A Sinful Duke She Can't Refuse (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 9

  Isabella swallowed as she stared at the imposing Theatre Royal. Surely, it must be one of the tallest buildings in London—apart from the churches, of course.

  “Let’s see what marvel lies in wait for us.” With a jaunty grin, Emmanuel increased his pace as he hurried to the door whose playbill proudly advertised the performance for the night.

  Isabella smiled fondly as she followed him.

  Emmanuel stopped in front of the playbill. “It’s—oh,” he said quietly, his shoulders suddenly rigid.

  Isabella’s stomach lurched. She quickened her step and stood at Emmanuel’s side in mere seconds. “Emmanuel? Emmanuel, what is wrong? Are you unwell?” She placed a calming hand on Emmanuel’s shoulder.

  “Hmm?” Emmanuel blinked and looked up, his eyes slightly glassy. “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m merely a tad...disappointed in the choice of play.”

  Isabella frowned and read the title printed on the playbill. “In Antony and Cleopatra? Why? What’s wrong with it?”

  Emmanuel’s eyelids fluttered momentarily and his tongue darted out to lick his lips. “Nothing at all. It’s an excellent work. I…I had merely wished for you to see one of the comedies.”

  Isabella narrowed her eyes. Even Emmanuel, dramatic though he was, rarely reacted to something so small with such passion. He must be hiding something. Isabella pressed her lips together and tried to choose her words with the utmost caution. “Emmanuel, are you sure that is your only concern? You wouldn’t rather…do something else this evening?”

  Emmanuel’s eyes fluttered once more before he plastered on a smile and shook his head. “Isabella, are you suggesting that I steer clear of a Shakespeare play? I can hardly imagine a worse fate. No, Miss Addison, our celebration will continue as planned. You will witness a masterpiece, and I will share it with you.”

  “But—” Isabella trailed off, her forehead wrinkling. It seemed the Duke would not be moved to explain his disconcertion. Emmanuel’s lips were as sealed as a sea chest.

  There was nothing for it but to play along.

  Isabella managed a smile and a faint nod. “If you’re sure, Your Grace, then nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

  Emmanuel’s forced smile shifted into a ghost of its earlier, genuine sparkle. “Excellent. In that case, I’ll return in just a moment with our tickets.” He turned and started to walk inside.

  “Emmanuel, wait.” Isabella reached out, resting her hand on Emmanuel’s forearm to halt his forward movement. Emmanuel tensed and spun around, his eyes momentarily wild. Isabella let go instantly and took a step away, concerned at the look in his eyes. “Emmanuel?”

  Emmanuel stared with glassy, unseeing eyes at Isabella. Isabella waited, her heart pounding, praying that Emmanuel would snap out of it.

  Emmanuel blinked, then shook his head and let out a rather shaky sigh with a bitter smile. “Startled me there, I’m afraid. What was it you needed, Isabella?”

  Isabella hesitated. This hardly seemed the moment to discuss whatever had just occurred. Whatever ailed him, Emmanuel clearly had it under control now. She would perhaps mention it on the curricle ride home.

  “You don’t owe me an explanation. I am here to listen to you if you wish, at any time.”

  Emmanuel glanced away, his eyes blinking rapidly. “Isabella, I—” He swallowed, took a deep breath, then met Isabella’s gaze again, his eyes shining with tears. “I sometimes get…sometimes I go back.” He flicked an embarrassed glance at her. “When my parents were killed, we were ambushed from behind. One of the men grabbed me…pushed me to my knees. Ever since I…sometimes…” his voice trailed off as his eyes took on that faraway mien.

  Isabella’s gaze brightened in understanding. She had read books where the protagonist experienced such episodes where they relived something traumatic that had happened to them in their childhood. They told of how vivid the scene was, as if they were experiencing it again. If that was what was happening to Emmanuel, well then, no wonder he had become so tense. “I understand. Do…do you wish to leave?”

  Emmanuel chuckled. “Indeed, not. I wish to enjoy this play with you. Come, Isabella,” Emmanuel continued before Isabella could object or change her mind, “Let’s go inside and get our tickets. I am eager to see if the theatre has changed as much within as without. It looks enormous!” With that, he turned and entered the imposing structure with an ease that belied his tears just moments ago.

  Isabella blinked. Emmanuel may have trod his wooden foot on the muddy lands of his estate rather than on the stage, but he was certainly as fine an actor as any they would see tonight.

  If only Emmanuel would realize that he need never pretend with her.

  With a heavy sigh, Isabella followed him into the building.

  * * *

  “Why there then: thus I do escape the sorrow of Antony's death,” the actor playing Eros declaimed, before spinning the sword around and running it through his own breast.

  Isabella jumped as Eros fell to the ground. She forced herself not to look at Emmanuel, but could not resist reaching for him in search of comfort even though this was merely a play.

