A Bluestocking for the Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel (The Hale Sisters Book 1)
A Bluestocking for the Duke: Chapter 4

Emma stepped into the foyer of the Terrell Estate, back stiffening at the sight of her father.

     “What is the commotion about?” he asked, looking back and forth, although they were alone, and Colin was nowhere to be seen. “Did you have an argument with His Grace?”

     “Papa,” Emma whispered, shaking her head. “I do not wish to explain myself.”

     “We are guests in this home!”

     “Father.” She stopped him. “It was merely a spat. We will have cooled down by dinner, I promise.”

“You do not have to marry him,” he said. “If you cannot make peace now, things will not heal simply because you say your vows.”

“I—I know that,” Emma said. “But we are at peace. We had a small disagreement. Calling off the union would be rash.”

     Her father sighed, his eyes softening a bit. “Go upstairs and take an hour before mealtime.” He looked both ways to see if any wandering eyes were watching, but once again, they were alone. He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, in the way he always did, because affection made him uncomfortable, and yet he still couldn’t help himself. He truly did love his family, even if he didn’t say it as much as he should.

     Emma hurried up the staircase and shut herself in her room, the bed looked warm, so she laid down, her back hitting the mattress with a thud. She closed her eyes.

     And there she was, behind her eyelids, trapped in a passionate kiss with the Duke, his strong hands greedily pulling her closer, bunching her dress up, and cradling her body as if she was exactly what he needed. Her arms were pressed against him, palms pulled away from his chest as if a lack of touch on her behalf could make her engagement any less scandalous. She opened her eyes, cheeks turning red at how quickly her imagination betrayed her.

     Emma had never gotten so close to a man. Always a respectable arm’s length away. In fact, she’d never imagined being so thunderstruck by something so simple. It was barely a kiss. How could something so simple ever be so magnificent? It couldn’t be. But that thought didn’t comfort her at all. If a kiss was mundane, just a chore between a married couple, why did she suddenly crave it more than air or a hot cup of tea on a brisk day?

     What was the fire that raged every time she imagined his hands wandering her body and tugging her closer?

     There was a knock on the door. Emma shot up in bed, mouth hanging open, astonished by the fact that she was overthinking something that she was likely exaggerating after all. He was a proper man. He would never get that close. Never. She must have imagined it.

     “Yes?” Emma’s voice was shaky as the words came out, but hopefully, her caller didn’t notice.

     “It’s me,” Harriet replied softly on the other side of the door.

     “Come in.”

     The door slowly opened, squeaking sharply. Emma winced and pressed her hands to her lips, still feeling them burn.

     Harriet stood in the doorway, her eyes glassy and her mouth downturned. “What happened?” she asked, closing the door.

     “Ugh.” Emma rolled her eyes back and fell against the bed. “It was nothing,” she said.

     “I cannot believe that.” Harriet had a straighter frame than her sister. She was slight and athletically built, and her features were soft and handsome. She possessed a subtle androgyny, her nose sharp and defined, her lips small and round, and her cheeks full. She was classically remarkable. Emma had always been taken aback by how much her younger sister could pass for a Greco-Roman statue if she stood perfectly still.

     “Truly,” Emma lied. “We had a rather small disagreement. We can boil it down to jitters. Nothing else. We both want this to work. It was nothing meaningful. I am sure he has already forgotten about it.”

     “Are you doing this for me? I could not live with the fact that you would put yourself into an unhappy marriage for my sake,” she pleaded, her eyes big and watery.

     Emma bit her cheek, her heart dropping at her sister’s words. “Harriet.” She shook her head.

     “The viscount will wait for me. I am sure of it.”

     Emma breathed in deep trying to still herself. Harriet was thinking with hope, not her head. No sane man ready to marry and begin his life would comfortably put aside his own plans and wait. For all he knew, it could be another year, another two or three. He would be mad to wait that long. And he was undoubtedly in love, but he was not mad.

