Page 44 of The Devilish Pleasures of a Duke

“If there was ever anything wrong with him to begin with. I think it was a ploy to bring me home.”

“Do you expect me to believe that your father feigned a deathly illness to bring you back home?”

“Yes.” And he assumed she would take his side. He had done nothing wrong to his way of thinking.

“You are his son, Adrian,” she said, meeting his gaze. “It is your duty and your birthright to honor him.”

“Honor him?” he said in disbelief. “That old—”

“It is what you were born to,” she said gently. “He cannot disinherit you. It’s time to put your personal feelings aside.”

“Is that right?” He stepped into her small frame, a tactic, he knew quite well, that was usually distracting. “Scarfield told me for years I was born of a whore and that I wasn’t his. Do you expect me to put aside years of abuse?”

“Let him make amends, that’s all, and then you can decide. At least you can hear him out.”

“Why should I?” he challenged her.

“Have you ever considered what would happen to England if all our blooded aristocrats simply decided to abdicate?”

“I despise him,” he admitted, still waiting for her to agree his enmity was justified.

She vented a sigh. “No matter how bitter your feelings, you have to face him. For your sake even more than his.”

“Don’t tell me what I feel or what I must face,” he said, raising his brow. “Just help me.”

“I’m not sure how.”

“Neither am I. But there you have it, Emma,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. “This all proves I need—”

She laughed. “What?”

“A wife. Perhaps what I need is—a wife.”

God help him. Where that notion had sprung from he could not say, but all of a sudden it made sense.

“A wife,” she said, shaking her head. “I couldn’t agree more. Yes, you do. A duke definitely needs a wife.”

They both heard the quiet knock upon the door at the same instant. Adrian swiftly moved aside while Emma returned to her chair, calling out, “Yes. Who is it?”

“It’s Charlotte. May I see you a moment?”

Emma bit her lip, glancing up guiltily at Adrian. He gestured to the side door behind the desk that gave into a private corridor. She nodded in obvious relief as he made a discreet escape.

She did her best to behave in her usual manner as she unlocked the door to admit her cousin. At first Charlotte seemed too agitated to notice anything amiss.

She prayed her cousin would not hear Adrian’s footsteps fading away in the anteroom corridor.

“What is it, Charlotte?” she asked in concern.

“Why did you lock—oh, never mind.” Charlotte glanced around the library. “It’s her. Lady Clipstone is here and demanding to see you. At this hour, without invitation or forewarning. Hamm did his best to send her away, but I thought it imperative you should know.”

Her. Her enemy. Battle flames burst to life in Emma’s heart.

Ever a Boscastle at the ready to defend her field, she straightened her back. No wonder Charlotte looked flustered. There was only one woman in London with the effrontery, with the instinct, to arrive in the wake of Emma’s personal dilemma and use it to devious advantage.

“Where is she?” she asked tersely.

“The formal drawing room. I served her tea.”