It's In The Duke's Kiss: A Danby Regency Novella

by Julie Johnstone

  He couldn’t imagine why Lady Emmaline—and obviously her sister and parents—were here unless… He looked at his mother. “Mother, did you invite the Earl of Albersey and his family to your dinner party?”

  She nodded, her eyes flashing defiance. “I did. And before you get angry, I had to invite them.”

  “I cannot comprehend why you think you had to do so,” he grumbled. “This is going to be a problem.”

  “I had to invite them because of you. And why would this be a problem?”

  “Me?” he very nearly thundered, only lowering his tone at the last second. “How did I cause this?”

  His mother narrowed her eyes. “You may be the duke, but I am still your mother. Do not snip at me.”

  “Very well.” He gritted his teeth. “How do you deduce that I forced you to invite them?”

  “You personally saved Lady Emmaline from being ruined by starting that preposterous rumor about her debilitating megrims, which everyone seems to be believing.”

  He tensed. How had his mother known? “Why would you think I would do such a thing?”

  She smirked. “I don’t think it, I know it. I overheard you at the masquerade ball threatening Lady Peabody and saying that you would give her the cut direct if she dared to utter any more rumors regarding your brother and Lady Emmaline.”

  “Where the devil were you? I never saw you.”

  Mother smiled. “I slipped behind the curtains by the terrace when I saw you take the woman by the elbow and lead her in my direction. I knew something had to be most terribly wrong for you to willingly subject yourself to that woman’s company.”

  Lucian groaned. No good deed ever went unpunished.

  His mother smiled knowingly. “Don’t fret, darling. The secret that you have a kind heart is safe.”

  “I still don’t see what that has to do with inviting Lady Emmaline and her family tonight.”

  His mother gave him a secretive smile he didn’t care for at all. He preferred to know all the comings and goings of his impetuous mother. “Mother,” he warned.

  She laughed. “Oh all right. Imagine my surprise when at the same ball I encountered your cousin, Lord Edgeworth, and he told me that it was in fact you who’d saved Lady Emmaline and not Nathaniel. Why did you not relay that in the story you told me of the day?”

  “I don’t know,” he clipped. He felt suddenly and very distinctly uncomfortable under his mother’s scrutinizing gaze.

  She arched an eyebrow. “It’s very curious to me that you have rescued Lady Emmaline not once but twice now. It makes me wonder if she’s captured your interest.”

  He scoffed. “Don’t be absurd. She’s but a child.”

  His mother shook her head. “Rubbish. I’ve seen her. She’s very much a woman now.”

  His body heated with the memory of her soft curves displayed starkly by her wet, clinging gown. Lady Emmaline had most definitely become a beautiful woman, but she was also a very impetuous one, and the last thing he wanted or needed was one more impetuous person to look after. “If you invited them to try to match me with Lady Emmaline—”

  “Certainly not!” Mother exclaimed. “I’d never try to match you with someone who could bring spontaneity to your life,” she asserted, though her lips twitched with a smile. “I invited them because Lady Albersey overheard me tell the dressmaker that I was having a dinner party for Nathaniel’s birthday and it seemed rude not to invite her then. I’m innocent of any matchmaking schemes.”

  “All right.” He nodded. “But this doesn’t bode well.”

  “Whyever not?”

  “Nathaniel will seek her out. Mark my words. I do believe he can sense her impetuousness.”

  “Who’s impetuous?” Nathaniel asked, breezing into the room, flashing a grin.

  “You are,” Lucian answered.

  “And your brother is convinced Lady Emmaline is, as well,” their mother added.

  Nathaniel frowned. “I talked her into skating on that thin ice, you know.”

  “Your Grace,” Tensley said, bringing the conversation to a stop as he stepped into Lucian’s study. “The Earl and Countess of Albersey, Lady Mary and Lady Emmaline have arrived. As well as the Marquess of Winthorp and his daughter, Lady Francine.”

  Lucian glanced out the window where Winthorp’s carriage now stood. Bloody hell. He didn’t have a good feeling about tonight. Nathaniel wouldn’t even know Lady Francine was in the room with Lady Emmaline here. Her beauty was blinding. “Very good, Tensley. Please tell them we’ll be right in.”

