Part Two
A mild breeze swept across the lush lawns of the park, thwarting the summer temperatures from climbing to unbearable heights. Soft pastels of linen and silk draped canopies dotted the landscape, with various households of the gentry lounging beneath their shade. They enjoyed a light repast and conversed with their neighbors, all the while silently strategizing their next move in the never ending game of courting.
Emma sipped her lemonade and shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the tight fit of her corset combined with the mild, sticky heat of midday making for an unpleasant experience. She could not fathom how Mary Margaret could appear so relaxed and agreeable, given the advancement of her condition, but she supposed when one is resigned to stay cooped up indoors, isolated from the goings on of Society, they relished any opportunity to be sociable. And today's picnic and promenade was providing plenty of social interaction.
Emma would have thought the morning's never ending parade of callers might have meant a reprieve from the ambitions of eager young men wishing to fawn over her attentions. Regrettably, no sooner had the servants finished constructing their picnic area than a small gaggle of gentlemen had arrived to pay their respects to the Viscountess, who had promptly invited them to dine with the Viscount and his family. Exasperated as she was with the intrusion, Emma could not bring herself to be wholly displeased by their presence when Mary Margaret's laugh rang out, a delighted shade of pink tinting her cheeks as she listened to the men share good natured barbs and tidbits of gossip they'd gleaned while spending time at Aesop's, the gentlemen's club.
Excited as her sister-in-law was for the arrival of her child, Emma knew she was also mourning the things she was having to miss out on during the waiting. Her guilt over not being able to properly support Emma during her first season had been palpable over the past several weeks, so being the center of the ton's attention was, perhaps, a small price for Emma to pay in order to give Mary Margaret a taste of what she had been missing.
If only that price did not include having to suffer the attentions of certain men, or risk awakening her brother's sense of duty.
"My Lord, look," Mary Margaret said, placing her hand on her husband's forearm and nodding towards one of the equestrian paths. "The Duke."
All heads snapped in the direction of the Viscountess' gaze. Emma's heart skipped at the sight of the Duke riding astride his sleek, black stallion before he slowed the beast to a stop and handed the reins off to one of the awaiting attendants after he dismounted.
"Wave him over, My Lord," Mary Margaret insisted. "I have not yet had the chance to give him my condolences in person."
David's expression briefly flashed his disinclination, but his wife's pleading gaze easily won out against the Viscount's misgivings. A doting smile spread over his features and softened the seriousness of his gaze as he lifted his wife's hand and placed a quick kiss of concession upon its back.
"Your Grace," the Viscount called out. "Please. Come join us."
The Duke's eyes flicked towards Emma, and her breath caught in her chest as it was wont to do whenever those forget-me-not depths threatened to pull her in. With a purposeful and commanding swagger, the Duke made his way over to the tent, cordially greeting all those present, while thanking the Viscount and Viscountess for their hospitality.
"Please, Lady Nolan, do not get up," His Grace said, waving off her actions when she attempted to stand with the others as a sign of reverence to his station. "A woman in your condition should be afforded every luxury, and undermining the rules of convention is an advantage one should take at every opportunity."
A chorus of laughter at the Duke's words rumbled through the tent, and Mary Margaret's cheeks pinked when the Duke shot her a rakish wink. David's complexion, however, could only be described as mottled as he was clearly regretting inviting the man into his wife's presence.
Before the Viscount could retract the kindness, The Duke's demeanor sombered slightly. "I appreciate the opportunity of an audience with you, Lady Nolan. I have been remiss in not thanking you for the kind letter you sent after my brother's death. Your words were a comfort to me."
Emma's chest tightened at the way the Duke's Adam's apple bobbed. The reluctant vulnerability radiating off him as those present shuffled uncomfortably in the wake of melancholy permeating the tent had her reaching out to place a hand on his forearm before she could think better of it.
"Our condolences again, Your Grace," Emma murmured. "Though I did not know your brother as well as the Viscount did, I knew him to be a good man. He will be missed."
