The Reluctant Duke (A Seabrook Family Saga) (10 page)

Still, because
he had the misfortune to be born the second son, he knew finding true love
would be difficult for him within the
ton
. Most of the silly females
around him wanted a title. Well, he didn’t want any of them anyway.

Emma was
different.

And Sebastian
wanted Emma. He wanted Emma to love him for himself and not for some stupid
title he did not possess or ever want to possess. Though he had to admit, if
she wanted a title, over simply having him, he’d yearn for that title, too.

Sebastian’s
heart sank to his knees when the music ended and he escorted her back to his
sisters to wait for another dance partner. Before he bowed off he leaned close
to her. “Emma, I—”

He could hardly
declare himself in love with her here. He spoke through the lump in his throat.
“Thank you for the most enchanting dance.” He nodded his head. “I beg your
leave.”

She curtsied.
“Most certainly.” Emma stared after Sebastian and wondered about his sudden
solemn mood. Then she turned to Bella who looked positively radiant after
dancing the waltz with Myles. Emma quickly forgot about Sebastian’s intensity.

Bella flipped
open her fan and waved it quickly. “I swear that man does unholy things to me.”
She giggled and her eyes widened. “Do you know I batted my lashes and flirted
shamelessly with Myles during our waltz? Mother will take me to task for my
unladylike behavior if she noticed.”

Bella leaned in
close to Emma. “If one does not behave like that to the man she loves, how will
he know? I recently turned ten-and-nine and it’s my first season. Many young
ladies my age are already married. And I have this feeling…” She covered her
heart with a hand. “That my time is running out with Myles. That if I don’t let
my intentions and feelings be known, he will find some other lady to marry. I
must speak to Thomas tonight and admit my feelings for Myles and beg his help
to secure my heart and my future happiness.”

Emma’s heart
pained at the desperation in Bella’s voice. She was no expert in affairs of the
heart, but she knew Myles flirted with everyone, including her.

Yet she sensed
there might be another reason he didn’t really notice Bella, or any other young
woman here. When they traveled across the Atlantic to return to England, there
was a touch of melancholy in his usually exuberant self. She had broached the
subject once, but Myles had politely waved her off. It was possible that during
his time in America something or someone had hurt him.

Tonight,
though, he seemed like the Myles she’d first met. And it bothered her for
Bella’s sake that he did not look at Bella differently than he looked at any
other lady he spent time with. She silently prayed she was wrong. That Myles
secretly pined away for Bella. That he was only waiting for the perfect moment
to declare his regard for Bella to her brother, Wentworth.

Emma could see
it perfectly… Myles declaring his love for Bella and Wentworth throwing him out
on his arse. Emma frowned. Yes, that’s likely what he’d do.

Emma and Bella
sat the next dance out, begging thirst. They made their way to the refreshment
table and sipped weak punch.

“Oh, my,
Amesbury is finally dancing with Lady Beth,” Bella whispered behind her punch
glass, for Emma’s ears alone.

“Indeed. They
look the picture of the perfect couple.” Emma felt herself blush. “Do you think
I will ever look like that?”

Bella giggled.
“If you saw what I saw when you danced with Sebastian you would have your
answer. I do believe my brother is enamored of you. His eyes never left your
face, and he had this lovesick grin.” She paused and looked hopefully at her.
“Do you suppose you and Sebastian will marry? If you do we will truly be
sisters.”

Emma opened her
mouth to speak, but words escaped her as her eyes fell on His Grace, strolling
toward them. His turbulent blue eyes never wavered from her, and a lovely chill
of awareness danced up her spine.

Then Emma
remembered that staring at the opposite sex was deemed risqué behavior, and she
looked down at her trembling hands instead. Why did Wentworth make her weak in
the knees and raise her pulse? Why, by the grace of God, could it not be
Sebastian that affected her this way?

Life was
unfair. She knew then Wentworth would never want her the way she wanted him.

She was an
American and not of his class. A part of her wanted to shout out that her
father was a good man, that she came from good stock. But more than that was
expected of the woman Wentworth would choose to be his bride.

He was her
guardian, and she certainly was not worthy of marrying a duke of the realm.
Surely he must marry within his social class? That made Sebastian, as a second
son, perfect for her. If only her heart would consent.

