expected tocompromise. I cannot wait for six months to begin trying for an heir, Emily. But I can wait until the Prince Regent’s deadline. Will that suit you?”

Emily paused, considering. She had expected to paint more after the deadline, anticipating more commissions, and possibly a good deal of unavoidable attention.

But it had always been clear, right from the start, that her duty was to provide an heir.

“But once you are married, I would have thought…” she began, trailing off weakly. “Is marriage not enough?”

He shook his head firmly. “No. There must be a child. I am only grateful that my father did not specify gender, as that would make my task virtually impossible. Already the deadline looms. We do not have much time. Three weeks is the most I could spare.”

She felt a pang of guilt.

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