"Aye, that he was," the Duke replied, an appreciative smile that did not quite reach his eyes lifting the corners of his mouth before his gaze dropped to where her hand was still resting on his arm.
Emma pulled her hand away and made a show of brushing out nonexistent wrinkles in her skirt while attempting to compose herself. An action that had her completely missing the shrewd glimmer flashing in her sister-in-law's eyes as she took in the exchange.
"We are the ones who have been remiss, Your Grace," Mary Margaret professed. "I should have extended an invitation for you to dine with us the moment you returned to town. I do hope you will allow me to remedy that oversight. Tomorrow night, perhaps?"
The Viscount opened his mouth, but his protestations were promptly cut off. "While I would be delighted to accept, I am afraid I am otherwise engaged tomorrow evening. Another time, perhaps?"
Emma did not know whether to feel relieved or grieved by the Duke's regrets, but her astonishment over her brother's response had no rival.
"Otherwise engaged? Is it to be dice or cards you'll be gambling your brother's money away at Aesop's then?"
Shocked silence reverberated through the open air of the canopy, but His Grace seemed unfazed by the Viscount's barb. "Neither, actually," he confided with an air of amiability, even though Emma could see quite plainly the tension her brother's words had set in the man's shoulders. "A boxing exhibition. The man I train under, Robin Locksley, will be featured in the main event, and I have promised to attend as a show of my support and backing." A sardonic grin was presented towards the Viscount as the Duke quipped, "Though I will admit to having placed a sizable wager in my man's favor, but gentlemen really should not speak of such things in the presence of delicate company, do you not agree?"
The awkward atmosphere intensified as a chagrined expression pulled at the Viscount's features before he could squash it. While Emma had a suspicion such a topic of conversation wouldn't necessarily be one The Duke would shy away from in mixed company, he clearly knew her brother well enough to know David's rigid sense of propriety would consider such a subject inappropriate for his wife's and sister's ears.
"I think you will find, Your Grace," Mary Margaret began, seeking to alleviate the lingering unpleasantness with her lighthearted tone and infectious smile, "that Miss Swan and I are not as delicate in our sensibilities as the Viscount would wish us to be." Chortles rumbled between the gathered men and Emma's cheeks heated up at the way the Duke raised a speculative brow in her direction. "Nor are we delicate of constitution," Mary Margaret continued. "So, perhaps you would be good enough to escort Miss Swan on a brief stroll around the park so she might stretch her legs and take in the air better?"
Emma's heart rate jumped and she did her best to keep her features pleasantly neutral as the Duke lifted his brows towards her while extending his hand.
"It would be an honour to promenade with you, Miss Swan. If you are amenable," he said, giving her a clear out.
Did he want her to take the out? It was not as though he'd come to the tent by choice. Of course, if she did not accept, she would likely be forced to stroll with one of the other young men present, and while some of them were harmless and pleasant enough, she did not wish to spend time in more banal exchanges of small talk, sticking only to those topics deemed suitable for her ears. At least with the Duke, she had the opportunity to discuss more tantalizing subjects, and besides, she owed him her own apology for the ghastly way she had treated him at the Dell ball.
"It would be my pleasure, Your Grace," Emma accepted, taking his hand as he assisted her to her feet, all the while keeping her gaze far from the displeased and disgruntled eyes of her assembly… her brother included.
"Excellent!" Mary Margaret responded with delight. "You two enjoy your promenade whilst Mr. Briar continues to entertain us with stories of these fabulous hedges he has at his country estate. One of them is in the shape of a dragon, did you say?"
Emma could almost hear the collective, silent groan following them from the tent as she and the Duke departed, and could not help the slight shake of her shoulders as she fought back a laugh.
"My most sincere apologies for taking you away from, what I can only assume, was a most titillating oratory concerning topiary gardening," the Duke quipped.
