Turning, he went to the screens, behind which his manservant had laid out his shirt and breeches for sleeping. From behind the curtain, he could no longer see Emery, just a vague silhouette on the bed. Hopefully she also couldn’t see him. He began to pull off his jacket, then his cravat, moving more quickly than he normally would now that he was being watched.
“Do you think it will be successful, then?” Emery asked from the bed. “Our attempt to trick the servants into believing we are happily and traditionally married?”
“From your maid’s reaction, I would say yes.”
“Good.” Emery sighed, and he could imagine her shaking her head. “We certainly have had to jump through many hoops in order to make this season successful for Leah--and to save our own reputations.”
“I’m sorry about this,” Lucien said. He was working on taking off his boots now, and when he got them off, he slipped off the rest of his clothes and pulled on the breeches. His hands were more clumsy than usual, and he had trouble doing up the laces, but at last, he managed to get them laced up.
Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, held his chin up high, and emerged from behind the screen.
Emery had thought she was prepared for how it would look--and feel--for the Duke to appear from behind the screen in his undergarments. But as he came out from behind the screen and looked down at her on the bed, his green eyes blazing with a secret intensity she couldn’t name, his long hair falling roguishly around him, and his broad, strong shoulders barely concealed by his nightshirt--which was unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest--she realized that nothing on earth could have prepared her for this.
He is every bit as handsome as he was the night before, when he came across me dancing in the ballroom. Last night, he had appeared like a vision, in formal attire, ready and willing to sweep her off her feet. In all her fantasies of gentlemen coming to her rescue at dances, she had never imagined it could feel as awe-inspiring as it had then. Nor had she ever imagined a gentleman who was as good a dancer as the Duke. Yes, she had little to compare him to, but she couldn’t imagine anyone else who could make her feel as light and graceful on her feet.
And now, he stood in front of her again, equally as handsome, but dressed for bed, and it made her head swim with a dizziness she couldn’t fully understand.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. He was still staring at her, his whole body tense, and she realized that she, also, was letting her eyes linger too long upon him.
“There is no need to apologize,” she said, averting her eyes quickly and looking back down at her hands, which were folded tightly in her lap. Her knuckles, she noticed, were turning white. “It is what it is. But I have never shared a bed before with a man, so I would ask you to be patient with me if I am distressed or embarrassed.”
“There is no reason to be embarrassed.”
She heard the sound of his footsteps and looked up to see that he’d crossed to the basin. As she watched, he splashed water on his face, then dried it with a towel, glancing briefly in the mirror on the vanity before turning back to her.
“I’m serious,” he said, his voice suddenly soft, all gruffness and coldness gone. It made her heart speed up, although she wasn’t sure why. “You have no reason to be embarrassed and nothing to fear from me. We are a team. Co-conspirators. Soldiers fighting a battle against thetontogether. This is a strange situation we find ourselves in, yes, but we need not feel awkward because of it when we remember that we are uniting for the common good of helping Leah make the best possible marriage possible.”
She liked this, and she smiled up at him as he approached the bed. “It’s nice to think of you as my co-conspirator,” she said. “It helps to put a word on this unusual partnership that we have. It isn’t exactly a marriage--at least, in the traditional sense. But I like the idea of being a team.”
The right side of the Duke’s mouth quirked up, and he came to a halt at the edge of the bed. His eyes gleamed in the dim light.
“Perhaps… Perhaps we could be friends,” he said slowly. He tilted his head to one side as if in thoughtful consideration.
“Friends,” she tested the word on her lips. It was a good compromise, she knew, from where they had started--enemies--to what she had wished for from her marriage--true loves. Of course, she still felt a deep disappointment when she thought too much about how she would never love a husband and be loved by him, but it was certainly better to be her husband’s friend than to hate him.
And she didn’t hate him. Not anymore.
She looked up at him to see him watching her intently. “Friends,” she repeated. “Yes, we can and shall be friends.”
“Friends,” he said, smiling. “I like that.”
Turning back the covers of the bed, he slid into the spot next to her, and Emery felt her whole body go rigid. He was so large. Occasionally, she and Georgina had shared a bed, but Georgina had barely taken up any space, whereas the Duke was of such a height and broadness that she had to move slightly in order not to let their arms touch.
He turned over on his side to face her, and she turned as well, so that their faces were so close together they were almost touching.
“I was thinking…” he sounded a little nervous, and he paused and cleared his throat before continuing. “If we really are to be friends, then you ought to call me by my Christian name.”
Her eyes went wide, and she was too surprised to respond. He smiled gently.
“What would you think about calling me Lucien?”
Somehow, she found her words, and unstuck her throat. “I would like that very much.”
“You would like that very much,Lucien.”
She laughed and shook her head. “I would like that very much, Lucien.”
At the sound of her saying his name, his lips curled up. The smile extended all the way to his eyes, and a warmth shone from him that made her pulse quicken and her stomach flip over. They looked at each other for a long time, just smiling. Then the Duke--Lucien--rolled back over onto his back and looked up at the canopy above them.
