Page 22 of It's In The Duke's Kiss
Six
Lucian followed his great-uncle into the study and shut the door behind him. “What is it you need, Uncle?” he asked without bothering to sit. Perhaps he could return quickly enough to finish the stroll in the garden with Lady Emmaline.
He didn’t care for how eager he felt to get back to her. Of course, it was only because he wanted to watch out for her and keep her safe from his brother. Yes, that had to be it. No matter how intriguing she was, Lady Emmaline was not at all the sort of lady he’d ever truly consider for his future duchess. He was going to marry a woman who brought calmness to his life, not more chaos. He had enough of that watching over his brother, and to a much lesser extent, his mother. Her penchant for inappropriate flirting and impetuous acts had come to an almost-abrupt halt with the death of his father. But Lucian could never forget that it had been her flirting that had sent his father to an early grave. No, Lucian wanted no part of that sort of life. He’d marry a woman like Lady Francine, though certainly not her. She didn’t interest him at all. The problem with his marrying at all, however, was that no woman had interested him enough to pursue, or really even to bother with conversation.
Yet talking with Lady Emmaline had been highly entertaining. He frowned. He’d meant to distract her from his brother, but he’d been drawn in by his own ploy. Or rather, he’d been distracted from his purpose by her wit and revelations.
Good God! He needed to return to her right away. His brother was far less capable of restraining himself. If he were to somehow get Lady Emmaline alone…
“Uncle, I have to return my guests now,” Lucian blurted, relinquishing the prized control that normally ruled his life.
“Is there a particular emergency?” Danby inquired.
“Yes,” Lucian rushed out. “Nathaniel.”
Lucian was already turned around and opening the door when his great-uncle grabbed hold of his arm. Lucian swung around, barely containing his impatience. “Whatever it is you need will simply have to wait.”
“Blackbourne, I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Like what?” Lucian almost growled as he released himself from his great-uncle’s grip.
“So animated. You’re normally so restrained. Is everything all right?”
Lucian opened the door. “It’s Nathaniel. He is up to his usual troublesome behavior.” He was already halfway down the corridor when Danby fell into step beside him.
“In all the years I’ve watched you extract Nathaniel from the complications he’s gotten into, I’ve never seen you so anxious. What makes this time different?”
The answer was clear yet puzzling:Lady Emmaline.
“Emmaline, will you please fetch my shawl?” her mother asked as the group strolled through the extensive garden maze under the twinkling stars.
Emma wanted to say no, but she knew she couldn’t. She looked from Mary to Nathan, who had been talking animatedly about the poet Byron since entering the gardens. She ground her teeth. Of all the subjects they all could have chosen, Emma was positive her mother had started a conversation on Byron because she knew Emma cared little for him and, therefore, would not have much to contribute.
“Yes, Mother. Is it in the parlor?”
“I think so,” her mother said, her voice gay.
“No need for Emmaline to go,” Papa said. “I’ll fetch it.”
“No,” Mother snapped, causing the duchess’s, eyebrows to shoot up in surprise. “It must be Emmaline.”
“Why must it be?” Papa demanded, surprising Emma. He usually never argued with Mother, especially not in public. He almost always acted as if he didn’t know there was strife ever going on around him.
Emma knew exactly why it had to be her. Mother had apparently decided in the little time they’d been at the Duke of Blackbourne’s home that there was a chance his head was not going to be turned by Mary, so Mother wanted Nathan and Mary to spend time together in case Mother couldn’t bring the Duke of Blackbourne around. Emma stilled, waiting for jealousy to slice through her. She felt mildly irritated that her mother didn’t give a wit about what Emma might want, but she didn’t feel as jealous as she’d expect. Perhaps it was because she’d not had enough time to truly get to know Nathan yet.
“It must be me,” Emma replied, “because you, dearest Papa, would never be able to figure out whose shawl was whose.”
Her father chuckled. “That’s true. Shall I walk with you?”
Emma shook her head. “I’ll be perfectly all right. I remember clearly how to get back to the house through the maze.”Clearlywas a slight stretch of the truth, but she had every confidence she could figure it out.
Half an hour later, after a dozen maddeningly wrong turns, Emma’s confidence had taken a resounding beating. She shivered as the wind blew through the maze. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she stared at the two turns in front of her. Had she already tried the right path? She was almost sure she had. She’d go left, then.
She strode through the maze and let out a yelp of victory when she saw ahead that the maze appeared to be ending. Glancing at the bright, moonlit sky, she said a little prayer of thanks, which died on her lips as she came to the end of the path. The left turn certainly was one she’d not taken, but as she stared at a long tunnel, canopied by overhanging, freshly blooming trees, she sighed. This was certainly not where they had come into the garden from the house. Where in the heavens was she?
She yanked up her skirts in order to lengthen her stride, and she marched with determined steps toward the passageway. She refused to sit around waiting to be found like a ninny. She entered the tunnel, and gooseflesh immediately covered her arms as the moonlight disappeared and shadows surrounded her. Fallen leaves crunched beneath her feet as she walked toward the moonlight she could see shining at the other end of the tunnel and half out of it. Her every step echoed in her ears, and she began to hum to calm her nerves, which tingled throughout her body. She had advanced four more steps when her slipper got caught underneath something, and she flew forward, her knees hitting the ground hard, landing half in the tunnel and half out.
She knew precisely three very unladylike curse words, which she’d overheard her father say when she’d been hiding in his study many years before. She said each one now, relishing how much better it made her feel. She looked back at her foot and wiggled it back and forth to dislodge it from what she could now see was a thick, gnarled root sticking up out of the ground. Just as her foot released and she glanced forward once again, her heart skipped several beats as she stared at the tips of a pair of hessians.
