Page 15 of A Duke to Steal Her
“I see.” Ambrose strode to the door. “Don’t alarm the staff further. I’ll handle this myself.”
He moved through the corridors with purpose, descending the grand staircase just in time to glimpse a flash of cream silk disappearing down the servants’ hallway.
Found you.
He followed at a leisurely pace, curious to see how far her scheme would progress.
He knew Lady Emily Walford was smart, but how far would she get? He had to find out.
From the shadow of the doorway, he watched as Lady Emily ducked behind a tapestry to avoid a maid entering the hall. Her timing was impeccable, her movements surprisingly stealthy for a lady of her breeding.
“Resourceful little thing,” he murmured to himself, genuine admiration coloring his amusement.
When Lady Emily slipped out the side door to the gardens, Ambrose followed, hanging back just far enough to remain unnoticed. He could have stopped her immediately, but curiosity, and perhaps a touch of perverse enjoyment, kept him at a distance.
When she reached the stables, he gave her half a minute before following her inside.
The sight of her attempting to bridle his temperamental chestnut mare made him pause in the doorway. Her golden hair had come loose from its pins, cascading down her back as she struggled with the headstall.
“Please,” he heard her beg the animal. “Please help me.”
Something tightened in his chest at the desperation in her voice. For a moment, he almost regretted his actions.
Almost.
Then he pushed the door open, letting it creak slowly.
Emily whirled toward him, bridle clutched in her hands, cheeks flushed with exertion.
The sight of her, all disheveled, defiant, and utterly magnificent in her determination, stirred something different within him.
Three strides brought him to her side. His hand closed around her slender wrist, feeling the frantic flutter of her pulse beneath his fingers as he pulled her closer.
“For someone raised to be docile, you’ve quite the talent for disobedience, little lioness,” he said, unable to keep the admiration from his voice.
He’d expected a meek aristocratic daughter, trained to obey without question. Instead, he’d captured a woman of spirit and intelligence who’d very nearly outmaneuvered his entire household.
She glared up at him, defiance blazing in those blue eyes. “I’ll never forgive you for this.”
Ambrose leaned closer, drawn by that fire. “Forgiveness is a comfort I neither need nor deserve. You are staying here, my lady, until I release you.”
Her clean scent, blended with lavender, filled his senses. For a dangerous moment, he contemplated how those parted lips might taste if he lowered his head just a few inches more.
Instead, he stepped back, maintaining his grip on her wrist. “Now, I insist you return inside the main house.”
Lady Emily jerked her hand out of his grip and stormed away, leaving him with the distinct feeling that this woman’s time at the estate would not be spent as quietly as he’d anticipated.
The next day, Ambrose paused at the conservatory door, watching through the glass as Emily stood among the exotic plants, her slender fingers tracing the pattern of a fern leaf.
Sunlight filtered through the glass panes, catching in the long waves of her golden hair, giving her an almost ethereal quality.
He’d spent the better part of an hour searching for her. Not that he was concerned; his staff had assured him she was still on the grounds. However, her absence from the morning room, where she was expected to take her tea, had been noticeable.
The Italian novel weighed in his hand, its worn leather binding smooth against his palm. A peace offering of sorts, though he wasn’t entirely sure why he felt compelled to make one.
He pushed the door open, the soft click of the latch announcing his presence.
She stiffened but didn’t turn, her back straight and proud despite her circumstances.
