Page 61 of The Devilish Pleasures of a Duke

“I have enough in my wife and family that I do not feel the lack,” he replied.

“Dear Heath,” she said with a rueful smile, “what would we have done without you?”

He sighed. “Is there something you wish to confide in me? I would never violate your trust.”

“There is only one thing,” she answered, her gaze downcast.

“Yes?”

“I want you to know I perceive that whatever sacrifices you made, whatever you feel you lost during the war you have more than gained back in wisdom and kindness.”

“That is all?” he asked in patent disappointment.

She looked up again, her blue eyes playful. “The Boscastle Inquisition is over. We are no longer children, and I am old enough to choose my own course.”

“That is not the answer I hoped to hear.” He grinned helplessly. “In fact, it is not an answer at all, you clever woman.”

Be happy, Emma.

Those had been her late husband’s last words to her, his benediction.

But he had not told her how.

Be happy.

And then he had expired, leaving her bereft but not alone, for no sooner had his coffin been lowered into the ground than her brothers had swooped down to convince her that she must abandon her young ladies’ academy in Scotland and move to London where they could watch over her and protect her from all the evils the world inflicted upon young vulnerable widows such as herself.

As it had turned out, and not exactly to Emma’s regret, she had been the one to watch over the Boscastles and warn them of the constant perils they sought and miraculously escaped unscathed, with the tragic exception of their youngest brother Brandon.

But Emma was not about to complain. Guarding her siblings had filled the void in her life, and now with all of them married, she could turn her nurturing instincts to the young ladies of London who so desperately needed the guidance of an experienced gentlewoman.

But suddenly the tables had turned.

The rogues were paying her back in kind.

They’d always accused her of meddling in their affairs. Now they were the meddlers.

It was over the next two days, however, that she realized how the strong arms of her family had begun to tighten about her like shackles. Scarcely could she take a cup of tea without one of her brothers hovering at her elbow. One or another of the demons seemed bent on accompanying her everywhere.

Since when had Devon taken such a keen interest in haunting the library the exact hour that she did? And when on earth had Heath ever enjoyed shopping for lace and haggling over the price of a hanky?

Still, it was not until her next unplanned encounter with Lord Wolverton at the museum that she knew a bona fide conspiracy had been hatched to prevent her from being alone with Adrian. She and Charlotte were guiding the girls for a history lesson, when Drake appeared from behind an Egyptian sarcophagus and meandered past her to a collection of ancient pottery. Drake and ancient art?

Clearly her wicked brothers had decided they had reason to intercede.

“How did you know I would be here?” she whispered to Adrian as he followed her into the Roman gallery ahead of the girls.

“I have a spy in your house who informs me of your whereabouts.”

“You don’t,” she said softly. “It’s Harriet, isn’t it? How could you, Adrian? You haven’t told my brothers?” she asked in an undertone. She swallowed hard. “They know. There’s no other explanation.”

Adrian trailed her at a respectable distance. “Well, they didn’t hear it from me. I would rather die than betray you.”

She noticed Harriet sneak away from the group. All of a sudden she seemed to have lost control over her entire life. “Harriet, do not place your hand into that urn. You don’t know what might be in there.”

The air was chill inside the museum. Rain had fallen steadily throughout the day. Yet with Adrian’s warm, wool-cloaked figure at her back, Emma felt almost overheated. In a barely audible voice, she asked, “Why exactly are you following me, Adrian?”

“Because I want—because I—oh, hell, Emma, may we walk alone in the hall for a moment?”