Page 11 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

Sidney offered his arm, and Emma placed her gloved hand on it with the same enthusiasm she might have shown for touching a viper—which wasnone at all. But she could make no bones about it, especially not here amid other nobles who were quick to spin such lurid tales from the blandest of altercations.

So she let him guide her to a quiet spot in the garden where a small stone bench nestled under the dappled shade of an old oak tree. It was a private, little nook yet still close enough to the party that Emma felt a flicker of gratitude for that small mercy.

“You look well, Emma,” he started, his gaze lingering rather uncomfortably on the graceful curve of her neck that disappeared beneath her modest collar. “Widowhood seems to agree with you.”

Excuse me?

The thought was a whip across the expanse of her mind, but she managed to keep her composure even as his words echoed in her head.

She knew he was being deliberately uncouth and antagonizing, trying to get a rise out of her, and she had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing her react. Still, that did not change the fact that his words made her skin crawl.

“Is there more to this conversation than just inappropriate remarks?” she asked calmly, keeping a careful distance between them on the bench. “You mentioned Tristan.”

His smile tightened a bit. “Always so straightforward. It’s one of your more… challenging traits.” He leaned back, appearing relaxed, though his eyes remained sharp. “As I said, I have made a business investment that will keep me around for a while. It seems only natural to take this chance to get to know my nephew better.”

“Natural?” Emma echoed, unable to hide the bite in her voice now. “You’ve shown hardly any interest in Tristan for the last eight years.”

A respite she did not take for granted at all.

“A regrettable oversight I plan to fix,” he replied smoothly. “After all, he is the Earl. He should learn from me what responsibilities lie ahead.” His expression turned serious. “He ought to see me as a father figure, Emma. A boy needs that kind of guidance.”

Emma knew he was right. Tristan was a growing boy, and his interests were becoming increasingly more masculine and more than she could handle, but she also did not think that a man like Sidney was the best mentor for her son.

No. She would rather die than see that happen.

Emma felt her hands clench in her lap, thankful for the gloves that concealed her white-knuckled grip.

“Tristan has done just fine without that kind of guidance so far,” she said, her tone thankfully steady.

“Has he?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard rumors that he’s become quite the wild child, roaming the countryside without supervision. Doesn’t seem fitting for the heir to an earldom, does it?”

The barely concealed jab at her parenting ignited a wave of anger in her chest.

She turned to face her brother-in-law; her anger was simply too great to swallow this time.

“My son is spirited, curious, and kind—qualities I cherish far more than the strict conformity you seem to hold dear.”

He leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. “You’ve got it all wrong, Emma. I have always admired your independent spirit. It’s one of the many things that make you so… intriguing.”

His hand found hers, his thumb gently tracing circles on her wrist just above her glove. The unwelcome contact sent a shiver of disgust through her, and she quickly pulled her hand away, rising to her feet in one smooth motion.

“I think we’ve quite finished talking aboutmy son,” she said, keeping her voice steady despite her racing heart. “If you’ll excuse me?—”

He stood up as well, looming over her in a way that felt intentionally menacing.

“We have barely scratched the surface of our conversation, Emma. I haven’t seen you in months, and there’s so much I want to discuss.”

Before Emma could come up with a reply that would not escalate the situation he had warned her about, she caught a welcome sight—the women of the Athena Society, striding toward them with purpose.

Annabelle led the way, flanked by Mrs. Halloway, Mrs. Greene, and the elderly yet formidable Mrs. Witherspoon.

“Lady Cuthbert!” Annabelle called out, her voice ringing across the garden. “We absolutely need your thoughts on the matter we were just discussing! You know how much we value your literary insights.”

A wave of relief washed over Emma like a refreshing breeze.

Sidney’s expression darkened for a moment before he quickly masked it with a charming smile as the ladies drew near.

“Ladies,” he greeted, bowing with practiced grace. “How fortunate Lady Cuthbert is to have such loyal friends.”

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