The Reluctant Duke (A Seabrook Family Saga) (9 page)

Thomas shot his
mother a reproachful look. “Don’t encourage her. Before we know it, she’ll be
the center of a scandal because she enjoyed herself overly much.”

There was no
escaping the sound of Emma’s sudden distressed intake of breath. Thomas felt a
sharp pang of guilt in his chest, compelling him to smooth things. “Please
accept my apology, Emma. That was uncalled for. You have been nothing but above
proper since we met.”

“Thank you,
Wentworth.”

“It’s ‘Your
Grace’ this evening,” he corrected.

“Pardon my
blunder,” Emma muttered.
The nerve of him
––to be so rude as to correct
her publicly. He could have said it quietly out of earshot of others. Instead a
few ladies and gentlemen, standing within earshot, stared at her in shock.

At that moment
there was nothing about her that wanted to call him ‘Your Grace.’ He did not
deserve the accolade. How dare he voice his criticisms aloud for his mother or
anyone else to overhear?

Emma fought the
anger firing up inside her belly. How dare
he
take
her
to task
about her manners? Why, Wentworth was the one needing manner reform. Even
though it was deemed bad manners to refuse someone a dance if she had spots
open on her dance card, she determined if ‘Wentworth’ asked her, she would
smile innocently and politely refuse.

Sudden panic
seized Emma’s throat as the duke began making introductions. Could she possibly
speak eloquently? Why, oh why, did her mouth feel as though she swallowed a
spoonful of sand?

“Your Grace.”
Wentworth bowed before the host and then turned with liquid grace to the duchess.
“Your Grace, it is an honor to be here.” He bowed and turned to his mother.
“May I present my mother, the Dowager Duchess of Wentworth?” After those
introductions were concluded, he pivoted to Emma, his eyes silently giving her
courage. He took her gloved hand in his. “Your Graces, may I present my ward,
Miss Emma Hamilton, from Boston.”

Emma delivered
a perfect curtsy, then rose. “Your Grace,” she nodded her head to the duke then
turned and nodded to the duchess. “Your Grace.” Before she could ascertain what
came next, Wentworth led her away…and into the grandest ballroom she had ever
seen. The walls seemed to expand to make room for the formally attired
gentlemen and the ladies dressed in the most exquisite ball gowns imaginable.

Desperate to
gather her wits, Emma inhaled as deeply as she was able––not easy with her
corset––and let the air out silently. Then she wished she hadn’t breathed so
deeply. The overpowering aroma from the flower arrangements had her head
tingling. Amelia and Bella glided toward them with wide smiles on their faces.

“I almost fell
forward during my curtsy.” Bella blushed. “Fortunately Sebastian pulled me back
without much ado. At least I pray no one noticed.”

“Did you hear
the whispers? Some say the Prince will be here tonight,” Amelia confided, her
eyes wide with excitement.

“He might. He
usually puts in an appearance at the opening ball,” Wentworth said, his voice
carefully neutral. “But with him, anything is possible.”

Did Wentworth
not find it exciting to see the Prince? Emma most certainly did. And then her
stomach dropped. Could her constitution take the excitement of meeting the
Prince? She would surely swoon.

“Wentworth,”
his mother broke in, “please be a dear and escort me to Lady Smiley and Mrs.
Garland.”

He turned to Emma
and his sisters and bowed. “Excuse me, ladies.” Wentworth eyed his brother.
“Sebastian, duty calls.”

Mesmerized by
the masculine yet graceful way the duke strolled across the room, his mother on
his arm, it took Emma a moment to realize Sebastian was speaking to her.

“Emma.”
Sebastian cleared his throat. “When the dancing begins you must promise me the
first set.”

“Yes. I would
be delighted to, my lord.” She smiled into his handsome face, trying to see him
and not how he resembled the duke.

“Oh, look,” Bella
gasped. “Here comes Myl . . . I mean Lord Norwich and Lord Amesbury.”

Myles
acknowledged Emma first by sweeping her a decadent bow. She tried not to see
the hurt in Bella’s eyes. “Miss Hamilton, it is a pleasure to see you again. I
trust you are recovered from our long ordeal at sea?”

Emma curtsied.
“Indeed, my lord, I am. And I trust you are as well?” He took her proffered
hand and raised it to his lips, brushing her knuckles lightly.

He grinned,
“What happened to ‘Myles?’ I thought we were on a first name basis.”

