Page 50 of A Highly Unlikely Duchess
He had his coat off, his cravat loose. He saw her at approximately the same moment she saw him, and they both slowed.
Emily kept walking down. He kept walking up.
They stopped two steps apart.
“Emily,” he said, his voice a low vibration in the hollow space.
She dipped into a quick, instinctive curtsey. “Your Grace.”
An awkward, heavy silence settled between them. The air felt thick, the kind of stillness that usually preceded a storm. Theodore looked at her for a moment. Then the corner of his mouth moved. He let out a soft, dry chuckle that didn't quite reach his eyes.
“I find it remarkable,” he said. “That we have arrived here.”
She looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“Here.” He gestured between them, at the staircase, at the silence. “You and I. Standing on a staircase in the middle of the night, unable to find a single thing to say to each other.” He tilted his head. “We have never in our lives had this problem before. I once watched you hold an entire argument with me using only your eyebrows. At the Pembourne dinner. Remember?”
Emily looked at him. “Well, our dynamic has changed.”
“Has it?”
“Before, we were simply two people in the Ton who could not stand each other.” She held his gaze evenly. “Now we are husband and wife.”
Something moved across his face when she said those words. Husband and wife. Quick and unreadable… there and gone before she could figure out what it was. She looked at it and decided, because it was safer, that it was uncomfortable. That the words had landed awkwardly on a man who had never wanted to be anyone's husband and was now standing on his own staircase being reminded of it at whatever hour this was.
She moved to step aside, intent on fleeing the suffocating closeness, but Theodore reached out. His hand settled firmly against her waist — just below her navel — the heat of his palm seeping through the thin silk of her dressing gown.
“Wait,” he whispered, his thumb grazing the curve of her hip. “Don't go yet, we’re still talking.”
Emily jerked at the contact, a sharp gasp catching in her throat as a jolt of pure electricity raced up her spine. The charge was undeniable, and she hated that its effect was so obvious. A sudden, magnetic pull that left her breathless.
He seemed to realize the impropriety of the touch and pulled his hand away abruptly. “I am sorry,” he muttered, though he stepped up to stand on the very same step as her.
The closeness was dizzying. At this distance, she could see the faint stubble on his chin and the way his pupils were blown wide.
“You look troubled, Emily,” he said, his voice losing its mocking edge. “Is something wrong? Are you... Are you settling in nicely? Or is there a problem? Do you have everything you need?”
She stared at him, the truth about Frederick’s fever burning at the back of her throat. She wanted to lean into him, to let him carry the weight of the worry. But instead, she diverted.
“Areyouall right, Your Grace?” she said.
He blinked.
“You,” she said. “Are you all right? Is there something you wanted to talk about?”
He was quiet for a moment. “No,” he said.
She looked at him.
“No,” he said again. “Everything is perfectly fine.”
“That is not true,” she countered, her old spark returning for a fleeting second. “And you know it.”
Theodore smiled then, a small, teasing glint that reminded her of the man she knew. “So serious,” he murmured, leaning in just a fraction. “You are always so terribly serious, Emily. Were you simply born with that frown on your face, or did you practice it in the glass until it reached this level of perfection?”
“I do not frown,” Emily said.
“You are frowning right now.”
