Page 3 of Duke of Emeralds
She needed to vent, to release the frustration that had built up inside her. “You stupid, stupid girl!” she muttered to herself. “You thought Lord Townstead could rescue you from spinsterhood? What dream you must have had!”
She kicked a nearby cluster of hedges, and her shawl tangled in the thorns. As she tried to extricate her shawl from the plants, she heard the fabric rip. The tears of frustration she had been trying to keep at bay finally came spilling forth unbidden, streaming down her cheeks.
“Why am I such a fool?”
She sank to the ground, her hands covering her face as she tried to breathe and hold back the tears. She had never felt so alone and so misunderstood in her life.
“Pray tell, who has brought such a lovely lady to tears?” came a voice from behind, startling her.
She turned her head, and lo! There stood the Duke of Lushton, tall and imposing.
CHAPTER 3
Hester swiped angrily at her tears. “It is no business of yours, Sir,” she bit out.
The Duke of Lushton stood silhouetted against the garden torches, more mountain than man. Moonlight caught the thin scar bisecting his left cheek, making him look like a pirate who had stumbled into a ballroom. Or a terrifying creature that could sweep her away.
He took a deliberate step forward. “A lovely lady must not call herself foolish.”
“Are you appointing yourself my moral philosopher now?” She pushed herself up, ignoring the twinge in her ankle. She wondered what he was doing in the gardens and how he found her. “Perhaps you should return to the ballroom to find a lady to mock.”
Instead of retreating, he closed the distance until she could smell faint sandalwood from him. “Mockery wasn’t me intent.” He reached toward her tear-stained cheek with a handkerchief. “A lovely lady shouldnae be?—”
“Don’t call me that!” Hester recoiled as if scalded, batting his hand away. “I am not yourlovely lady,nor any man’s pretty distraction! And if you possess a shred of that famed Scottish honor, you’ll leave me alone!” She gestured violently at her torn shawl snagged in the hedges.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Ye mistake practicality for pity, Lady Hester.”
She froze. “You know my name?”
“I know several names. Yer society whispers rather excessively. And loudly.”
A flush crept up her neck. If he knew her name, then Society must have told him that she was a wallflower running toward spinsterhood.
Hester took a deep breath to calm her soaring nerves. Then she yanked her shawl free with a vicious rip. “Do they whisper why you’re truly here? Or does ‘observing’ suffice as explanation for accosting distressed women?”
“Accosting?” His low chuckle held no warmth. “I offered a handkerchief. Ye declared war on the landscaping. Tell me—who reduced a woman who fights hedges to tears? His name.”
Hester’s chin lifted. “Why? Will you call him out? Demand satisfaction for my honor?” She infused the word with a humorless chuckle. “Spare me the performance. Men defend abstractions, not women.”
“Philosophical tonight, aren’t we?” He tilted his head. “Very well. If not honor, then curiosity. Who convinced ye tears are the only weapon left?”
She felt her eyes narrow. “Is that what you see? Not weakness? Not the ‘clumsy spinster’ the matrons decry?”
“I see thorns.” He nodded at the ripped fabric in her hand. “Ye tear yerself apart trying to prove ye’re not fragile. Who made ye believe ye had to?”
The unexpected insight struck a nerve. “A gentleman named Townstead,” she spat. “Though he proved himself less thangentlemoments ago. He preferred his insults dressed in silk.”
“Ah.” Understanding glinted in his eyes. “The fellow with his nose turned up at the world. He trades in arrogance, doesn’t he?”
“And you trade in what, Your Grace? Brutal truths?” She wrapped the tattered shawl tighter. “Forgive me if I find neither currency trustworthy.”
“Truth requires no trust. Only recognition.” He stepped closer, invading her space, and Hester was tempted to retreat. However, she held his gaze and held herself upright. “Such as recognizing that‘lovely’wasn’t flattery but observation. Youarelovely. Especially when angry. Like a storm over the moors.”
“Stop it!” Heat flooded her cheeks—fury, not pleasure. “Your observations are unwelcome, Your Grace! Lovely implies something soft, breakable,decorative. I am none of those things!”
“I agree.” The swift concession startled her. “Lovely isn’t soft. A dagger is lovely. Lightning is lovely. Wildfire is devastatingly lovely. Deny the power in that if ye can.”
Hester stared, momentarily speechless. His words were a trap, acknowledging her strength while refusing to relinquish the compliment she was reluctant to accept.
