The Shy Duchess. Amanda McCabeЧитать онлайн книгу.
and frightened than any mean-spirited gossip. He smelled so delightful, of lemony cologne and clean starch, a faint tang of sweet smoke, as if he had sneaked away for a cigar. And how strong he was, she thought irrationally. He held her up as if she weighed no more than a snowflake—or an icicle.
Did he think her an icicle, too? A cold, unfeeling princess? That seemed to be the general consensus, and surely in his voluble family she would seem so even more.
That shouldn’t make her feel sad, yet it did.
“I am quite unhurt,” she managed to murmur. “Thanks to you, your Grace.”
He smiled up at her, a bright, merry grin that reminded her of that house party. Of his laughing, teasing, romping family, and how she so wanted to be a part of all that fun. She just didn’t know how, and she probably never would.
“Well, that’s my duty at these routs, you know,” he said. “To stand about waiting to rescue fair damsels in distress.”
“You’re very good at it, I’m sure,” Emily said. What damsel wouldn’t dream of being rescued by him? If she was a different sort of female, she surely would. He was handsome and charming and Very Ducal. And such a man would never be interested in an awkward lady like herself.
“You can put me down now, your Grace,” she whispered.
Nicholas glanced down, seeming surprised to find that he still held her close to him, suspended in his arms as if he held her above the mundane, everyday world. Slowly, he lowered her to her feet, her body sliding along his. The sensation of that strange, delicious friction of silk against wool made her sway dizzily, her head spinning.
“You are hurt,” he said, his voice concerned. “Here, sit down on this step, Lady Emily. Did you turn your ankle?”
Emily let him help her sit down on the marble she had just slipped from, smiling at him weakly. “Oh, no. It was just the heat in the ballroom…”
“Wretched, isn’t it?” he said, sitting down beside her as if he had all the time in the world. “I nearly fainted myself.”
She almost laughed aloud. Surely he had never fainted in his life! He glowed with robust good health and vibrant energy, as if he could conquer all the world and still have strength for a dance and to rescue a maiden or two.
“It’s quite irrational how these hostesses cram so many people into their ballrooms,” he said. “One can scarcely even move, let alone have a good conversation with friends.”
“If you can even find your friends at all.”
“Exactly so,” he agreed. “At routs such as this, I’m sure I know scarcely a quarter of the guests.”
“Well, I’m sure they all know you,” Emily said.
He gave her a quizzical glance. “How on earth could they? I haven’t even met half of them.”
Emily laughed. Somehow, sitting beside him in the quiet and the shadows, just the two of them, she didn’t feel so paralysed with shyness. Those gossiping men mattered not at all. “Everyone knows a duke. Or at least they know of you, and in a world where gossip races around so quickly they think it’s the same thing.”
Nicholas laughed, too, a surprised chuckle. “I think you are quite right, Lady Emily. People do seem far more interested in me since my father died.”
From under the veil of her lashes, Emily studied the way the candlelight cast his handsome face in intriguing, shadowed angles. The hair that fell over his brow in unruly waves gleamed like an ancient gold coin. “Oh, I’m sure they were interested in you long before that,” she murmured.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Emily?”
“I said—why do you attend these balls, your Grace? Surely one of the advantages of being a duke should be doing what one pleases.” Unlike being an earl’s daughter, who could never do what she pleased. Unless it was in secret.
“I’m afraid being a duke means doing a great many things one would rather not,” he said, as if he read her unspoken thoughts. “There are so many expectations, obligations.”
“Including dancing at crowded London balls?”
He gave a comical sigh. “Sadly, yes, Lady Emily. I fear it was one of the duties my father failed to tell me about.”
It seemed to Emily the last duke had not been very dutiful at all, or he would not have eloped with the married Lady Linwall all those years ago! But Nicholas seemed different indeed from his father and stepmother. He wanted to do his duty the best he could—just as she did. But sometimes it was so, so hard.
Emily gave him a tentative smile. “I fear you are failing in your task then, your Grace.”
“Am I indeed?”
“Yes. For you are not dancing at all, but sitting here talking to me.”
“So I am,” he said, laughing. “And believe me, Lady Emily, it is a far more pleasant party for it. I would much rather sit somewhere in quiet conversation than be crowded into an overheated ballroom with a lot of strangers.”
“Me, too. Balls are …” Hateful things. “Most inconvenient.”
“But a necessary evil for people such as us, you were quite right about that, Lady Emily.” He rose to his feet, offering his hand to help her rise.
Emily hesitated for a moment as she studied that hand, remembering the strange, wondrous sensation of being held by him. She slowly slipped her hand into his. His fingers closed over hers, just as warm and strong as before, and she had the wild wish that they could just stand there for the rest of the night.
But they could not, of course. His touch slid away from hers. “Since I must dance, Lady Emily, would you favour me with the next set?”
“I.” Oh, how her parents would love that. Their daughter dancing with the Duke of Manning for everyone to see. But her legs still felt none too steady, and she feared that rather than inciting envy at her handsome partner and graceful movements, she would fall again and make a fool of herself.
And the last thing she wanted was for him to think her a fool. He and his family surely already thought that after last summer’s party.
“I think I need to find the ladies’ withdrawing room, your Grace,” she said. “I seem to have torn my hem when I tripped.”
He smiled at her, and bowed politely. “It is my loss, then. Perhaps we can dance at the next ball.”
And perhaps cows would take wing and fly around Berkeley Square. “That would be most pleasant.” “Shall I escort you to—?”
“Oh, no,” Emily said quickly. “No, I’m sure our hostess will be wondering where you are. I am quite well now, your Grace, thanks to your gallant rescue.”
“I hope the rest of your evening is less perilous, Lady Emily.”
Emily bobbed a hasty curtsy, and hurried away across the foyer. She knew not what direction she was going, or where. She just had to be away from him, from the way he made her head spin so confusingly, in order to think clearly again.
But she felt the warmth of his stare on the back of her neck as he watched her go.
Chapter Two
“What a charming party last night!” Emily’s mother said as she buttered her breakfast toast.
“Mmm,” Emily murmured. That was really all the response her mother ever required to her morning chatter. Fortunately so, for Emily didn’t care for mornings—especially when she was already preoccupied with other matters.
“Lady Orman is such a fine hostess,” her mother went on. “And Robert and Amy were so admired, of course. I’m sure next year they will have their own household