Page 64 of A Highly Unlikely Duchess
“There’s Mr. Harrison,” Frederick noted, pointing at the gate. “Is he not too clean, Your Grace?”
“He is,” Theodore answered. “He is all yours, Frederick.”
“I’m coming!” Frederick shouted, charging toward the poor man with muddy hands outstretched.
“You are terrible,” she told Theodore as he slowly lowered her, so her feet touched the ground. “Both of you. You are both completely terrible.”
“You are muddy,” Theodore said, and she could hear the smile in his voice, right beside her ear, warm and close. “It suits you.”
“It does not suit me,” she said.
“It absolutely suits you.”
He didn't pull away. Instead, he shifted behind her, his arms sliding fully around her waist as they both watched Frederick attempt to corner Harrison. Slowly, Theodore drew her back against his chest in a grounding embrace. Emily went still, her heart hammering so loudly against her ribs she was certain he could feel the rhythm of it through his own coat. She was watching Frederick play, yet at the same time, she could notsee him. She wasn’t concentrating on anything other than the strange intimacy of that very moment. An intimacy she had convinced herself that Theodore was not doing intentionally.
Her hands remained on his forearms, her fingers curling instinctively into the fabric of his sleeves. The tension between them was a living thing, thick and electric, making the very air feel heavy. She didn't know the protocol for this. She had no idea what to do.
But she understood, in the part of her mind that was still functioning in a reasonable and practical capacity, that two people standing in a garden like this, pressed together with nobody paying them any attention, was not a situation that resolved itself. One of them was supposed to do something. Step away. Say something light and inconsequential that gave them both permission to simply move on.
Confused by the sudden intimacy, she squeezed his arm gently, a small, tentative pressure meant to remind him that he was still holding her... it was a silent suggestion to let go.
But Theodore didn't let go. Instead, he let his head drop, his chin grazing the curve of her jaw as he nuzzled into the sensitive hollow where her neck met her shoulder. Emily’s breath hitched, a sharp, liquid tingle racing down her spine that made her knees feel dangerously weak. She could feel the soft friction of his hair against her skin, the warmth of his steady breathing as he finally rested his forehead against her shoulder.
He was heavy, warm, and entirely real, and he sighed, a long, slow exhale, into the curve of her shoulder that she felt travel through her from the point of contact down.
“I never would have imagined,” he admitted, his voice low and slightly muffled against her shoulder, “That a six-year-old boy could tire me out like that. I feel as though I’ve just survived a cavalry charge.”
Emily tried to find her voice, clearing her throat to ground herself. “Well... little boys are usually full of energy, Your Grace. It is their primary function.”
He simply sighed again, the warm air ghosting over her skin and sending a fresh wave of heat through her. The closeness was becoming unbearable, too honest, too real, and Emily knew she had to break the spell before she completely lost her resolve.
She began to turn within the circle of his arms, expecting the pressure at her waist to fall away as she moved. But as she rotated to face him, his hands remained locked in place, sliding over the ruined silk of her waist to keep her held fast. She found herself pressed flush against him, her chest rising and falling against his, their bodies touching from shoulder to knee.
She looked up, her mouth opening to offer some witty retort, some bit of banter to save them both, but the words died in her throat. Theodore was looking down at her with an intensity that stripped away every defense she possessed.
“You called me by my name,” he said softly, his eyes searching hers. “I was beginning to think you were being so formal to annoy me.”
Emily felt the heat of a blush flare across her cheeks, a deep, undeniable crimson. She bit her lip and looked down, suddenly fascinated by the mud on his cravat, feeling exposed.
Theodore didn't allow her to hide. He reached up, his fingers covered in mud as he caught her chin, tilting her face upward until she was forced to meet his gaze once more.
“Theodore,” he repeated, his thumb grazing her jaw. “Say it again.”
“I will do no such thing,” she breathed, trying to still herself.
“Why not?”
“Because you are being ridiculous,” she answered. “And smug. You are being ridiculously smug.”
She expected him to laugh or to offer a biting retort about her vanity. But his gaze didn't change. It darkened, focusing on her mouth. The intensity of it made her entire body thrum.
“You are infuriating,” she said and shut her eyes. “Do you know that? You are genuinely, thoroughly infuriating, and I cannot imagine how anyone survives extended conversation with you without —”
“Emily,” he said.
“What?” she retorted.
“Your cheeks are flushed,” he said, but he still did not smile. He still was not teasing. He was entirely serious.