The duke did
not notice all the female eyes following him wantonly. Emma saw that some hid
behind fans, others not, as he crossed the room. Emma noted many of those eyes
belonged to married ladies. Her breath caught in her throat as a thought came
to mind. Could one of those ladies be his mistress?
Oh, I need to put aside
all feelings for the duke and look elsewhere for my happiness and future.

“Miss
Hamilton.” The duke bowed and held out his arm. “May I have this dance?”

Even though
she had just sipped a full glass of tasteless punch, her mouth was too parched
to speak. ‘Yes,’ she mouthed and placed her gloved hand on his solid arm,
letting him guide her to the center of the dance floor. The orchestra struck up
another waltz.

CHAPTER
NINE

Thomas looked
down at Emma, stiff as an oak tree in his arms, and silently cursed himself for
his attraction to her. Even the village idiot could see she abhorred being held
in his arms. Earlier, when she danced the waltz with his brother, she had
looked relaxed––as if she enjoyed Sebastian’s hands on her.

Even though
Thomas’s hand on her waist burned and the one holding her hand tingled with
sensual awareness, she appeared unaffected. There seemed no hope… The faster he
married her off, the sooner he could get on with his life and maybe take a
well-needed mistress. Or even have an affair with some willing widow. And many
ladies had propositioned him this evening. He would not want for intimate
female companionship. And the sooner he found a companion the better.

That would get
her out of his thoughts, surely.

His time in
America had been exciting, and he’d been so busy that he had not had a woman in
over a year. No wonder he lusted after Emma, the only female close to him who
was not a blood relation.

Thomas’s feet
moved of their own accord to the beat of the music, so his mind could
concentrate on the soft female in his arms. He could not, in good conscience,
consider Myles’s proposal to wed Emma. Nor did he truly believe Myles had meant
it. It had been his rebounding heart talking.

After tonight,
Thomas’s home would be swamped with gentlemen callers for Emma, Bella and
Amelia. How many would come asking for permission to court his ward? Would any
be so bold as to propose marriage right off?

If he were not
mistaken, many would be so bold. Emma and his sisters were making quite an
impression this evening. He groaned. It was going to be a long and tedious
afternoon tomorrow––and for all days until this season ended. Or until all
three ladies were betrothed and settled.

No matter what
gentlemen came courting, Thomas would investigate them thoroughly. Even hire
Bow Street Runners if he had to. He would be remiss in his duties if he did
not.

Nor would he
allow Bella, Amelia or Emma to be saddled with a marriage of convenience. And
if the suitor were a fortune hunter, he would be given one chance to prove
himself worthy. It was not too long ago that Thomas had been in debt and was
considered a fortune hunter. But being a duke had wiped the slate clean, in
some ways. Thanks to Mr. Hamilton, though, he no longer qualified for the title
of fortune hunter.

It would be
hypocritical to dismiss a potential suitor because of lack of family coin. Even
a poor gentleman, with good family connections, could make a good and honorable
husband.

Emma started in
his arms, and he forced his thoughts away and gave her his attention.

“I’m sorry,
Your Grace. May I be so forward as to ask if you are feeling ill?”

“Pardon?” he
queried, his voice sounding bored, even to his own ears. The last thing he
wanted to do was make Miss Hamilton think she bored him.

“You made an
uncomfortable sound. Is it your stomach again, Your Grace?”

She blushed and
sucked on her bottom lip, making the little dimple in her chin more pronounced.

All Thomas
could think of was licking the inside of her dimple, and that thought nearly
made him groan again. He needed to pay more attention to his bodily noises. If
it continued, people would start thinking he was either deathly ill or losing
his wits. Neither seemed appropriate qualities for a duke of his years.

He leaned down
close to her ear, too close for propriety’s sake, and ignored the sudden racing
of his pulse. “I believe I am in need of nourishment. Would you care to join me
for refreshments?”

Uncertainty
flashed across her face, then she looked down demurely. Thomas could not escape
noticing her long, delicate yet thick, blond lashes. “I would enjoy that very
much, Your Grace. But first I must thank you for your thoughtfulness in giving
me the portrait of my parents and my mama’s pearls.”

“You’re
welcome. I have the rest of your mother’s jewelry. All you need do is ask for
them, and I’ll take them out of my safe.”

“Once again,
thank you.”