Harriet was so forceful about Emma marrying for love, but how long would it take to find a man she adored? It could take years, or if London was as bleak as it seemed some days, it might never happen.

     “You mustn’t even consider it.” Emma smiled, sitting up and placing a hand softly on her sister’s cheek. “You noticed how much of a connection we made this morning.”

     “I—yes.” Harriet nodded, looking into her sister’s eyes like they had all the answers.

     “Exactly. He and I will be perfectly in tune in no time. He is an incredible man. And…” She paused, smiling. “A disagreement it may have been, but there was something there. Passion. Something. Two people can only argue intensely when something incredible is on the line. That is how deeply connected we are.” Emma was almost too romantic for her own good. Maybe not in practice, but she had the imagination for it, and Harriet, ever the idealist, ate up her words like they were candied.

     “That’s beautiful,” Harriet whispered.

“Have you ever argued with Lord Northwick?” Emma asked.

“A few times. There are some things we do not always see eye-to-eye on.”

“Love is like that.” With steady hands, Emma tucked a piece of hair that had come unfurled from her bun back in. “All kinds of love. Family, friendship, romantic. If it is not difficult or scary, then what is on the line?”

“Oh my, Emma, you are so wise.”

     “That is what older sisters are for.” Emma smiled. “I have Margaret, you have me, and one day, Lucy will have you.”

“If we can ever stop fighting,” Harriet muttered.

“Yes.” Emma scrunched her sister’s shoulder affectionately. “That is why I said one day. You know what it is they say about Rome.”

     Emma pulled her sister close and hugged her. Her eyes, however, remained open, and she fixated on the blank wall. She had to be able to fix this, but her plan to win the Duke over with flirtation and propriety had been ruined. There was still one more option. It was slowly coming together in her mind.

     Hopefully, dinner would pass by uneventfully, and Emma would find a moment alone with the Duke of Radford to propose her idea to him. Harriet’s future rested upon it, but luckily, so did his.

     Colin reached under the table and held out a piece of his dinner roll. He felt the cold, wet touch of Lemon Drop’s nose on his fingers before the Italian greyhound seized the offering and absconded back under the table with his loot.

When Colin looked up, Emma’s gaze was glued to him, her brow drawn tight, eyes squinting as if she was attempting to read words that were far too small for her eye. When Colin’s gaze met hers, she looked away quickly, back at her dinner plate. Nothing angered him quite like that.

“Are you judging me?” he whispered.

“Not at all.” Emma liked to suggest she was innocent and uneducated regarding the art of seduction when she had so boldly been weaponizing her femininity in an attempt to secure his proposal. Colin swore it wouldn’t work, but something had changed in the garden. She seemed to have realized what made Colin move even before he had known it himself.

Passion. He had never met a woman with such a fire, great enough to burn the entirety of London–and him–within minutes. In a breath, she could go from the finest, most genteel woman of the ton to the most intense and emblazoned woman he had ever met. She was passionate about protecting her sister. She was passionate about being understood. She was passionate about how she spoke, each word so intentional, so intensely punctuated with subtext and desire. Colin’s tongue numbed at the thought. She’d inhaled the words straight from his mouth, leaving him looking like the greatest fool alive.

It had felt almost impossible to resist her at that moment, but he did. Perhaps dinner might have been less agonizing if he had just given in. But now, everyone else at the table was walking on eggshells on the heels of an unexpected argument. For Colin and Emma, that argument was not only fully expected but also shadowed by a moment of weakness only they knew about.

He glanced back at her once more, seated beside him, but regarding him with nothing but cold propriety when the conversation called for it. She was focused entirely on the glass of wine in front of her, or at least it might have seemed that way to anyone else. Colin could not imagine a reality in which she wasn’t overthinking the same things he was. It was impossible to believe that a woman as innocent and inexperienced as she claimed to be could seduce a man with such ease. She had to know what she was doing.

He startled, looking up from his trance at the sound of a familiar title.

“Your…Your Grace?” the Baron of Wilkes repeated himself once again.

