Page 62 of A Duke to Steal Her
“Of course you didn’t,” Ava smiled sweetly. “Just as I’m sure you mean no harm when I mention to my husband how graciously you’ve welcomed the new Duchess of Nightfell to society. Oliver does so enjoy sharing amusing anecdotes at his club. As I am sure, you wouldn’t want the Duke of Nightfell to hear you were not too kind to his wife. Nor any of the bachelors you wish to secure within the season.”
The three girls exchanged nervous glances.
“Perhaps we should rejoin our parents,” Diana said hastily.
“What a splendid idea,” Ava agreed. “Do give them my regards.”
As the trio scurried away, Ava linked arms with Emily. “Dreadful little harpies.”
Emily felt a rush of gratitude toward her sister. “Thank you. Though I could have handled them myself.”
“I’m sure you could have. But sometimes it’s more satisfying to watch someone else do the handling.” Ava squeezed her arm. “Come, let’s find some champagne and forget they exist.”
They found Juliana near the ornamental fountain, where crystal flutes of champagne awaited.
Emily lifted her glass of sparkling wine, its delicate fizz catching the afternoon light, and seated herself beside her sisters on the garden bench.
Ava leaned closer, her voice light and mischievous. “If one more gentleman attempts to impress me with his knowledge of horseflesh, I shall be compelled to feign a swoon. Perhaps even an actual one, if it spares me further conversation.”
Juliana laughed softly. “You always say that, and yet you never do.”
“That is because no one has yet caught me at the precise moment of desperation,” Ava replied. “But I warn you both—I am perilously close.”
Emily smiled but said nothing. Her gaze had drifted beyond the manicured flower beds to the far side of the lawn, where Ambrose stood among a group of gentlemen. His dark coat cut a sharp figure against the summer green, and though he did not appear to be looking her way, she felt the weight of his presence all the same.
When he laughed at something Lord Pemberton said, she could see the flash of his white teeth, the way his eyes crinkled with genuine amusement.
Her gaze lingered on his hands as he gestured, and she imagined those fingers tracing her lips, her neck, down to her shoulders, and further down. Heat pooled low in her belly as she watched him run one hand through his hair in a gesture she was beginning to recognize as habitual.
“Emily,” Ava said, her voice sing-song. “Your wine must be very dull company indeed, for you’ve stared clean through it for a full five minutes.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Emily said primly, though her cheeks remained pink.
“Of course you don’t,” Ava replied with a knowing look that was far too perceptive for comfort. “But I can see the honeymoon is still on.”
Juliana nodded, turning to Ava, and the two fell into the easy intimacy of married women sharing secrets.
“I swear, Oliver kept me awake half the night with his… enthusiasm,” Ava said with a knowing smile, fanning herself delicately. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
“Vincent has been particularly… attentive lately as well,” Juliana added with a soft blush. “I’ve barely slept a full night through.”
Both sisters turned to Emily with identical mischievous expressions. When she didn’t add her own experience, Ava chirped, “But you know exactly what that’s like now, don’t you?” Ava said with a wink. “I imagine His Grace is quite vigorous in his affections. I mean, we all know his reputation.”
Emily felt her cheeks flame, but she forced a laugh that she hoped sounded worldly rather than mortified.
“Indeed,” she managed, taking another sip of champagne to cover her discomfort. “One does grow, ehm, accustomed to such things.”
If only they knew the truth—that she spent her nights lying awake listening to the sounds from the adjoining room, wondering what it would feel like to surrender to the passion that burned in her husband’s eyes.
“And how is married life, truly?” Juliana asked in that subtle way of hers, glancing toward where Ambrose stood amongst a group of gentlemen.
Emily gave a practiced smile. “Quiet. Ordered.”
“Mm,” Ava said knowingly. “That sounds suspiciously like the way one might describe a library.”
Emily arched a brow. “And what would you have me say? That my husband recites poetry at breakfast and carries me off to the conservatory when the mood strikes?”
“I would settle for him looking at you the way he’s looking at you now,” Ava murmured, nodding toward the tree line.