***

On the carriage
ride home his mother dozed, but Bella, Amelia and Emma chatted overly much.
Thomas’s head began to pound and he messaged his temples. And his brother was
no better. Sebastian sounded like a silly debutante as well.

How
embarrassing. Next time he headed to his club he would take his brother and
toughen him up. One couldn’t have the eligible young ladies or their mamas
thinking Sebastian a pansy. Actually, the sooner he had him commissioned off to
the army the better. And where was that damn commission anyway?

“Did you see me
waltz with Captain Rycroft?” Amelia’s face beamed in the soft lantern light. “I
think he was quite taken with me. What do you think about him, Thomas?”

All occupants
of the carriage, except his sleeping mother, turned to him expectantly.

“Captain
Rycroft,” he said, coughing into his hand. “He has a stellar reputation as far
as I know and is a decorated war hero. Retired now, I believe, due to an
injury. His family is well known and respected. As the younger son of a
viscount he comes without title or lands, though.”

“But,” Amelia
sighed and leaned her head against the red velvet tufted seat and smiled
dreamily. “Yes, I know, but he is so handsome, and he told me he fought with
Wellington. He’s a hero. And I hardly noticed his injury to his leg.”

Well, Thomas
surmised, they could expect a call from Captain Rycroft tomorrow. “Tell me,
Isabella, sister dear, did any young gentlemen attract your fancy?”

Was it a play
of lantern light, or did his sister blush?

Bella sucked in
her lips nervously. So she did not want him to know who had caught her eye.
That made him even more curious, so he pursued it further. “When we are
inundated with gentlemen callers tomorrow, it would be extremely helpful if I
knew which one of them had your interest.”

“Why?” she
asked curtly.

“So I could
discourage the callers neither of you three ladies are considering as suitors.
Is that too much to ask?”

“No, I’m sorry;
forgive me.”

“I can clearly
see there is someone, but I can be patient. Just remember I am looking out for
your best interests as I am responsible for you. I only want what is best for
each of you.”

Thomas, sitting
opposite the young ladies, leaned forward and patted Bella’s hand. For a moment
he thought his sister would cry. “When you are ready to share, I hope you will
come to me.”

Thomas’s eyes
moved to Emma. He could hardly ignore her. He wished he could. Would his
inordinate interest in his ward go away eventually? Thomas hoped so, and the
sooner the better.

“Was there any
special gentleman who interested you, Emma? You appeared to have attracted the
notice of quite a few eligible gentlemen this evening.”

“I . . . that
is to say…” Her eyes fluttered from his face to Sebastian’s. Then those
inquisitive eyes settled on him—and damn if his pulse didn’t speed up.

And why, pray
tell, would she look at him inquisitively anyway? He’d asked her a question,
not the other way around. “So is there anyone in particular?” On some level,
deep down Thomas hoped her answer was ‘no.’

“It is late,
brother,” Sebastian interjected. “Certainly you are considerate enough to wait
until tomorrow to drill Emma about any potential suitors? This evening, with
her being introduced into London Society for the first time and foreign to our
ways, must have been trying enough not to have you badgering her about
suitors.”

“Badgering
her?” Thomas sat up straight and glared at his younger brother over their
mother’s sleeping head. And silently let Sebastian know he did not appreciate
his interfering. Thomas’s stomach revolted at the thought of he and his brother
coming to blows over Emma.
Or worse…Sebastian married to Emma.
It was
not that Thomas wanted her for himself… Well, that wasn’t really true. He did
want her, but in his bed—and the thought shamed him.

Thomas prided
himself in his ability to control his baser needs. Approaching her with his
physical desire to possess her body…that would never happen. Honor, respect and
responsibility meant everything to him. If one did not have those, what worthy
qualities could one have?

“Miss
Hamilton…” He bowed his head and forced his voice to sound contrite. “I am
deeply sorry if I embarrassed you with my line of questioning. But as you are
aware, I am your protector, chosen by your father. And as your protector, it is
my duty to find a suitable husband for you. I promise you I will not make that
decision lightly as I realize my decision will affect you until your dying
days. And at such time I find someone I deem worthy of your hand, I will expect
your honest opinion on the gentleman in question.” He raised his brows. “Do I
make myself clear enough for you?”

