Chapter 15

Emmeline dressed for the ball in a daring red gown, the boldest dress she owned. This was her debut as a married woman, and although she had never put much stock behind it before she was married, today was different.

This was her saying to the world that she was desirable enough to have attracted a duke. And not just any duke—the Duke of Kant. To be sure, he might be seen as cold and disagreeable, but she knew better than that. She knew the heat that lay underneath, the passion, the way he had wanted her.

If she had her way, he would want her tonight.

When she was ready and it was time to take the carriage, she descended the stairs into the great hall. Adam was waiting for her, his face tilting up to see her as she took her skirts in one gloved hand and allowed the other to rest lightly on the banister.

Look at me, she commanded silently. Marvel at me.

As she descended, she watched his face. The tick in his jaw when he saw her, the way his eyes darkened, the bare hunger in them that made her stomach clench.

"My lady wife," he said as she approached, taking her hand in his.

The difference in size between their fingers made her think of the way his hands had felt between her legs, and she blushed, hoping he could not read her thoughts on her face.

Then again, maybe she hoped he could. Even though he had been home for a few days, he still hadn't visited to take advantage of his conjugal rights. If she didn't see the way his eyes flicked to her mouth, the way she laid a hand on his chest and felt his pounding heart, she might have thought he didn't want her.

Before her stood her very own ice king, and she would be the one to finally crack him and melt that frosty exterior.

"Do you think I look well?" she asked, breaking away and twirling. Her silk dress hugged her figure, as she knew well, and she had forgone petticoats and a shift so it would better display her curves.

If he was going to insist on keeping his distance from her, she would make it torture for him.

"Emmeline," he murmured. "You are practically undressed."

"Am I to take from that that you like it?"

"I do." He caught her hand and tugged her back to face him. "But so will other gentlemen."

"So? I am married to you, as you have made abundantly clear." She arched an eyebrow. "I wouldn't have thought you have anything to worry about."

His jaw tightened, and a primal wave of satisfaction washed over her.

"Is this my punishment for leaving you?" he demanded as she made her way to the carriage, where Rickard was already waiting.

"I don't know, Adam," she tossed over her shoulder, added an extra sway to her hips. "Do you feel as though you are being punished?"

* * *

Adam could not remember being so futilely, hopelessly aroused. That had no doubt been Emmeline's intention from the moment she came downstairs, but she likely had not known the full extent of the effect she had on him. The way he relentlessly wanted her.

Even watching her descend the stairs toward him had been torture. He'd wanted nothing more than to take her back to her bedchamber and peel that dress off her.

More importantly, he didn't want other gentlemen to be seeing her and thinking the same lewd thoughts he was having. She was his. The urge to claim her was primal, the force of it almost scaring him. Never before had he felt something so urgently, so desperately, and he shrugged off his coat in the carriage, resting it over his lap as she took her place beside him and her leg brushed against his.

If Rickard hadn't been sitting opposite them, watching them both with a slightly amused air, he probably would have lost control and given in to desire.

As it was, the journey was torture. Every press of her knee sent another wave of desire through him, and he knew he would never be able to escape this. She was his wife; this want would follow him through their life together. Having a taste of her had only made it worse.

Finally, he understood why some men lost their minds over their wives, why they sacrificed their previous joys to stay at home and worship the women they had married. He had not thought, not for an instant, that he would be one of those men.

But if she would press those soft, luscious lips against his, if she would permit him to touch her rich curves, if only she would allow him to coax those soft moans out of her mouth, he thought he would never want to leave the bedchamber.

When finally they arrived, he climbed out of the carriage stiffly, and Emmeline sent him a coquettish, flirtatious glance that made him ache with need.

Just one kiss. He would sell his soul to kiss her.

Rickard came to her other side and opened his mouth, and before Adam knew what he was doing, he was uttering words he never thought he would say.

"Emmeline," he said, his voice gruff. Those beautiful eyes turned to his. "Dance with me?"

Her smile was wide and genuine. "I thought you would never ask."

The ballroom was large and painted lavishly with gold, long red curtains blocking out the night, and busts at regular intervals along the wall. A large painting of Lady Rochester took pride of place above the fireplace, and Adam felt like a butterfly pinned to a board for all to see.

Emmeline's hand was tucked in his arm, however, and it was plain to see she was delighting in being, once again, in Society.

"How different it is as a married lady," she said with a sigh.

"It is?" he asked, wondering if she would object if he pulled her behind a particularly verdant potted plant.

"Yes. People look at me differently now that I am a duchess. And now I have my husband on my arm." She gave him a teasing glance. "Would a smile really be too much of a strain?"

"I'm here, Emmeline. Let's not ask for too much."

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, which he had been spending altogether too much time thinking about.

"Everyone will think you're brooding."

"Then let them think it."

She tilted her head. "You won't smile even for me?"

