"Not at all, my dear. It was not your fault." The Duke of Olympia presided at his desk. His own glass of sherry sat next to the blotter, half full. His left hand twiddled a pen.
Ashland rose from his own chair and laid his hand on Emilie's shoulder. "I shall not make such a mistake again, I promise. Are you quite sure you're all right?"
His hand was warm and strong, enveloping her shoulder. She longed to turn to him, to let herself be swallowed up in his reassuring bulk, but her limbs were too stiff, her heart too heavy in her chest. "Yes, quite all right. A good night's sleep, that's all I need."
Miss Dingleby set down her empty sherry glass and stood. "As do I. You'll excuse me, all of you. We shall, of course, discuss all this in the morning. What's to be done. The danger to the girls is only diminished, after all. We must find another way in."
The Duke of Olympia had risen, too. "Thank you, my dear, for all your bravery tonight."
She inclined her head. "Of course."
When the door had shut softly behind her, Ashland turned to Olympia. "Well, then? What's to be done? The other girls have their disguises, which may continue to shield them for a time, as long as Hans's superiors aren't aware of their exact whereabouts. But Emilie is now known to be alive and residing in this house. She's the most obvious target."
"Indeed." Olympia's sharp eyes moved to Emilie. "Particularly if-as I understand it-she may be carrying the next heir to the principality of Holstein-Schweinwald-Huhnhof."
Emilie returned his gaze without speaking.
Ashland's hand tightened on her shoulder. "We will marry without delay, of course. She will have the protection of my name and my body. I will . . ."
"Marry you!" Emilie spun to face the duke, dislodging his hand from her shoulder. "You forget, Your Grace. I never agreed to marry you. I agreed to a public engagement, nothing more."
He stared at her, his pale blue eye wide with astonishment. "Not marry me!"
"I am not a pawn to be moved about. We might have scored a total success tonight if you'd let me in on your schemes. Instead you played at making love to me, you spent the evening seducing me in order to keep my poor witless self away from your terribly sophisticated, terribly important plans . . ."
"Played at making love to you!"
". . . and then, without ceremony, you announce that we'll be married without delay, that having deflowered and impregnated me, you'll do your duty and-what was it?-protect me, particularly since I'm no longer simply a valuable political object in my own right, but a vessel for another one!"
"A vessel!"
"What an honor for me! What joy, to look forward to a future of being married to an overbearing iceberg, protected and moved about and used for everyone's purpose but my own! To bear a child for exactly the same fate! By God, I was better off as your son's tutor. At least then I was free to act for myself, to leave your employment if I wished!"
She was breathing hard now, her hands fisted into her skirts. She thought for an instant of Ashland's tender words, his gentle touch in the conservatory, making love to her as if she were the most precious object in the universe. And it had all been an act, simply to distract her. His charming words, his roomful of flowers, his romantic gestures were all meant to deceive her. To lull her into a lovestruck trance to keep her away from the real business of the evening.
Her blood ran so hot, she couldn't think.
Ashland's face was deeply flushed. "My duty! You think I wish to marry you out of duty? You honestly believe I was pretending that scene in the conservatory? I was using you?"
She snapped her fingers. "Oh, of course! I'd forgotten the inexplicable animal lust you feel for me. I stand corrected. Let us not to the marriage of true loins admit impediment."
The Duke of Olympia made a strangled cough into his handkerchief. "My dear Emilie, I cannot help but feel that I am somewhat de trop in this most . . . er . . . edifying conversation. Perhaps I should retire and allow you and your . . . er . . . overbearing iceberg to continue . . ."
"No." Ashland's voice whipped out to cut the duke short. His face was ablaze. His single blue eye seemed lit from within, focused with extraordinary intensity on Emilie's face. "No, sir. I want you to hear this. I want you both to witness what I have to say."
He fell to one knee.
"Here we go," Olympia muttered.
"Forgive me, Emilie. I have behaved unpardonably. I have not trusted you as you deserve. I haven't been open with you. Instead of asking, I have demanded."
"Nothing wrong with that," said Olympia. "A woman likes to know what's what, don't she, my girl?"
Ashland ignored him. "May I tell you why, Emilie?"
She looked down at the top of Ashland's head before her, bristling with close-cropped white hair, his proud face turned up to her. She couldn't move. She tried to nod, and only the tiniest movement of her head resulted from the effort.
"Because I was afraid, Emilie. Because I have never felt even the slightest fraction of love for any woman, to match the love I bear for you. You are not a pawn to me. You are not a political object. A vessel, by God! You're all there is."
His left hand rested on his knee, closing and flexing. Emilie shut her eyes, because she couldn't bear the sight before her. She couldn't bear the sight of him, the Duke of Ashland, at her feet in his formal white shirt and satin waistcoat, his gleaming breeches. Immaculate, except for the pattern of red brown droplets sprayed delicately across his left shoulder.
"You are not a vessel, Emilie. I am. Everything I do, everything I have, everything I am, belongs to you. I don't . . . Emilie, I can't even describe it. I can't tell you the whole of it. I was frozen, asleep, and you brought me back to life. You healed me, you made me whole again. I felt myself a beast, alone and snarling in my cave, and you walked inside without fear and tamed me."
"What a bold mix of metaphors, my dear fellow," said the Duke of Olympia. "I feel I should be scribbling notes. There's a melodrama I've been thinking of writing, a sort of operatic saga, tragedy and betrayal and consumption of the lungs . . ."
Ashland reached out and took Emilie's cold hand. "I was afraid that if I told you these things, you would run away. That it was too much, that I was too much: too big and too scarred, too demanding and too full of need for you. Because I do need you, Emilie. Every inch of you. I need your mind, your love, your companionship, your wisdom, the comfort of your body. Animal lust, my God! That isn't the half of it. I need your body, your body, Emilie, because it unites me with you. I'm no sooner quit of you, than I'm dreaming of all the ways I want to have you again . . ."
From across the room came the clink of the decanter. "Sherry, anyone?"
". . . and not simply because of this animal lust, this mad craving between us, but because it draws me into you. When I take you to bed, I feel as if I'm part of you, flesh of your flesh, in holy communion with the woman I adore. I am human again at last."
Olympia clapped his hands. "Excellent. Soundly argued. True loins equals true minds. Surely that's sufficient, my dear niece?"
Emilie opened her eyes, and Ashland's gaze fastened her at once. She saw him as if through a haze of emotion, though perhaps it was only the haze on her spectacles.
"On my knees, Emilie, I ask for your hand. I ask you to be my wife, to be mother to my children." He brought her fingers to his lips and held them there, closing his eyes briefly at the instant of contact. "In return, I offer you my heart, my home, and my fortune. And, yes, the protection of my name and my body."
Olympia groaned. A sherry glass crashed into the desk. "For the love of God and all His creatures, Emilie, tell him yes. Put us out of our misery."
Still Emilie couldn't speak. Her tongue, her throat were too full to move. Ashland's hand was strong around hers, his breath warm and even on her skin.
He bowed his head over her hand. "No more intrigue, Emilie. From now on, you command me. Not a single act without your knowledge and consent. And I swear on my life, Emilie, that your child-our child-will never have to bear what you have borne."
"Yes," she said.
Ashland looked up.
"Thank God," said Olympia. "Dowry and settlements to be arranged, of course, and naturally I shall want to give away the happy bride myself . . ."