Heart of a Marquess: Regency Romance (Gentlemen and Brides)

by Joyce Alec

  He ran a hand through his hair, trying to corral his thoughts. No, he didn't need to entice her. He needed to pay for his purchase and leave. Hopefully by 10:55 am.

  3

  Despite giving himself a mental kick in the breeches, Paul couldn't help but smile when Emma glanced up and their gazes met. She was a perfect combination of attractiveness and intelligence. So much his type, so much like Margaret. He shook himself and broke the gaze. Because of his former fiancée, he could never pursue Emma.

  "Good morning, Your Grace," her soft voice calmed his riotous thoughts.

  He blinked away the sudden moisture in his eyes and his smile widened. "Yes, it is a very good morning, isn't it? I trust you've got all eighteen of my pamphlets together by now?"

  She reached under the counter and pulled out the stack. "Not only are they all here, but I've also taken the liberty of arranging them in chronological order and tied them together with a pink bow, since I know they're for your mother. She'll enjoy them, I hope, as much as I did."

  Paul fingered the pink ribbon, and raised his gaze to meet Emma's. "My mother would really enjoy your company. Perhaps I'll bring her in here after she reads the story so the two of you can discuss old Sweeney Todd in glorious detail."

  Emma smiled. "I'd enjoy meeting her. My own mother thinks my taste in literature is appalling."

  "Then I'll be certain to return with Mother as soon as she finishes this stack," Paul once again fingered the ribbon. "Let me pay you the remainder of what I owe for these, and I'll be on my way."

  The transaction was quickly completed. Too quickly, as far as Paul was concerned. He had no more reason to stay, yet he couldn't bring himself to leave.

  "Miss Carter, since you've been so accommodating, and even wrapped Mother's gift for me, I seem to have a bit of extra time on my hands today. I noticed a little tearoom around the corner. Could I entice you to join me for a cup of tea and a scone?" Paul placed a hand on his chest, hoping to calm his racing heart. It had been a long time since he'd asked a respectable woman to venture out with him.

  Emma rubbed her hands together, as if wiping off some dust. Or maybe that was her polite version of wringing her hands. He hoped he hadn't caused her grief with his impromptu invitation.

  "I guess I could take an early lunch today," Emma's gaze met his. "But are you certain you want to be seen with me, Your Grace? After all, you're a lord of the realm, and I'm but a simple shopkeeper."

  The smile returned to Paul's face. "Believe me, Miss Carter, you are far from simple. Shall we?" He offered her his arm.

  Emma's eyes lit up as she placed her hand on his arm. "Yes, let's. I adore scones."

  Emma flipped the store sign from 'Open' to 'Closed for Lunch' and took a deep breath. Here she was, out in public, her hand on the arm of the Duke of Ravenswood, acting as if this were an everyday occurrence. She hoped he couldn't feel the slight tremor that coursed through her body and she doubted she'd be able to do justice to the scone, yet here she was. The duke's reputation should have made her run screaming from his presence, but she detected a soft side underneath the swagger. After all, he'd paid a hefty price for the gift. She'd expect him to be extravagant with gifts for the women he entertained, but his mother? She'd immediately been drawn to him by that simple gesture.

  They settled into seats at the small teashop, and Emma grinned at the startled expression of the proprietor, with whom she had a brief acquaintance. The Duke placed an order for the two of them, and then settled back in his seat, his gaze honing in on her. Despite herself, she could feel a blush rising to her cheeks. He had an expression on his face she could only interpret as intrigue, and she didn't think it was for the scones. His gaze was intense, and although she could always carry a conversation, she found herself speechless. Her hands began to shake and she let her teacup sit until she could bring herself under control. His gaze continued to search her face while her nerves got the best of her. She uttered the first thing that was on her mind.

  "So tell me, Your Grace, how is it that you're still single?" Although she was embarrassed when the words left her lips, she figured she might as well start with the question she most wanted answered.

