Page 98 of His Tempting Duchess

“Regret it?” she repeated, almost thoughtfully. “No, I do not regret being in love with Matthew. It hurts me every day that he is not beside me, and I will never escape the guilt of my cowardice. But that love… oh, it was something marvelous, Emily. It was the sort of thing the poets write about, the thing that everybody spends their lives searching for. Regret the love of my life? No, I could never do that.”

Before Emily could reply—not that she was sure what she would say—there was a commotion by the doors.

In a flash, Cassian was pushing through the crowd towards her, an easy smile on his lips, but the red spots staining his cheeks showed how hard he really had to push to reach her.

“He’s here,” he whispered.

“W-What?” Emily stammered.

He seized her by the hand and began towing her through the crowd.

“Who do you think?” Cassian shot back. “The Prince Regent. He’s here!”

“His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent!” boomed an unfamiliar male voice near the entrance.

Cassian just managed to haul Emily to the front of the crowd, which was pulling back to allow respectful space for the footmen in royal livery trooping in. The Prince Regent and his entourage swaggered into the ballroom, and everybody dropped into low bows and curtseys.

Emily’s hand was still in Cassian’s as he gave a slight bow, and she followed his lead. It was probably a lapse of etiquette, but it was entirely too late for that.

Peering up, Emily noticed that a rather portly man in a resplendent, military-style red coat had stepped into the room, peering around somewhat myopically.

His eyes landed on them, and he approached, his highly-shined Hessians squeaking on the polished floor.

“Arise, please,” the Prince said, sounding a little bored.

His entourage shuffled in behind him, men in similar coats to his and women in bobbing feathered headdresses and tight silk gowns.

Cassian had already straightened up, when he gently pulled Emily with him, and she looked the Prince Regent square in the eye.

His clothes glittered with gold, silver, and endless medals arrayed on his chest, his hair swept forward in the latest style, his collar points high and fashionable. He had a rather petulant mouth and a very round face, and was rather taller than Emily had expected. His gaze shifted slowly from Cassian to Emily, and a hush fell over the entire ballroom.

“You are Anon, then,” he said, at last.

She gulped. “Yes, Your Highness, I am.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Surprising, for a woman to produce such excellent paintings. Am I to assume you intend to take me up on my offer?”

“I do, Your Highness,” Emily answered.

She was gripping the sides of her skirts like a child. Her spectacles had slipped down her nose a little, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to push them up again.

I cannot do this. My entire future hinges on the approval of this man, who so far looks thoroughly bored by me. I am not half as pretty as any of the women behind him.

Cassian stepped up beside her, taking her hand in his.

“My wife’s talent is remarkable, ” he said, his voice firm and confident. “It must be shared with Society. And I know that you, Your Highness, as one who truly loves and appreciates all that is beautiful, will enjoy this small offering.”

He glanced down at Emily, quirking an eyebrow.Say something,was the implication.

She cleared her throat and forced herself to meet the Prince’s eyes again.

“I will present all five of the paintings at the closing ball of the Season, as per your offer, Your Highness,” she declared, a little surprised that her voice had stopped shaking. “But I thought you would wish to see the very first painting now, ahead of time.”

The Prince eyed her for a long moment.

“I suppose I would,” he said, eventually. “Which is it?”

Emily let out a ragged breath. “This way, please.”

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