“Surely it is
improper to speak so in public?”

“Bloody
propriety,” Myles said, and Emma covered her mouth to stifle her laugh.

“Miss Hamilton,
may I introduce you to my good friend––Wentworth’s friend as well.”

“Please,” Emma
encouraged.

“Edward
Worthington, the Marquess of Amesbury. May I present, Miss Emma Hamilton.”

The marquess,
who had bowed perfectly straight at the waist, rose and smiled. “It is a
pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Hamilton.” Amesbury glanced at Myles,
then back to her. “I feel as though I know you already, what with all that my
friends have told me about you and your circumstances.”

She curtsied.
“My lord.” Lord Amesbury was as handsome as her duke.

She froze.
Her
duke?
Since when had I thought of him as my duke?
No time to
contemplate that at the moment.

“Lady Bella.”
Lord Amesbury bowed, then turned to Amelia. “Lady Amelia.” Both sisters
curtsied.

“Lord
Amesbury,” they said simultaneously.

Emma watched
Myles greet Bella and prayed he saw the longing in her eyes. Truly they would
make a spectacular couple.

“I beg your
leave, ladies.” Amesbury bowed, looking suddenly distressed.

Myles did the
same. “I must leave as well.”

Bella huffed as
the men walked away. “Myles does not even know I exist. Why, I could undress
down to my chemise and he would not even bat an eye.”

“Bella,” her
sister scolded, “where do you come up with such shocking things to say?” Then
Amelia softened her voice. “Myles does know you exist. I’m sure he does. But I
think he looks at us like younger sisters.”

“I don’t want
to be his sister,” Bella huffed. “He already has five of them. I want to be his
wife.”

The other two
looked around uneasily, worried Bella’s proclamation had been overheard.

“Shhh, people
are looking,” Amelia whispered. “Mother will feign a headache and make us leave
early if we make a scene. Then we will be the topic of all the gossip rags
tomorrow.”

Emma
interrupted, “Who is this vision hurrying toward us?”

“That would be
Lady Elizabeth Duncan, Amesbury’s betrothed,” Amelia answered.

“Why would he
leave in such haste then?” Emma raised a silent brow. “Ohhh, he saw her coming.
But she is lovely. Why—”

“Lady Beth,”
Amelia said as she grasped both of Lady Beth’s hands in hers. “You look lovely.
How are your wedding plans coming along?”

Emma could only
come up with the word
anguish
to describe the look that crossed Lady
Beth’s beautiful face.

Emma would give
anything to have Lady Beth’s dark mahogany hair and dreamy brown eyes…with
their hint of amber gleaming within. There was nothing unusual about Emma’s
blond hair or her blue eyes. Lady Beth looked exotic and, at the moment, she
also looked sad. Emma made a mental note to be friendly with her.

Lady Beth
bobbed a quick curtsy and smiled quietly. “Our plans are coming along nicely.
Mama is enjoying herself immensely. Thank you for asking, Amelia. Although I
might say plans would be going along more splendidly if my fiancé would stop
hiding from me. Oh, my.”

She tugged her
hands free from Amelia’s, covered her mouth, and blushed a deep pink.

“I did not just
say that, did I? Please forgive my impertinence.” Lady Beth looked at Emma, her
eyes wide with embarrassment.

“Where are my
manners?” Amelia scolded herself. “Lady Beth, this is Miss Emma Hamilton, from
America. Her father passed, and she is Wentworth’s ward.”

Lady Beth and
Emma both curtsied. “Miss Emma, on the occasions that Amesbury acknowledged me
and we chatted, he told me about you. Welcome to England. I hope we can become
friends.”

“Indeed, I
would like that.” Emma smiled warmly, wondering how Amesbury had known about
her. “I just had the privilege of meeting your betrothed, and he seems nice.”

“Thank you… Oh,
no.” Beth paused with panic. “The music is beginning. Do you think he will
dance with me?”

“He must.” Emma
looked pleadingly at her two newly acquired sisters. “Surely he must, right?”

“Yes, he must,”
Bella and Amelia agreed.

***

Thomas watched
Emma and his sisters from across the crowded ballroom as they conversed with
Lady Beth. His chest swelled with pride. As far as he could tell, Emma, Amelia,
and Bella were the comeliest debutantes at the ball. Of course, Lady Beth was
also attractive, but she was spoken for.

