Page 38 of It's In The Duke's Kiss
Eleven
Emma normally dreaded the start of the Season, but this year was different. This year there was Lucian, and she looked forward to dancing with him and spending more time with him in London. The last several weeks in the country had been a dream, but that was the problem, she realized as the carriage rumbled down the street, carrying her to the first ball of the Season. Her mother had planted doubt in her mind of Lucian’s intentions, of the ability for such dreams to last, and Emma was eagerly hoping he’d soon extinguish her doubt.
She knew he’d be here tonight, as he’d told her before they’d left for London that he would. As she entered the ballroom, she found herself looking for him, and she found him right away dancing among the other guests. Lucian was twirling Lady Francine around the ballroom, and they were both laughing. He looked completely and utterly at ease, and Lady Francine looked every inch the beautiful, composed lady that would make a grand duchess. Emma suddenly felt very unsure of herself, and wondered if perhaps Lucian would prefer a wife like Lady Francine who had perfect manners, and would likely never speak her mind or cause him a moment’s unease.
She frowned, but immediately looked away as her mother came to stand beside her.
“I see His Grace is here…and dancing,” Mother said in an acerbic tone.
Emma groaned inwardly and dragged her gaze back to the ballroom floor.
“Do you see him?” her mother demanded.
“Do you see whom?” a smooth voice asked from directly behind Emma.
She let out a little gasp as warm breath tickled her neck, and she swirled around to find Nathan staring down at her.
“Good evening.” He offered them both a quick bow, and as he rose, his gaze bore into Emma. “You look breathtaking, Lady Emmaline. May I have the next dance?”
Emma couldn’t very well be rude and say no, and she suspected by the way his gaze had darted to her card that he knew very well it was empty. She nodded her agreement.
It was odd, Emma thought as Nathan led her onto the dance floor, that her mother didn’t want her to make the same choices she had but she had no qualms about Nathan, who reminded Emma a bit of Papa. Lucian’s brother seemed very much reluctant to take up the reins of responsibility, yet she supposed her mother had no way of knowing this.
As Nathan began to twirl her around, Emma caught sight of Lucian dancing with Lady Francine yet again. She bit down on her lip to stifle any sounds of dismay.
Two dances! Two! People would talk, and they’d assume Lucian was declaring for Lady Francine, especially if they danced a third.
As Lucian’s gaze locked on her and he narrowed his eyes, her throat constricted. Surely, he had a reason for dancing twice with Lady Francine.
“I’m heartened that your mother let you dance with me, Emma. I was concerned she would not.”
Emma dragged her gaze to Nathan’s. “Whyever would she not?”
He glanced toward his brother, then back to her. “I assumed your family knew that Lucian cut me off.”
“What?” she gasped.
Nathan’s lip curled into a sneer as his hand pressed into the small of her back. “I see he didn’t tell you. I shouldn’t be surprised. Lucian always does what he needs to in order to win.”
“Win?” she choked out, her mind whirling and the room seeming far too crowded and too hot.
“Yes, Emma,” he replied, as they twirled once more and came near the terrace doors.
“Please, Nathan,” Emma murmured. “Could we stop? I feel…I feel dizzy.”
He took her by the elbow and led her to the side of the dance floor. She gazed up at him, knowing that she had to know what he meant, yet dreading what he might say. “What is it Lucian’s trying to win?”
“You, of course,” Nathan replied. “He knew I wanted to court you, so he decided to do so, as well, just to see if he could best me. He always has to be the best. I trumped him, though. I sent him a note telling him I had decided to court Lady Francine after all, and now look at him dancing with her like a fool, thinking he’s besting me when I’ve bested him.”
Emma felt suddenly ill. She needed air. Nathan’s revelations were making her ears ring.
“Say—” he looked at her with genuine concern “—you’re very pale.”
“Please, could you fetch me some punch?” she asked, more to get him away than a desire for a drink.
When he nodded and hurried off, she turned to make her way outside. She took only a few steps before someone grabbed her arm. She knew, without turning around, that it was Lucian. The feel of his fingers curving gently around her arm had been scorched into her memory and her heart.
She turned slowly toward him, and her heart dipped at the sight he presented. He was dressed head to toe in black with a perfectly tied emerald cravat. His gaze held hers and appeared filled with worry, yet she didn’t think she could believe it was true. She felt adrift and foolish. “Please release my arm, Your Grace.”