His words and cheeky tone were enough that she could no longer fight back against her mirth, and to her horror a most unladylike snort erupted from her, forcing her to cover her nose and mouth as she swung wide, mortified eyes up at him. Though he attempted to be gentlemanly, his own amusement could not be held back, and he was suddenly overcome with a full-bodied laugh that had a grin stretching wide over his face and his eyes crinkling in their corners, giving him a carefree appearance she had yet to appreciate.
"My apologies, again," he said, aware of the attention they were drawing with their antics as they meandered along the footpath, "But I am happy to note we are in agreement on the matter."
"It is I who should apologize," Emma replied. "For a most undignified response."
"Never apologize for merriment, love," he countered softly, "Truth be told, I find your laugh, undignified sounds and all, to be rather charming."
Emma's lips twitched with the start of a smile and her cheeks flushed. Wetting her lips, she scraped her teeth over the bottom one before stating, "I also wish to apologize for my behaviour at the Dell ball."
The Duke waved her off. "There is no need to apologize," he told her. "I understand all too well the frustrations of being thrust into the center of everyone's attention when such ambitions were never your desire." He glanced back over his shoulder at the company of men still gathered at her family's tent, and added, "For me, it is enterprising Mamas with aspirations for their daughter's societal advancement. For you, it is moon-eyed dandies who see you as some sort of conquest. The prize of the Season who will earn them the envy of their peers as well as a close association to the power of the Nolan name."
Taken aback, Emma's lips parted and her steps stuttered for a moment. "Precisely, Your Grace," she responded with astonishment clinging to her words, earning her a raised brow and quirk of his lip.
"Does it shock you to hear of my understanding?" he inquired. "We are not so different, you and I," he went on. "While willing to participate in The Season for your family's sake, you do not wish to bend to the conventions of marriage and therefore find the rituals of the Marriage Market to be a tedious exhaustion. Much in the same way as I, though new to this role, had determined to take my place in Society, but had not factored on one such as Lady Candlewyck issuing a challenge upon the matchmakers of the ton to get me settled whilst I am still mourning the loss of my brother and coming to terms with my new position."
His tone had become increasingly churlish and brooding as he spoke, and as though he had only just realized it, he gave her a contrite expression of self-reproach before muttering, "I must apologize yet again, Miss Swan."
"Never apologize for a prickly disposition, Your Grace," Emma replied with a coy smile and gleam of camaraderie in her eye. "Lady Candlewyck has become a thorn in both our sides."
An amused huff of agreement left his lungs and Emma chewed on her lip once more in consideration of what he'd revealed.
"Does that mean, Your Grace, that you are not looking to find yourself a wife this Season?"
The Duke's Adam's apple bobbed and he reached up to paw at the back of his neck, as though weighing his response.
"I know I must marry and produce an heir some day," he said. "But I will only do so on my own terms. There has been too much… upheaval in my life as of late. Too many things beyond my control that have altered the course of my life in ways I never anticipated, and because of that…"
"I understand," Emma said, alleviating him of the need to finish his thought. "It is why you were angry to find yourself in a compromising position with Ruby at Nemo's ball, and were willing to take a bullet rather than have one more thing about your life decided for you."
His eyes flicked to her, his jaw tightening at the reminder of how he had nearly been entrapped the night they met.
"But you needn't worry about Ruby," she assured him, nodding her head in the direction further up the path where the lady in question was promenading with her new beau, as her Granny followed. "Thanks to you, I was able to give Graham the push he needed."
The Duke hummed as he took in their smitten countenances and an ease settled over him as they continued their stroll towards the games and booths that had been set up to entertain the children.
"I must thank you again for your discretion and assistance in resolving that matter," the Duke said. "And you must let me know if there is ever anything I can do to return the favor."
A thought struck Emma, and before she had time to fully process her objective, she said, "You spend time at Aesop's with many of the other gentlemen, do you not, Your Grace?"
"Aye," he answered, with a wary but inquisitive expression. "What of it?"
"I wondered, what can you tell me of Mr. Briar?"
That seemed to get the Duke's full attention. "Mr. Briar? Have you changed your mind on the matter of marriage, because I can assure you, though he is a fine and well respected man, you can do far better than the likes of Mr. Phillip Briar."