  He broke his gaze and studied the tabletop. "I've been engaged, once, but it didn't work out." He lifted his head and stared at her. "I suppose I'll have to take care of my single status soon though. Mother keeps insisting on having a grandchild to smother with her attention."

  She grinned. "Mothers can be so demanding, can't they?"

  "And what of your mother? Does she insist you give her grandchildren, too?" Emma was a bit startled by the way this conversation was headed, but she'd started it, so she had no one to blame but herself.

  "My mother realizes I'm too busy with the shop, and with keeping a roof over our heads, to bother me with questions about my own motherhood." Emma's voice grew wistful. She longed for a child of her own to nurture, but she could barely afford herself and her mother. Another mouth to feed would be a disaster.

  She took a bite of her scone, which had been topped with clotted cream. With her mouth full, she wouldn't do something stupid, such as asking another leading question. It was his turn to ask a question anyway. She took her time, savoring the creamy goodness of the treat.

  Emma hazarded a glance in his direction, and was pleased to see the Duke had relaxed in his seat. Perhaps he hadn't been taken aback by her question.

  "What do you do for fun, Miss Carter?" Of all the questions in the world, why would he choose that particular one?

  Her scone stuck in her mouth, and she finally took a sip of tea before she answered. "I escape into a book most of the time. And then, of course, there's church every Sunday."

  He nodded. "I can tell you're well read, but I'm talking about fun. Do you go ice skating in winter? Do you attend the opera? Are you a devotee of Shakespeare?"

  She smiled as she pictured each item he'd ticked off. "I love to ice skate, but haven't had the time since Father passed on. I've read all of Shakespeare's plays but have never seen one performed. And, as for the opera, I'd love to see one, but haven't been able to afford such a luxury."

  "Perhaps we can go together. Figaro is on the schedule soon at the Royal Opera House." The Duke leaned back in his chair, as if asking a shopkeeper to the opera was an everyday occurrence. Perhaps to him, it was.

  But Emma well understood the bounds of society. "Thank you for your kind offer, but I must decline. We come from two different worlds, Your Grace. I don't really have much time for fun. In fact, I need to return to my shop now."

  The Duke snapped forward in his chair and covered her hand with his. "If I've offended you, I apologize. That was not my intent."

  She removed her hand from his touch and pushed her chair back. "I'm not offended. But I must return to my shop."

  "All right, then. Let me settle the bill and I'll walk you back and retrieve my purchase."

  Emma willed her heart to stop beating so erratically. Paul's touch, his simple gesture, had been the final straw. She had been fighting her attraction to him, knowing his charm was the result of years of practice with other women. She wasn't like those other women. She was respectable and had a heart for God. This was certainly not the type of man she should waste her thoughts on. But her heart and her head were of differing opinions. If she didn't take care, she'd fall madly in love with someone way out of her reach.

  4

  The familiar nightmare woke Paul again. He sat up in his bed, sweat pouring from his body. He willed his heart rate to slow as he gasped for air. He didn't need sleep to remember what had happened. He'd been living with the nightmare, day and night, for four long years. He laid back and let the memories wash over him. Margaret's tinkling laugh as she ran ahead of him through the snow-covered ground, paying no heed to his admonition that her route wasn't safe. The crack of the ice breaking under her feet, the splash as she fell into the wickedly cold grip of the lake. Her cries of distress. Him breaking off a tree branch to give her some
thing to hold onto. When the branch broke, he rushed to save her, but she couldn't secure a firm grip. Her last words continued to haunt him, ‘I love you, Paul.' The image of the crown of her blonde head as she sank one final time was etched into his memory.

  He had crumpled into a pile on the bank and sat for hours. If he had only been able to save her, his life would be so different. Instead, his life took a dark turn as he lived with the overwhelming guilt of losing Margaret. He didn't deserve any better, and he certainly didn't deserve a second chance with someone worthy of marrying. No respectable woman could forgive his past indiscretions.