“My apologies,” Colin nodded, clearing his throat. “The brandy was perhaps too relaxing.”

The table laughed softly at the joke. It was hardly meant to produce laughter. The air over the table seemed to suggest that everyone knew his mind was on the argument that he’d had with Emma. No one knew what happened or what was said, and that is what made it tense. Everyone seemed to have some personal stake in this match succeeding, and yet everyone was so eager to blame it on the brandy.

“I noticed a stable as we were approaching the house yesterday evening. Horses,” the baron commented.

Colin frowned, along with him, so did his mother and brother. Yes. The horses. They had been a rather sore spot in the home as of late. Colin’s mother had insisted they be sold, Adam and Rose insisted they be kept, and Colin stayed indifferent. A few horses would not come close to saving the estate. “My brother might be the best to ask about the horses.” Colin raised his hand briefly, gesturing to his brother.

Adam smiled nervously, which he often didn’t do. He glanced briefly at their mother. Her lips were pursed in disapproval. More than she wanted money, she intensely disliked animals, and even more, she hated talking about them around food. “They were our father’s,” he explained. “Although I rather like to think they’re mine now.”

“You both ride?” the baron asked.

“No, no,” Colin shook his head. “Not me. I prefer…”

“He’s the brains,” Adam explained. “And I, the beauty and brawn.”

“No,” Colin quickly interjected. The table laughed quietly, likely expecting him to argue about their personal distinctions. “Our dear sister is the beauty.”

He glanced over. Rose, ever the quietest, had been overshadowed by two older brothers her entire life. She was young and perhaps a bit immature for her age, but she was gentle. Mayhap she was his only relative that hadn’t complicated his entire life. However, considering that she would be debuting very soon, she still had the potential to become a great headache.

She blushed lightly, looking down at the table to hide her face from the strangers around her. She shook her head lightly. Her hair was dark brown, nearly black, all fixed on top of her head in a rather plain updo. It never had taken away from her beauty; rather her soft facial features spoke for her. She was sweet looking, with a round, upturned nose like a rabbit and big green eyes.

“Well,” Adam shrugged, seemingly disappointed that everyone else had agreed that Rose was the most beautiful of the siblings. “Do not protect her feelings. She is not as young as she looks. Nor as innocent. The trials she puts her poor hound through are telling enough.”

Rose laughed softly into her hand and swatted her older brother with the back of her hand. “True, although Lemon rather likes the attention.”

“Enough talk of the dog!” their mother called out. “We’re at the dinner table.”

Slowly the conversation turned towards the upcoming ball the family was throwing to debut Colin and Emma as a couple. With everyone engaged, Colin looked to the side, back at Emma. She met his look, mouth opening slightly as if poised to speak and thinking better of it. Just the sight alone drove him to the brink of madness. He would do just about anything if it meant he could capture her lips with his. She knew exactly how to look at him. Her eyes were glazed over, lips parted, and teeth slightly bared as if she was fighting the same desire as he was.

All orchestrated, surely. Colin looked away and swallowed hard, centering himself. “Miss Hale, we must call it a truce, if only to make the week less agonizing,” he said so quietly that only she heard him.

“I am not the problem,” she said assuredly.

“Then who is? Because it is certainly not I.”

She snorted softly, just the hint of a laugh. It was a strange and inelegant noise, especially from such a provocative beauty. It was a tiny hint of who she was. He hated to say so, but it was cute. “I apologize, Your Grace, but one of us is lying.”

He frowned. “Yes, and the sooner you admit who, the sooner we may push past our disagreements.”

“Hm.” She nodded, staring into her nearly empty wine glass like a long-awaited answer was floating on the surface. “I was hoping to speak to you later.”

His jaw twitched, and he took a deep breath. “And judging by our most previous engagement, I must be wary of how much speaking you intend to be doing.”

“Are you…” She looked down at her half-eaten plate of food with surprise. “Are you suggesting that I speak too much?”

He scoffed. “Do not play coy, Miss Hale,” he said. “You must know that is not what I mean.”

