Page 38 of His Tempting Duchess

The baby! Oh, heavens, Daphne, you area fool. Carrying a baby tires one out, or so I’ve heard. We shouldn’t have let her walk so far.

“You need rest, Daff,” Anna murmured.

“What’s that?” Mr. St. John piped up, nimbly jumping down from the saddle. “Your Grace, are you ill?”

“I’m just tired, don’t fuss,” Daphne snapped, but shereallyhadgone pale.

“Your Grace, may I suggest that you and I escort her to that sheltered gazebo I can see over there?” Mr. St John asked Anna. “I can give her my arm or carry her if need be. My cousin and Miss Belmont can follow us with the horses. I’ll go fetch a carriage for you once she is settled.”

Before Emily or Daphne could say a word—and Daphnedidlook as though she wanted to argue—Anna spoke up.

“Yes, I think that’s the best thing.”

“I could help,” Emily spoke up plaintively.

“Emily, dear, you are not much good in a crisis,” Anna responded firmly. “Follow behind us.”

And that was that.

Emily stood there, feeling faintly offended, as Anna and Mr. St. John carefully led Daphne to the gazebo in the distance. They had, of course, taken the umbrella.

A wetthumpbehind her revealed that the duke had jumped down from his saddle.

“If it makes you feel better,” he remarked idly, “I can’t help but feel that you would do much better in a crisis than your sisters give you credit for.”

She sighed. “I hope Daphne isn’t too ill.”

“She merely looked a little tired. Shall we?”

With a flourish, the duke withdrew an umbrella of his own and handed it to her. Taking the reins of both horses in his hands, he set off down the pathway. She was obliged to scurry after him, her arm held straight above her head to shelter them both with the umbrella.

“Do slow down,” she huffed. “I’d rather not slip and fall face-first into the mud.”

The duke bit back a smile, but he obediently slowed his pace, falling into step beside her.

“I do believe,” he remarked slowly, after a moment’s silence, “that promenading is a prerequisite to courtship. There are rules, my dear, after all.”

Emily scowled. “We are not courting.”

“Well, what would you call it, then?”

She glanced up at him, despite her determination not to look at the wretched man at all.

He was annoyingly handsome. His face was pale from the cold weather, flushed in places from exercise. A few locks of dark hair escaped from underneath the brim of his hat, misted with water. There were minute water droplets on his eyelashes, too. She wondered if he could see them when he blinked.

Swallowing thickly, she turned away. The memory of their kiss flooded back, filling her limbs with heat. She rolled her shoulders, clearing her throat and trying to force her thoughts back to a more proper subject.

“Have you been thinking about it, then?” the duke asked, his voice low and raspy.

Emily flinched, spinning around to glare up at him. Her heart was hammering, and she could feel that familiar hot pulse in her gut. She wished it would go away. How could one think clearly under these circumstances?

“Ibegyour pardon?” she demanded. “To what, exactly, are you referring?”

The duke smiled wryly, tilting his head. “Why, the book, of course.Frankenstein.”

Color flooded Emily’s cheeks.

“Oh,” she muttered, spinning around and walking on.

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