"Don't be ridiculous," Emma laughed with a bit of a scoff. "I wish to discover something that would make him less appealing to my brother. Despite my assertions to go unmatched this season, my achievement of being named The Incomparable of The Season seems to have awakened a sense of duty within him. Mr. Briar has a sterling reputation and has caught David's favor, not mine. I'd hoped you might know if his desires lay with another young lady of the ton, much as you did with Lord Huntsman."
A relieved breath left his lungs, taking with it a tension Emma did not fully comprehend. "I will see what I can uncover for you, Miss Swan."
Emma opened her mouth to thank him when an enthusiastic "Hook!" was called out by a friendly, male voice, pulling both Emma and His Grace's attention to the booths beside them. Approaching was a man garbed in hues of purples and patterns of paisley, and though he was familiar looking to Emma - probably having seen him at some function or another - she had not yet been introduced to him.
"Hatterling," the Duke greeted, accepting the man's energetic handshake while also gripping his forearm in an affectionate manner. "How are you, old friend? How is your daughter?"
"Grace is well," the man answered, nodding towards a young girl who was among an assembly of children watching a puppet show nearby. "I am sorry I missed you last night. You left both the Dell ball and Booth's before I had a chance to come and say hello."
"Yes, my apologies," the Duke replied, his eyes casting furtively in Emma's direction before he explained, "I had an early session with Locksley this morning, and the man is intent on punishing me for staying away so long."
The man responded with an understanding chuckle, then his eyes fell on Emma; an awkward moment hung in the air before the Duke spoke again. "Forgive me, Hatterling, but have you met Miss Swan, Viscount Nolan's sister?"
"I have not yet had the pleasure," Hatterling replied, with a polite bow. "Jefferson Hatterling, Miss Swan," he introduced himself. "Earl of Hatterling, at your service."
"A pleasure, My Lord," Emma reciprocated, offering him a proper gesture in return.
"I will not keep you," Lord Hatterling said, turning his attention back to the Duke. "But I do hope to see you around more often, now you have returned." A mischievous sort of smirk pulled at the earl's lips, and something Emma could only describe as chaotic flashed in his eyes. "I have missed your company and... your art."
"Art?" Emma inquired, swinging her gaze up towards the Duke whose cheeks tinted pink even as he cast a stern look Hatterling's way. "I did not know you were an artist."
"I dabble at best," the Duke brushed off, the heat of his blush now tipping the points of his ears.
"Come, come, Hook," Hatterling tutted. "You are far too modest, the piece you left behind at Booth's last night was positively…" Again, the earl's eyes flicked to Emma before returning to meet the Duke's increasingly displeased gaze, "inspired."
"Yes, well…" The Duke began, clearly at a loss with how to respond to such praise, and Emma found it endearing how the man could not seem to take a compliment. "I assume I shall see you at the Exhibition tomorrow evening?" he asked, changing subjects.
"You shall, indeed," Hatterling answered before turning his attention to Emma once more. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Swan. Don't take any of His Grace's sh-"
"Good day, Hatterling," The Duke clipped in an admonishing fashion.
Once again Emma was forced to suppress a laugh that might produce another unseemly noise as the Duke guided them away from the earl and back along the footpath. "Colorful fellow," she chortled.
"An utter menace of a fellow," the Duke sighed. "Though, I suppose he is entitled to his eccentricities."
"Oh?" Emma asked. "How so?"
Again, the Duke seemed to weigh his response, guarding his words in a way that allowed him to keep their conversation just this side of proper. "Jefferson lost his wife a number of years ago and has been raising his daughter practically all on his own."
"How sad," Emma replied. "To lose the one you love so young."
"Aye," the Duke drawled in a way that had Emma's brows furrowed towards him, questioning whether she had missed something. "Make no mistake, I do believe Jefferson held an amount of… affection for his wife, but she was not the person he loved. Marriage between Jefferson and his true love is… not possible within our society, and while they can find ways to be together now, they must be discreet and forever hide their private life within the shadows."
