Page 24 of The Duke's Inconvenient Bride
“From a small town called Shelton,” she confirmed, her skirt swirling around both their legs as they turned. Marcus Adair was a wonderful dancer. Even better than Mr. Bently. Or perhaps she was biased because he was much better company.
“My family home is also in Essex,” he said, the warmth of his hand soaking through her gown to sear her skin. “Perhaps twenty miles from Shelton.”
“Really?” Her heart lifted. “I’m surprised we never met.”
He shifted closer, and her cheeks heated. “I am the youngest of our family, but I suspect I am still quite a bit older than you.”
“You’re not old,” she protested. He could not be more than thirty.
“But you are as fresh as a daisy.” Somehow, he didn’t make the comparison sound like a bad thing. “Tell me, what did you like to do when you were at home in Shelton?”
Emma considered her reply, knowing that Violet or her mother would coach her to be mysterious, the better to hook him, but if she wanted a man who loved her for who she was, then that man needed to know her.
“I read a lot,” she said. “On warm days, I took long walks outside. Sometimes my father’s dogs would accompany me.”
“Do you like dogs?” he asked.
“Very much so.”
“As do I.”
They locked eyes, and Emma’s breath caught. It took several seconds before she realized the music had stopped.
“The dance has ended.” Yet she did not want to let him go.
Mr. Adair was precisely the type of kind, friendly man she would like to marry, and while she didn’t want to get her hopes up, he seemed to have enjoyed her company.
“I hope I will see you again soon,” he said, echoing her thoughts.
She linked her arm with his and walked alongside him as they returned to their family members. “I will look out for you.”
She released him reluctantly and accepted the elder Mr. Adair’s invitation to dance. While he was pleasant to talk to and a reasonable dancer, she experienced no flutters of delight while in his arms. Her heart did not race, nor did she yearn to see his smile.
But his brother….
He had potential.
The dance over, she found her mother once again. Lady Carlisle radiated pride, and Emma wanted to bask in it. She and her mother didn’t have a lot in common, so Violet was usually the primary recipient of that heady approval.
“I predict that both of you will be wed before the season ends,” Lady Carlisle said, handing Emma another lemonade.
“I hope so.” They walked a circuit of the ballroom, and Emma couldn’t resist peering into each mirror they passed. They were quite distracting.
Dozens of tiny cakes and desserts covered the refreshments table. The tart scent of lemon filled Emma’s nostrils, and her stomach grumbled loudly. She glanced at one of the lemon cakes, edging closer.
“Don’t,” Lady Carlisle warned. “If you intend to keep the attention of any suitors, you can’t be seen stuffing your face.”
Surely her stomach would put them off if it sounded as if it might consume them. Emma didn’t mention that, though. She doubted her mother would find it amusing, and she wanted to enjoy their camaraderie for a while longer.
She’d just have to sneak a cake when no one was looking.
“There’s Violet,” Lady Carlisle said, nodding toward the dance floor.
Emma reached for a cake while she was distracted, but then she froze. Her hand fell to her side, empty. “She’s dancing with Mr. Mayhew.”
“Hmm.” Based on her mother’s tone, she wasn’t pleased with that turn of events. “She shouldn’t dance twice with a man she isn’t engaged to—or does not intend to become engaged to. I’ll have to remind her of proper etiquette later. We don’t want the duke to have second thoughts.”
Did it make Emma a bad person that she found a strange sort of satisfaction in hearing her mother criticize Violet?
