"Are you all right now, Miss?" the stranger asked. "I think you might need to sit down, if your leg still hurts."
"I'm...all right, Your Grace," Cecilia answered. "I merely stumbled, but it doesn't hurt that much. Thank you. You are so kind."
Your Grace?
Emma's heart sank as the truth settled over her like a heavy blanket. Cecilia hadn't stumbled. She didn't need assistance. This had been a plan... a reckless, foolish plan to trap the Duke of Montclaire into a scandal that would force him to marry her.
But despite Cecilia's efforts to appear flustered and in need of assistance, Emma could see the truth in her sister's eyes. Cecilia wasn't looking at the man with the soft, admiring gaze of someone smitten, or someone looking to seduce a man. Instead she looked scared. Her hands trembling as she clasped them together, glancing at him as though he were a predator and she his prey, her voice shaky when she addressed him.
It had definitely not been a well thought out plan.
And judging from the look on the duke's face, he had no idea he was being set up.
Without thinking, Emma let out a sharp gasp and stumbled forward, clutching her ankle as though she had injured it. "Oh!" she cried, her voice loud enough to draw attention, but not so loud that it drew that of the passersby. "Cecilia, help me! I think I might have twisted my ankle!"
"Sister!" Cecilia gasped too, squatting down to help her."Are you all right?" she asked, her voice trembling with genuine concern now.
As soon as the duke was out of earshot, and Cecilia was close enough, Emma leaned in and with a harsh whisper, she said. "This is scandalous, Cecilia. Unacceptable. There are people in the garden coming this way and our reputation will be ruined if you are caught like this. We will talk about it at home, but for now, go back into the ballroom and stay find Alice and Lavinia."
Cecilia's face flushed with shame, her eyes darting away from Emma's gaze. She didn't know what to say, so without a word, she nodded quickly, her hands trembling as she fumbled with the folds of her gown. She stood up abruptly, her movements stiff and awkward, as she began to walk back to the estate.
The duke, still visibly confused, stepped forward instinctively as Emma winced and clutched her ankle. He offered his arm, his expression a mix of concern and bewilderment. "Allow me to assist you, Miss," he said, his voice steady but cautious.
Emma hesitated at first, before leaning on the duke's arm, her hand resting lightly on his as she straightened herself. Once she was certain Cecilia was far enough ahead and couldn't overhear,she turned her head slightly toward the duke, her voice low but sharp.
"You should be more careful, Your Grace," she said, taking a step back as she ran her hands over her dress. "Do you have any idea what could have happened tonight? How badly this could have all turned out?"
The duke tilted his head to the side. "I don't–" he paused and scanned the garden. "The lady fell, and she needed help. All I did was merely–"
"Help her?" she questioned and shook her head. "You could have been trapped in a marriage without even realizing it."
Emma paused, recalling Alice's words. If he truly was the Duke of Montclaire, then like she heard, he didn't grow up in London, and as such, Emma could not fault him for knowing so little about the underhandedness of high society, especially when it came to securing a match.
"You are in London now, Your Grace," she continued with a sigh. "Not some remote countryside where I assume things are simpler. High society is unforgiving, and there are those who would not hesitate to use even the slightest hint of impropriety to their advantage. Even the most honest of intentions can be read wrongly."
The duke's eyebrows furrowed. "Are you suggesting that your sister–"
"No," Emma cut in, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "But I am suggesting that you tread more carefully, Your Grace. You may be new to this world, but it is a world that thrives on scandal and manipulation. If you wish to survive it, you must be vigilant. Tonight could have ended very differently for you and for mysister. People cannot catch you alone with a lady in such a place. At least, not without a chaperone."
He crossed his arms and his gaze traveled from her head to her toe that somewhat sent a shiver down Emma's back. "What about you?" he questioned.
Emma cleared her throat, struggling to meet his gaze. "What about me?"
"You are a lady and you're here... alone... with me in such a place," he answered. "Shouldn't you be weary of the thing you complain of? Don't you require a chaperone?"
"I am a chaperone," she mumbled, staring down at her feet.
"I beg your pardon?" he asked, taking a step forward.
"I am a spinster, I don't need a chaperone," she answered, this time lifting her head to meet his gaze in what seemed like defiance.
The duke fell silent, his arms crossed in front of him. His imposing frame towering over her like a beast from some old tale... broad-shouldered, tall, and built with a strength that seemed almost unnatural. His dark eyes, sharp and unyielding, searched her face as though he were trying to unravel a mystery. His expression was unreadable, yet piercing, and the intensity of his gaze made her pulse quicken. It was the first time anyone had ever looked at her like that, with an immersed curiosity that felt almost invasive, as if he could see past every carefully constructed wall she'd built. Emma's breath caught in her throat, and her cheeks warmed under his scrutiny. She held her breath, unsure whether to look away or hold his gaze, feeling both exposed and strangely captivated by the man who stood before her.
Slowly, Solomon's lips curved into a knowing smile, as though he had finally found the answer to whatever question he had been asking himself. "I see," he said, his voice low and tinged with amusement. "So, you were protecting me from your sister's... scheme."
"I was protecting her," she answered and finally lowered her head. "Not you, Your Grace."
Solomon's smile widened, and there was something in his expression, something warm and appreciative that made her heart skip another beat. "Then I owe you a debt, Miss..." his voice trailed off.
