Page 47 of The Matchmaker Meets her Duke
"Yes."
A stormy look clouded Emmett's face. His once open gaze was now difficult to read. "And how did this man come to be on Henrietta's party list?"
Rose's gaze flickered to Pandora at the same time that she turned to her. A meaningful look passed between them. She could give voice to her suspicions now. She could call her out right this moment. But it was a good day. The sun was shining, the wine was delicious and, cross-legged beside his moping sister, Emmett was staring at her like she was the only thing in the world.
Perhaps whatever confrontation that was budding between them could wait. And maybe there would be no confrontation, after all. Maybe Pandora had misheard Henrietta, or maybe she was misreading young Rose and her protective love for her brother. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. There had to be. And maybe there wasn't. But she would not ruin a perfectly fine picnic with a barrage of accusations that could always wait.
"An old friend of the Duke's father, I believe," said Pandora, answering Emmett's question.
Rose's shoulders slacked in relief. Emmett nodded but offered no other questions. Pandora wondered what was going through his mind, but she didn't ask until he put his wine glass aside, and towered to his feet.
"You'll think about it then?" she said.
He cast her a wondrous look. "About what?"
"My matchmaking parties, Emmett!"
"Right. That." His tone came off as nonchalant to her, and Pandora would have very much liked to wipe the smirk off his face. He knew she was losing her patience! And what's more, he was enjoying it. She wanted to say something hot and scathing to him, but she resisted. Her matchmaking meant more to her than mere lighthearted banter. It was the tie between her past and her future. It was part and parcel of her identity.
"I have to be on my way now," Emmett said, swooping around to Pandora's corner. Whatever hot words she had been ready to throw at him vanished from her lips as he dropped a simple, close-mouthed kiss on her cheek.
"Do: think about me often," he said. "Do not: think about metoooften."
Pandora rolled her eyes. "Where are you off to?" she said, resisting the urge to touch where his mouth had been. She was trying to ignore the scorch mark that the heat of his lips had left on her cheek, or how those very same lips had nibbled down her throat last night–
"Tidy a few businesses," he said easily, but there was a new look on his face, a cagey one.
Pandora's eyebrows lowered in momentary suspicion. What was it about Emmett and his recent business-tidying? Could he be up to something? She didn't want to entertain thoughts of his womanly endeavors with the Viscount of Riverton. Surely he wouldn't, not anymore, not when they were… what? Grasping for each other's bodies at whatever chance they found? Not after the way that his hand moved in and out of her last night? Not when they so undoubtedly, vividly desired each other?
"You must miss it, hm?" Rose said, jarring her out of her thoughts.
"What's that?"
"Your matchmaking parties." With the tone with which she said it, one would have mistaken it for a confident accusation rather than a statement.
"Right, yes," Pandora said. "I do. Deeply."
"Hm," said Rose, wiping her chin with a napkin.
What did that mean,hm?Pandora caught her line of thinking and scolded herself. She was doing it again. She was overthinking.
"Rose, I've been meaning to ask, why did you–"
"I should be on my way," said Rose, rising to her feet too. "I'm to join Grandmother for dinner with the Vanderbilts."
She strutted off before Pandora could say another word. Pandora watched her walk away in a slight daze, annoyed with herself that she hadn't just brought it up when the timing had been right.
ChapterTwenty
Emmett drummed his fingers on the seat of his coach. He didn't know how long he could hold back from Pandora without her discovering what he was up to. Shehadbeen a gossip writer long before she became his wife.
He did not want her to find this out. He was running out of time. He drummed his fingers to a rhythmless tune.
Across him, Ashton, flipping through the papers in his lap. He lifted his eyebrows in puzzled amusement, and Emmett shrugged. "It's a rather long ride."
"It only feels that way because you're time-bound."
"Perhaps so," Emmett said and continued to tap his fingers.
