Page 36 of The Matchmaker Meets her Duke
Pandora grabbed Emmett's wrist, steadying herself as Rose pushed past her and out of the door. She straightened herself. She would read too much into her actions. Theywerelate, after all.
ChapterFifteen
“Iam here out of respect,” Emmett reminded himself every few minutes.
He simply could not turn down an invitation from his best friend's newly married sister and the Duke of Wellington, even though it was exactly what he had wanted to do as he stood by Pandora's half-open door.
He had taken in the sight of her, exquisite in fine jewelry, her black curls piled resplendently atop her head, her lips tainted a daring red. He had imagined those lips on his the night before: plump, wet, and panting into his as their bodies worked. And it had taken all of his will to sit still in the coach, to not reach for her and explore her flowing flesh and hungry curves.
He had married a beautiful woman, without a doubt. A fine sense of humor, a strong mind. A figure well-cushioned, pillowed for loving. But there was something else too, about the way that she responded to him. The way that she had sneaked her way into the door of his heart while he wasn't looking, and gently settled in.
The circle of gentlemen he had found himself in chattered on about a topic that had skipped his ears, and Emmett nodded where he was supposed to, smiled where he was supposed to. More than once, Lord Grantham, a tower of a man with a mustache like a forest nudged his rib, trying to involve him in the conversation. "Brilliant, isn't it, Your Grace?"
"Indeed," Emmett responded, hoping the question had not been a testing one. Music, wine, and laughing, dancing figures floated around him, but Emmett's mind was anywhere but in the present.
It had been over ten years. The memories so long ago had been successfully buried in a dark and distant place below his mind. Yet, by Pandora's gentle prodding he had dredged them back up, albeit reluctantly.
What was it about her and a burgeoning willingness to bare himself open and allow her to take a look in? But he couldn't.
He wouldn't concern himself with things that were best left in the distant past. And he refused too to delude himself about his place in Pandora's life or her place in his. A marriage of convenience, isn't that what he had proposed? A bid to produce an heir to the Dukedom. That is all this would ever be, he reminded himself of that.
With a brief shake of his head, Emmett decidedly yanked himself out of his thoughts. It was a fine evening in Wellington's ballroom. Wine glasses caught the low-hanging chandelier candles and twinkled. The orchestra played a lighthearted but energetic Scottish tune that charged through the room and had gentlemen reaching for their wives, arms wrapped tight around the curves of their waists. And the ones who weren't up for dancing excused themselves to the outdoors or the Duke's study, where they would surely smoke cigarillos and play cards and catch up on the most recent of business ventures.
Across the room, Pandora was tucked in the middle of Lady Brexley and his grandmother. Henrietta stood beside Pandora, and Emmett watched as the two young women constantly exchanged meaningful glances as the old women spat and bickered.
Emmett shook his head and sighed. He would like a dance with Pandora before the night was over, but not if it meant having to interrupt the spiteful pair huddled across the room. He would take himself to Lord Beckham's study, then.
"Emmett," he heard a familiar voice behind him, just as he made to turn. It was Ashton.
"What is it?" said Emmett as he took in the mildly panicked look on his friend's face.
"I didn't know if to tell you. It's a large party, you just as well might not cross paths but–"
"Ashton, what is it?" He heard the impatience ring in his own voice.
"It's Victoria. She's here. With…her husband."
Emmett steadied himself, but he felt his spine stiffen. "I see."
"I thought to warn you."
"Nothing to warn me from," said Emmett simply. But Ashton looked unconvinced, the look on his face gauging and watchful.
Of course, there was something to warn him from. Ashton was only looking out for him and he appreciated it. But Emmett loathed the idea of himself that Ashton might still be holding on; his younger self hunched under the weight of fatherly expectations, mooning after a father who would never think him a worthy equal to his brother.
Ashton was still gauging his reaction, his eyebrows furrowed in genuine worry. Emmett tried for a lighthearted tone. "Surely it can't be a mere woman leaving you out of breath like this, Ashton. It's not a good look for your reputation, I'll have you know."
To his relief, Ashton straightened up, accepting his attempt at lightening the mood. "I'll henceforth refrain from stooping this low. Let me know if–" he started to say, and trailed off. Emmett would never know what his friend had meant to say because behind him stood his dead brother's former fiancée.
"Ah, there's my name across the room, I must leave you," Ashton said. He made some vague comment about Emmett finding him in Lord Beckham's study if he needed him before he turned away. Emmett was left alone with the tall, striking woman who had once been promised in marriage to his brother.
"Victoria," he said, clearing his throat. Victoria, her richly arced brow quirking up in an indecipherable expression, offered her gloved hand to Emmett.
"Emmett," she returned, her cheeks curving upward in a large, generous smile. "How lovely to see you here," she said.
Lovely was one way to put it. "I wouldn't have pegged you a friend of the new couple," he said.
"Lord Beckham's mother and mine go a long way back."
