Page 87 of His Tempting Duchess

Emily clenched her jaw. “Oh? And what do I think of you?”

“You think me a lady of ill repute. I certainly know how rumors have connected me to the duke. Your husband. I am here to tell you that they are emphatically untrue.”

Emily pressed her lips together. She longed to pick up a paintbrush and turn it over and over in her hands. It was a soothing thing, almost as soothing as painting itself, but of course, she would only reveal her anxiety if she did that.

I don’t believe you. I don’t know what to believe.

“I have never accused him of anything,” she said aloud. “Nor have I accused you of anything.”

“I didn’t say you had, dear. But tell me, why is the dear duke not at home now? You’re newlyweds, so I am surprised not to find him here.”

“I—”

“The thing about Cassian is,” Margaret interrupted, dropping all pretense at formality, “that he will always, always does what is best for Cassian. He is a fine man, to be sure, but will he make a good husband? I should say not.”

Emily stepped off the platform, jabbing a finger at her. “You have no right,” she hissed, “no right at all to speak to me in such a manner!”

Margaret sighed. “I only say this because I know about your past. I know that your father ruined your family. I’ve heard of the rather shocking danger your mother was put in, trying to protect you. I know about the hasty marriage your elder sister was forced to contract to save the family. Don’t bother asking me how I know—I simplyknowthings. And nor do I judge, as I have been through difficult times, too. I do not want to see you go through the same hardship as before.”

Emily blinked, a little taken aback. “I don’t understand.”

Margaret held her gaze for a moment, then turned away.

“Cassian loves nobody,” she said, her back turned and her voice strangely muffled. “He will never love you. I have known him long enough to say that with great certainty. You are a sweet girl, and a clever one. Pretty too, and I daresay he likes that. But don’t lose your head and heart over him. It will only hurt. Think of your papa, how he hurt you all. Would you like to experience that again?”

“You don’t know what you are speaking of,” Emily responded mechanically.

In her head, however, she had gone back to those awful days before they were ruined entirely, shortly before the disaster had fallen on their heads. She remembered the warning signs, although they were not seen that way back then.

Papa stayed out late, coming back drunk and white-faced. He grew snappish. He avoided us. He wouldn’t look us in the eyes. He showered us with gifts every now and then, and I still do not know how he afforded them.

They had been married a week, and Cassian had contrived to spend the majority of each day out of the house. Oh, they’d encountered each other occasionally—in the hallway, at the breakfast table—and once or twice they sat down together for supper. But he was spending more and more time away from her.

Well, if he cared for me, he would not do that.

A wave of misery washed over her.

Margaret took a step closer, taking her hand and squeezing it. “I’m sorry, and I don’t mean to hurt you,” she murmured quietly, her large eyes boring into her. “But you deserve to know the truth.”

“The truth?” Emily’s eyes snapped up to Margaret’s face, narrowing in sudden fury. “The truth is that you are in love with him, aren’t you?”

Margaret seemed taken aback. “No, of course not!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, you should. I am telling the truth.”

“Ha! You?—”

“What on earth is all this commotion about?” A deep voice from the doorway made them both flinch, spinning around.

Emily felt nonsensically guilty.

“Cassian,” she managed haltingly. “You’re home. I half expected you to stay out at the club all night.”

He had clearly just arrived home, for he was still dressed in his coat and hat, his gloves dangling from his hand.

Raising an eyebrow, Cassian took in the scene—the two women red-faced and angry, Emily covered in paint, Margaret still gripping her hand.

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