He could feel the beginnings of a smile and reluctantly let it show. "There. Satisfied?"

"Heavens above, I thought it impossible."

"You wretch."

Her smile turned into a full-blown grin he could have looked at forever. "Don't speak to me as though you don't enjoy it."

"I don't enjoy your impertinence."

"I beg to differ," she said archly, reminding him of their last intimate encounter. "I believe you enjoyed that a great deal. I know I certainly did."

He almost closed his eyes and groaned. "When we married, I had not known you would be such a bold minx."

"That's because you made no effort to get to know me before we married. Are you sorry?"

"That I married you?" He held her gaze. "Do you think I am?"

"That wasn't the question."

"No, Emmeline. I'm not sorry. I believe we did better than I ever would have done with your sister."

"She would have been terrified of you," she said matter-of-factly. "And I am not."

"You must be the only one," he said dryly. "Even your friend Rickard seems to think I'm the devil."

"Well if you would but smile more," she started, and laughed as he pulled her in a little closer—indecently close. "He wants nothing more than to become better acquainted, Adam."

"Is that so?"

"Yes! And save for the first night, you have not been forthcoming."

"Do you not think that might be because I'm wary of him? And that I do not like sharing my home with a man I know so little about?"

He swallowed the worst of his frustration. There were some advantages, he could concede. Dancing with her was not wholly unpleasant.

"And what about him? What has he done to reassure me of his intentions?"

"Why can you not take the high road?"

"What about our interactions thus far have convinced you that I know anything about the high road?" He had intended the question to be arch, but the way she looked at him with wide eyes made him realize she was considering the question seriously.

"The fact that when you heard me scream, you came to save me," she said. "Without a single thought except that of my safety."

"You are my wife," he said testily. "I hardly wish for you to die."

"And because you showed your tenants kindness. You have shown me patience and kindness when I have done everything I can to provoke you into behaving differently."

She half smiled, and again he thought he could watch that expression on her face forever. There was this odd feeling inside him, a desire to make her smile again. To be the reason behind her smile. Behind her joy.

"You have given me countless reasons to believe you are, at least, not an ogre."

"I'm flattered."

"So I don't think it's too much to ask to be welcoming to Rickard. He's a connection to your brother."

"Nicholas didn't know him," Adam said shortly.

"Does Nicholas know everything?"

No, but Nicholas knew enough that the fact his friend hadn't met Rickard before was suspicious, and she knew that. But she tugged at Adam's hand.

"Forget about your vendetta against him. We're at a ball. Think only of that, and of dancing, and of eating and drinking and seeing Society for the first time since our marriage. Unless you attended a ball when you last left for London?"

"You know I didn't." There was that feeling again, although this time it was a need to reassure her. "That was purely business. The reason I didn't bring you along was because I thought you would prefer to stay in one place rather than being dragged from meeting to meeting."

The dance came to an end. "Well," she said archly, looking up at him with an expression he couldn't identify but that made more frustrated want pound through his body, "just know that I prefer to attend societal functions, with or without my husband. Consider that, and consider also that I will find a way of contriving my happiness. Now, I must speak with my mother and sister."

Before he could formulate a reply, she curtsied and left him in the middle of the dance floor.

* * *

"Oh, my darling Emmeline," her mother said as soon as they were within speaking distance. "My sweet girl! It has been so long since we last saw you."

Emmeline extricated herself from her arms. "It has been a month, Mama. Hardly forever."

"A month is more than long enough to be separated!" Her mother waved her handkerchief with a nervous gesture. "Aurelia has been beside herself every day."

Emmeline turned to her sister, who, except for looking a little pale, was as beautiful as ever. "Tell me that isn't true."

"We have been a little worried," Aurelia said carefully.

"I told you I would be fine!"

"You said you would return to us before long, and it has been a month—you said so yourself—with no indication that you will return back home."

Emmeline thought of all the lengths she had gone to in order to persuade Adam to send her back home, and his stubborn refusal to do just that. At the time, she had been frustrated beyond reason, but now she saw the glint of humor in his eyes when he saw through her plans.

"Well, it didn't happen precisely as I had hoped," she allowed, "but I assure you I am perfectly well. Do I not look well?"

Aurelia gave her a critical look, then smiled. "That dress is magnificent on you."

"Of course it is. And you may be sure that Adam does not control me the way you no doubt think, or else he would not have allowed me to wear something like this. Truly, Mama, Aurelia, he is not as bad as I thought he was."

"Are you sure?" Aurelia asked doubtfully. "He seems to be particularly scowly."

"I thought so too, at first, but it turns out he can smile, and when he does so, it makes him look entirely different. Charming, even." Emmeline looped her arms through those of her mother and sister. "Believe me, I thought the same as you when I first met him, but he's not as awful as he seems."

"No?" Her mother seemed incredulous. "But, Emmy, he whisked you off to the countryside without so much as a by-your-leave."