“If I have made you interpret my actions in a particular way, then know that this is hardly my intention.”

He shrugged. “We can speak tomorrow morning,” he said. “It has been a long day.” Most of him wanted to have the conversation that evening, but the nights were designed for man to do things they would hate for God to see. He would be better prepared to behave himself if they spoke in the light of day. This was not only for her honor but for his perception of self. He had always thought himself to be in possession of great self-control, however, Emma Hale was testing his integrity with each passing moment.

“Tomorrow?” she repeated. He glanced at her, chest feeling slightly hollow when she said the words. She didn’t sound very keen on the idea at all. “It mustn’t wait that long.”

Emma took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the door. The sound echoed through the quiet halls. It was late, and most everyone was asleep. Most everyone except for the Duke. He seemed to be a night owl if the past two nights were any indication. That, or perhaps her interference in his day-to-day routine, was causing him to lose sleep.

The door of the study cracked open, and he looked out at her, his harsh features casting shadows across his face in the candlelight. His lips parted, but rather than say anything, he stepped aside and allowed her to join him. He backed away to a respectable distance, and his eyes roved her dubiously. She shouldn’t have been there unchaperoned. The trepidation on his face showed his suspicions.

“Are you—’

“Your Grace—’ Emma froze mid-curtsy at the interruption.

“Your accommodations are not to your liking?”

“They are suitable, Your Grace, truly,” Emma replied.

“There must be something,” he said. “Or else why are you here if not to test my integrity?”

There was a brief silence in which he studied her. The fireplace in the room crackled lightly, casting a warm glow over them. She winced, unsure if he could hear how heavy she was breathing now that the memory of him so close to her was replaying in her head.

He turned away from her, stepping across the room with no destination in particular. “If you have come for a continuation of what we started earlier, then I am simply not interested.”

A knot formed suddenly in the middle of Emma’s throat. “I—I do not understand.”

He turned back to her in an instant, exhaling heavily. Emma’s eyes wandered down. During the day, he looked very polished. His suit was crisp and perfectly tailored, but this evening, when he thought he’d be alone, he wore only a white shirt unlaced just enough to show his sharp collar bone and the defined muscles on his shoulders. Emma swallowed hard and looked back up at his eyes, shrinking back.

     Although she had made big promises to her family that her disagreement with the Duke was bound to be resolved by dinner, it was evident that it hadn’t. Somehow, in the moments between their interactions, the chasm between them had only grown deeper. There was a slight awkwardness now, as she had noticed him overcompensating for every moment of closeness as if they hadn’t almost crossed a line earlier in the day.

     “Can we just start anew?” she asked. “In earnest.”

     “From where?”

     “The moment we met.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. It was loose this late in the evening. She liked to think she looked better with her hair up, so it had been intentional. It seemed like a mutual attraction might benefit a marriage, however, it appeared to be only hurting their own potential at the moment.

     “I could with any other woman, perhaps, but not you,” he said.

     She drew back. “Excuse me?”

     He didn’t respond, only stared back at her as the firelight enveloped them, crackling to fill the silence. Emma pressed her palm flat against her stomach to keep her from shaking. She was afraid of him. Or maybe she was simply afraid of getting any closer to someone who had awoken a feeling she’d never been familiar with.

“What do you want?” His voice was soft, nearly pleading with her as if she was about to force him to do something he didn’t want to do.

Emma took a deep breath. “My older sister is married, Your Grace. That means that I must be next,” she explained.

“As reliant as I am on your promised dowry, Miss Hale, I realize your ability to find a better husband.” His features twitched, a small sign that his own words bothered him. “Easily, might I add.”

Emma opened her mouth to respond, but she stopped herself, taken aback that he would even suggest such a thing. “I could, perhaps, but waiting for my love match would mean that my sisters would pass her over,” she admitted. “Love is not for everyone, after all. You and I are bound by duty. That much we have in common.”

