Page 13 of A Highly Unlikely Duchess
She said nothing to that. But then, so gradually he almost missed it, her shoulders dropped, just slightly. The distance between them did not close, but it softened. The look past his shoulder became a look at his shoulder, and then, eventually, a look at his face.
“There,” he said quietly. “Was that so difficult?”
She blinked. Then, to his considerable surprise, the corner of her mouth moved. “Do not make a thing of it, Your Grace,” she said.
He wisely said nothing.
They danced for another measure before he spoke again.
“So,” he said, his voice dropping a register. “What exactly are you doing with my godmother?”
Emily looked at him.
“Lady Julia Birks does not invite young women to intimate dinner parties out of sentiment,” he continued. “She is fond of you, clearly. But she is also, as we both know, a woman with a purpose.” He held her gaze. “Have you changed your mind about me, Lady Emily? After all these months of finding meperfectly insufferable?” He paused. “Are you finally giving in to my charms?”
Emily looked at him for a long, steady moment.
Then she said. “I need a husband.”
Theodore blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“A husband,” she said again. “I need one. You are available. Your godmother has a list.” She met his eyes. “It is not more complicated than that.”
Theodore stared at her. She stared back.
“You are telling me that your interest in me is entirely practical.”
“Yes.”
“No sentiment whatsoever.”
“None.”
“You have not, at any point, reconsidered your assessment of my character?”
“Not materially, no.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Most women...” he said. “...at least pretend.”
“I can pretend,” Emily said. “Do you need me to pretend, Your Grace?”
He said nothing in response. He merely looked at her.
“I need a powerful husband,” she said. “One with a title and influence and the kind of name that opens doors.” She held his gaze. “You happen to qualify.”
“How terribly flattering,” he said.
“I thought you would appreciate the honesty.”
“I appreciate it enormously,” he said. “I am simply not sure I appreciate being described as a qualifying candidate.”
“Would you prefer I had said you were charming?” she asked. “I could, if it would help.”
“Would you mean it?”
They both paused. The briefest, most telling pause.
“You happen to qualify,” she said again, and looked past his shoulder.
