Chapter 6

Emmeline spent the next day fuming. Then, the day after that, she began to plot.

Every time she thought about the kiss, she burned a little inside, hating herself for the flood of desire that still raced through her, and hating him for making her feel that way. It was only natural, she decided, that her body would react like that when he kissed her. After all, he had probably kissed plenty of women. He was no doubt an expert, using that experience against her.

She had been caught off guard, but that would not happen again.

To begin with, she made inquiries about the Duke's likes and dislikes. Ostensibly, so she claimed, so she could better learn how to please him, but in reality, so she could discover how best to make him call off this wedding.

When the stable cat had kittens, the timing could not have been more perfect.

"Oh, what sweet darlings," Emmeline said, crouching down in the straw to get a better look at them. They were only a few days' old, eyes still closed and nosing their mother's side.

"Yes, well." The groom shifted uncomfortably. "His Grace does not like kittens, you see, Your Grace."

"Not like kittens?" Emmeline held one tortoiseshell kitten up to the light, its little pink mouth opening and letting out a tiny mewl. "How could anyone not like kittens?"

"He says there are more cats in the stables than he knows what to do with."

"Well," she murmured, more to the cats than the groom, "we cannot be having that, can we? Leave it to me, Lochlan. I shall manage it."

Lochlan nodded, visibly relieved. "I am glad you see the sense in it, Your Grace."

Emmeline hid a smile as she made arrangements for the cat and her kittens to be moved. It would not do for them to be outside, too, given the weather was decidedly cold. No, they would do better in the library. If she was lucky, they would grow up without the Duke's knowledge, and by the time he finally discovered them, they would be fully grown house cats.

That seemed especially likely, given the fact he never seemed to leave the east wing. He would probably not venture into the library for another few months, by which time they would be larger, if not full-grown.

When the kittens had been collected, Emmeline scooped them up in her shawl and made her way back inside the house. For once, to her relief, she did not see the Duke, and she was able to make the kittens a sweet nest amongst the cushions of a sofa, which she removed for the very purpose.

Yes, this was perfect.

If he disliked cats so very much, then no doubt he would hate to discover the existence of cats inside his house.

And so much the better that she loved cats.

"There you go," she crooned, settling the mother cat in.

There was a chance the cat would return them to the stables, but Emmeline would merely have to keep checking in and making sure she was where she was supposed to be.

Leaving the cats, she moved through the house to the drawing room. One thing she had noticed over the course of her first week in the house was that the drawing room was directly beside the east wing.

If she were to play the pianoforte loudly enough, perhaps she would disturb him, and he would feel he had no choice but to send her back to London. They were not a good match; they were not well-suited.

And, she reflected with a smug smile, he could hardly pretend to be angry when it was something he had suggested she do.

She was a mediocre player and had not sat at a keyboard for a long time, but she ran her fingers over the keys and took a moment to compose herself. This was yet another reason Aurelia would make a more pleasing wife. Aurelia played and sang like she was a goddess from Olympus itself. There was nothing more pleasing to the ear than her playing, and it had entranced more than one local baron's son when they had been children.

Emmeline, however… While she had received the same lessons that Aurelia had, their governess being extremely proficient, she had come away with lots of training and very little skill.

Flexing her fingers, she began to play. First, a scale, to warm up her hands, plonking the notes as loudly as she dared. Then she embarked on a folk song, accompanying herself with approximate precision and no grace. Her voice was, when she applied herself, pleasant enough, but she made no effort to sing well, merely doing her best to sing loudly.

This ought to become a routine, so long as she was assured he could hear her. She was not entirely certain her voice box could survive otherwise. When she was about to embark on her second song, footsteps approached, quick and irritated.

"What the devil is that screeching?" he demanded, stepping into the room with his customary brusqueness.

"My husband." Emmeline gave him a poisonous smile. "Will not you join me?"

"I think not. What are you doing?"

"You encouraged me to sing, did you not?"