There was a long pause. “Ah.” His eyebrows rose briefly as if the answer had surprised him, perhaps even underwhelmed him.

Emma looked down at her feet. “Is that acceptable? It is merely convenient for both of us.”

The Duke sighed and stepped forward. He was out of her reach and yet still too close for comfort. She liked the feeling of him near, but she didn’t like the vulnerability like if he so much as made eye contact with her, he would be able to see into her mind and see just how she wanted him to hold her and just how badly she wanted his lips to trace the edge of her jaw.

“It is acceptable,” he replied, his eyes focused not on her eyes but on her mouth. She brought her hand up to cover her face without even thinking of it. He seemed to be under the impression that she was trying to tempt him, and she didn’t want him to think such a thing. It was wrong. A proper woman waited until her wedding day for a kiss. That was God’s design. There was no need to question that design, even if she felt inexplicably tempted to.

“But.” She took a deep breath. “You are right. I could go home. I could accept the first suitor who takes an interest in me this season.”

He crossed his arm, and his jaw set with tension, as if he was rolling the mere suggestion between his teeth, wondering if it was even true. “Go on.”

“I will marry you, but I have one condition. My sister wishes to see me happy. If she were to know that we are at odds, she would resent me. If you need my dowry, then you must agree to pretend that we have stumbled upon a true love match.”

He laughed softly, rolling his eyes. “That is preposterous. You realize that?”

“It is not,” she said. “Simply agree to find some common ground with me. You cannot begrudge me for having ulterior motives. You have them as well.”

For a moment, he appeared unrelenting, body squared against hers. It was strange how he looked halfway between closing the distance and walking away from her completely. Instead, they were frozen in place, as if fearful that one sudden movement might muck up the entire thing. Emma held his stare for a moment longer, studying the look in his eyes. It was different, perhaps hungry, and yet disappointed all in the same stride.

“And what is the common ground we stand on?”

Emma tugged at the ends of her hair, running the frayed ends through her fingertips just to give her something to do. “It seems to me that we have similar roles in our family. We like animals. We are both well-read.”

He sighed. “I suppose Lemon Drop likes you. He seems a good judge of character.” He paused, hand pressed to his jaw in thought. “He absolutely abhors my brother, so he has some sense about him.”

Emma’s mouth twitched, not sure what to make of it. “But the horses like him?”

“The horses like anyone who gives them apples.”

“I’m surprised you don’t ride if you like animals so much,” she said, thinking back to the conversation they had at dinner.

He shrugged lightly. “I ride sometimes, but my brother does it for sport. He has always said he would get competitive.” The Duke shrugged. “But he’s capricious.”

“Must be exhausting to take care of your entire family. I am not even the eldest, and it can still be overwhelming at times,” Emma said, her voice soft. For maybe the first time, she felt like she understood even a small piece of him.

“My, what an interrogation.” His eyes fixated on her, and a long silence befell the room once more. He shook his head, brushing her off with a flick of his wrist.

“I apologize. Have I offended you?”

“You pry regarding my family.”

“Then I shall keep myself quiet about such matters.” She scrunched the fabric of her dress beneath her fingers, trying to dispel all the tension in her body.

He glared at her dubiously, clearly not believing a word she said. His mouth screwed up tight like he was swallowing something bitter.

“Do you have something to say?” she asked.

“I am still thinking about Samson,” he said.

     “Samson?” Emma tilted her head, feet turned away from him in apprehension.

He smiled very briefly, glancing behind her at the door of the study that remained wide open. It felt safer that way, but whether the door was open or closed, they were still unchaperoned in a dark room. “Interesting you mentioned him earlier. What do you think his weakness was?”

“The dog?”

“Of course not.”

Emma frowned, annoyed that he had said it like it was common sense. “His…his hair,” she replied, carefully striding across the room. His body was angled towards her. She looked over her shoulder at him as she walked away, trying to focus on something else. The rain pattering against the window was melodic and soft. It had started recently, and Emma had only just realized it. Her mind had been elsewhere for the majority of the conversation.