  He brushed his hand over his closed eyes, as if to wipe away the images of that fateful day. His mind immediately filled with the image of Emma Carter. She didn't fit any of his usual categories: doxy, married, widowed. She was no trifle on which to perfect his charms. So why did she intrigue him? Because, of all the ladies he'd encountered in the past four years, she was the first woman he felt a deep connection to. Intelligent, able to carry on a conversation with more substance than the latest bonnet style. Lovely to stare at, her blue eyes flickering with excitement as she discussed the exploits of Sweeney Todd with him. A faith in God that seemed unwavering. And innocent, as Margaret had been. Could he bury the ghost of Margaret he'd been carrying around and resume the human race?

  Further sleep evaded him, so he rose and lit an oil lamp. He picked up the book he'd been reading earlier before sleep had overtaken him. He tried to become engaged in it, but set it aside minutes later. He needed something new to read. Perhaps another visit to Carter's little bookstore was in order. This time, he'd take his mother. She and Emma would have a lively discussion about The String of Pearls. They'd continue their conversation over lunch at the little tea shop again. Paul would maybe be able to hold her hand once more, be able to feel the spark of awakening she had elicited in him the last time he touched her. To make him feel whole again. Yes, it was a good plan. He'd visit Mother later this morning.

  When he doused the oil lamp and climbed back into bed, he had no trouble falling asleep for the first time in a long time.

  It had been a week since Paul Beckinsale, the Duke of Ravenswood, had been in Emma's shop. She moped through the days, wondering if she'd ever see him again. He was probably working, busy with parliamentary issues. Her lips curled into a smile as she pictured him in a white powdered wig. Or he could be off into the countryside, wherever Ravenswood was located, taking care of dukely matters, whatever they might be. He had no time for tea and scones with a lowly shopkeeper. It was best that she tuck away the memory of him for her dreams. She had to focus on the present moment and the success of her shop.

  She had been able to buy some new books with the spare money she'd gotten from his purchase. Sorting through them, affixing a price to them and tucking them into the appropriate shelves would keep her busy this morning. This afternoon, she'd dust every shelf in this place. If she stayed busy enough, she'd quit obsessing over the handsome man who continued to occupy her thoughts.

  Her mother put in a rare appearance at the shop this afternoon. Emma realized being here reminded Mother of her husband too much, which was why she stayed away. But Emma needed to make a delivery to a nearby school, so her choices were to either enlist her mother's help or close the shop for a few hours. Emma scurried out as soon as her mother arrived. She didn't want to keep her in the shop any longer than she had to be, since she'd settle into moroseness if left alone too long.

  When Emma opened the shop door upon her return an hour and a half later, her mother's laughter rang out. She hadn't heard her mother's laugh in so long; her stomach fluttered delightfully at the sound. Quickly shutting the door, she bustled into the center of the shop and stopped in her tracks. The Duke was back, along with an older woman, who she assumed was his mother. And her mother was laughing at something this lady had said. Would wonders never cease? Emma took a moment to catch her breath and to watch the lively interplay between the two ladies before they discovered her presence.

  She hadn't made a sound, but Paul's head swiveled around and his brown eyes locked on hers. He cut such a fine figure in his sparkling white cravat, and his tight breeches tucked into highly polished black boots. She could have stared at him for days.

  Emma blinked, pulling herself out of the trance she had veered into.

  "There you are, Miss Carter. We were about to despair of seeing you today," he grinned at her, and his dimples popped in his cheeks.

  Her knees threatened to buckle. "I see you've met Mother, Your Grace." Her voice sounded thin, even to herself.

  "Yes, Mrs. Carter has kept us entertained while we waited for you. May I introduce my mother, Sarah Beckinsale, the Dowager Duchess of Ravenswood."

  Emma curtseyed and lowered her eyes. "Pleased to meet you, Your Grace."

  Sarah stepped forward and took hold of Emma's hand. "No need for all this formality. I'm pleased to meet a fellow lover of the macabre."

