Chapter 5

Chapter Five

I ntoxicated. Emily Clay was completely intoxicated. It was the only way to explain how she felt, and not just internally. Though she was not the only one, for she could not miss the warm scent of rum that accompanied him. She swam in euphoria as Mr. Evans eagerly kissed her, something she had not anticipated from him, but she should have expected after his willingness to hold her hand under the table. Now he was just as willing to bless her neck with his kiss, warm her arms with his touch, savor the affection of her mouth, and leave her in utter physical bliss.

The moment he deepened the kiss, urging her mouth open by teasing his tongue along her bottom lip, Emily couldn't stop the moan that sounded in the back of her throat. He growled as his grip tightened around her waist, and she welcomed his intensity, intending to match it. She returned every gesture of his kiss, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck and losing her fingers in the softness of his hair. She let the intoxication drive her onward, even if it led her to oblivion. She had never thought she would find a man with such explosive passion, but this would certainly be acceptable in her future husband. The feeling of being entirely worshiped like this would not be a burden.

He broke from her with a heaving breath, resting his forehead against hers. "I should never have dared to touch you so," he whispered raggedly. "But with this mouth," he paused, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, "You will be the death of me."

Despite her body's longing for more, Emily's eyes fluttered open and she briefly considered something was different. Had Mr. Evans' voice always been this low, or was it just from being lost in the moment? Had his jaw always been so pronounced, or was it merely the lines of shadow in the darkness? Her mind was too filled with desire to think properly, so instead she simply grinned, and said, "Then come kiss your executioner."

In one swift movement, he lifted her chin to meet his lips again, but this was not the same urgent kiss from before. Now his mouth moved slowly against hers, aching and heated in a way that made any winter chill long forgotten. He'd created a flame she was certain would raze Lady Hartfield's entire estate to the ground.

His hand moved from her chin to her jaw, fingers braced along the side of her neck as he angled the kiss. It left her breathless, and as if he sensed her weakness, he wrapped his other arm around her in support. She leaned into him, the firm warmth of his chest, ever closer to his kiss. She couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else, not for the rest of her—

"What in heaven's name is going on here?"

A woman's shrill voice ripped them apart, and Mr. Evans whirled around. Emily didn't immediately recognize the woman at the door with a candlestick, or the young woman behind her with a peacock feather in her hair, but Emily was eternally grateful she had not been discovered by the duke.

"Lady Hartfield, if you'll allow me a moment to explain," Mr. Evans began, his voice again lower than Emily expected .

"You will hold your tongue, sir." Emily then recognized the woman as the hostess, whom she only knew by name. "Unless you can explain in great detail for why you left this young woman on the balcony when she was expecting your promise of marriage, only for us to find you here instead with another woman."

Emily looked beyond Lady Hartfield, at the young woman whose pretty face bore a frown with eyes near tears, and Emily's heart sank. Her mind still spun in confusion from the intensity of the kiss. Had Mr. Evans merely been toying with her, taking his satisfaction before he would go become engaged to another woman?

The man beside her stared for a long moment, then rubbed his eyes, and said, "Wait." When he turned to face Emily, she realized the cold truth that he, the man who had just dazzled her world and been the provider of her first kiss, was not Mr. Evans at all. This man, though undeniably handsome, she had never met before.

Emily stumbled backward, placing a hand on the cold stone of the balcony wall. How could she not have known? His hair was much darker than Mr. Evans, his nose sharper, his jaw pronounced. Mr. Evans had about matched Emily's height, and though Emily was tall, this man was taller still.

The man's eyes flared, his confusion obvious in the candlelight. "Who the hell are you?"

A new fire flared in her chest, one of defensive anger, and she narrowed her eyes at him. "I might ask you the same thing, sir! Where is Mr. Evans?"

"I am here."

Emily turned and discovered, in dread, that Mr. Evans had just passed through the balcony doors with James Barrington following closely behind.

She was doomed .

"What goes on here?" the duke asked in a gruff familiar tone that was edged with concern.

"I discovered them, Your Grace," Lady Hartfield crowed with her head high. "Alone and embracing, and Lord knows what else. Grossly entangled without a centimeter to spare."