"That is hardly so unusual for a newly married couple, Mama." Emmeline laughed. "Did Papa not do the same to you when you first married?"

"Speaking of your father, my dear, you must have words with him. I have been begging him for months to increase your darling Aurelia's pin money so we can buy her new gowns, but he refuses, and nothing I do or say can persuade him. It's putting me out of sorts!"

Considering her mother was rarely in sorts, this wasn't as surprising as it might have been, but Emmeline adopted a reassuring expression.

"That doesn't sound so bad, Mama. Aurelia's dress is beautiful, and anything she doesn't wear, she makes up for it in beauty."

"And he said he would not be in attendance tonight, no matter how much I asked him."

"Well, gentlemen do not attend balls as often."

"What else is there for him to do but attend with his wife?"

Aurelia and Emmeline exchanged significant looks, and Emmeline decided the best course of action was to change subjects. She towed them across the ballroom, ignoring when her mother attempted to launch into another complaint.

"Never mind," she said. "I know you wish me home, and I wish that too. My attempts at persuading the Duke we are ill-suited have failed, but I will try again, never fear. There are always different approaches. The curtains failed, but perhaps if I alter his bedchamber and redecorate there, or his study, he may see reason. No matter what, Aurelia, I will find a way of returning to you and seeing you both properly again."

"I do hope so," her mother said with an exaggerated sniff. "I simply do not know how we get by without you."

"It is a trial," Aurelia said, although that was likely because their mother's complaining had fallen on her ears alone, and she had no other recourse but to bear it all. "We miss you terribly."

"I miss you too," Emmeline said, hugging her sister close.

Over Aurelia's shoulder, she saw Adam, closer than she had realized, watching her with an inscrutable, blank expression on his face. She offered him a smile, which he didn't return, but Aurelia was already pulling back, distracting her, and she stopped thinking of him as she finally, after a month of separation, had a chance to spend time with her sister.

After some time, Rickard approached, and she introduced him to her family. As always, he was charming in all the ways Adam wasn't, complimenting Aurelia, a move certain to go down well with both her and their mother, and saying all the right things.

"It's a pleasure to meet the family of such a wonderful lady," he said in his soft Scottish burr. "I wonder, Your Grace, if you might be inclined to dance the next set with me?"

"I'm afraid she is already taken," said a familiar voice to her left, and Emmeline turned to find Adam looming over them, not a smile on his face.

"What are you doing?" she hissed as he led her, once again, to the dance floor.

"Dancing with my wife. It's the waltz." He held her possessively close. "Is that such a crime?"

"But why would you insist on dancing with me again? You already claimed the first two dances."

"There's no rule to say a gentleman may not dance with his wife more than once." Adam's jaw was clenched, his eyes hard, and she recognized from experience that this was not a subject on which he might be tempted to budge.

Then again, Emmeline couldn't bring herself to care. In polite company such as this, the waltz was as close as they could come to being intimately close, and the feeling of his hand on her waist, sinking through the flimsy layers of material, was enough to make her knees melt.

"You are delectable," he growled, sounding almost as though this was a revelation, and the knowledge of it irritated him. "Every eye is on you tonight."

She blushed. "I doubt that, Your Grace."

"Adam."

"Adam." His name sounded soft and familiar on her tongue, and by the way his eyes darkened, she was made to think of how intimate their given names were, how few people she allowed to say hers, and now no one said it the way he did.

Now, she wondered if he felt the same.

"Are you jealous?" she asked teasingly.

"Of every man here."

The stark honesty in his answer made her start, and he tightened his grip on her hand. "Truly?"

He gave a stern, sharp nod. "Are you so unhappy here with me?"

"What makes you say that?" She cocked her head as she looked up at him. "Do I strike you as unhappy?"

"I know you've tried to leave in the past, and you'll try again."

"Adam…" Understanding softened her tone. "My family misses me."

"You are my wife, Emmeline." He relaxed his hand, but his jaw was tight. "But I don't want you to be unhappy, trapped with me. Whatever else you believe, I hope you believe that."

"My family was concerned about me," she said after a moment's consideration, "but I told them there was nothing to worry about."

"You also told them that you would endeavor to leave me by any means possible."

She gave a little laugh. "Do you believe we are so well matched, you and I?"

Something flared in his eyes as he looked down at her, and although she couldn't sense his feelings, she understood the want that washed over him in a shudder that seemed almost visceral.

"Aside from that," she whispered, "I know we are aligned in our want of… certain intimacies."

He blinked, his jaw worked, and for a moment he looked utterly dumbstruck. Before he could utter a response, the dance ended and she pulled back, out of his reach. Having his hands on her during a conversation like that—when she harked back to the most wonderful evening of her life—was a dangerous one. They were in public, after all.

"I should go," she said, drawing away.

One step, then another, and for a moment he rocked on his heels as though he fully intended to follow her.

Then she turned around, and he let her go.