Page 18 of His Tempting Duchess

Emily had not wanted to go downstairs with Beatrice. In fact, she’d hoped to stay upstairs and hide for the rest of the evening, but Anna and Daphne wouldn’t hear of it.

The duke had barely disembarked from his carriage—she’d watched him from the window—before more carriages arrived. Fifteen minutes later, guests were pouring out of various carriages and coaches, talking and laughing. Already it was noisy, and not even a third of the guests had arrived.

A prickle of nerves ran down Emily’s spine.

Anna had gone down a few minutes ago, resplendent in a sequined blue-green robe that glimmered like water, the long train edged with fluffy white scraps of fabric to resemble a wave. It was ideal for a goddess of the sea. She looked beautiful, as did Beatrice in her soft pink-and-purple tunic, embroidered with gold thread. Daphne’s robes were layers of green, with flowers woven into her hair. She looked like a vision, too.

In comparison, Emily felt… well, she couldn’t exactly describe it. Conspicuous? Was that the word? Her robe was a fairly simple one, skimming underneath her collarbones and tied at the tip of her shoulders with gold string. The robe was a vivid red, pleated so that the skirts swung out as she walked.

The sleeves gaped at the sides, revealing almost the entirety of her white arms, looped at the elbow and again at the wrist by more strands of gold rope, matching the rope at her waist. Her hair was loose, strands gathered and braided at the temples and pulled back to the nape of her neck.

It was odd, having all of her hair loose in that way, shifting around her shoulders. Emily hadn’t realized just how long it had gotten.

Really, she could not dawdle any longer. She had to join the party, but she paused to eye her reflection in the mirror before she left.

It was a simple dress because Aphrodite was meant to be so beautiful that she didn’tneedornaments and expensive, complicated garments. She was confidence itself, beauty itself—a truly fascinating creature.

Emily just felt dowdy. She sighed, pushing her round spectacles up her nose.

“I wish they’d let me be Athena,” she muttered and then swept out of the room before she lost her nerve.

Downstairs, the ballroom and hallways were filling up rapidly. Emily paused about halfway down the stairs, standing on her tiptoes and craning her neck to find a familiar face.

She couldn’t see anyone, just face after masked face. There was nothing for it, she would have to brave the throng.

Breathing in deeply, Emily descended the last few steps and threw herself into the crowd.

Immediately, she was jostled about. Somebody knocked against her, shoving her face-first into the back of a masked man who appeared to be dressed as Dick Turpin, or perhaps just a random highwayman. She staggered backward, knocking into a woman’s silken elbow.

“Have a care!” somebody yelped angrily.

Emily muttered an apology and leaped onwards. There would be more room in the ballroom, surely.

Or perhaps this is how I die. I’ll be crushed to death by acquaintances.

Ugh.

As she stepped over the threshold and into the ballroom, a gaggle of gentlemen swept by, shooting quick, disdainful glances at the bespectacled, little Aphrodite. One of them pushed against her—deliberately or not, she could not tell. Not that it was relevant—and she tripped, staggering forward.

No doubt she would have landed on her face in an undignified heap had a pair of strong hands not seized her upper arms and set her firmly on her feet again.

There was a little bubble of space around this man, and several people were staring at them, faintly aghast. As soon as Emily dragged her gaze up from her feet, she saw why.

The gentleman was dressed as a Grecian man—a god, most likely—and wore knee-high boots and a pleated robe that swirled tightly around his hips and narrow, tapering waist, and looped up over one shoulder, leaving his other shoulder entirelybare.

Emily knew who he was before she even saw his face.

“Your Grace,” she forced out. “I heard you might be coming.”

The Duke of Clapton smiled down at her. “It’s just as well I did. That was a nasty tumble you almost took there.”

Emily only managed a nod. Her mouth was dry, and she was entirely transfixed.

She had not, of course, seen a man’s bare chest before. While there wassomenod to modesty in the duke’s outfit, both of his arms, thick with muscle, were bare, and she could see the swell of his pectorals beneath the thin fabric. In fact, she could see a dark circle on his chest that was almost certainly hisnipple. No wonder people were staring!

Also, how had he managed to get the sun on his skin? The duke was golden-skinned, despite the recent grey months, and the tan spread evenly over his shoulders and chest, with no lines.

If she touched his shoulder, she was sure his skin would be delightfully warm.

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