Page 90 of A Duke to Steal Her
“Yes. He’s quite reliable, your husband.” Juliana set down the tray and moved to stand beside her sister. “Emily, there’s something you should know. About Lord Peirce.”
Something in Juliana’s tone made Emily finally look away from the empty street. “What about him?”
“He’s left England. Permanently, according to Vincent’s sources.” Juliana’s expression was carefully neutral. “Apparently, he came into a substantial sum of money and decided to seek his fortune elsewhere.”
Emily’s heart began to race. “When?”
“The night after Ambrose’s first visit here. Vincent says there are rumors that someone paid him handsomely to disappear.” Juliana’s eyes were full of knowing. “Someone with very deep pockets and excellent connections.”
“Ambrose,” Emily whispered.
“It would seem your husband has been quite busy. Not only has he spent the week managing the scandal, but he’s also ensured that the source of your torment can never trouble you again.” Juliana took Emily’s hands in hers. “He’s chosen you, Emily. Over his revenge, over his past—he’s chosen you.”
Emily felt tears prick her eyes. “But what he did?—”
“His actions were those of a man consumed with grief and guilt. What he’s done speaks to who he truly is.” Juliana’s voice was firm. “You cannot hide in this house forever, dearest. And frankly, watching you pine by that window is breaking my heart.”
“I’m not pining,” Emily protested weakly.
“You’re wasting away before my eyes. You pick at your food, you barely sleep, and you’ve been wearing the same dress for three days.” Juliana’s tone was both gentle and implacable. “This isn’t like you, Emily. You’re the strongest woman I know. Don’t let pride keep you from the man you love.”
“What if he doesn’t?—”
“Love you?” Juliana laughed softly. “Oh, my dear sister. A man doesn’t spend a week in enemy territory, accepting cold shoulders and suspicious glances, just to protect someone’s reputation. He’s been here every day, asking nothing for himself, wanting only to shield you from the consequences of his actions. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”
Emily closed her eyes, feeling the last of her carefully constructed walls beginning to crumble. “I’m frightened, Jules. What if we can’t find our way back to each other?”
“Then you’ll build something new. Something stronger.” Juliana squeezed her hands. “But you’ll never know unless you try.”
A soft knock interrupted them, and Vincent appeared in the doorway. “Ladies, forgive the intrusion, but Ambrose has asked to speak with Emily.”
Emily’s heart stopped. “Why now? After seven days?”
Vincent shrugged. “Perhaps because the time is right. He’s in my study. And before you ask: no, I don’t know what he wants to say. But he looks…” Vincent paused, searching for words. “Determined. Hopeful, perhaps.”
Emily’s hands flew to her hair, her dress, suddenly conscious of her disheveled appearance. “I can’t see him like this. I look?—”
“You look like a woman who’s been heartbroken,” Juliana said firmly. “And perhaps that’s exactly what he needs to see.”
Before Emily could protest further, Juliana was propelling her toward the door. “Go. Before you lose your nerve.”
Emily found herself in the hallway outside Vincent’s study, her heart hammering so loudly she was certain it could be heard throughout the house. Through the partially open door, she could see Ambrose standing by the window, his back to her, his shoulders tense with what might have been nerves.
He looked magnificent. Perfectly dressed, cleanly shaven, every inch the Duke of Nightfell. But there was something vulnerable in the set of his shoulders, something that gave her the courage to step forward.
“Emily?” Vincent’s voice was gentle. “He’s waiting for you.”
She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
“Vincent,” she heard Oliver’s voice from behind her, “I believe you promised to show me that new foal of yours.”
“Ah, yes. Quite right.” Vincent’s footsteps retreated down the hallway, taking Oliver with him.
And then it was just Emily and Ambrose, separated by ten feet of Persian carpet and a week’s worth of hurt and misunderstanding.
Slowly, Ambrose turned to face her, and Emily’s breath caught at the raw emotion in his green eyes.
“Hello, Emily,” he said quietly. “Thank you for seeing me.”