  Tensley nodded and departed as Nathaniel strode toward the sidebar, picked up a glass, and poured it to the rim with liquor. “Mother, did you invite the earl and his family so I would formally apologize?” he demanded before taking a long drink, nearly emptying the whiskey he’d just poured.

  Lucian caught his mother’s worried expression, and anger flared at his brother. He closed the distance between him and Nathaniel, snatched the tumbler out of his brother’s hand, and set it on the sidebar. “She didn’t. It came about quite by accident. Please don’t get foxed tonight. And try to remember your future wife is here.”

  “How could I forget?” Nathaniel grumbled with a glare at Lucian.

  Lucian glowered back. “You can always strike out on your own,” he challenged. He half-wished Nathaniel would pick up the gauntlet. It would show that he was willing to try to take care of himself at the very least.

  Nathaniel snatched back the glass from the sidebar. “Why the devil would I want to do that? I’d never be near as proficient at seeing to my life as you are. And you did promise Father, since he clearly thought I was incapable of making good decisions.”

  “Gentlemen,” Mother snapped, her voice low but harsh.

  Lucian gave a tight nod to his mother, while keeping his gaze trained on Nathaniel. Telling his brother of the promise he’d made their father to watch over Nathaniel and be like a father to him had been a mistake. He’d meant it to show that Father had cared, but it had yielded the opposite effect. “This can wait. Mother’s guests are waiting.”

  Lucian proffered his elbow to his mother, who took it, and they departed the room with Nathaniel trailing behind.

  Four

  Lucian escorted his mother into the drawing room and all conversation ceased, but then a burst of laughter filled the silence. He followed the throaty laugh to Lady Emmaline, who sat on the sofa squashed between her mother and sister. The loveliest shade of rose colored her cheeks, and her cerulean eyes grew wide as her gaze locked with his. She gave a nervous laugh, high and unlike the one of seconds ago. He suddenly recalled her doing the same thing the day she’d arrived at his Mayfair home to tell Nathaniel she’d had fun with him, despite the fact that his brother had almost gotten her killed. Apparently she laughed when she was nervous.

  He found the quirk endearing, which surprised him. He’d always appreciated a poised woman who wasn’t prone to displaying her emotions for the ton to gossip about, rather like Lady Francine who stood, looking elegant and unaffected by their entrance, beside her father.

  Lady Albersey tapped each of her daughters on the leg with her fan, and both ladies stood immediately, along with their parents. Lucian’s mother rushed forward, offering greetings, and Lucian found his attention drawn to Lady Emmaline once more. She had skin the shade of cream, lips the color of overripe berries, and her gaze was every bit as guileless as he remembered. That gaze had foolishly driven him to threaten to give Lady Peabody the cut direct if she dared to utter another ill word about Lady Emmaline.

  “Blackbourne,” his mother cooed, reverting to his formal title in front of their guests, “I’m sure you recall the Earl of Albersey, his wife, and his daughters.”

  He almost snorted. She knew well he recalled the woman he’d recently rescued. Lucian nodded and exchanged formal greetings with Albersey, who looked distracted as always, and then his wife and daughters. Lady Emmaline smiled, and dimples appeared on each cheek. He had the oddest desire to b
rush his finger over the lovely indentations or comb them through her thick hair. With it wet, he’d not gotten to feel how silky it must be, and his fingers practically tingled to test the strands now. How would her tresses feel against his bare chest? Desire flared hard within him.

  “It’s a pleasure to see you dry,” he offered, then cringed at his slip. What the devil was the matter with him tonight?

  His mother gave a tiny gasp and glared at him. He never misspoke or accidentally revealed inner thoughts.

  “I do apologize. I didn’t mean—”

  Emma didn’t know what the Duke of Blackbourne had intended with his comment about her state of being. Had he meant to shame her? Chide her? Emma notched her chin up. “Rest assured I’d never arrive at a dinner dripping wet.”

