Page 43 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
He stepped into the room.
CHAPTER3
Emma didn’t dare look at the duke—couldn’t bear being in the same room with him—alone, at that. She couldn’t imagine what could have possessed everyone to simply abandon her so rudely. She hoped the duke would leave too, but instead he ventured within the drawing room, his footfalls echoing woodenly upon the floor as he made his way across to the hearth. On the Aubusson carpet, he halted beside her, and she swallowed convulsively, not daring to look higher than his boots.
She daren’t respond to his presence. Instead, she examined her book thoroughly despite that she knew every inch of every page already.
“That was quite a touching tale,” he remarked after an uncomfortable moment of silence.
Slowly, Emma peered up to find him skimming his long, lean fingers along the ribbons and tinsel that stretched the length of the mantel, examining it, the male strength in his hand a direct contrast to the delicate strips of satin cloth and brittle foil. The candles burning upon the mantel cast alternating light and shadow upon his profile. He lifted up a cherub and then replaced it at once.
“Yes, well”—she swallowed convulsively—“I would have thought you would have long since gone,Your Grace.”
He sighed, turning to face her, his hands locked behind his back. “No doubt you will be pleased to hear I will be leaving first thing in the morning.” His lips curled in that sardonic manner he had, except that this time she wasn’t tempted to brush her fingers across to coax a smile in its place.
And yet, she tried, but couldn’t tear her gaze away. His eyes were so hypnotic... like before, somehow pleading with her, making her believe he needed her somehow.
Well, she refused to acknowledge it.
She lifted her chin slightly. “I should have been significantly more pleased to have learned you’d already gone,” she said honestly, and stood to face him, dropping the book into Andrew’s chair.
She wanted to say more, wanted to ask what she had done to cause him to set her aside so resolutely, but she couldn’t bring herself to utter a word in that vein. “Now if you will pardon me,” she said, flustered. “We’re in the midst of a holiday celebration, and I have matters to attend.” Turning, she hurried for the door.
He had the audacity to chuckle at her back.
Emma halted and turned to face him, insulted by his mirth, only when she did, she had the sense that his laughter had been at his own expense, not hers, and she found herself once again confused.
He shook his head, as though in self-disgust. “Do I frighten you so much you must rush to leave every time you find yourself in my presence?”
Emma lifted her chin. “Frightened,Your Grace? I think not.” She shook her head. “I simply have nothing left to say to you.”
He advanced upon her suddenly, and she took a step backward. “No?”
“N-no,” she affirmed, though she wasn’t precisely certain whether it was in answer to his question or a desperate plea that he keep his distance.
“You’ve changed,” he acknowledged, taking another step toward her.
“And you haven’t,” she returned, withdrawing another foot.
He shook his head as though in puzzlement and said as though bemused, “I don’t remember you being so impertinent.”
“What did you expect? That I should lie down and weep for the rest of my days simply because you chose not to honor our betrothal? Well, sirrah, I am heartily sorry to disappoint, but I will not!”
He shook his head again. “To the contrary... although you may find this difficult to believe, I’m quite pleased. I never intended to wound you, Emma.”
Emma flinched at his intimate use of her name. His voice was soft—too soft—reminding her of the danger of venturing too close to the man; he radiated warmth, but like the sun, if you happened too near, he consumed. “Well, then,Your Grace,”she said, far more comfortable with formality, “you may rest assured that you did not. As you can see, I am quite well, thank you very much. So now you may leave Newgale in good conscience. You are free to go,” she said again.
His face screwed suddenly, his blue eyes shadowing. “Am I?”
Emma didn’t fool herself into believing he actually regretted what had come to pass between them. If his life was in disorder it was certainly no concern of hers. Nor was it any less then he deserved. “Of course,” she assured.
He took another step closer, his smoky eyes boring into hers. “I take it that you are ultimately pleased with the outcome?”
Pleased?
Emma nearly choked on the word. “Delighted,” she replied. And unable to bear the sight of him a second longer, she swallowed and once again turned to leave him. “Now if you will excuse me,Your Grace.”
To her shock, Lucien caught her by the sleeve, and Emma flinched at his touch, yet turned once more to face him, though the instant she peered into his tortured eyes she wished she hadn’t. They were so filled with concern for her that she thought she might truly weep.
