Page 4 of Duke of Emeralds
“Find another metaphor,” she finally retorted. “And another puzzle to solve. This one’s retiring from the field.”
As she turned to leave, his voice lashed through the darkness.
“Ye forgot something, Lady Hester.”
She turned to see him holding up a scrap of lace. Looking down at the shawl wrapped around her shoulders, she realized a third of it had been claimed by the bushes.
How dare he witness my humiliation twice in one evening?
She snatched the fabric, fingers brushing his. A spark leaped between them—or perhaps just the night’s chill. “Satisfied, Your Grace? You’ve now cataloged both my tears and my wardrobe deficiencies.”
His beard shadowed a smile. “A gentleman returns what’s lost. Where’s me thanks?”
“Thank you,” she gritted out, her fingers clenching around the lace. “For ensuring I’ll remember this disaster every time I see this shawl.”
“Och, such gratitude warms me heart.” He pressed a hand to his chest, painting a picture of wounded gallantry. But his eyes held a glint that unsettled her. “Ye fascinate me, Lady Hester. Truly.”
She froze mid-turn, frowning. “Fascinate? Did Lady Montague’s punch finally reach your wits? I’m the woman who trips and collides with dukes.”
“Aye. While other lasses simper behind fans, ye rage at hedges. When insulted, ye quote philosophy instead of swooning.” He stepped closer, sandalwood and night air enveloping her. “Do ye know how rare that is in this gilded cage ye call society?”
Her pulse hammered against her ribs. No one had ever called her rare. Unmarriageable, certainly. Clumsy, absolutely. Butfascinating? “If you seek entertainment, hire a tumbler. I assure you they’re far more coordinated.”
He laughed—a rich, warm sound that seemed to vibrate in her bones. “What I seek,” he said, closing the distance until his breath stirred the hair at her temple, “is an English bride.”
Her thoughts scattered like startled birds. “How… practical. Shall I fetch the nearest debutante? Miss Pembrooke adores tartan.”
He tucked a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up. “I want ye, My Lady.”
There was silence, and even the crickets seemed to respect it. “Have you gone mad?” she whispered at last. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough. Ye’re four-and-twenty, almost a spinster?—”
“How dare you say that?”
“I am not a man who conceals truths. Ye’ve grown weary of this marriage market, and ye place yer faith in undeserving men.”
Hester’s thoughts further scrambled. He was indeed correct, but his gall infuriated her, and she pulled her chin from his hold, but she did not step back, so he wouldn’t assume she was frightened.She was, but Hester would rather bite her tongue than allow him see it.
Voices drifted from the terrace, giggling and searching. “Oh, we must find the Duke! Where did he go?”
Lushton held her eyes. “Marry me.”
The world tilted beneath her. “I beg your pardon? That’s not a proposal!”
“Consider it, then.” He leaned ever so slightly. “I cannae promise hearts and poetry. But this I vow—” His gaze pinned hers in the moonlight, “—I’ll never make ye weep.”
The voices and footsteps drew closer.
He stepped backward into the rose shadows, creating a silhouette both striking and terrifying. “Daenae overthink it, My Lady.”
CHAPTER 4
The following morning, Hester found herself still in a state of shock. She couldn’t fathom the Duke’s reason for making such an offer to a complete stranger. Could she ever accept? she wondered, recalling how he had called her a lovely lady. She had never been described as anything close to lovely by a gentleman before.
It was mere flattery. He would say anything to get what he wanted from me.But despite her thoughts, she felt her cheeks warm up nonetheless.I refuse to be the foolish, naive girl any longer. I will not accept his offer.
“Isn’t that right, Hester?” Her friend’s voice filtered into her thoughts, pulling her back to the present.