A knowing look flashed in his eyes, and it almost felt as though he was… amused. Though that could not be right. She was proving how ill-suited they were.

"So," he said, "That is what this is about."

"I cannot pretend to know your meaning, Sir, but I am glad I am pleasing you." She continued to play, her fingers missing the notes in a jarring symphony of errors. "Will not you join me?"

"You know I will not."

She cast him a coy glance, knowing just how much it would irritate him. "You did not object to joining me the last time we spoke."

Irritation flashed in his eyes. The last time they had spoken was when they had kissed, and he well knew it.

"Why, wife?" he asked, his voice clipped. "Have you changed your mind and you would welcome my advances, after all?"

"I am a little preoccupied at present." She pounded away at the keys. "But you are welcome to join me and listen."

He gave her a look that could only be classified as disgust. "Forgive me for saying I would not endure that caterwauling if you paid me."

"How ungenerous of you," she said, not pausing her playing. She had to practically shout to be heard.

He scowled and, without another word, stalked away.

* * *

Adam seriously considered having the pianoforte moved to an obscure parlor that only opened once or twice a year—one that was far, far away from the east wing. He doubted her playing was truly that awful; no one with any level of musical education could be so persistently flat.

No, he knew fine well why she was doing it—to revolt against him.

So, even though he could not escape the dreadful sound no matter how many doors he put between him and his wife, he made no move to hinder her playing. He had hoped it would stop, but three days passed with hours of vigorous ‘practice,' and he was on the verge of tearing his hair out when it stopped.

Blessed peace assailed him. Finally, he was free to think about the defiant gleam in her hazel eyes as she regarded him and the stubborn tilt of her chin.

No, those were not the things he was supposed to be thinking about.

He gritted his teeth and returned to his work.

Sometime later, at once relieved and suspicious that the playing had been cut so short, he ventured out of the east wing. He was not entirely sure what possessed him to do so, except for the fact that he did not put hideous destruction past her.

It was clear she was going to have her revenge.

Although thus far, despite her threats, she had made no significant changes to the house, he could not rely on that continuing.

Yes, that was why he left the east wing and prowled silently through the house, peering into the room to see if the pesky woman was there. The sole reason. There was no part of him—none whatsoever—that wanted to see the way challenge flashed across her face whenever she saw him, as though their battles were a source of great satisfaction. He, after all, found no pleasure in pitting his wits against hers and seeing who came off the better for it.

None at all.

Finally, he found her in the front hall, a suspicious bundle in her arms. He zeroed in on it immediately.

"What do you have there?"

"Nothing of consequence," she said quickly. Too quickly.

"Then you will have no objection to letting me see it."

"It is nothing that concerns you," she insisted, a mulish light sparking in her eyes. "Am I to have no privacy here?"

"This is my house," he said coolly.

"And you have brought me here against my will."

"How odd," he said, the familiar spark of challenge entering his chest. "I distinctly recall you offering your services as my wife. You volunteered, in fact. Unless I am mistaken?"

She scowled, and the victory tasted sweet indeed. "I would not have had to if you were not so overbearing."

"You know my reasons."

And yes, perhaps he had been a little overbearing about it, but that had been another necessity. He would not let his brother or the legacy of his title down to save some woman's feelings.

The bundle in Emmeline's arms squirmed, and she held it more tightly against her chest.

"I will ask you one more time," he said, as calmly as he could. "What are you carrying?"

"Nothing that concerns you," she said and scampered past him before he could so much as reach out and grab her.

Jaw clenched in frustration, he watched her practically skip up the stairs and toward the library.

Of all the women he could have married, of all the eligible ladies in London, he had chosen this one. If either of them survived the marriage, it would be a miracle.

* * *

Emmeline hurried down the corridor to her bedchamber, fighting the laughter that threatened to burst from her lips. When the cat in her arms had struggled, she had thought her ruse would be over for certain. Even now, she could still picture the bemusement on the Duke's face, and the scowl that had soon followed.

