The Daring Duke

by Jess Michaels

  She looked so happy that James could hardly breathe. Hardly speak. And yet he must, for he wasn’t about to let Meg float through the rest of the party with this joy in her heart only to have it crushed. That was something their father would have done. Their father would have taken great pleasure in making Meg feel like a fool.

  James wanted nothing to do with that.

  “Meg,” he said, but she was still talking about Emma. He cleared his throat. “Margaret!”

  She stopped and stared at him. Her smile fell. “What is it?”

  “I’m not…courting her,” he said softly. “I’m only going to…pretend to court her.”

  Meg’s brow wrinkled. “What?”

  He drew in a short breath. God, but this was difficult. He could already see the beginnings of disappointment on her face. Disappointment in him.

  “She needs help garnering fresh attention,” he said. “You must have noticed how much more she’s been getting with just a little from me.”

  “Pompous, James,” Meg said.

  “True, Margaret.” He shrugged. “And I…I recognize you don’t approve of my desire to avoid marriage, but it exists. At that first ball back in London, I was besieged. I don’t want it, any of it. So if I pay some extra attention to Emma, it also helps me.”

  Meg shook her head, just shook it back and forth for what seemed like an eternity. Then she whispered, “Does she know that your attentions are untrue?”

  “Of course!” he burst out, lunging to catch her hands. “Please tell me you do not think me so cruel as to do this without her knowledge, to purposefully play her for a fool. Please tell me that you don’t think me even worse than Father, Meg.”

  She stared at him a moment and then her expression softened. “Of course not. You could not be so cruel, it is not in you. I suppose I am just…shocked that Emma would go along with something so dishonest.”

  James straightened and released her hands. Once again, his hackles were raised in defense of Emma. “She was reluctant,” he said. “But you cannot truly judge her harshly. After all, her life is very different from yours.”

  Meg’s face twisted just a little. “Yes, my fate, my future was sealed long ago.”

  He wrinkled his brow at the tone of her voice, but tried to remain focused on his defense of Emma. “Yes. You have never had to worry about your future. I made sure of it. Emma has none of those protections. And she’s suffered for them. She would be a fool not to give herself a chance at marrying…well.”

  He said the last more slowly, for he found it difficult to form the words somehow. And when he pictured Emma in a marriage, his stomach actually turned.

  Which he ignored as Meg let out a long sigh. “I suppose you are right.”

  “I am,” he said softly. “If you must be angry with someone about this, please let it be me. Emma is a worthy friend and I would never want to ruin your relationship.”

  She bent her head. “You haven’t, James. I am simply…disappointed. I thought you really were beginning to like Emma. I hoped…” She trailed off. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter what I hoped now. I know you will not be turned from a path once you have decided to take it. But I do not approve.”

  “That is duly noted,” he said.

  Meg turned and looked up to the house. “I should go up and make sure all the arrangements have been properly made for the picnic.”

  James nodded, but as she stepped away he called out, “Meg?”

  She peered back over her shoulder. “Yes?”

  “You won’t…interfere in our plan will you?”

  “No,” she said with clear reluctance. “I won’t stop you.”

  He relaxed a little at her vow. He knew she would not break it. That wasn’t Meg’s personality. She kept to her promises and always had.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll see you shortly,” she whispered, and walked away.

  And though she had agreed to keep his secret, although she had acquiesced and promised not to change her attitude toward Emma, he still felt as though he had done something very wrong.

  Something he wondered if he could fix.

  Chapter Eleven

  Emma stepped out of her chamber to find her mother already in the hallway waiting. And waiting rather impatiently, if her tapping foot was any indication.

  “Good afternoon, Mama,” Emma said with as bright a smile as she could manage in the face of her mother’s focused expression. “Are you looking forward to the picnic?”

  Mrs. Liston’s eyes lit up in mercenary glee. “Not as much as you should be, Emma, for I have heard a rumor.”

  Emma slowly counted to five in her head before she said, “A rumor, Mama?”

  Her mother caught her hands and leaned in. “The Duke of Abernathe’s very public and rather physical argument with Sir Archibald, the one that led to Archibald storming away on his horse…it was over you.”

  Emma’s lips parted in disbelief as she stared at her mother. There had been much buzz amongst the guests on the walk back to the house earlier in the day as to what could have caused such a shocking and public confrontation between the men. Emma had been curious, of course, for she had never expected James to act in such a way.

  But over her?

  “No,” she said slowly. “That cannot be possible.”

  Her mother was almost bouncing now. “Oh, but they say it is. He didn’t like the attention Sir Archibald was paying to you earlier, and here we are.”

  The blood in Emma’s ears was rushing and her arms had begun to tingle, but she fought to keep a serene face as her mother prattled on and on. Was it possible this was correct, that James had almost fought with another man over her? That was taking their ruse mightily far, for he had claimed to want to bring men to her side, not push them away. Literally push them.

  “…an opportunity you cannot turn down, so you must put your best foot forward and catch Abernathe at all costs,” her mother said, grabbing Emma’s arm.