***

“Yes, Your
Grace.” Emma’s voice was low and toneless. How dare he treat her as though she
were a simple-minded child? Concentrating on breathing calmly, she closed her
eyes and didn’t open them until they reached Wentworth House. As she exited the
carriage, she ignored the hand offered by the duke and once inside voiced her
goodnights, withdrew to her room, and relaxed for the first time since the
awkward ride home.

Rosie, who had
waited up for her, helped her undress and put on her night rail. Emma climbed
beneath the coverlets of her bed, so sleepy that even the excitement of her
first ball failed to keep her awake.

***

Myles lounged
on a settee placed on the deep piled carpet in front of the fireplace in his
library. His back rested comfortably. His legs sprawled out in front of him,
and he held a glass of good Scotch whiskey in his long, lean fingers—one of
several he’d drunk since returning home from the Caulfields’ ball. He rose
several times and went to the sideboard to refill his glass, and then when his
legs became wobbly he carried the near-empty bottle back with him.

No sense
getting up every time Isabella’s lovely face and her adoring eyes flashed in
his mind. How had he been so blind that he had not noticed her affection
before? Of course, he had been absent for a year in America. Before that, to be
honest, he had looked upon her as one of his sisters.

“Damn you,
Almighty God, and your games of the heart.” What little Myles had eaten during
dinner churned around and around in his stomach. He prayed to God he could
reciprocate Bella’s love, but he knew praying for that would do no good. He did
love
Bella; just not in the way she wanted him to love her. And though
he wished it were otherwise, his heart was absent, drifting aimlessly somewhere
over New Orleans, perhaps never to return.

And though he
would have to marry some day for affection and companionship, and to produce
the all-important heir, he would not do Bella such an injustice as to choose
her. She deserved to be loved and loved deeply. In time she would forget him
and find another worthy of her heart.

Myles had to
believe that. He did not wish to inflict pain on Bella. He cared for her too
much to do that.

Emma would make
him a perfect wife––or so he had believed on the onset of their return trip
from America. By the time the ship docked in London he knew otherwise. Myles
could no more marry her than marry Bella. They deserved more than convenience
or friendship. They deserved to be cherished and loved.

During the next
society function he would have his own sister, Marissa, to think about. Due to
a stomach ailment she had missed tonight’s ball. Between retching into a
chamber pot and sobbing into her pillow she had been in no condition to attend,
which Myles knew had actually not been a bad thing. He had spent some time
assessing the eligible gentlemen that attended the ball. From the many in
attendance he’d narrowed the list down to a handful of candidates worthy of her
hand. After Marissa looked upon these he would be lucky if any of those met her
own preposterous qualifications for her potential husband.

Myles raised
his glass and drained the fiery liquid. With the help of the settee he was able
to stand, although he wobbled and nearly fell. Myles shuffled off to his
chambers and dismissed his valet for the night, then collapsed on his bed,
fully clothed. The last thing he visualized before sleep overtook him was
Sophie LaFleur and the hateful look she had thrown him when he wounded her
fiancé in a duel.

***

Thomas spent
the hours after returning from the Caulfields’ ball much as his friend Myles
had, only his drink of preference was brandy. He needed to numb his brain and
his traitorous body.

Emma…with her
soft voice, inquisitive blue eyes, delicate hands, and her lovely face, haunted
him. Everything about her haunted him. When they danced that evening, she had
felt so right in his arms. He could not remember dancing with anyone else that
evening except her. His hands still burned from the contact with her delicate
gloved hand and tiny waist.

Thomas downed
another glass of brandy. Try as he might, he could not get Emma out of his
head. And his body burned for her. He was turning into a degenerate of the
worst kind.

***

Edward
Worthington, Tenth Marquess of Amesbury, leaned against the wall of his dark
study in Mayfair. He wiped the sweat off his brow with his handkerchief and
swallowed the bile that rose in his throat, threatening to spew out.

“Bugger all,”
he moaned. “Where did I put that damn bottle?” He forced his body, which was
racked inside and out with violent tremors, to move. With hands he could barely
acknowledge as being attached to his body, he rummaged clumsily through his
desk drawers.

Panic
threatened to engulf him. If Edward did not find what he needed he would risk
being found sobbing on the floor of his study, curled up into a ball, shaking
from the pain of withdrawal. Not the stellar behavior one expected from a
marquess. There’d been an opportunity at the ball, but he’d ignored his
instinct to seek help from his two trusted friends. As if they would
understand.