Page 15 of Dukes Do It Better
“Ladies, would you care to join us? I’m sure the waiter can find two more chairs.” The smile Simon offered was familiar—it had won more than one heart over the years. “It might be a bit of a crush, but I’m sure we can muddle through if we are all fine with being friendly.”
Simon somehow made it sound like a grand time to huddle around a table the size of scrap wood with strangers. If Malachi had said those words, he’d have come across as a gruff giant propositioning damsels.
Within moments, the ladies were settled in, and, as predicted, it was a tight squeeze. But with Emma’s knee pressed against Malachi’s, and her vanilla sugar scent teasing his nostrils over the smell of the coffee steaming at his elbow, he had no complaints. Spending the rest of the afternoon like this sounded like a fine idea.
However, it was hard to ignore Miss Martin’s discomfort. She held her shoulders stiffly, sitting close to Simon but keeping her elbows pinned to her sides as if to make herself as small as possible.
“Miss Martin,” he said, modulating his voice so he wasn’t using his captain-on-deck tone, “have you known Lady Emma long?” Out of the corner of his eye he spied Emma opening her mouth as if to answer for her friend, but Malachi stalled her with a brush of his finger against hers under the table.
“We attended the same school. Although not in the same class. I was a year behind Lady Emma. We reconnected only this morning.”
“How fortunate you’ve been able to reignite your friendship. Lady Emma and I are renewing our acquaintance after a time apart as well. And, of course, Lord Simon and I are longtime friends but used to maintaining a friendship over a vast distance. Letters and very short periods of time face-to-face.”
Simon piped up, “If you stick around, we might decide we hate each other.”
Miss Martin smiled, and it changed her whole face. She was not plain by any means, merely unassuming. The monochromatic brown ensemble wasn’t doing her any favors either. But her smile was sweet. Simon, bless him, appeared to forget how to breathe. With open lips, he resembled a gaping fish while the ladies laughed at his joke.
Malachi glanced at Emma and found her raising a brow at him. He winked and turned back to their friends. Something significant was happening with Simon right before his eyes. It was hard to define—a change in the air, or a shift in a person—but it was there nonetheless.
Their waiter appeared, took the new orders, and refilled Malachi’s cup. Emma requested coffee, while Miss Martin opted for tea.
“Have you been in Town long, Miss Martin?” Malachi tried to get the woman talking, since Simon clearly was having an uncharacteristic quiet spell.
“I usually come to London for the Season. Father takes his seat in the House quite seriously. While he’s doing his duty, Mother and I enjoy the chance to renew acquaintances.” She smiled at Emma. “And London offers so many entertainments. One hardly has time to get bored.”
“So I’ll see you at the usual balls and soirees?” Simon asked.
“Mother enjoys them. I’m expected to accompany her. For myself, I prefer museums and exploring the city more than balls and routs. But if you see me at one, please do come say hello. I tend to stick to the edges of the room, I’m afraid. Look for a potted palm, and I’ll likely be nearby.” It was said with a charming self-deprecating humor that had Simon smiling along with her. The longer Miss Martin sat at the table, the more she relaxed, and the more Simon was charmed. If Malachi had to hazard a guess, he’d bet Simon would be searching the foliage in the next ballroom they entered.
“It would be frowned upon to dance while in mourning for my brother. But my mother insists being unwed is of higher consequence than strict mourning rituals, so I’m still expected to attend events. However, Simon loves to dance, so you may have to abandon your potted palms should we meet one of these evenings.” It was as close as Malachi could get to throwing Simon at her feet.
“Will you be around for a while, then?” Under the table, Emma nudged his leg with her knee.
“My plans are unchanged. As usual, I exist at the whim of my admiral and the king. But I’m here for now. How about you? Will I have the pleasure of your company in Town, Lady Em, or are you going to leave me to wander the wilds of the city without you?”
She hummed a low laugh. “I’ve been persuaded to stay through the Season. So any wandering of the city must be placed squarely on your head, not mine.”
Interest surged at her words. “That is the best news I’ve heard all day. Simon and I will look for you. Are you willing to give a hint at your schedule so I may monopolize your attention?”
A considering expression settled on her lovely features, then she moved nearer. When she closed the scant inches between them to whisper in his ear, the brush of her warm breath caressed the side of his neck, sending a quake rippling over his skin, chased by a trail of gooseflesh. The minx did it on purpose, he was sure of it.
“Is Lord Marshall a good man? If he breaks her heart, so help me, I shall take it out of your hide.” For emphasis, she jabbed his thigh with a finger.
He hooked the poking digit with one of his own and closed his hand. Not quite holding hands. Just one finger, connected under the table, where no one could see.
Somehow, that one finger was attached to every nerve ending in his body. They were so close, if he turned his head, he could claim her lips. Damn their public location. Canting his mouth toward her, he gave her ample time to lean away, but still, his lips grazed her cheek on the way to her ear. Lord, she was sweet. In Olread Cove she’d made noises in the back of her throat when they kissed. The memory of those noises had haunted him since. Denying himself the opportunity to kiss her, to taste her like he wanted to, and to hear those sounds again had his muscles tightening under his coat, until he was hard all over.
“Simon is the best of men. I give you my word. He’s taken with her, I can tell.”
“In that case, Adelaide and I will both attend the Vanfords’ ball next week.”
Sharing her schedule wasn’t an outright agreement to an assignation, but it was a step in the right direction. Anticipation made his breath catch, then draw deep, filling his senses with delicious edible things, and a maddeningly appealing woman. Malachi wanted to bury his nose behind her ear, where a stronger scent of vanilla lingered. “You smell like biscuits topped with vanilla icing, and you’re making me hungry.”
When she smiled, the apple of her cheek pinked and shifted near his face. “You already ate, Malachi. There’s half a sandwich left on your plate.”
“That’s not what I want to eat.” The raw whispered confession would have sent any gently bred young lady flouncing away after a resounding slap to his face. However, their shared history, while brief, had been passionate. Emma had to know what he meant. And there it was—her breath shuddered out on a shaky exhale.
“I use vanilla instead of perfume,” she said, voice gone a bit thready. “I never took to the heavier scents. In some things, simpler is better.”