  “You could arrive sopping and you’d still take my breath away.” Nathan appeared in the doorway with a tumbler in hand. “Sorry I’m late. I forgot my drink.” He raised the glass, eyed his brother in what appeared a hostile manner that made Emma frown, and gulped down the contents of his glass. He set it on a side table and strolled toward them with the self-assured strides that had often haunted her dreams. He stopped directly in front of her and beside his brother. The difference in the brothers’ appearances—and personalities—was starkly contrasted when they stood so close to each other.

  Nathan possessed a blinding, golden beauty. His light-brown eyes shone with life and mischief. She smiled at him. “Thank you for your kind words.”

  He winked, and she heard her mother gasp behind her. Nathan didn’t seem to notice as his gaze continued to hold hers. “If you knew me better you’d know I’m never kind, simply honest.”

  “I beg your pardon?” her mother said with no small amount of shock.

  Emma’s breath hitched. Heavens, what else might her mother say? She glanced at Nathan, hoping he’d quickly diffuse the situation, but he smiled with amusement, which sent an odd shaft of disappointment through her.

  “He’s jesting, of course,” the Duke of Blackbourne said smoothly, and Emma could feel the tension drain out of her mother. Emma blew out a relieved breath and met the duke’s gaze. She blinked in surprise at the compassion she thought she saw there, but his lashes lowered and veiled his eyes. Yet the brief glimpse sparked curiosity in her. Perhaps the duke wasn’t as cold as she’d believed.

  With Nathan and the duke standing together, Emma studied them from under her lashes. They were brothers, but they were very different, much as she and Mary were vastly different. Nathan appeared the picture of carefree youth, whereas his brother embodied the manner of a conquering knight. The duke was dark, serious, and had the solid build of a man who took great pains to stay fit. A flash of memory of just how solid his chest was popped into her mind. He’d not even flinched when she’d stumbled into him that day at his home.

  “Your Grace.” The butler’s crackling voice nearly made Emma start, she’d been so lost in her contemplation. She looked toward the door where the butler stepped aside to let the Duke of Danby enter the room. Emma had always thought him rather intimidating with his watchful eyes and proud way he carried himself. He was tall and there was a slight curl to his lip, as if he had secrets he could divulge if he so chose. His gaze swept around the room, pausing only momentarily on Emma, but she noted how his eyebrows rose ever so slightly and his gaze shifted immediately from her to the duke before coming to rest finally on the duchess.

  Silence permeated the room, and Emma realized everyone was staring at the aged butler, who was still simply standing there and had obviously forgotten to introduce the newest guest.

  “Tensely, you old goat,” Nathan began, and Emma cringed at the thoughtless words.

  Suddenly, the Duke of Blackbourne spoke. “Good evening, Uncle. Are you alone?”

  “I left my nanny at home,” the man said, and the duchess twittered with laughter as she rushed forward and embraced the man. She kissed him on the cheek and the Duke of Danby greeted each person, Emma being the last in line as the youngest in her family.

  She curtsied to him, and when she came up, he surprised her by catching her gloved fingertips with his and drawing her away from the rest of the group. She could practically feel her mother’s burning gaze on her back as she faced one duke and then two, since Blackbourne stepped over to where his great-uncle had guided her.

  “What’s this about, Uncle?” Blackbourne demanded, his voice low.

  Danby slanted a look at his nephew and then fixed his steely gaze on Emma once more. “I’m not quite sure, but I think I’ve a notion,” he answered most peculiarly without looking away from her. He smiled slightly. “I’ve heard a bit about you lately, Lady Emmaline.”

  She prayed she didn’t look as surprised as she felt. “Have you?” She glanced at Blackbourne, imagining him telling Danby about the day on the ice, but Blackbourne looked just as surprised as she was at the announcement.

  Danby nodded. “Indeed.” He inclined his head toward the duchess, who stood with Emma’s mother some feet to the right by a tall bookcase. The duchess was talking to Mother, but Emma knew by the way Mother was fixedly staring at Emma and the two gentlemen in front of her that she was not listening to the duchess.

  “Adelia—” He paused. “Will it distress your sensibilities if I call the duchess by her Christian name?”

  Emma barely smothered her laughter. “Not at all, Your Grace. I daresay my sensibilities will withstand the breach of etiquette.”

