Amanda McCabe - A Regency Duchess's Awakening - The Shy Duchess / To Kiss a Count

“It’s better than Almack’s, I dare say,” Jane said, drinking deeply of the arrack.

Emily sipped at hers—and coughed as her eyes watered. “It’s—quite good.”

And it certainly was, once she got past that first sharp kick. Spicy and sweet at the same time. She drank some more and nibbled at a little dry chicken as she studied the passing crowd. There were so many men in black cloaks, all of them too far away for her to see the colour of their eyes. She would never find him again! She should have followed him when she had the chance.

So distracted was she by her search that she hardly noticed when she finished her punch and her glass was refilled. She felt quite pleasantly warm and tingling, and everything seemed so very funny. Even the chicken was suddenly tastier.

The orchestra launched into the opening bars of an aria, and the famous Signora Rastrelli swept on to the stage amid a storm of applause. She held out her arms and curtsied deeply, a tall, bosomy woman in purple velvet and vast white plumes towering over her bright red hair.

She launched into her first song, an old lament of lost love, and everyone fell silent to listen.

“‘I pass all my hours in a shady old grove, but I love not the day when I see not my love! Oh then, ‘tis oh then that I think there’s no Hell like loving too well …”’

Emily rested her chin in her hand, watching Signora Rastrelli in something like envy. What would it be like to look like that, sing like that? To feel things so very deeply? To have such great passion? It would surely be quite uncomfortable, but also perhaps rather marvellous.

“‘Where I once had been happy and she had been kind, when I see the print left of her foot in the green, and imagine the pleasures may yet come again …’”

But I love not the day when I see not my love. Emily had never felt like that at all. She loved her family, of course, as exasperating as they could be. She wanted to please them and help them, and she knew they loved her, too, and wanted what was best for her in her life. She loved the women she taught and her work at Mrs Goddard’s, it was very fulfilling. She loved trying to do the right thing, trying to do her best and help people. But she had never felt like that, swept away by sweet emotions so much larger and greater than herself.

And she probably never would.

Her eyes suddenly itched, her throat tightening as if she would cry. She stared down into her nearly empty glass, blinking furiously to hold those foolish tears back.

Not that anyone would notice if she did start crying. Everyone else was sobbing at the song’s passion. But Emily felt like the walls of the box were closing in on her. The press and heat of the other people was too much, and she could not breathe.

“I’ll be back in a moment, Jane,” she whispered to her friend.

Jane glanced at her from behind her white feathered mask. “Are you all right, Emily? Your cheeks are all red. Should I come with you?”

“No, no. You’re enjoying the music and I—I just have to find the necessary.” Emily cringed at the indelicate excuse, but it was all she could come up with quickly. Jane nodded and went back to watching the concert.

Emily slipped out of the box and away from the crowds on the well-lit walks. The punch seemed to be working its sorcery on everyone else, too, for there were many flushed faces and loud laughs, and much leaning on each other as couples strolled past.

She still felt dizzy and silly, and on the verge of tears. She didn’t know where she was going, she only knew she had to be alone for a moment.

“Why does this always happen to me at parties?” she whispered.

She saw a narrower, darker pathway through the trees ahead and stumbled towards it on her cursed heeled shoes. There were far fewer lamps here, just a sprinkling set high in the trees, and the darkness closed around her in blessed quiet. She could hear whispers and soft laughter from the shadows, but she saw no one else. A cool breeze swept along the path, rustling the leaves and branches, and she shivered in her thin satin gown.

Up ahead, she glimpsed the pale marble of a fountain, shimmering in the starlight like an oasis. Perhaps she could sit down there, get off her aching feet and breathe deeply at last. She lurched towards it, and was nearly there when her heel caught again in the gravel. This time it snapped right off, and sent her pitching head-first to the ground.

She didn’t even have time to panic, let alone scream. A strong, well-muscled arm caught her around the waist and lifted her up.

Cold fear rushed through her like ice in her veins, freezing her in place. She had heard the tales—she should have known better than to wander away on to the dark walks by herself! Now something dreadful was going to happen, something even worse than what happened when she had to fight off Mr Lofton in the garden.

Emily kicked out wildly, but her feet tangled in her heavy skirts and threw her even closer to her captor. She twisted and shrieked. By sheer luck, her fist flew backwards and collided with a solid jaw.

One arm tightened around her waist while one hand clamped over her mouth. Even in her haze of fear, Emily remembered the words of Sally, her pupil at Mrs God-dard’s: You have to bite if anyone tries something with you, Miss Carroll. Bite and kick them as hard as you can. And then run.

That had been merely a rhetorical conversation on a situation Emily was sure would never happen, but here she was. She blessed Sally’s hard-won wisdom as she tried to bite down again.

But the man’s hand pressed even tighter. “Be easy, minx! I mean you no harm, I promise.” His voice was low and rough, his breath warm against her ear.

Emily heard Sally’s warning voice in her head again. Whatever you do, miss, don’t believe their promises!

“I merely wanted to save you from falling,” he said. And this time something in that voice caught her attention and made her cease her struggling wiggles. Hoarse as it was, it sounded oddly familiar.

She inhaled, and smelled the clean, soapy, lemony scent on his skin. It was just like that faint, summery cologne she had smelled when Nicholas caught her at the ball.

Could it really be him, catching her yet again? She relaxed just a fraction, and felt the strong, lean body against her back. That panic roared back over her, but this time it burned rather than froze.

“Good,” he said, a relieved tone in his voice. “If I move my hand, will you not scream? I won’t hurt you.”

Emily nodded, and his muffling palm slowly slid away from her mouth. He carefully set her on her feet, his arms loosening around her waist.

Emily spun around, teetering on her broken shoe. The shadows were deep here in the trees, but a stray strand of moonlight fell across her rescuer. He wore an enveloping black cloak that gave him a rather sinister aspect, yet bright blue eyes glinted through the eyeholes of his glossy black satin mask. It was the duke. Nicholas. He had come to her rescue again. What must he think of her, falling all over the place every time she saw him!

Then she remembered—tonight she was not herself. She wore a raven-coloured wig and a mask, as well as her full-skirted, old-fashioned gown in a vivid colour a modern young lady would never wear. He would not even know it was her. Somehow, that thought gave her a new confidence.

“Thank you for your assistance, sir,” she said, pitching her voice low and soft. “I’m sorry I bit you.”

He held out his hand ruefully to display her faint bite marks on his palm. “I should not have grabbed you like that. I didn’t want you to fall.”

Emily nodded. She didn’t know what to say next; she was utterly tongue-tied. All she could do was stare up at him in fascination. If she was not herself tonight, then neither was he. He was not the duke, he was just a man. What if they were indeed two strangers, encountering each other by chance on a pretty moonlit night? Two people with no knowledge or expectations of each other?