  Emma shook her off as her words became clear. “Catch Abernathe?” she repeated.

  “Yes. When we came here, I would have, quite honestly, settled for someone like Sir Archibald for you,” Mrs. Liston said.

  Emma clenched her jaw. “He is older than Father and he has a brood of awful, awful children, some of whom are older than I am!”

  “And what other options did you have?” Mrs. Liston snapped. “But now I can see we must reach much, much higher. Emma, you could catch a duke. A duke!”

  Emma could hardly breathe. Oh, this was exactly what she and James had planned together, but her mind still spun regardless.

  “I will not catch Abernathe,” she whispered.

  Her mother arched a brow. “Not with that attitude. Emma, you must be aggressive now. And…oh, how shall I put this…you must fight dirty if the opportunity arises.”

  “Dirty?” Emma repeated, nervous now about her mother’s tone.

  “It is true, he might be reluctant, despite his actions today,” Mrs. Liston said, rubbing her hands together. “But that cannot stop us. If you must than I would suggest you…you…”

  “What?” Emma burst out.

  “Compromise yourself with him,” her mother finished.

  Emma stared, her mouth agape with horror. “Mama, you cannot mean that.”

  Her mother folded her arms, a smug expression on her face. “Why not? Sometimes that is the way these things are done. And you can bear it, Emma. You shut your eyes and you just imagine the wonderful life you could have and what you could provide for me. Picture the freedom from any damage your father could do, the freedom from fear of the unknown. It will make his touch bearable.”

  Emma shivered, for her mother was so in the dark. Not only did she have no idea of Emma’s plan with James, she also didn’t know that Emma had, for all intents and purposes, already compromised herself with James. Bearing his touch was not an issue. She couldn’t stop thinking about it.

&
nbsp; “Emma!”

  Both women turned down the hall to see Meg coming toward them. She was smiling but there was something in her eyes, some tiny look that made Emma’s heart skip a beat. Had she overheard this horrible conversation? Certainly Meg wouldn’t want to be her friend if she knew what her mother had just said.

  “Just think about it,” Mrs. Liston hissed before Meg met them and linked her arm through Emma’s.

  The affectionate gesture soothed Emma a little as they made their way down the stairs toward where the others were gathered for their short walk to the picnic site, but she still felt an unease in her stomach. It seemed at all sides she was besieged with plots. And none of them felt right.

  Emma slowly dropped back through the crowd of partygoers until she trailed behind them. Only then could she breathe again. The past quarter of an hour had been a nightmare, with James shooting her looks, her mother’s suggestion ringing in her ears and Meg smiling and chatting with her, utterly oblivious to all the betrayals Emma was committing.

  She felt like rolling into a ball and hiding away forever, but that wasn’t possible. So the best she could do was provide some distance between herself and the others and try to regain some purchase on her emotions.

  Something that became clear was impossible when she looked up to find James standing along the side of the path, leaning against a tree. She let out a sigh as she approached him.

  “Waiting for me?” she asked.

  “Hiding from me?” he retorted.

  “No,” she lied, for she had, of course, been doing exactly that. “I needed…I needed space.”

  He straightened up and looked at her more closely. “What’s wrong?”

  She worried her lip for a moment and shook her head. “Just…my mother is pushing me. And she told me…”

  When she trailed off, he reached out and took her hand. She caught her breath as she looked up at him. His gaze was heated, hooded, and her body responded even though he was barely touching her. Everything felt hot and tingly and the world went blurry, the only thing in focus was him.

  “What did she tell you?”

  She drew in a deep breath. “That you fought with Sir Archibald over…over me.” His face twitched, and in that moment she saw the truth. She would not have been more shocked if the man had started singing and dancing right there on the path. “You did?”

  James nodded. “He said something very untoward. And I admonished him for it.” His tone was dark and dangerous, and once again it hit her in the most inappropriate places.

  “Something untoward about me?” she gasped. “He doesn’t know about—”

  “No!” James said. “Not about us. He just made some implications about his intentions toward you that I didn’t care for.”

  She shivered, for she could well-imagine what Sir Archibald had in mind. He had always spent a great deal of time staring at her chest, and whenever he touched her, it was like a snake curling around her skin. But still…

  “You grabbed him, you pushed him, you sent him away,” she stammered. “James, you…you made a scene.”

  “He deserved far worse than I did to him,” he said. “But how did your mother know?”

  She shrugged. “I have no clue. Someone overheard you, perhaps, or Archibald talked before he fled your house. What matters is that people are going to be talking about this. It is too good a story not to repeat.”

  “You seem troubled by this,” he said, his brow wrinkling. “Why?”

  “Aside from the fact you nearly came to blows over me? I am troubled because it casts too big a shadow on me.”

  “No, it puts focus on you, which was exactly our plan from the beginning,” he said, but his tone was falsely bright.

  She pulled away from him at last with more reluctance than she should have had and folded her arms. “If this is exactly what you intended when we began, then why do you sound tense, why is there concern in your eyes?”

