Page 42 of Duke of Emeralds
“Are ye married to them?”
She gave a light laugh. “Certainly not.”
“Then they’re strangers, Hester.”
And just like that, she laughed—truly laughed. Not the polite sort she had bestowed upon Viscount Paisley and the rest of the simpering gentry, but something unguarded, bright, and entirely hers. The sound rang like a bell, turning a few curious heads nearby. He didn’t care. Let them stare.
Her mirth stirred another unfamiliar and disorienting feeling in his chest. He didn’t know whether to bottle it, claim it, or chase it.
Thomas only knew he wanted it again.
The rest of the evening passed with a strange ease. He danced twice more with Hester and wished the evening would last a little while longer.
Later, when the candlelight had long dimmed and the clocks had struck two, Thomas found himself in his drawing room, wide awake while the rest of the household slept.
He stood before his canvas, sleeves rolled to the elbows, a piece of charcoal pressed between his fingers.
His mind, traitorous thing that it was, returned to the ballroom. To the way she had laughed at Lord Paisley’s remark. The way she had looked at Alderton—smiling as though the man had spun her right out of her slippers.
It shouldn’t have mattered, and yet…
He frowned then drew the first clean lines of a shoulder, an arm, the curve of a neck.
The shape came to life beneath his hand, and he had just begun to lose himself in the strokes when a knock tugged at his attention.
He stilled, his brows drawing together. Only one man in the household would dare disturb him at this hour.
“Enter.”
Slater stepped inside, holding a folded letter in one hand. “Forgive the hour, Your Grace,” he said, “but this arrived just now from your steward at Norwood.”
Thomas took the paper and scanned its contents in silence. By the end of the second paragraph, his jaw had set.
“They’ve had a flood,” he said flatly. “The river overran the boundary wall. Two tenant cottages were compromised, and one of the main bridges is gone.”
Slater shifted. “They require your presence?”
Thomas nodded once. “Aye.”
He remembered his commitment to host their friends the following night. A sigh escaped him, and he squeezed the bridge of his nose, knowing he could not be present into two places at once.
CHAPTER 21
“You two were all anyone could talk about yesterday at the ball,” Craton declared, raising his glass before setting it back down with a pleased thud.
Hester’s hands stilled briefly on the tablecloth. She looked around at her guests—all seated comfortably at the long mahogany table in their dining room—and felt a quiet rush of satisfaction.
Everyone had come, just as she’d hoped. Anna and Colin. Fiona and Isaac. Nancy, always in the center of any mischief. And of course, Thomas at her side, looking far too at ease in a world he claimed not to understand.
“Not just at the ball,” said Colin, helping himself to more wine. “They’re still the subject of town gossip. As we were leaving, I overheard a most animated discussion about whether the Duke and Duchess of Lushton might return to the season… or whether they’d simply disappeared into matrimonial bliss.”
“Matrimonial bliss?” Hester echoed under her breath, lifting her glass to conceal the faint curve at her lips.
Thomas gave a low chuckle beside her and shook his head. “The way ye English folk fashion gossip into currency ought to be studied. Proper scholars and all.”
“Then perhapsyoushould study it,” Craton grinned. “You’re the one proposing research.”
Thomas tilted his head, feigning solemnity. “I know my priorities, thank ye kindly.”
