Page 41 of A Highly Unlikely Duchess
He mentally recoiled the moment the offer hung in the air. What was he even doing? This was a woman who, by all accounts, should despise him for his arrogance and his original motives. Yet, as he looked at her, the irritation he had felt all evening was replaced by a staggering, marrow-deep respect. He didn't understand why he was suddenly desperate to be her ally, but he knew he couldn't simply watch her navigate this minefield alone anymore.
“I could help you vet the gentlemen,” he added, his voice steadier now, though the absurdity of the proposal wasn't lost on him. “I know these men, Emily. I know which ones have hearts of stone and which ones are looking for nothing more than a parlor ornament. If you are to find a protector for yourself and the boy, you should at least have a second pair of eyes that aren't clouded by desperation.”
Emily turned her head sharply, her eyes widening. She looked at him for a long beat, searching his face for a sign of a joke or a hidden trap. For a second, her mask of composure slipped entirely, replaced by a raw, genuine surprise.
“You would do that for me, Your Grace?” Emily asked.
“I am offering, am I not?”
Before she could respond, the heavy silence of the library was shattered. The sharp clack of heels on the parquet floor and the rising murmur of voices echoed from just outside the library doors.
Emily gasped. “That sounds like people are coming in —”
Theodore’s instincts flared. Without a word of explanation, his hand found hers, and he pulled her with him, away from the table, across the narrow width of the library to the far end where the windows were, where the heavy burgundy curtains hung in thick, generous folds from ceiling to floor. He drew her into the alcove behind them, pressing them both back into the deep recess of the window, and pulled the curtain across with his free hand until the gap was no wider than a thread.
She was pressed against him, her back almost against the cold glass of the window, and he was in front of her, one hand still holding the curtain closed, the other having released hers somewhere in the movement without his noticing when. There was very little space. The alcove had not been designed with two people in mind, and the result was that there was perhaps the width of a breath between them, no more, and he could feel the warmth of her through the thin silk of her gown and the clean scent of something floral that he had not been close enough to notice before.
“Your Grace, this is entirely inappropriate!” Emily said in a hushed tone, placing both hands on his chest to create some semblance of distance between them.
He did not look at her.
He looked at the thin line of light coming through the gap in the curtain and listened to the voices growing closer.
“Your Grace,” she whispered.
His hand came up and covered her mouth before he had decided to do it. The other hand pressed flat against the window behind her head, his arm braced beside her, and he leaned in close and said, against her temple, so quietly it was barely a sound at all. “Hush.”
She went still.
They looked at each other in the thin, silver light filtering through the small window. It was barely enough to see by, but it was enough. Enough to see her eyes, wide and dark, looking directly into his. Enough to see her chest rising and falling with a speed that matched his own, the silk of her gown moving against him with every breath she took.
He could feel it. That was the problem. He could feel every breath she drew, her chest against his, the warmth of her radiating through the small impossible distance between them, and he thought with the distant, useless clarity of a man whose body and mind had stopped cooperating, that he needed to steady his own breathing, that two people breathing this loudly behind a curtain were not hidden, they were simply postponing the inevitable.
But he could not steady it.
She was too close. She smelled of jasmine; her eyes had not moved from his; his hand was still over her mouth; her breathwas warm against his palm... the whole situation had become something he had absolutely no framework for managing.
He told himself they simply needed to stay still for a few more seconds. Whoever had opened the library door would see an empty room and leave, and then it would be over, and they could step out of this alcove and put a reasonable distance between themselves and never speak of any of it.
He was thinking this, was almost convinced by it, when the curtain was pulled back.
The light hit them both at once, and Theodore turned around, shielding Emily with his body. But not fast enough. Julia stepped to the side to take a peek at the lady he was with, and Theodore didn't miss the initial flash on her face. Julia stood there with a look of pure pleasure, a victorious smile already pulling at her lips as if she had finally cornered a prey. But as the light fully hit them, the triumph withered. Her smile collapsed. Confusion clouded her eyes for a heartbeat, followed instantly by a mask of white-hot, unadulterated fury.
Behind her, three guests lingered like ghosts in the doorway, their expressions shifting from curiosity to a scandalous, wide-eyed shock.
“Out,” Julia said, without turning around, her eyes still fixed on Theodore. “All of you.”
Nobody moved.
Theodore recognized them instantly, three of the most relentless gossips in the Ton, their eyes wide and hungry as they took in the sight of a Duke and a lady tucked into a window nook at midnight. They weren't going to leave.Ascandal of that magnitude was a prize they intended to savor.
Julia turned back to Theodore, her face a mask of frantic, white-hot fury. “Your Grace! What is this? Where is Lady Euphemia? Where is she?”
She cast a panicked glance around the shadows of the library, as if expecting someone to emerge from the bookshelves. In that moment, the pieces clicked together in Theodore’s mind. He saw the remnants of that triumphant smile that had graced Julia's lips only seconds ago and finally understood the game. She hadn't been looking for Emily when she looked past him. She had been looking for Euphemia. She had intended to trap him in this very spot with a bride of her choosing.
He held her gaze for one long, still moment. She looked away first. She looked around the room, at the bookshelves, at the lamp, at a point somewhere past his left shoulder. Her jaw was tight, and her hands were folded in front of her with a control that cost her something visible.
Theodore turned his gaze to Emily and felt a sharp, internal jolt at the sight of her. The hard-won ease of their earlier banter had vanished, replaced by a visible panic that seemed to vibrate through her entire frame. Her shoulders had hiked high again, stiff and defensive. After everything she had shared, he realizedhe could not possibly leave her to drown in this predicament. Not after tonight.