The Duke of Norland took on a dangerous glare, and he charged the man of the kiss. Emily didn't much know the man beyond the abilities of his lips, but she could not let him bear the brunt of the duke's wrath unwarranted.

She was not quick enough to stop him from taking the man by the lapels. "What the devil have you done?"

Emily grabbed the duke's arm and pulled, but in vain. "It is not his doing," she pleaded.

"Then you seduced him?" the duke whirled on her, without releasing the man.

"I ventured onto the balcony looking for that woman," the nameless man said, pointing to the girl behind Lady Hartfield.

"And I was waiting for Mr. Evans after he spoke with you." Emily explained, tugging on the duke's arm again until he finally relented.

"Miss Clay, you must have known that I never would have presumed to behave so…" Mr. Evans' voice from the side broke Emily's heart further. Yes, she should have known hand holding would have been the extent of his ardor.

"Then how did you end up so… entangled?" the duke seethed.

"The night was dark, her hair was fair… it would be easy for anyone to misunderstand." Emily was grateful the man spoke, for she had no words, no excuse to give.

"Misunderstand?" the duke shouted. "Do you not have eyes, sir? Would you justify any gentleman who spoke as you just have? Would you ruin any woman who looked as your intended?"

"She is far from ruined," the man retorted. "We shared moments of mere kisses, nothing more. She is still free to marry as she sees fit."

Lady Hartfield gasped, placing a hand to her chest in a dramatic fashion. "Mr. Westcott, are you refusing to offer for her?"

The duke shook his head. "I demand that you marry her."

Emily froze, her heart sinking into the pit of her stomach. "No. Your Grace, wait."

"I beg your pardon?" Mr. Westcott glowered at the duke. "This was clearly a mistake."

"A mistake where you took liberties with a woman you do not know. Even so, there must be consequences. To ensure there is no scandal ruining her future, you will marry her."

Emily blinked, coming to her senses enough to again tug on the duke's sleeve. "Stop, Your Grace. Please, wait."

But he shook his head. "This is an outcome of your actions, Emily. It was foolish to ever be alone with a gentleman, even if it would have been Mr. Evans."

Emily shrank back in defeat. The duke had never spoken to her harshly before, and disappointing him broke her heart.

"You know nothing about me," Mr. Westcott snapped. "Are you certain you want a connection with me? I could be a fortune hunter, seeking out her vast inheritance. Have you not heard the rumors? I could be just like my father, a wicked man, a detriment to your family name."

"He's not," came a tiny voice from the woman behind Lady Hartfield. "The rumors aren't true. He's the best of men." Her words trailed into whimpers, and she excused herself back inside the ballroom.

Mr. Westcott lifted a hand after her, but it fisted in the air as the door closed. "Frances," he mumbled under his breath.

"What will it be, then?" the duke asked sharply. "Will you maintain some semblance of an honorable gentleman and agree to the marriage? "

The light from the ballroom hit Mr. Westcott's face clearly now as he lifted his chin in defiance. "And if I refuse?"

The duke stepped closer, narrowing his brow. "Then I must demand satisfaction."

Horror shot through Emily's chest, chilling her to her core. Not a duel.

"James, stop this." She never would have dared to use his given name unless it were the only way to get through to him.

The duke turned, his blue eyes imploring her. Emily saw what he was trying to do, save her reputation and provide her with some sort of security in the chaos, but she would not have him die on her account. She could not bear being responsible if Isabel became a widow, if young Theodore grew up without knowing his father the way Emily had.

"Do not be ridiculous," Emily insisted. "I will not have you die on my behalf, for you have a son and wife who need you. Duels are nothing more than a game for fools."

Mr. Westcott growled, turning from them to run a hand through his hair. "Perhaps the chit has a point," he grumbled before returning to face the duke. "Very well. I will marry your precious ward to spare her reputation."

Emily swallowed. "You know who I am?"

"Well, I do now." He smirked at her. "Who doesn't know the Undesirable Duke?"

Her heart sank further and further.

"Though in order for a duke's whims to be satisfied," he went on, pointing a finger at the duke's chest, "I will be sure you know that what you enforce will ruin the lives of four people instead of just two. And that will be on your head."

Emily held her breath, willing him not to retort.

The Duke of Norland simply nodded. "So be it."