Page 59 of A Duke to Steal Her
Here, she knew exactly how to behave, exactly what was expected, even if it felt like playing a part in someone else’s story.
By the time Emily returned to Nightfell, the afternoon sun was casting long shadows across the manor’s façade. She steppeddown with Martha’s assistance, Miss Austen’s novel tucked underneath her arm.
As she walked up the front steps, she paused.
“Martha, where might I find His Grace at this hour?” Emily asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
“I believe he should be taking his afternoon exercise, Your Grace. In the back courtyard, most likely. Shall I have Simmons locate him?”
“No need. I’ll find him myself.”
Emily followed the path she recalled from her tour of the mansion until she heard sounds of swordplay around the side of the manor. She followed the sounds, but what she discovered there brought her abruptly to a stop.
Ambrose stood in the center of the space, stripped to the waist. Sweat gleamed on the defined muscles of his chest and shoulders as he parried and thrust with elegant precision against a young footman who was clearly outmatched but game to try.
“Robert! Keep your guard up,” Ambrose instructed, his voice carrying easily across the courtyard. “Your opponent won’t pause to let you recover.”
He moved with fluid grace, every motion controlled and powerful. Emily found herself transfixed by the play of musclebeneath bronzed skin and the way his hair clung damply to his forehead.
“Your Grace,” Robert panted, lowering his blade, “I think I’ve had quite enough humbling for one afternoon.”
Ambrose laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Nonsense. You’re improving. Though perhaps?—”
He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze finding Emily standing in the shadows of the colonnade.
A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. He executed an elaborate bow, his blade sweeping in a perfect arc.
“Duchess. Care to try a round?”
Emily lifted her chin, grateful that her voice emerged steady despite the heat pooling in her stomach. “Only if I’m allowed to draw blood.”
Ambrose’s laughter was rich and genuine. “I’d expect nothing less from you, little lioness.”
“I merely came to greet you properly upon my return from the village.” Emily made sure she maintained her composure. “But I can see that you have kept yourself busy during my absence this afternoon.”
“Well, dear wife. You know exactly what to do should you wish to keep me busy for the remainder of the evening.”
She knew exactly what he meant and could feel her cheeks burning.
Turning on her heel, she walked away with measured steps.
“What are you reading, dear wife?”
Emily looked up from her book, startled to find Ambrose lounging in the library doorway.
She’d chosen this quiet sanctuary specifically to avoid him, settling into the window seat with a light novel she’d borrowed from the collection. It was a deliberate choice. Something sufficiently frivolous to occupy her mind and prevent it from wandering to more dangerous territory.
“Nothing that would interest you, I’m sure,” she replied. She slipped the pressed flower she’d received earlier from the girl in the village into the pages to mark her spot, then closed the book and set it aside.
“Oh, but everything about you interests me.” He stepped into the room, his boots silent on the thick Persian carpet. “May I?”
Without waiting for permission, he settled beside her in the reading nook.
Emily felt trapped. “It’s merely a novel. Something to pass the time.”
“Ah, escapism.” His green eyes glinted with amusement. “Are you hiding from me in books, Emily?”
“I find literature preferable to poor company.”