“Is that not his strength?”

“Can your greatest strength not be your weakness?” She murmured, pressing a finger against the cold glass. It was fogged up slightly from the heat of the room. Sometimes she felt like that. Like her generosity was the best thing about her, yet so often, it meant she was setting a fire over herself to keep everyone else warm. Here she was, after all, setting herself on fire in more ways than one just so Harriet could marry the man she loved.

“Delilah was his weakness.”

At that, Emma spun around, head drawing back slightly. She frowned. “That is ridiculous. Do you mean to make a generalization? About the state of men and women?”

He laughed, rubbing his jaw with his hand and eyeing a spot on the floor. “Rather fitting, I think, considering the outcome of our previous conversation,” he said.

“How ridiculous!” she scoffed, her voice quieting mid-breath as she eyed the open door. “The gall of man astounds me. Do you believe yourself to be strong? To be capable? To be intelligent?”

He stared at her.

She stepped forward once more. “Well?”

“Believe?” he asked. “I know myself to be.”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, eyebrows furrowed and her nose wrinkled. “So strong, intelligent, capable, yet so afraid that he might be felled by a woman. What a paradox.”

He stepped towards her, closing the gap, and his head dipped forward. His mouth moved, but no words came out. Emma’s mouth hung open, jaw pulled back, almost baring her teeth, breathing hard against them. So frustrating, and yet the thought of him any closer to her had her skin prickling with heat.

“Do not,” he whispered, eyes darting across her face.

She shook her head slowly. Whatever he thought she was doing, she wasn’t doing it.

“Do not look at me like that.”

     Emma stood her ground, staring at him as if she was protecting the very floor beneath her. “Look at you like what?” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, cracking and sputtering out like she was choking on the pressure in the air.

He reached out, hands grasping at both sides of her head, pulling her towards him. She gasped loudly, her lips meeting his. She had never kissed anyone. She had seen other people kiss, one brief peck on the lips. Maybe they lingered. Just a moment longer, but never more. Not like this. Not frenzied. Not hungry, like every ounce of restraint was dissolved. Not like she had something that he so desperately wanted. His mouth was hungry, his tongue pushing inside her mouth when she gasped. She placed her palm against his chest, half intending to drive him away, the other half wanting to feel his strength against her. She couldn’t push him away.

She didn’t want to. She responded back, hesitant at first. His hands pulled her cheeks closer, his fingertips under her hair, rubbing against her scalp. She melted into him and grasped at the open collar of his shirt, lightly tugging on the fabric. It seemed like whatever was building throughout the day was already overwhelming them, but he still seemed tense.

He was holding back, and she couldn’t imagine what it might feel like if he wasn’t restraining himself. He captured her lips between his, over and over, pulling the oxygen out of her. She whimpered, and he groaned back against her, stepping over her until her head was craned up completely to meet his lips. After a moment, his movements slowed, and his lips drew back just enough to break the kiss.

The fireplace crackled, and the rain tapped away at the window. The magnitude of what they had done was setting in, heavy in the air around them. They caught their breaths, lips brushing.

In an instant, the Duke drew back, flexing his fists as if he was trying to erase the memory of her touch from his hands. “You…” He paused. “You need to leave.”

Emma’s head spun. She stepped back, stumbling just a little as her body unfroze. Her mouth hung open, still tingling with the intensity of his kiss. He must have known that she’d never been touched like that. “I…”

“Do what you want. Take what you want. I will do whatever you want, but just please…” He shook his head. “Leave me. We mustn’t be alone together.”

     He turned around on his heels and sat back down at his desk. He watched her, fidgeting the longer she stayed there. If they were both playing the same game, it was time for her to take her advantage. “I want you to propose to me tomorrow.”

He cursed under his breath, staring at her. Was he wondering if the tradeoff was worth it? “F—fine,” he said. “Tomorrow. Now leave.”

Even as she left, she felt his eyes following her. It had only happened once, and she was already addicted to it. But that was just it. It could only happen once.

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