He was unaccustomed to having his authority questioned, and Emmeline was having a rather fantastic time challenging it.

She let the door close behind her and opened the bundle, allowing the hissing tabby to leap free.

"Now then," she said sternly, putting her hands on her hips. "I know you did not enjoy being carried in that way, but I really must insist that you rein in your temper."

The cat's hackles rose.

"If not, I shall have to put you in another bag, and that's undignified for the both of us, don't you agree?"

She assessed the cat. During her walk, she had heard some village children taunting the poor beast up a tree, and once she had chased them away, she had climbed up to rescue it.

The end result was that now she had the cat in the house, which was a step further in her grand scheme of making the Duke's life unbearable. But she could not keep it in her bedchamber, especially if it was going to yowl like it wanted to.

"Now then," she said sternly. "I must insist that you are quiet."

Its yellow eyes held hers, but it made no noise.

"You are part of my revenge plan, and for it to work, you must be unobtrusive for now. Later, when he stumbles across the cats, you may jump on his face and scratch him to pieces."

The tabby's tail twitched, and Emmeline had the sense that it was considering her offer.

"Do we have a deal?" she asked.

The cat stalked away to investigate its surroundings, and Emmeline released a long sigh of relief. Then, before the Duke could find her and discover what she had been up to, she slipped away to the kitchens.

"More milk and fish?" Fran?ois, the cook, glared at her, his prominent nose bent at a crooked angle. If his French accent had not been so overt, and if she had not tasted his food and known he was a chef of the first order, she might have presumed he had experience as a boxer. "For what purpose?"

"I have a fancy for it."

Fran?ois sniffed and nodded to one of the kitchen maids, who scuttled off before she could catch his wrath. Emmeline had only been in the house for a handful of days, but already she knew he was temperamental, and his temper was something to behold.

And, if possible, to avoid.

"I think I shall be wanting lots of fish and milk over the coming weeks," she said. "Perhaps we might order some more."

"Is there anything else I can get for you, Your Grace?" Fran?ois asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Not at all! Your cooking is splendid."

"It cannot be so splendid if you are craving milk and fish!"

"Oh," Emmeline said, laughing. "But it is not for me. Promise you will not tell His Grace."

This was a gamble, for she knew just how much the servants revered the Duke. She had already gotten a few maids on her side, and she had assured Mrs. Pentwhistle that the Duke knew of the cats and approved of their presence, but only as he was not in the habit of going into the library much, and he would not like to have them mentioned.

The more of the staff knew, however, the more likely that news was to reach the Duke's ears. Especially as Emmeline had reason to suspect the Duke's valet, a young man in his twenties with deep brown eyes and a pleasing smile, was sweet on one of the kitchen maids. They were, as far as Emmeline could tell, walking out together, and if the maid knew, it was likely he would discover it also.

Still, she committed to her ruse.

"It is for the cats," she confided. "The Duke knows how much the dear things mean to me. He is so considerate."

The words burned on her tongue, but she hoped they could come back to bite him later.

If everyone already knew how considerate he was by allowing his wife her little whims, they would be especially shocked if they heard he went back on his word.

Fran?ois scowled at her. "Cats? My fish is being wasted on a cat?"

"Kittens." Emmeline beamed. "The sweetest little kittens."

"He should have drowned them."

"Fran?ois! How could you say such a thing?"

"Cats are pests. They are not like dogs, suited to sharing our lives with us." He sounded disgusted. "They should stay in the stables, catching mice and paying for their upkeep."

"Now, that's not fair," Emmeline said. "Dogs hardly pay for their upkeep."

The cook grunted. "Well, you English seem to have a love of your dogs."

"And I," she said tartly, "have a love of my cats. Thank you for your help, Fran?ois. I shall send for more milk and fish whenever I have need of it, so make sure there is always some available. Send this to the library, if you please. Thank you!"

With that, she walked briskly out of the kitchen.