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From his library desk, Ashbury heard an unfamiliar ringing sound. Could it be a doorbell? There it came again. It was a doorbell. Worse, it was his doorbell.
Tell the architect I wish to see the plans for the new mill, and I wish to see them yesterday.
Good Lord. He wasn’t accustomed to being in the same room with something even more repulsive than his own appearance.
Ash followed the path her fingertips traced. He couldn’t see embroidery. He was a man; he saw breasts.
“I know what you’re thinking, Miss Gladstone.” She doubted it.
“If you want a gown—” “It’s not that I want a gown.” “If your very ugly, duke-sized friend wants a gown, I will need measurements. Sleeve, torso, hem.”
He straightened, arching a sardonic eyebrow. A fortunate thing, that he still had one eyebrow intact. What was being a duke, if not arching a sardonic eyebrow?
“And now I must ask you to leave. I need to be getting home.” “We can accomplish both those things at once. I’ll take you home. My carriage is just outside.” “Thank you, I prefer to walk.” “More convenient still. My feet are even closer than the carriage.”
“Your hat,” she said. As if it might need explaining that the hat-shaped object in her hand was indeed a hat and not, say, a joint of mutton.
“I . . . I insist on bringing a cat.” He made a noise of unmitigated disgust. “A cat.” “Yes, a cat. My cat.” Emma, you idiot. You don’t even have a cat. She would find one, she decided.
It was charming. No, no. Charming? Had he just thought that word? He wasn’t charmed. He was never charmed. Bah.
They found themselves alone, the three of them. Emma, the duke, and a thick, uncomfortable silence.
He released her and stepped back. She swayed on her feet, finding her balance. “Thank you.” It was entirely my pleasure, he thought. And I shall never forgive you for it.
She moved into the room. “I thought you were joking about the badminton.” “I wasn’t.” “So I see.” After a pause, he waved her toward the doors. “Well? You must have things to do. Take breakfast. Confer with the housekeeper, now that you’re mistress of the place. Do something ridiculous with your hair.” “I’ve accomplished the first and second, and I will politely decline the third. I’m out of occupations at the moment.” “Wonderful,” Khan interjected, striding toward her. “You can take over this one.” He pressed his racquet into Emma’s hand. Before making for the door, he mouthed two words.
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“Sorry if I alarmed you with all that noise. I lost my grip on the finial.” She’d lost her grip on the finial. Bully for her. Ash was losing his grip on his sanity.
“There.” He stood back, chest heaving with exertion. “I made you a fire. You may now admire my manliness.” “I do, rather.”
Doesn’t your Holy Bible have something to say about forgiveness?” The man cowered in silence. “No, truly. I’m asking. Doesn’t it? I’m a demon, I don’t read the thing.”
As she took her seat, Emma tucked his words away to treasure later. And treasure them she would. You’re beautiful. No matter what happened, she’d always have that. And the part about the jewel with arms, she supposed.