  There was no reason it should unnerve her so. She wondered if it might upset Emmanuel to see her so moved. He had seemed upset about the choice of play and she did not want him to regret it. So she squared her shoulders, clasped her hands in her lap to keep herself from clutching Emmanuel to her, and fixed her eyes upon the stage.

  “But I will be a bridegroom in my death, and run into't as to a lover's bed,” Mark Antony exclaimed. “Come, then; and, Eros, thy master dies thy scholar: to do thus—”

  Isabella’s heart stuttered to a stop as Antony, too, fell upon his sword. There was an awful lot of violence on display. She did not know how she felt about that.

  “How! Not dead? Not dead? The guard, ho! O, dispatch me!”

  Isabella clenched her hands together more tightly to prevent them from shaking. She risked a glance at Emmanuel, who was staring at the stage intently, his nostrils flaring, jaw firmly set. She wondered if he was still thinking about the tragedy that took his parents from him.

  Isabella dragged her eyes back toward the stage, her heart aching, as Antony was laid in Cleopatra’s arms. If only there were something she could do, some way to distract Emmanuel from the reminder that the fate of these lovers might be similar to that of his parents, but that he had survived; that they would live, would always be together…

  “—shall I abide in this dull world, which in thy absence is no better than a sty?”

  Isabella frantically blinked back tears, remembering what Emmanuel had told her about the attack. She knew now that this life without Emmanuel would have been equally barren.

  Antony slumped, lifeless, in Cleopatra’s arms.

  Isabella swallowed back a sob and felt the Duke tense at her side. Isabella prepared to find some means of reassuring him that she would be there to comfort him, but Cleopatra’s character began her eulogy over the body of her beloved.

  “The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war—”

  Isabella reached out, her hand grasping Emmanuel’s tightly.

  His head was bowed, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor of their box, his shoulders high and rigid, and his knuckles white from their grip on his knee. As Isabella watched, Emmanuel hunched further into himself, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried not to cry.

  Isabella wanted to hold him, to run her fingers through his hair, to lean forward and offer her body with a whispered promise that Emmanuel could hold onto it as tightly as necessary. To promise he would be loved for all eternity.

  But they were in public and not affianced. So all she could do was squeeze his hand, catching the eye of Lady Edric, who had appeared at some point in the evening and sat behind them in the box. She simply nodded as if in approval and turned her eye back to the stage.

  Isabella shook her head and tried to focus. Railing against the cruelty of the world would hardly bring Emmanue
l peace. She glanced around, ascertained that no one from a nearby box could see, and then shifted her legs to bump her knee gently against Emmanuel's, the most innocuous gesture of comfort she could come up with.

  Emmanuel swallowed again and shook his head, unable to meet her eyes. His shoulders began to shake with the effort of holding back tears.

  Isabella hesitated, glanced around once more and noting Lady Edric’s studious disregard of them, and then shifted to the edge of her seat until the left side of her leg was gently touching Emmanuel’s.

  She stayed there; desperately hoping her affection would seep into Emmanuel along with her warmth and would help stop the faint tremors that Isabella now felt coursing through Emmanuel’s frame.

  Emmanuel turned his head slightly toward Isabella. His face was a mask of misery, his lips held tightly together in a thin, white line that trembled despite the pressure, his eyes brimming with tears, shame, and pleas for forgiveness in equal parts.

  Isabella swallowed, her heart in her throat. How could she possibly convey all her love and reassurances with looks alone? She hesitated and glanced around once more.

  Surely, in their private box, and during such an emotional moment, no one would notice a slight breach of protocol. Moreover, Lady Edric would not say a word. Before she could think twice about her decision, she slid her hand down to his knee and let her fifth finger rest gently against Emmanuel’s.

  Emmanuel’s head jerked up, his eyes flying open, saying more loudly than any words that he thought Isabella had just taken leave of her senses.

  Isabella smiled and shook her head, then gently tapped her little finger against Emmanuel’s again. It was hardly a sonnet or a six-shilling theatre ticket—it was painfully insignificant, compared with what Emmanuel truly needed—but here and now, it was the most lavish gift she could provide. Emmanuel’s happiness would always be worth any risk.

  Emmanuel sniffled as his tears started to fall and gave a glimmer of a smile. He slid his own hand to the right side of his knee and, slowly and carefully, hooked Isabella’s finger with his own.

  Isabella gave his finger as supportive a squeeze as she could surreptitiously provide, and hoped it conveyed with it a promise to love, to honor, and to cherish him, from now, until the end of time.

  Emmanuel breathed out a quiet wisp of a chuckle and squeezed back, his smile saying that at least some of the message had been received.

  By unspoken agreement, they turned to face the stage again, their fingers still loosely entangled. It was not nearly enough, but it would suffice for now.

  Chapter 11

  Developments

  Isabella had been afraid that Emmanuel might pull away from her after his breakdown at the play so she was more than a little relieved to find a letter from him the next morning, beside her plate, like clockwork.