"I see," Emma said, though in truth, she did not. Not really. Many men had mistresses, she was not naive to that. And she did not doubt that some of them fell in love with the forbidden woman, rather than the one they were contracted to marry, but none of them would she consider to be entitled to their eccentricities simply because they found themselves in an illicit circumstance they could never risk revealing, even if the situation were common knowledge. No. Emma got the impression Lord Hatterling's circumstances were somehow different, but she was unable to press the Duke further on the matter.
"Emma! Your Grace! Please, come and join us!" Ruby called out. She and Graham had arrived back at her canopy and were now joined by Elsa and Anna Dell, as well as Miss Belle French, another of Emma's contemporaries she'd had the pleasure of conversing with at both the Nemo and Dell ball, both of them navigating the season for the first time.
Pleasantries out of the way, the ladies all sat while the men dutifully stood among them, and soon, two separate conversations began to emerge. While the ladies all tittered with their speculations of the identity of Lady Candlewyck, Graham and His Grace discussed the impending exhibition. Emma could not deny her interests were much more attuned to the men's topic, so she quickly turned her attentions from all of Anna's theories and investigations into the matter of the author's true identity, and cast them instead upon the enthusiasm the men were sharing.
"So, you are well behind Locksley?" Graham confirmed. "Even though Nottingham is favored?"
"Nottingham packs a wallop, I will not deny it," the Duke remarked, "but Locksley has the footwork and the stamina. Mark my words, he'll emerge victorious."
"Well, far be it from me to not take an insider's insight into account," Graham chortled. "I'll be sure to place my shillings upon Mr. Locksley, then."
"You won't regret it," the Duke assured him. When his eyes shifted and met hers, he appeared stunned, and rather amused, to find her eavesdropping. "Have you an interest in the sport, Miss Swan?"
"My brother considers it to be a loathsome and barbarous form of entertainment," she said, silencing the ladies and grabbing their attention with her challenging quotation.
"And what have you to say on the matter?" he asked, confronting her with a demand to speak her own mind.
"I am afraid I am unable to garner my opinion, Your Grace, seeing as I have never been in attendance to witness a match."
"We should find a way to remedy that," the Duke suggested with an air of mischief, glancing over at Ruby's Granny in a conspiratorial manner. "Perhaps you would be agreeable to having Miss Swan join you as you escort Miss Lucas to the exhibition tomorrow evening?"
Emma whirled around in her seat and faced Ruby. "You are going? Why did you not tell-"
"Lord Huntsman only just invited me to attend as we were promenading," Ruby told her. "Granny agreed to chaperone."
All eyes fell on the edlerly woman who barely looked up over the rim of her spectacles as she continued to knit quietly in the corner. "Your brother has no appreciation for barbarism," she chided. "The Viscount wouldn't know a bit of fun if it came up and bit him in the arse."
The ladies all smothered their shock and amusement, but the men weren't quite as successful. Once the laughter subsided, Granny gave Emma and the Duke both a coy wink and went back to her knitting.
"That settles it then," the Duke said, offering his arm for Emma to take so he could escort her back to her family. "Should you wish it, I shall see you at the exhibition tomorrow night, love."
"Well, I suppose in the interest of research, so I might draw my own conclusion on the matter," Emma replied, taking his arm. "You shall see me tomorrow evening, indeed."
~/~
"Tell us, Mr. Locksley, is it true you've been training with the Duke?" Mr. Briar asked, while some of the men were assembled by the ring prior to the match, hoping to gain any bit of advantage they could before placing their bets.
"Let us not exaggerate my role," Killian countered. "I am a mere pupil. Target practice, at best."
The men all laughed while the few ladies who lingered demurely hid their amusement behind their fans. All but one, that is.
"His Grace is modest," Robin replied as Will wrapped his hands. "He's one of the least pitiful students I have ever trained." More guffaws rang out and both men exchanged a good-natured smile, the ribbing was to be expected, after all. "You'd do well following his lead and wagering on me today," Robin added, throwing the attention back at Killian before he entered the ring and continued through his wrap-ups.
