“I do know. But sometimes a lady must take risks.” She stood, snagging the parcel off the bed and holding it out to Emma. “Will you do me a favor? I found this book while searching for theVenus. I have had it for an age, but it belonged to the duke’s mother, and as you are going over there shortly, I thought you might leave it in the sisters’ sitting room? It is across the hall from their brother’s study. You can sneak in and place it right near the large wardrobe there. They’ll find it and know what to do with it.”
Emma took it. It felt less like a hot coal than the one weighing heavy in her lap. “Of course. I am happy to help.”
Aunt Georgie cupped her face. “Thank you, my dear. And if you should have any questions about what you learn in theVenus, I am more than happy to answer them.”
“I, uh, yes. Thank you for that as well.”
Aunt Georgie left but not before she winked.
And Emma prepared to leave, too, hidingThe School of Venusdeep in the bowels of her trunk and stoutly refusing to look at the letter glaring at her from the desk as she donned her pelisse. She would have nothing to write to her father until she visited the duke, anyway.
If she succeeded in matching Lady Felicity—and she would succeed—it would be her first successful love match. The duke would pay her father well in, at the very least, a social connection and a hearty recommendation to others in need of matchmaking.
And perhapsThe School of Venuswould help. Amorous attraction, love, they were not the same, but they could go hand in hand.
She marched across the square and knocked on the duke’s door. On the wave of an inhale, she closed her eyes, found there the memory of a shadowed garden and a man looking at her like she was the only woman on earth. She was supposed to forget.
But his words whispered through her veins.
“I’m not convinced you’re real. I conjured you.”
“To fall in love with?”
“Yes. Perhaps. For one night.”
The door creaked, snapping her eyes open.
“Lady Emma?” the butler asked.
“Yes.” She blinked the night away and reentered the sunny present.
“The duke is ready to see you.”
But she was not ready to see him, not with his words mingling in her mind with Aunt Georgie’s book, an unexpectedly potent combination. “I…”I am unwell. There is an emergency. Someone’s died. I am terrified of meeting the duke with the notion of pleasure crowding my mind, so I will not be meeting with him today, thank you.“Aye.” She stepped into the house.
Jacobs headed for the stairs.
“Where are we going? Isn’t the duke’s study down here?” Emma peered down the hallway she’d walked down the first time she’d met him. Well, the second.
“He’s not there this morning. He asked to meet you in the gallery above. Shall I tell him you request a different location?”
“No, no. The gallery will do.” The paintings would give her something to look at other than him, but she’d have to leave Aunt Georgie’s parcel in the sitting room on her way out.
Jacobs led her upstairs, and as they reached the top of the first floor, she heard a curious sound.Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. In regular intervals.
No, not curious. She’d heard it before, and in the silence between the sound of a blade slicing into something solid, Jacobs opened a door and ushered her in.
Clearford stood with his back to her, tall and poised, blade-ready hand raised near his face, muscle bunched beneath the fine linen of his shirtsleeves.
Shirtsleeves, waistcoat, cravat. No jacket. And beneath the waistcoat a rather perfectly rounded…
She should not be looking at backsides. Curse Aunt Georgie for putting such heated notions into her head.
Clearford’s body flinched, and his arm whipped out, and the blade sailed so quickly across the room, she barely saw it, only heard thethunkas it buried itself deep in the… half a tree?... that seemed to grow on the wall at the other end of the gallery.
“Is that a tree?” she asked.
Clearford paused while reaching for another knife and spun around, his arm dropping against his side. The corner of his mouth kicked up. “It is. Several. You are late.”
