Page 7 of Two Blessings For His Duchess
The touch was a shock to her system. After the biting winter chill of his words, his skin was incredibly, inexplicably warm through the thin fabric of her sleeve. Euphemia held her breath as his fingers closed around her arm. The heat of him sent a violent shiver straight up her spine. It was a tremor so pronounced she knew for certain he must have felt it vibrate against his palm.
Panic flared in her chest. She turned her head sharply, ready to demand her release, but the words died instantly on her tongue. Up close, without the room’s vastness separating them, she was forced to peer directly into his eyes.
They were green. A striking, dark, but vivid green, flecked with brilliant amber patterns that seemed to catch the morning sun like crushed emeralds. She found herself studying the fine, sharp lines around his mouth, the dark sweep of his lashes, and the nearly perfect symmetry of his face.
He didn’t look like a real person. He looked like an illustration brought to life. She had read, in the novels she kept on thehighest shelf so that Seraphina could not raise her eyebrows at them, about heroes who looked like this. She had thought those descriptions fanciful. She had thought the authors were performing.
Specifically, he looked like the brooding, tempestuous anti-heroes found within the pages of Mrs. Radcliffe’sThe Mysteries of Udolphoor the dark, magnetic figures in Lady Caroline Lamb’sGlenarvon, the very books she had devoured in the quiet libraries of the country, dreaming of a world filled with grand, tragic passions. He had that same dangerous, poetic beauty, the kind that popular writers used to ruin the senses of sensible young women.
For a terrifying second, she simply stared, entirely paralyzed by the sheer aesthetic perfection of the man holding her captive.
Then, the absurdity of the moment rushed back, shattering the spell. Her jaw tightened, and she wrenched her mind back from the dangerous territory of romantic poetry.
“What do you think you are doing?” she demanded, her voice shaking as she tried to pull her arm from his grasp. “Release me at once!”
“So you could do what?” he asked.
“Leave,” said Euphemia. “Which is what a person does when they wish to no longer be somewhere.”
“You would be executing a social suicide,” he revealed. He didn’t let go of her hand, almost as if he didn’t trust her not to bolt the second he released her. The proximity between them was absurd, she was practically pinned between his chest and the door, the sharp scent of his sandalwood soap warring with the lingering aroma of the disastrous wine. “Are you still intoxicated? Perhaps that’s the reason you’re not thinking properly.”
“I am thinking!” she hissed, though her eyes were still traitorously darting to the flecks in his emerald gaze. “I am thinking that you are incredibly rude!”
“Well, I am thinking of my own peace of mind,” Nathaniel countered. “Do not think I am stopping you to be nice, Miss Vane or that I have fallen for your schemes. If you want to ruin your own life, that is your choice. But you will not drag my name into the mess with you.”
Euphemia’s anger paused, replaced by shock. “Your name?”
“My name,” he repeated, his jaw tightening as he looked down at her. “If anyone sees you leaving my bed chamber looking like this, society will not just blame you. I would be forced to be involved. High society loves nothing more than forcing a duke into marriage over a scandal. By tonight, I would have your family knocking on my door, demanding that I marry you just because you took a wrong turn after too much wine. If that is truly what happened.”
He leaned a bit closer, using his height to keep her from moving. “Or perhaps, this is your end goal?” he asked, looking at her suspiciously. “You want people to see you leave my bedchamber?”
“You are delusional,” she retorted, fuming.
“I have spent years avoiding women who scheme, Miss Vane. You will stay right here until I tell you it is safe to leave. If you ruin your life out there, that is your business. But if you ruin it in my hallway, it becomes my problem too.”
The complete selfishness of his logic was so shocking that Euphemia could only stare at him. “You are a deeply selfish man,” she whispered, feeling insulted but knowing he was completely right. If she walked out now, they would both be caught in the same disaster.
She forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. The hot anger in her chest began to fade, replaced by a cold, hard dose of reality. He was right. If even a single maid saw her stepping out of the Duke’s private hallway at this hour, the gossip would spread like wildfire. Thetonwould instantly brand her a ruined woman, and she simply could not survive another scandal. Her family could not take another public humiliation after what happened with Lord Finch.
She needed to get back to the West Wing, and she needed to do it immediately, before Emily woke up and sent someone to look for her for breakfast.
Euphemia swallowed her pride and looked up at him, her voice much softer now. “Very well. Instead of standing here throwing insults at me, what do you suggest we do? We need a proper plan.”
He let go of her arm, though he stayed close. “A plan requires cooperation, Miss Vane. Can you manage that without quoting any more dead authors?”
“If you can manage to stop acting like a tyrant, yes,” she shot back. “Here is what we will do. You will step out into the hallway first. Walk down to the corner, check the grand staircase, and make sure the coast is entirely clear. If there are no maids and no guests, you give me a signal, and I will run straight back to the West Wing. No one will ever know I was here.”
Nathaniel looked at her, his eyes calculating. “What if my valet comes up the back stairs while I am checking the front?”
“Then tell him you dropped something! Make up an excuse,” she whispered impatiently. “Do you always overthink simple logistics?”
“Only when a strange woman invades my bedroom,” he remarked dryly. He smoothed down his shirt and took a step toward the door handle. “Stay here. Do not move. Do not breathe loudly. If the coast is clear, I will return, if I see someone coming this way, I will... also return.”
“Great plan,” she said.
He gave her one last strict look, turned the brass handle quietly, and stepped out into the long, carpeted corridor.
Euphemia waited behind the cracked door, her heart hammering against her ribs. She held her slippers tightly against her chest, her bare toes curling against the floorboards. She watched through the small gap as he walked a few paces down the hall, looking left and then right toward the staircase.