  His brow wrinkled and he stared at her. “I-I…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, and the negative emotions wiped from his face at last.

  She shook her head. “You can’t pretend it away, James. This obviously concerns you as much as it concerns me. While I appreciate this protectiveness you are displaying, I feel it is better that I just know the worst of it so I can be prepared.”

  “You see too much,” he muttered as he ran a hand through his hair. “Emma, I’m not concerned about Archibald. He’s an idiot and the gossip about his leaving will fade long before it does any permanent damage, especially if we choose not to address it so as not to feed it.” He let out a short sigh. “There is…something else, though. And you’re right, you should know about it.”

  Her heart began to throb as she stared at him, trying to read whatever was on his mind before he said it. Failing even as she came up with horrible scenario after horrible scenario.

  “What is it?” she asked, barely above a breath.

  “Margaret knows about our ruse,” he said softly.

  Emma staggered and he lunged forward to catch her arm, steadying her. She looked up at him, too close, too handsome, too perfect, and she could hardly recall how to breathe, let alone speak. He waited patiently, not trying to force her, not trying to fill the space between them with words.

  “She knows we’re pretending a courtship?” Emma asked. He nodded once, and she let out a tiny, strangled cry. “That was why she looked at me so strangely. I thought it was my mother, what my mother said, but it was this. How does she know?”

  He released her at last and motioned down the path. “We should walk so we aren’t too far behind the others,” he suggested.

  She thought about fighting him a moment, but decided against it. He was correct, after all. Arriving together too far behind the others would open them up to impertinent remarks and even more encouragement about compromise from her mother.

  They stepped forward together and Emma said, “Tell me, please.”

  He bent his head. “I told her, Emma.”

  She jerked her face toward his and found him looking at her. She swallowed hard, choking back the sense of betrayal his confession created in her chest. He couldn’t betray her. They were nothing to each other, despite the kissing. She had to remember that.

  “Why?” she whispered. “Why did you tell her?”

  He was silent a long beat. “I have this huge group of very good friends,” he said. “But the person who knows and loves me most is Meg. We are the only two who fully understand our…past. Our situation with our parents. I do not lie to her, not when I can help it. Nor does she hide things from me. She came to me, thrilled as could be about the idea that you and I were courting. I could not mislead her and let her be hurt in the end. So I admitted our ruse.”

  Emma wanted desperately to be angry at him for doing it, but she found she wasn’t. Not when he explained himself in such a way. How often had she longed for someone to share things with like he described? She had no one as a confidante. In some ways, she was jealous rather than angry.

  “I…understand,” she whispered at last. “And I know it is for the best. I also wouldn’t want to hurt Meg. I just wish…”

  She trailed off, unwilling to confess her foolishness to this man. After all, he was not her confidante either.

  “What do you wish?” he pressed.

  She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  He stopped in the path and turned toward her. “We will crest this hill in fourteen steps, Emma. When we do, the picnic site will be just on the other side. Everyone will be watching for us, waiting for us, and this conversation will be over. There is no time for pretending. I have done something that I do not regret, but I also have no illusions that my confession doesn’t affect you. So if you wish something, tell me what it is now.”

  His tone was sharp and dark, his gaze focused and compelling. In that instant, her wishes morphed from ones regarding Meg to ones about his mouth. His lips on her
s.

  She blinked those thoughts away. “I wish that I could have stayed friends with Meg. I did truly like her.”

  He stared at her. “Why wouldn’t you stay friends with Meg?”

  “Why would she want to be after this?” she asked, humiliated by tears that stung her eyes. “What she must think of me!”

  “Meg likes you, she understands why this path is one you felt you must take. If anything she is angry at me for—”

  He cut himself off and jerked his gaze away. She leaned forward. “What is she angry at you for?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, and looked back at her. “I had one other topic I wanted to address with you before we join the others. At least broach it for further discussion.”

  Her lips parted. He had neatly cut her off from anything deeper in his heart and even though what they shared was not real, she felt disappointed. She cleared her throat. “What is that?”

  “Your father, Emma,” he said softly.

  All her thoughts of Meg, of her mother’s inappropriate suggestions, of wanting to kiss James, they all vanished in an instant and the world felt like it slowed to half-time.

  “My…father,” she repeated, the words feeling like they were yanked from her body with painful force.

  He nodded. “Yes. I’ve heard things here and there. I wanted to bring up the subject because of our situation.”

  “Our situation,” she repeated. “How does my father have anything to do with our situation? You aren’t truly courting me. You have no fear of what he could—” She broke off and caught a ragged breath. “What he could do. I do not wish to discuss him.”

  He stared at her in true surprise. “I am not trying to pry, I just want to help.”

  “You can’t help,” she said. “And you are prying.”

  “Emma,” he said more sharply. “It is a perfectly reasonable question.”

  “Yes, for a man who would be my husband,” she snapped. “You have made it clear you don’t want that role in reality. So you have no right to ask me about private things. After all, would you wish to tell me about your mother? About why she...why she is the way she is?”