"So, you're backing Locksley, Your Grace?" Mr. Cassidy inquired, sauntering up through the crowd and positioning himself next to Miss Swan. "Nottingham is the clear favorite. I myself have just wagered forty shillings on the man."
While Killian was not one to shy away from the topic of gambling whilst in the presence of ladies, he did find Mr. Cassidy's unnecessarily boastful statement rather crass and did not hesitate to let his expression indicate thus. "I hope you said a satisfying goodbye to them when you placed that wager," Killian quipped, "'cause you'll not be seeing them again."
Cassidy's face turned a bit purple as another chorus of chuckles echoed around them as the crowd dispersed to find their seats. Having not an opportunity to speak with Miss Swan much since she'd arrived with the Widow Lucas, Miss Lucas, and Lord Huntsman, Killian hoped to invite her to sit with him ring side as they cheered Robin on, but before he could make his way over, the damnable Cassidy set his sights on her.
"Miss Swan, I must say I am surprised to see you here this evening," Cassidy stated. "Most ladies cannot seem to reconcile their delicate sensibilities with the brutality of fights."
"You must have no sisters, Mr. Cassidy, if you think most women delicate and mild," Swan countered with an overly civil tone; one that almost masked her agitation. "A trip to the modiste during a silk shortage would disabuse you of such notions for good."
"Not likely," Cassidy scoffed. "As if I, or any gentleman, would visit the modiste for any reason."
"Oh, I can think of a reason or two to visit the modiste," Killian chimed in, pulling a square of linen from his inner pocket and presenting it to Miss Swan. "I took the liberty of acquiring a scented handkerchief for you, Miss Swan," Killian said. "Mr. Cassidy was correct in referring to these bouts as brutal. Sometimes the stench of their exertions or the scent of blood can become overwhelming, so I asked the modiste to have this linen prepared, trimmed in your family's color and scented with lilac… your favorite, I believe, if the modiste was not mistaken?"
"She was not," Swan responded, somewhat taken aback by his thoughtfulness, but certainly grateful for his intervention, allowing her to evade Mr. Cassidy's forthcoming request to take in the match with him, and instead, accept his gift and the invitation it represented. "Thank you, Your Grace. This is most kind of you. I shall happily accept it and your expert tutelage as we view the brutal match together."
"Not too brutal, I hope," Will quipped from above, staring down at the group of them with a cheeky grin. "Would hate for Robin or Nottingham to soil that lovely frock you're wearing, Miss, seeing as His Grace sits so close to the ring. Though, I suppose Hook could manage to procure you a fresh one when the fight's over, seeing as he knows his way around the modiste… and a lady's garments."
"That's quite enough of that," Killian scolded, steering Swan away from the ropes and over to the bleachers. "You'll have to forgive Will. He's…"
"Prone to telling the truth at the most inopportune time?" Swan suggested cheekily, with a coy flick of her eyes from beneath her lashes. "You think I do not know your reputation?"
"My reputation?" Killian challenged in a low, husky tone of curiosity. "What would you know of my reputation?"
"I know only what Lady Candlewyck reports… and that my brother all but forbade me from encouraging your attentions, though he would not give details as to why I should avoid your advances. However, it does not take much of an imagination to deduce that while abroad, your exploits have caused you to make quite a name for yourself as a rake and ne'er do well."
Killian hummed, giving off an air of unaffected amusement, even as his heart plummeted. Indeed, he was a rake with a deplorable reputation, but he'd determined to put such things behind him, to start anew under the mantle he now had to carry. He just hoped he was not too damaged in Swan's eyes, that she would be unable to look beyond his past deeds in order to see the man he wished to become. Of course, he could not make his intentions obvious. The aim was to woo her with friendship first, in the hopes she might reconsider her stance on marriage, then he could propose a proper courtship - leading them to a more lasting partnership.
"I prefer dashing rapscallion," he drawled, eyes fixed on the ring as the boxers came center to begin the match.
