Page 6 of The Devilish Pleasures of a Duke

She shook her wrist. “If you do not release my hand this instant, I shall break your pinkie, William, and with an unforgivable amount of pleasure. I’d as soon marry a—a—”

“—barrow pig,” Adrian murmured as he began to unbutton his coat. He was glad now he hadn’t stolen those comfits.

“Hush, my pet,” the man unable to take a hint replied. “There’s someone standing on the stairs. We’re liable to be overheard.”

Emma glanced over her shoulder, releasing an exasperated sigh as Adrian met her gaze and smiled at her. “Oh. Not him again.”

He shook his head. What could he say? He should have escaped when he had the chance. Now he had no choice but to intervene. She had seen him. He’d seen her.

And typically, when Adrian made an entrance, affairs tended to go from bad to worse. Still, he thought in cheerful resignation, he understood the Boscastle brothers well enough to know they would not tolerate any mistreatment of their sister. Furthermore, they had championed him on more than one occasion since his return to England.

He had an obligation to return the favor.

Emma was not a woman to make idle threats. As distasteful a task as she had pledged, she would carry it through before enduring another moment of the clodpate’s touch. “I beg you, William,” she whispered, “stop making a fool of yourself. Release my hand.”

He thrust out his lower lip. “Not until you agree to marry me.”

She was immensely thankful for the inborn breeding that saved her from shoving him into the wall. How she had come to misjudge him would keep her awake for months to come. Her personal feelings, however, must be cast aside until she was shed of him.

“Let go of the lady’s hand,” a deep authoritative voice said over her shoulder.

“Why should I?” Sir William asked belligerently, and then, taking a closer look at the man who strode up behind Emma, abruptly obeyed. “Who the blazes are you, may I ask?”

“No, you may not.” Adrian stripped off his coat and handed it to Emma. The gesture drew her gaze down the broad contours of his chest. “Do you mind holding this for a moment?” he inquired politely.

“Yes, I mind,” she said, folding the garment carefully over her forearm. “In my experience when a man removes his coat—”

Adrian grinned.

“Disregard that last remark,” she said hastily, a peculiar sensation stealing over her.

“Who is this person, Emma?” Sir William demanded, staring up into Adrian’s hard-sculpted face.

She moistened her lips, whispering, “Lord Wolverton.”

“The Wolf?” he asked in an apprehensive under-tone.

She nodded mutely.

Sir William seemed to shrink. “Perhaps you ought to fetch Lord Heath to act as an intermediary.”

“Please do,” Adrian said with a lethal smile. “It’s always preferable to have witnesses when one is defending honor.”

“Not necessarily,” Emma retorted.

“Go, Emma,” Sir William said faintly.

“Yes, do.” Adrian stepped in front of her to confront the man who appeared to be losing his own powers of speech. “I’m a family friend, in case you were wondering. You, as evidenced by your misconduct, are not.”

Emma held Adrian’s coat out to him. “Put this back on, Lord Wolverton,” she whispered in an urgent voice. “We’re still at a wedding.”

His gaze lowered to her in a look she could only describe as incendiary. “I think we established that some time ago. Why don’t you go back downstairs and supervise the cutting of the cake?”

She shivered at the meaningful smile he gave her before he unfastened his cuffs. A smile such as his signified trouble. At a wedding, of all places. “Do not roll up your sleeves,” she whispered as he began to do just that.

She felt panic roil inside her. She had watched her brothers tuck up their shirtsleeves too many times with that same careless disregard not to realize that acts of violence, possibly involving missing teeth, would ensue.

“This is not anything you should concern yourself with, Emma,” he said in a dismissive voice.