Amesbury was a
fortunate man, although he did not think so now. Thomas thought he would soon
enough, on their wedding night and every day and year thereafter.

The orchestra
struck the opening chord of the first set of the evening, and young gentlemen
tripped over each other to request a dance from the eligible ladies. Thomas’s
legs began moving across the room toward Emma. Part way his ears recognized a
quadrille, and he headed over to the punch table instead.

When he danced
with Miss Hamilton it would be a waltz. Because, bloody hell, he had to get his
hands on her.

Hopefully,
after he did dance with her, this crazy obsession he had––to hold her and to
touch her––would end. Thomas frowned when Amesbury came up beside him.

“Should you not
be taking this opportunity to dance with your Lady Beth?” Thomas asked.

The marquess
shrugged his shoulders. “I will, in due time.”

“Where is
Myles?” Thomas looked out on the dance floor and shook his head. “Never mind, I
see he’s dancing with Lady Daphne. He’s wasting his time. She’s fortune hunting
for her daddy to replenish the family coffers he so wastefully spent on his
mistresses. I hear she is free with her favors as well. On second thought,
Myles had said he didn’t want a virgin bride. She might just be the one.”

“Over my dead
body,” Amesbury huffed.

Thomas cocked a
brow.

“She is a
stupid girl.” Amesbury added, “I’m quite certain she is still a virgin,
although not an innocent. At least not when I––”

“Amesbury?”

“What? It was
one little assignation in a dark garden last season. She giggled like a silly
schoolgirl. She would never do for Myles.”

Shocked at his
friend’s admission of seduction, Thomas tucked that to the back of his mind and
eyed the dancers flitting across the ballroom floor. When he spotted Sebastian
and Emma dancing and laughing as they changed partners, then came back to each
other again, he made a rude noise.

“Did I just
hear you snort?” Amesbury asked, smirking.

“No, you did
not,” Thomas grumbled.

“Who is the
lucky young lady attracting the eye of the famed Duke of Wentworth? Otherwise
known as the ‘Reluctant Duke?’” His friend snickered.

“Sod off.”
Thomas stormed away and wandered out onto the veranda to cool his temper. When
he spied three of the most persistent marriage-mart mamas he detoured back,
hoping he hadn’t been seen. The Season was not an enjoyable time for a single,
titled gentleman who wanted to remain that way.

***

Emma’s heart
pounded and her head spun as she took to the dance floor for the fifth time in
a row. She was once again dancing with Sebastian. It was her first waltz and
the first time she had ever been this close to a man. No wonder some places
banned the waltz. It did feel indecent with her hand clasped within Sebastian’s
and his other hand resting lightly on her waist, her hand on his shoulder.

“You do realize
this is our last dance this evening?” Sebastian said. Emma smiled up into his
face as he twirled her gracefully around the dance floor. Sebastian danced as
though his feet hardly touched the ground. She had not realized gentlemen could
be so light-footed.

He grinned
teasingly down at her. “If we dance a third time people will take it as a sign
we’re betrothed.”

“Oh!” Emma
didn’t look at him; rather she looked around to see who watched them.

***

Sebastian
winced at the sound of Emma’s ‘oh’ and tried to ignore the sudden tensing of
her body.
Did she not find him worthy to be her husband?

They made
another sweeping turn around the floor, and he found his brother’s eyes openly
glaring at them. No. Not at them. More precisely, at Emma––with a
possessiveness that sent icy tingles up Sebastian’s spine.

Bloody hell!
Did Thomas want Emma for himself? He would not dare… Thomas would have to be
blind not to have seen the way Sebastian looked at Emma. The way Sebastian
already longed for her and craved her attention. He knew his feelings were
obvious to anyone who knew him.

Sebastian would
discuss his feelings for Emma with his brother later that evening. He could not
bear to lose Emma to his brother––or to any other man, for that matter.

Staring down
into her upturned face and holding her close seemed the most natural thing to
him. Never,
ever
had he burned for anyone like he did for this young
American. All he had to do was hear her soft voice and heat burned down low in
his belly. His body craved hers, and he knew damn well if he visited a ladybird
it would not help. Only Emma would do.

Though he was
younger than Thomas by four years, and his brother still saw him as a young
lad, he was anything but. He had lived and experienced love and life just as
the duke had. And he’d run the estates here for over a year in his brother’s
absence, even improved some things.