"Scoundrel is more like it," she quipped back, and Killian could see the teasing twitch of her lips in his periphery, pulling a smile from his own.
"I can live with that."
~/~
Boxing was brutal. And barbaric. And made the exhibition hall hot and loud and filled with a stench Emma had never experienced before.
She loved every moment of it.
It was exhilarating in a way she could not describe. Primal, even. The way these two men struck one another as the crowd cheered and jeered. The excitement that filled the tent, ratcheting higher with each round, the tension of knowing fortunes may well be won or lost upon the outcome, adding to the frenzy stirring the atmosphere.
Emma's heart hammered in her chest and blood rushed in her ears at the feverishness of it all, but nothing… nothing could have prepared her for the delirium and exhilaration that overwhelmed her when the heat within the hall reached such heights that the Duke was forced to shed his coat and roll up his sleeves while continuing to shout encouragement to his man.
Perspiration stuck to his skin in a glistening sheen that highlighted every flex of muscle and each damp strand of hair dusting his arms. His fingers nimbly rolled the delicate fabric of his shirt until it sat above his elbow, giving tantalizing glimpses of the base of his bicep as his arms continued gesticulating wildly. Emma's gaze rose and her breath quickened at the sight of his sweat shimmering where it had begun to pool in the hollow of his throat, made visible by the open collar of his shirt; a fashion he sported with pride as it gave a teasing glimpse of chest hair and the hard planes beneath, while flaunting the conventions of propriety. Wetting her lips, she followed a bead of moisture as it slipped down his neck and experienced the inexplicable compulsion to clamp her legs shut. Not fully understanding why, Emma began to rub her thighs together, desperate for the friction the action provided, though she could not say it alleviated the ache much. Fixated on the swell of sensations collecting within her core, she soon found it difficult to draw in breath. In danger of swooning, Emma sprang to her feet, not wishing to give Candlewyck or any member of the ton the satisfaction of making a spectacle of herself, and joined the Duke in his cries of support.
"Come on, Locksley," the Duke shouted. "Keep your wits about you!"
"Give him a facer, Locksley," Emma called out, earning her a far too alluring look of approval from the man beside her.
Emma wasn't sure how much more she would be able to endure, when at last Locksley caught Nottingham off guard with a final devastating blow, ending the match. Cheers erupted from those who had backed Locksley, while groans emitted from those who would soon be hounded by their debtors. The Duke's expression of joy left Emma feeling breathless once more and she had an alarming desire to throw her arms around the man's neck in celebration. Fortunately, she had wits enough to turn and embrace Ruby instead, but her heart skipped when she felt the heat of the Duke's body press in close as he reached around the women in order to shake Graham's hand.
The Duke's eyes narrowed in concern when she released Ruby and faced him. "Are you all right, love?" he asked. "You appear rather flushed?"
"Do I?" Lifting her hands to her face, Emma could feel the heat radiating off her cheeks which only intensified as she considered what had left her in such a state. "Must be all the excitement."
"Allow me to escort you outside for some air," he offered, taking her hand and leading her through the crowds.
"Do not be silly," she protested. "You should go and congratulate Mr. Locksley on his achievement."
"Robin can wait," he asserted, placing his hand at the small of her back once they cleared the mob and could more leisurely make their way into the courtyard.
"Truly, I am fine," she contested. "People are beginning to stare with the way you are hovering."
"Let them," he exasperated, marching her towards a bench where they could both sit and rest in the soft glow of the evening's lanterns, at a respectable distance, of course.
The cool night air was doing wonders, but it could neither fully combat the lingering strain Emma still felt in her nerve endings at the Duke's close proximity, nor the scrutiny she could feel in his gaze as he assessed her condition.
"Please do say something," she snapped, irritatedly. Feeling more and more foolish and increasingly unsettled over her mystifying response to such stimuli as the Duke… no, no, she admonished, mustn't tread that path again.
An arched brow and beguiling smirk toyed at the Duke's features, and he began rolling down his sleeves to ward off the night breeze. Confound it all if the action did not affect her much the same as its reverse had.