  He patted her hand before releasing it. “I thought I remembered that about you, and of course your hair does confirm it.”

  “My hair?”

  “It’s down,” he said, matter-of-fact.

  Emma’s hand went self-consciously to her hair.

  “I like her hair down,” Blackbourne said in a deep voice, moving so close to her that his heat caressed her. She felt oddly comforted, both by his nearness and his defense of her.

  “Do you?” his great-uncle asked as the dinner bell rang. “I confess that takes me by surprise, but I suppose Adelia and my sister were correct, after all.”

  His Grace scowled at his great-uncle. “Correct about what?”

  “Danby!” the duchess called. “Come, you must walk me into dinner beside Lord Winthorp and Lady Francine. Nathaniel, you escort Lady Emmaline, and Blackbourne, you escort Lady Mary. And of course, Albersey shall see to his wife. Oh, lovely, our other guests have arrived,” the duchess exclaimed as she strolled out of the room.

  Nathan came up beside Emma and proffered his arm. As she took it, he leaned toward her and whispered in her ear, “I’ve wondered every day since we ice-skated if I’d feel that same spark that I felt that day I held your hand on the ice.”

  Emma glanced swiftly around them to ensure no one had overheard his words, but everyone was moving out of the room, leaving them alone. Ahead of them, Blackbourne held her sister’s arm. Mary was talking to him, but the duke glanced back at Emma and Nathan and gave his brother a long, dark look.

  Emma felt the urge to giggle. Instead, she turned her face up to Nathan. “And what is the verdict?”

  He threw his head back and laughed, and though it did please Emma immensely that she’d been able to cause him such merriment, she found her gaze drawn to the doorway through which the duke was disappearing. After a departing glance, he was gone.

  She gritted her teeth. Did the duke think Nathan would compromise her here and now, or did he simply not like his brother? Or maybe it was her that he didn’t care for. His response was curious.

  “I vow you could cause a man to fight a duel for the honor of holding your hand.”

  The declaration left her feeling oddly flat. “What of the honor of knowing my mind?”

  For a breath, he appeared perplexed, but then a lazy smile spread across his face and his golden eyes shone a tad brighter. “For the honor of knowing your thoughts were of me, I’d go to war.”

  She grinned. It was a near-perfect answer. “Lucky for you, there’s no need to do battle.
I think the tradition for two people to get to know each other is for one person to call on the other.” That was a big, very bold hint, and she held her breath, praying he took it and that she was not, in fact, being foolish.

  He smiled and opened his mouth to respond, but a throat cleared at the door. Emma glanced toward the sound to see the angry, icy expression of Blackbourne. “Escort Lady Emmaline into dinner now, Nathaniel,” he ordered. “You know better than to linger alone and unchaperoned.”

  Emma clenched her jaw. Was the Duke of Blackbourne implying she’d try to trap his brother into marriage? She glared at him, but he swiftly looked away, giving her little satisfaction.

  Nathan gave a tight nod, but Emma saw how his jaw ticked. She understood completely. She often felt irritated by the way her mother acted as if everything Emma did would lead to something disastrous. The duke seemed to treat Nathan the same way.

  “Shall we, Lady Emmaline?” Nathan asked in a velvet-lined tone.

  Emma fixed all her attention on him and forced the Duke of Blackbourne out of her mind. She could not comprehend why she was pondering him so much tonight. It wasn’t like she cared a pence for him. It was his brother she hoped to discover suited her.

  “If we must,” she said loudly. Much too loudly. She wasn’t sure what possessed her to speak in such a booming volume, but something had. “I prefer to stay here, but of course, we cannot.”

  “Well…” Nathan began with a mischievous grin.

  “Nathaniel,” the duke clipped. Then he marched into the room, took her arm—the one Nathan had been holding—and slipped it into the crook of his elbow. “Follow me,” he ordered his brother, as he led them out of the room. She rather thought he was ordering her, as well.

  She glanced at him as he led her toward the dining room. “I don’t know what you think of me, Your Grace, but—”

  “No, you don’t,” he snapped.

  She tried to pull away, but he laid his hand over her arm and applied gentle pressure. “It would look odd if I escorted you into the room without holding your arm.”