  She smiled wide, ignoring her food in favor of tearing it open and reading it.

  My dearest Isabelle,

  I have no words to express to you the comfort I found in your company yesterday. I scarce know how to thank you. Please accept this meager gift as a symbol of my gratitude. It may seem an odd choice but it was one of my father’s and I know that you will cherish it as much as I do.

  Isabelle stopped reading, looking around for a package. When she did not see any, she picked up the bell and rang it. The butler came hurrying into the room, an enquiring look on his face.

  “Could you tell me if a package came with my letter?”

  He furrowed his brow as if thinking. “I did not collect the letter from the messenger but I shall ask the footman who did.”

  “Thank you, Rogers.” Isabella went back to reading the letter as the butler left the room.

  It feels strange yet very good to be able to share this and other interests with you. I do not know much about marriage, but I feel strongly that our shared interests might be the key to wedded bliss.

  I look forward to finding out.

  In the meantime, would you favor me with your company this afternoon? We have yet to be seen taking ices at Gunter’s which I believe is a huge faux pas. I would not wish the ton to think me negligent as a courting man and I cannot wait to show you off on my arm.

  Isabella grinned at that, feeling her cheeks heat even though there was nobody to see. A slight knock had her looking up to where the butler was peering in, holding a bundle.

  “The footman informs me that this package came at the same time as the letter.” He held out a square package wrapped with brown paper and tied securely with string. She held out a hand for it, suppressing a pleased smile and Rogers placed the package in her palm. With a nod, he closed the door behind him and she set about unwrapping her present.

  “Matters of Great Note and Consequence. Hmm. I haven’t read that one.” She turned the book this way and that, examining it critically. It was more of an autobiography than a story but the premise was interesting nevertheless. She would read it so that she and Emmanuel could debate it together and in doing so, she would learn new things about her intended. She really was enjoying the process of finding out who the Duke was but she was also beginning to think that a winter wedding would suit them just fine.

  She resolved to tell him that in her reply to his letter.

  That reminds me…

  She picked up his letter to read the rest of it. The letter simply spoke of his continued devotion, and how much he was looking forward to seeing her again. She gave a pleased grin and put the letter aside, meaning to put it in her little box where she kept all his letters. Then she took up her spoon to have her breakfast.

  “Good morning.”

  She looked up to see her father looming over her, his face solemn.

  “Oh, good morning, Father. I thought you would have left by now.”

  The Viscount of Gefferton shook his head. “Indeed not. I have no urgent business today. I thought that we might spend some time in discourse.”

  Isabelle put her spoon down. In all her years of living, she had never heard her father say he wanted to spend any time with any of his children. This was unprecedented. Isabelle was afraid that it would not bode well for her.

  “All right. What would you like to discuss?” She clasped her hands together to stop them from shaking.

  “I wanted to speak about your beau. Are you sure he is the right course of action for you?”

  Isabella took a deep breath, surveying her father in disbelief. “You and mother have been on me for years about getting married and now that I have attracted the attention of a duke, you ask me if I’m sure?”

  Lord Gefferton shook his head. “Just because we have been…anxious…about your prospects does not mean we meant you to throw yourself into the arms of the first man who showed interest.”

  Isabella frowned. “Emmanuel is hardly that.”

  “And that is another thing. You are not yet betrothed and yet you call him by his name. It is not seemly.”

  Isabella felt hurt pierce her chest. “He asked me to.”

  “Indeed. And why did he do that? Has he no regard for propriety?”

  Isabella stared open-mouthed at her father. “He has never done anyth-”

  “Hasn’t he? I understand you went to the theatre last nig-”

  Isabella cut him off. “Lady Edric was with us.”

  Lord Gefferton shot back just as fast. “Was she?

  “Of course!”

  “My sources tell me she hardly provided any buffer between you. That you sat altogether too close. That she did not even join you until the play had started. Does this not sound like chicanery to you?”

  Isabella was shaking her head in bewilderment. Lord Gefferton’s eyes dropped to the book she was still holding. “And he is clearly trying to curry your favor with his notes and his books. Are you not in the least wary?”

  “He is courting me!”

  “Is he? A two-and-twenty-year-old Duke, fairly attractive, good prospects, and unmarried. Why has he remained so for so long? Perhaps he has no inten
tion of ever marrying. Have you thought of that? Has he tried to despoil you?”

  Isabella could only stare at her father, chest heaving, heart pounding, light-headed as if she might faint at any moment.

  Why is he saying these things to me?

  She got to her feet and ran out of the room, still clutching the book in her arms. She hurried to her chambers, slamming the door behind her and threw herself on her bed. That was when she realized she had left her latest letter on the breakfast table.

  “Gadzooks!” she exclaimed and then blushed bright red, glancing furtively at the door to make sure she was still alone.