Page 90 of His Tempting Duchess

Emily smiled up at the girl, a wave of affection warming her from the inside out. “You werebeautiful, Frances. You’re an excellent dancer. Except for that part where you trod on Cassian’s toes. You’ll have to avoid that when you come out into Society.”

“Oh, I’m sure I shall manage it,” Frances responded, with the breathless confidence of youth. “Thank you ever so much for playing!”

She spun on her heel and hurried over to where her mother sat, talking to her eagerly.

As always, Emily found her gaze drawn to where Cassian stood, out of breath, his hands on his hips and a smile on his face.

What a wonderful father he would make.

The thought was so sudden and so strong that it made her shiver a little. He glanced up, feeling eyes on him, and met her gaze.

Heat of a different kind swept through Emily, and she swallowed hard, looking away. She found herself meeting Margaret’s eyes instead.

Margaret held her gaze for a moment, a faint line between her eyebrows.

Remember, she mouthed, the word coming across as clearly as if she were whispering it in Emily’s ear.Remember what I said.

He’ll never love me,Emily told herself, the good mood of the evening draining away all at once.

* * *

“It was rather a surprise visit, I know,” Cassian remarked, stretching out his legs on the seat opposite, “but Margaret is an excellent host. Supper was divine.”

“Yes, and Frances is such a sweet girl,” Emily responded a little flatly. “So full of life. I like her very much, and she adores you.”

It was dark inside the carriage. They rumbled on through the gloomy London streets towards home, moonlight reflecting in dirty puddles and painting the filthy roads silver.

It isn’t home,Emily thought, with a pang of regret.It’s not home yet, and I am not sure if it will ever be my home.

Almost at once, she could hear her mother’s voice in her head, amused and warning all at once.

“Don’t be defeatist, dear. You’re too clever for that.”

She sighed, leaning back against her seat. The gentle rocking would have lulled her to sleep if she wasn’t so wide awake, her mind racing as fast as it could.

“Frances sees you as a father figure, I think,” she found herself saying, before she could consider the wisdom of such words.

Cassian was quiet for a moment, his expression shadowed in the darkness of the carriage.

“I think so,” he agreed. “She never knew her real father, of course, and the baron died when she was very young. Even before, I don’t believe he concerned himself with her in the slightest.”

“Did the baron know about her… parentage?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps he did—she barely resembles him—but then he treated her as a daughter in his will. He was a miserly man, old and unkind, but perhaps he had real affection for Margaret. I like to think so, at least. I know she loved Matthew, and I do not like to think of her living a miserable, loveless life after that.”

Emily stayed silent. She had a feeling that Margaret’s life had been very hard indeed, miserable and loveless and all kinds of lonely.

“But you believe now that there is nothing between Margaret and I?”

She sucked in a breath. “Yes. Yes, I suppose I do.”

“I’m glad.”

A long silence fell between them again, the only sound the rhythmic crunch and rumble of carriage wheels on the road, splashing through puddles and jolting over potholes, the horses’ harnesses jingling intermittently.

Once again, Emily found her gaze drawn to Cassian. He sat hunched over, his long legs stretched out before him, his face turned pensively towards the window. He was half shrouded in darkness, half painted in silvery moonlight that highlighted the planes and sharp edges of his features.

That familiar lump formed in Emily’s throat once more.

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