"You will be happy to know Mr. Briar will no longer be a viable option for your brother to set his dutiful sights upon," the Duke informed her.
"What?" Her head snapped towards his, her eyes wide with astonishment. "How did you manage to-"
"I spoke with him earlier today," he said, draping his arm along the back of the bench and propping his ankle upon his knee. "Seems his heart was captured by a Miss Aurora Spindle long ago, but her father has made it clear that only those in possession of a specific size fortune will be considered for her hand. I suggested he place a wager on Robin, one large enough that, should he win, might prove to be enough to toss his hat in the ring, so to speak."
"But what if Locksley had lost?" Emma exclaimed. "Mr. Briar could have been left in ruin."
"He said much the same at my suggestion," Killian told her, bringing his eyes up to capture hers as he imparted, "so, I simply asked him if she was worth the risk. And judging by that," he nodded towards the exhibition hall where Mr. Briar was exiting, surrounded by a group of well-wishers and congratulators, tucking a slip of paper into his pocket as he jubilantly called out for his carriage and instructed the driver to make haste towards Merriweather Lane, "she is."
"You know, Your Grace, I do believe we may be on to something of a solution for our mutual issue," Emma said as the blossoming of an idea began to bloom within her mind.
"What issue would that be, love?"
"Our Candlewyck issue," she said, "and the challenge she has put before both of us."
Lightly, he brushed the tips of his fingers over the pad of his thumb and pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth before acknowledging, "The challenge of navigating the season without any attachments forming like barnacles upon our lives, you mean?"
"Quite."
"I'm afraid I still don't understand."
Emma scooted closer along the bench, keeping her voice low as to not be heard by any passersby. "You have access to much knowledge about the men within our society," she reminded him. "Through your membership at Aesop's and engaging in various social endeavors, not to mention your position of power, you are privy to secrets we could use to our advantage."
Uncrossing his leg, he leaned over and matched her whispered tone. "Are you suggesting, Miss Swan, that we combine my knowledge of the men with that which you are able to glean from the ladies whilst conversing in drawing rooms and gossiping at the modiste-"
"Unless you hear the gossip there first," she quipped with a teasing smile.
He chuckled at her taunt, then resumed, "-so that we might play matchmaker and thereby leave ourselves with no suitable matches?"
"You have to admit, the idea has merit."
"I do," the Duke conceded. "But it is not without its compromises, either."
"Such as?"
"Forming such a partnership would require a close association between us," he murmured, the timbre of his voice sending a thrill up Emma's spine. "One that resolves my frustration, but exacerbates your own. I will continue to be free of Mamas throwing their daughters in my direction, but you will have to contend with suitors lining your drawing room." Cocking his head to one side, he reminded, "I thought you had wished to avoid such… annoyances."
"I did." She sighed. "But I believe that ship has sailed. Candlewyck has spoken and even if you went and declared yourself betrothed to another, I doubt very much the callers would cease to descend. Besides…" She paused and took an account of the truth she was about to express, making certain she truly was prepared to see this plan through. "Their presence, whilst exhausting to me, is a joy and a source of entertainment to my sister-in-law. I am willing to endure it for her sake, and yours, if it also means I can complete the season as I intended."
"Without any objective towards marriage," Killian affirmed, and if she did not know better, she might have thought she heard a whisper of melancholy in his statement.
"Exactly," she declared. "So, what say you, Your Grace? Have we an accord?"
"Aye," he agreed, "on one condition." Emma quirked a brow of inquiry at him. "That you call me Killian."
Palpitations reverberated painfully in Emma's chest from the way her heart leapt into her throat. "What?"
"If we are to engage in a bit of… subterfuge. Allowing the ton to believe we are courting whilst really achieving a different sort of end all together, then I would have you call me by my name. As I hope you will allow me to call you by yours… Emma."
She would never know where the breath came from that allowed her to reply, but miraculously, somehow, she managed to exhale, "Very well, then… Killian."