Page 45 of A Duke Reformed
She didn't respond immediately, and that silence clawed at him. Solomon stepped closer, just slightly. "Even when those rumors could work in your favor? Even when these rumors could make half the gentlemen in here take notice of you."
Still no reply.
Solomon exhaled slowly, the line of his mouth tightening as he took in her silence. "Fine," he said, the word clipped and sharp. "We won't dance again. If it brings you so much distress, I'll spare you the agony."
Emma blinked. "Your Grace, that is not what I meant."
"How could I possibly know what you meant if you refuse to tell me?"
"There's no doubt that being seen with a duke would improve my chances. I just...don't want to do this that way."
For a moment, he said nothing. His jaw tightened, and a muscle ticked as he looked at her. Then he exhaled quietly, but not without effort. He decided not to press her further. Not now. But the restraint cost him. Perhaps she already had her eyes set on the man he had driven away. The idea scraped against something in him he hadn't quite identified yet...something sharp and unwelcome.
Still, he stepped back, schooling his features into calm. "Very well," he said and nodded. "But you will come to the estate this coming week. We have hardly scratched the surface of what I need to learn, and I'm not about to undo the progress we have made."
He turned away from her, preparing to leave. But then her voice stopped him.
"Are you upset with me, Your Grace?" she asked. "It feels as though we're always at odds with each other."
He paused for a moment, not turning to face her immediately. His frustration bubbled up in him, but he masked it quickly, refusing to let it show.
"I'm not upset, Miss Lockhart," he said, his voice even. "We'll speak again on the matter during our next lesson."
"You know I can always tell when you are upset," she said to him. "You have a tell."
Solomon's eyebrows twitched. "A tell?"
Emma nodded. "I might decide to tell you during our next lesson." She smiled softly and retreated.
Solomon contemplated her words for a bit before turning fully, returning to where he stood before. He couldn't afford to let this impulsive behavior get the best of him. Whatever it was that had stirred in him, whatever it was that had driven him to act without thinking, he needed to put a stop to it. As much as he enjoyed teasing Emma, watching her get feisty, and seeing that sharpness in her gaze, the last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable with him.
Still, he hated how vulnerable she was making him, how easily she got under his skin. It bothered him more than he cared to admit.
You think being seen with me would ruin your chances, Miss Lockhart?
The words rang in Emma's mind like a persistent echo, uninvited, repeating in the same rhythm as the click of her knitting needles. Her hands paused mid-motion, the yarn slipping from her fingers as her mind raced, trying to ward off the familiar irritation. Then, with an exasperated gasp, she dropped the needles altogether, pressed her palms to her face, and let out a muffled scream into her hands.
He was infuriating. Infuriating and... far too present in her thoughts.
How could she possibly admit to him... to herself, that the real reason she didn't want to dance with him again was because another twirl in his arms might make her lose all control? It was ridiculous, and she knew it, but it didn't stop the way her pulse fluttered at the thought of it.
Solomon was frustratingly unpredictable, and for every step forward in their conversations, they seemed to take two steps back, never quite aligning. She couldn't stand how often they ended up at odds, how he seemed to revel in teasing her, pushing her buttons, making her blood race in a way she wasn't even ready to acknowledge.
Her gaze lowered to her hands, the knitted piece now a tangled mess. She exhaled and shook her head. Knowing that another dance with him would have caused her to surely swoon... to lose herself in the warmth of his arms, she figured she could live with the fact that her silence had frustrated him. She was starting to find him attractive, and that was a line she could not cross. The emotions brewing inside her were dangerous, far too dangerous to feed.
She had worked all her life to make sure she never ended up like her father. She had come this far. Surely, she could put aside her growing attraction for the greater good.
She stood abruptly, brushing the skirt of her gown and snatching up the discarded yarn with far more force than necessary. She used to like knitting in the garden, but now it was no longer a sanctuary of peace. With a huff, she turned on her heel and marched toward the house, determined to distract herself with anything but thoughts of Solomon.
But as she stepped into the corridor, a sudden blur of motion collided into her with surprising force.
"Phillip!" she cried out just before the impact knocked her off balance. She stumbled backward and landed hard on the floor with a gasp, her wrist catching her fall at an awkward angle.
"Ow!" she groaned.
"Sorry, Emma!" Phillip said breathlessly and wide-eyed.
Dorothy came skidding around the corner a second later, her cheeks flushed and the curls in her hair bouncing. "Phillip, you little beetle! Give that back!"
