“No one will see me,” Alex stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “If anyone asks for me, tell them I’ve gone to the washroom. To freshen up.” With that, he emerged from his hiding place and followed Emma out of the ballroom, his footsteps carefully silent.

The hallway had been left unlit to discourage the tipsy and amorous from extending the party to all corners of the house, but Emma easily found her room. She lit a solitary candle, preferring the semidarkness for her headache. With an unapologetically loud yawn, she kicked off her shoes and settled down amidst the soft white quilts of her bed. Sighing deeply, she rubbed her temples and decided that she had, indeed, enjoyed herself at her first London party. It was true that she’d met a fair number of stuffy and pompous aristocrats, but she’d also been introduced to many intelligent and interesting men and women. If only she hadn’t had this blasted lump on her skull. She knew that she would be having a better time if she were feeling more the thing. She was just so incredibly tired. Emma let her eyelids flutter shut, groaning softly as she wondered how on earth she was ever going to rouse herself to return to the party.

Alex moved swiftly and silently into the room, mentally blessing the well-oiled hinges of Emma’s door. He paused for a moment, regarding Emma with a tender gaze. In repose, she was soft and sweet, without a hint of her sharp tongue and rapier wit. A delicate smile touched her face as she nestled deeper into her quilts, and Alex thought that there was nothing in this world he wanted to do more than to take her into his arms and lull her to sleep. He stopped and frowned, puzzling at his chaste thoughts. Frankly, he could not remember the last time he’d had any tender feelings for a woman.

Suddenly, Emma stretched out her body with a feline purr. Alex felt lust take over his mind and body as her breasts strained against the top of her bodice.

Emma, eyes still closed, sighed in contentment.

Alex stepped back to the door.

Emma curled back into a ball, thinking that solitude was indeed a wonderful state.

Alex shut the door with a resounding click.

Emma’s eyes flew open with horror, and she gasped at the sight of the black-haired, green-eyed man whose powerful frame seemed to fill her entire room.

“Hello, Meg.”

Chapter 5

For one blessed second, Emma thought she was hallucinating. There was simply no way this green-eyed devil could have come to be standing in her bedroom. And she had bumped her head rather soundly that afternoon. She’d heard that such accidents did strange things to one’s mind. Then the Duke of Ashbourne bestowed upon her a devilish smile and seated himself in her easy chair.

That was when Emma knew he must be real. No hallucination of hers would behave so abominably. Her breath caught in her throat and she suddenly felt very sick to her stomach. Dear Lord, her relatives had spent the last month teaching her the ins and outs of London society, but no one had told her what to do if she discovered a gentleman—no, a rogue—in her bedroom. Emma knew she should say something, scream even, but not a sound passed through her lips.

And then Emma suddenly realized that she was still stretched across her bed in a very compromising position. Glancing up, she quickly realized that the duke had also noticed. His hot gaze seemed to burn into her skin, and Emma felt herself pinken with embarrassment. She hastily pulled herself upright, clutching a pillow to her chest, eager to shield herself from Alex’s eyes.

“Pity,” he remarked sardonically.

Emma’s eyes flew to his. She still didn’t speak, not quite trusting her voice.

He answered the question he saw in her eyes. “Not many women have breasts as lovely as yours. ’Tis a pity to cover them up.”

That only made Emma clutch the pillow even tighter. Alex chuckled at her modesty. “Besides,” he continued, “you’re not hiding from me anything you haven’t just shown to all of London.”

Except they weren’t sitting in my bedroom, Emma thought angrily.

“Really, Meg, or should I say Emma? You can’t convince me you’re mute. I saw a fair piece of your temper earlier this afternoon. Surely you must have something to say?”

Emma said the first thing that came into her mind. “I think I’m going to vomit.”

That comment took Alex completely off guard, and he half rose out of his chair. Emma feared she might actually laugh at the look of utter panic she saw on his face. “Good Lord,” he exclaimed, scanning the room for some kind of receptacle. Not finding one, he looked back to the woman on the bed. “Do you mean it?”

“No. Although your presence does unsettle my stomach.”

Alex was once again taken aback. The American chit had succeeded in completely flustering him— no mean feat. He ought to throttle her for her impudence, but she looked so damned innocent and appealing sitting on the bed with the pillow clutched to her chest that he could only laugh. “Women have told me that I make them feel a number of things,” he drawled, “but nausea was never one of them.”

Emma ignored his comment. “What on earth are you doing here?” she finally asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Alex’s green eyes twinkled as he leaned forward. “I came to find you.”

“Me?” Emma squeaked, hoping there had been some mistake. “You don’t even know me.”

“You’re right,” Alex mused. “But I did meet a kitchen wench this afternoon who looked remarkably like you. Red hair, violet eyes. Do you by chance have an identical twin?” He smiled dangerously. “She was nothing like you in temperament, however. A lusty wench, she was. Could barely keep her hands off of me—and kissed me in the most unspeakable places.”