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

“You know of them?”

“Oh, yes, I have read of such things. They sound marvellous. But I did not know that anyone at all could possess one. They sound quite—rare.” And expensive.

“I ordered mine specially made in Italy. My—well, some friends there told me of a glassmaker who can grind lenses to exact specifications. It is nothing as large as something the Herschels would have possessed, but it gives me an excellent view of the stars. I even glimpsed a comet once, streaking across the sky—” He broke off with a rueful laugh. “Forgive me, Lady Emily, for boring you. My newest enthusiasm has me carried away, I fear.”

“I am not bored.” And indeed she was not. She was fascinated by this deeper glimpse of him. “You actually saw a comet?”

“Right over there.” He pointed past her shoulder, out the window to a cluster of bright stars in the east. “I wasn’t sure what it was at first. But when I studied it through the telescope—oh, Lady Emily, I wish you could have seen it. It was the most glorious thing.”

“I can imagine it must have been.” Emily stared up into the sky, leaning her cheek just a tiny bit against his sleeve. She couldn’t help herself. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like to drift away up there into the stars? To escape this place and just —be?”

She had never said such a thing to anyone before, never hinted of any such fanciful yearnings. She didn’t know what made her say it now, but Nicholas didn’t make fun of her. He just nodded.

“Of course I do,” he answered. “Doesn’t everyone think of things like escape once in a while? Wonder what it would be like to find a different world?”

“Not everyone,” Emily said, thinking of her own family. They didn’t imagine being anyone but who they were, which was why they fought so hard to hold on to their place in society. And that gave her a cold reminder of the way Amy had practically pushed her on to Nicholas.

She turned to face him, putting her back to that fanciful night sky. “You don’t have to stay here with me, your Grace. I know you have many important people you must speak to.”

He gave her a crooked grin, and that ridiculously alluring dimple flashed in his cheek. Just as it had at Vauxhall, below the edge of his mask—right before he kissed her foot.

Suddenly weak, Emily leaned back against the window. The glass was cool through her thin muslin gown.

“People more important than Lady Emily Carroll?” he said.

“Oh, please, your Grace, don’t tease me!” she burst out. “I know my sister-in-law practically forced you to come out here with me. My family can be so—overwhelming. But I don’t want you to feel obligated …”

“Lady Emily.” He caught her hand in his, and she was so surprised the words strangled in her throat. “Do I look as if I am easily—overwhelmed? That I can be forced to do something I don’t wish to?”

“I …” She thought of that steel behind his easy affability, so seldom glimpsed—and all the more formidable for it. “No, I suppose not.”

“Then is it so unbelievable that I would rather be here watching the stars with you than chattering like an inane fool in a crowded ballroom?”

“Yes,” she blurted.

He laughed, and raised her hand to his lips for a quick kiss. His mouth was warm and surprisingly soft through her silk glove, reminding her all too acutely of how it felt, and tasted, against hers.

“How little you know me, then, Lady Emily.”

“I don’t know you at all, your Grace. Which is surely for the best, for both of us.”

His brow lowered in a frown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean …” Emily closed her eyes tightly. That confusion she felt whenever he was near came over her yet again, just when she most needed to be clear-headed. “Oh, your Grace! Nicholas. It was me, and I am so sorry.”

“It was you?” he said. He sounded as confused as she felt. “What do you mean? What was you?”

She opened her eyes and forced herself to look him in the face. He was gilded by the moonlight, his face and hair all molten gold like an ancient statue of some pagan god. She could bear it no longer. She had always been a terrible secret-keeper, except when it came to her teaching, and somehow keeping secrets from him was harder than anything. He was not like Mr Lofton, she reminded herself, or like Mr Rayburn. He deserved the truth from her.

“It was me at Vauxhall,” she whispered. “In the broken shoe. I didn’t mean anything by it, I promise, your Grace. I’m not sure what came over me, I just …”

Much to her shock, he laughed. Laughed! He kissed her hand again. “Shh, Lady Emily. Enough.”

She snatched her hand away. “Why are you laughing? I am completely serious!”

“I am not laughing at you. You just look so very—earnest, my lady. When I am the one who should confess and apologise.”

“You should …?”

“Yes. You see,” he said, ducking his head with a slightly sheepish expression incongruous for a duke. “You see, I discovered it was you before you confessed, and I must apologise to you.”

He knew? All along? And he had just let her stammer guiltily, let her feel terrible for days? “You knew it was me?” she cried, completely forgetting they were in a public place.

Emily suddenly felt angry. Anger was unladylike and, worse, unproductive. It did nothing with her family, and it never improved anything. Only work did that. But now she felt—yes, she felt angry! She pounded her fists against his chest. It hurt her hands, but he was so surprised she was actually able to drive him back a step before he steadied himself.

“Emily!” he said roughly. “Calm yourself. I never meant—”

“You never meant what? Never meant anything by kissing me, by letting me feel guilty about keeping it secret from you?” She hit him again and then again. “You were probably laughing at me! You and all your family.”

“Emily, be fair,” he said. He sounded angry now, too. Good —she didn’t want to be alone in this tantrum. His calmness only made her feel worse. “I have told no one, and will tell no one.”

“You tell your family everything, I know that.” She hit him yet again, that fury spiralling out of all reasonableness. It was as if every wrong, every hurt she had pressed down had broken free and was rising up now to choke her.

“Emily, please!” He grabbed her hands as she raised them to hit him yet again. Emily jerked away, but he held fast and pulled her close against his chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, as if to subdue her with his strength and heat.

“Please, calm down,” he said tightly, his lips pressed to the top of her head. “I swear, I never meant to hurt you. That would be the last thing I would ever want, to hurt someone again.”

Emily buried her face in his shoulder, trying to hold back her sobs. Her anger was ebbing away, as fast as it had come upon her, yet she still shook with it.

She had been vulnerable to him, not once, but twice now, and she did not like the feeling. It wasn’t safe.

But she couldn’t seem to move away from him. He seemed an anchor in the shaking storm of emotions. She curled her fingers into the front of his fine waistcoat and held on.

He held on to her, too, his arms tight around her. Was he afraid she would hit him again, start behaving like a shrieking fishwife once more?

“Did I hurt you?” she whispered. “I’ve never hit anyone before in my life.”

He laughed hoarsely, his breath stirring the curls at her temple. “I’ve endured worse. I have very lively brothers, remember?” He was silent for a moment before he went on, “I would not tell them about Vauxhall, I promise. Nor anyone else.”