Page 23 of Married Off by the Duke
Making up a story wholesale on the fly would only expose her as a liar. She needed to stay as close to the truth as possible without revealing her guardian’s identity.
“Emma?”
She hastily shoved the papers under a stack.
“There you are. I thought you were resting?”
Was it her imagination, or was there a suggestive undertone to his question? Emma’s stomach fluttered. She was tired, but too anxious to sleep. Tonight, Max wanted to take her to an actual ball, filled with aristocrats like him.
That meant close physical proximity with him on a public dance floor. Everyone would be watching her. Emma didn’t trust herself not to trip over the hem of her own skirt, tread on his toes and spin in the wrong direction. Possibly in quick succession.
Emma could never be Max’s duchess. His wife would be expected to be social and gracious, witty and confident under any circumstances. Not awkward and bluntly outspoken like she was. Literally any other woman on Earth would make a better duchess than an illegitimate nobody like her.
Her throat tightened at the thought of Max married to someone else.
“I was.” Her mind whirled with excuses. “I couldn’t rest, so I thought I’d write…”
“A letter?” he prompted.
“Yes!”
“To whom?”
Emma had no one. He knew full well she had few acquaintances from the school, all of whom had graduated, married, and no longer had time for their odd spinster friend. Her family was all dead.
“Never mind.” Max raised both hands, palms outward. “It’s not my affair. If you are awake, would you like to come with me to see an art exhibition? A friend of a friend of a friend’s gallery is opening tomorrow at Kew.” Wryly, he added, “I wouldn’t otherwise consider going, but you might like the subject. Botanical prints and landscapes.”
“Yes!” Emma leaped up, clapping her hands with delight. He was willing to associate his name with an artist he might not otherwise care for, simply because she might like it. “I’d love to meet him.”
“Her,” Max corrected, smiling. “Marianne North. She’s quite the world traveler. I think you’d get along splendidly.”
Her heart did a funny flop in her chest.
He wasn’t supposed to be charming. Or thoughtful. Or fun.
Max was supposed to be an arrogant, insufferable arsehole. Sometimes, he still was. But ever since he’d put his mind to courting her, Emma didn’t have a single complaint about him.
That made him dangerous. Max had the capacity to devastate her so deeply she would never recover from the loss. She could not afford to let that happen.
“What’s this?”
She’d covered up her attempts to practice forgery, but Emma had left the damned request from Kiefer’s Fine Books sitting out on her desk. Max picked it up and read it quickly.
“That’s mine!”
Panic surged through her.
“Your debts are mine. If you owe money to a shop, I won’t have you paying it out of your own funds.” He frowned. “This is the secret you’ve been hiding? You’re employed? In a bookstore?”
The amusement in his voice cut Emma to the quick.
“What’s wrong with that, Max?”
“You’re to be a duchess. My duchess. Why on earth would you want to tire yourself out lugging around dusty books, when you could have a life of leisure with me?”
Beneath his laughter, Emma heard a note of confusion. Her heart cracked.
He didn’t get it. He did not understand her, even after all the time they’d spent together.
