Page 24 of A Duke Reformed
The walk did little to clear his head. London's jostling crowds and busy streets only reinforced his preference for the open northern countryside, where a man could breathe without someone accidentally stepping on his heels or hawkers shouting in the streets. With a sigh, he was about to turn back toward his carriage when movement in a shop window caught his eye... a flash of emerald silk fluttering as a shopgirl adjusted the display.
He shouldn't have paused. He certainly shouldn't have looked closer. But before he could stop himself, his gaze landed on the gown and Emma came to mind in that instant.
Solomon paused and stared at the gown with his head slightly tilted to the side. It would fit Emma perfectly. The emerald silk would drape perfectly over Emma's slender frame, the high waistline accentuating her height rather than fighting against it. The color would make her blue eyes go dark and stormy... the way they did when she was trying not to lose an argument.
Solomon clenched his jaw and forced his attention elsewhere. Emma would never wear such a thing. She favored those dull, high-necked dresses that hid every possible curve. There was no way...
The thought dissolved mid-rebellion. His feet were already moving, carrying him toward the shop door with a determination that overrode all objections. The contradiction burned like bad brandy. He, who had just stood rigid in Bolton's shop, teeth gritted against the man's measuring tape and tedious chatter, was now willingly stepping into the same nonsense all over again. Another clerk's prying eyes, another round of chatter. All for a woman who was likely to scold him for the extravagance.
But the decision was made, though he told himself it was merely practical. Emma had endured his stubbornness through countless lessons, after all. Not that he owed her anything. He was merely... appreciative.
Appreciative. Of course. That's what it is.
"Why are you smiling like that, Emma?" Cecilia whispered, nudging her sister's elbow as they stood near the ballroom's entrance.
The smile had already begun to fade from Emma's lips before she noticed it had been there at all... a fleeting, traitorous smile, gone the moment she recognized its source. She turned back tolook at what she had been staring at, her attention snapping into focus across the crowded ballroom.
Solomon.
He was dressed... differently. Not just well-tailored, as any duke should be, butpreciselyas she had instructed. Even down to the color. He stood in the corner, taller than any other man in the room. It wasn't surprising that he stood so rigid, with that infuriating ducal arrogance. But tonight, something was different. The new coat accentuated the breadth of his shoulders, the fabric pulling slightly when he crossed his arms, as if even the finest tailoring couldn't quite... contain him. His hair, darker than midnight and longer than fashion permitted, curled slightly at his nape. The strong line of his jaw was clean-shaven, and when he turned to accept a glass of wine, the candlelight caught the sharp angle of his cheekbone and she let out a subtle gasp, amazed at how... incredible he looked.
Oh, great heavens.
A soft, disbelieving laugh escaped her before she could stop it, the realization hit like a splash of cold water. She wasstudyinghim. Not his clothes, not his adherence to her lessons, buthim, the exact way one might appraise a stallion at auction or a sculpture in a gallery. Heat rushed to her cheeks. It was ridiculous. Absurd.
Solomon Miller was the last man on earth who warranted such attention. Brash, domineering, and seemingly carved from ice.He was hardly her ideal. That his physique happened to be... notablechanged nothing.
"Emma, whatever is making you laugh?"
Emma said nothing, pressing her lips together to smother the last traces of her absurd amusement. "Nothing of importance," she answered. "I was just thinking to myself."
Cecilia squinted, not buying Emma's explanation. "Well, I am positively parched. I'm going to fetch something to drink."
Before Emma could reply, Cecilia had slipped away, her pale blue skirts disappearing into the crowd. Emma wanted to say something to stop her, but she paused, letting Cecilia run free. Even though she preferred to have a leash on her at all times, she figured it might be good if Cecilia had conversations with other people.
Emma watched her go, struck suddenly by how alone her sister looked moving through the ballroom. The other ladies always traveled in pairs or trios... there was a time even Emma used to look for Alice and Lavinia the moment she walked into any function. But Cecilia walked by herself, back straight but head slightly bowed as if trying to take up less space.
How had she not noticed before? Cecilia always seemed content at her side, but now Emma wondered... when was the last time Cecilia had been invited to join one a group of ladies for a promenade at the park? Or to picnic with just the ladies?
"I would ask what crime against fashion you have spotted, but you seem too engrossed to enlighten me."
Emma jumped, startled by the voice at her shoulder. She turned to find Solomon standing close to her and instinctively, she stepped back. She pressed a hand to her chest, willing herbreathing to steady.
"You startled me, Your Grace," she said with a polite curtsy.
"You wouldn't have been so startled if you weren't absentminded," he replied. "It's a ball, Ducky. What are you thinking so intently about at a ball?"
Emma sighed, almost instinctively giving into the urge to lay down all her worries on Solomon because she desperately needed someone to talk to and with Lavinia and Alice absent, she had no one to confide in. But she restrained herself quickly, fighting back the urge.
"It's nothing, Your Grace," she answered, feigning a polite smile. "I just... everyone looks rather ravishing this evening. You particularly."
A faint smile crossed Solomon's lips, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. "You noticed."
"It would be hard not to," she answered. "You usually dress the exact same way to every event, so this is a welcome surprise."
Emma smiled, somewhat please that she could get an up close look at him now. The deep claret of his coat brought out the warmth in his complexion. He had never worn that color before, and she noticed how it softened the usual severity of his features even though it was only a little. The silver embroidery along the waistcoat caught the candlelight with every slight movement he made, drawing attention to his frame. But now that he stood close, she could see that his cravat sat slightly askew... ruining the almost perfect look.
Her hand was moving before she could stop it.