  Emma grinned, immediately at ease with the woman. Her son, however, was a different story. She could swear the air crackled between them. "If you'd like to read more of that type of literature, I have a few favorites I can recommend." She took a step away from Paul, hoping to regain her equilibrium.

  "Actually, we were just talking about what to do once you arrived back here. Your mother and I have gotten along so famously, we thought to head to the little tea shop around the corner and continue our lively discussion." Sarah tugged on Emma's hand, pulling her toward the group again.

  Emma glanced up, her gaze taking in her mother, who looked animated for the first time in a long stretch, Sarah, for whom she had developed an immediate fondness, and Paul. She should not be entertaining the notion of appearing in public with Paul and his mother, especially not in the tea shop, where the proprietor had already reacted negatively the first time she and Paul had ventured forth. But her mother's eyes sparkled in delight at the prospect and Emma's better sense left her.

  "Tea sounds delightful. And the scones are just lovely there." Emma could not deny her mother's obvious desire to continue this meeting.

  Paul came to her side and offered his arm. "Shall we be off, then?" His deep voice resonated in her ear. When she laid her hand on it, a current ran from it to her core. Warmth and excitement washed over her.

  She would not be regaining equilibrium today.

  5

  The last of the books Paul's mother insisted on buying after lunch had finally found a home on the bookshelves in the family library, where Paul and his mother now sat.

  "What a fun day we had, right, Paul?" Sarah propped her feet up on a stool in a most unladylike fashion. But it was her home, so she could get away with whatever she wanted.

  "Yes, Mother," He poured them each a glass of brandy, another of his mother's affectations she could get away with in the privacy of their home.

  Paul had found ways to engage Emma in conversation at every moment. He wanted to know all about her. Every time she spoke, he became more entranced with her. There was no denying that a special connection had been formed, but the fact remained that he was a duke and she ran a barely profitable bookstore.

  "You were glued to young Miss Carter's side the entire time we were at tea," his mother prodded.

  "Please, Mother, none of your matchmaking. I'm quite content with my life." Paul rolled his shoulders.

  "You haven't been content with your life in quite some time. I'm not getting any younger, Paul, and neither are you," his mother stated the obvious. "I want grandbabies while I can still roll around on the ground with them." She pierced him with her stare. "You've paid penance for Margaret long enough. It's time to marry a good woman and start your family."

  Paul returned the stare. "But you're well aware I don't consort with 'good' women, Mother."

  "I'd say Miss Carter qualifies, don't you? She's lively, intelligent, and very attractive." Sarah smiled sweetly at him.

  "She's neither titled nor does she come with a dowry, so no, s
he doesn't qualify." Paul leveled a glare at his mother. "It's expected that, when I do decide to settle down, it will be with someone of an equal rank in society. Imagine the gossip that would surround that poor girl."

  Sarah closed her eyes for a moment, brushed a hand over them, and then took a sip of brandy. Paul noticed her eyes were shiny, as if she were holding back tears. He took a deep breath and waited for his mother to speak.

  "You are my dearest son," her voice broke as she spoke.

  Paul tried to lighten the mood. "Could it be because I'm your only son?"

  Sarah reached over and swatted him lightly on the knee. "Don't be impertinent with me, young man. Since Margaret's death, you've defied convention at every turn, haven't you? The only good that came out of that nightmare is that you've developed your own sense of style. But it's time for the rake to hand over his title to a younger crowd. I say it's now time for you to trust that God has given you a second chance at true happiness when you met Miss Carter. And you need neither a title nor a dowry for that."

  "You are saying you don't believe my happiness lies with an appropriate spouse?" Paul raised an eyebrow at her.

  "Precisely! I think, instead of raising an eyebrow at me, you should attempt to raise the eyebrows of your peers by marrying who you want, rather than who's expected." Sarah leaned back in her chair and took a breath. "There are quite a few women out there who are totally appropriate, and who are totally boring. They are waiting for you to make a choice. You should choose wisely, but make the choice be one you want."

  Paul leaned back, as well, and drained his snifter in one long gulp. "And you think Emma Carter is who I want?"