Page 92 of The Devilish Pleasures of a Duke

“Not about your manners, only about your devious nature. You who pleaded for me to instruct you. You were elegance incarnate from your finger bowl to the filbert pudding.”

He unknotted his cravat, smiling at her. “What if I said I was merely watching what you did?”

“I wouldn’t believe you. And by the way, Adrian, Serena is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met.”

He winced. “And one of the most boisterous. I told you she didn’t want to marry me. She knows me too well.”

“Or not well enough.”

He unhooked the back of her gown with his free hand. Within moments the bisque-satin dropped to her feet. Her undergarments followed.

“By the way, Emma, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” He kissed the vulnerable curve between her shoulder and collarbone. “Haven’t I made that point clear to you?”

Adrian awoke before dawn and walked to the bluff overlooking the estate. Years ago he had often escaped here during one of his father’s tirades. Pretending he was a conqueror who commanded an invincible army, he would plot to storm the house and overthrow the duke. Foolishly he had hoped to liberate not only himself but his mother’s ghost.

A strong wind rose from the southeast, fighting his stance. He fought harder. He always had. And now—now he wanted peace. He could still walk away. Emma would fuss and insist he meet his duty, but in the end she would support his decision.

He’d sworn he wouldn’t stay.

He’d sworn he didn’t care what anyone thought of him. He had come back in part to prove to his father that he’d lived a full life without benefit of family or his aristocratic background.

But suddenly he wondered whether Emma had been right all along. He was the duke’s son, heir not only to his father’s wealth and position, but also to his obligations.

He was no longer a child playing conqueror. He stared across the estate, at the mist-enshrouded lake, the cattle grazing on the hills, and the village beyond. The golden stone manor house dominated the land as it always had. But it too showed signs of age and neglect.

Home.

It wasn’t home.

Home was the warrior angel climbing up the hill to meet him, waving his coat in her hands and shouting that he would catch his death standing out here in his shirtsleeves, and didn’t he feel the wind?

He took the coat from her hands and wrapped it around her. She was still fussing about something when he pulled her into his arms.

Scarfield needed a guardian.

The guardian needed Emma Boscastle.

“Is anything wrong?” he asked her, resting his chin on her head.

She wriggled out of his arms. “I’ll say. I have just gotten a letter from London.”

“From?”

“Charlotte and Heath. ‘No need to worry,’ they assured me.”

“Which of course means—”

“—there’s something to worry about.”

He guided her down the hill, his body shielding hers from the wind. “I don’t know why you would assume that.”

“Well, Adrian, Miss Peppertree has threatened to resign.”

“But she hasn’t?”

“Who knows? I’ve been warned not to believe anything I read in the papers about the academy and Audrey Watson’s house.”

“Who’s Audrey Watson?” he asked curiously. “I think I’ve heard her name before.”