The Duke And His Mate

Chapter-5 Awkward

"Your grace," Emelisse curtsied politely and tried her very best to not meet his eyes as he gazed back at her with his profound dark ones. He nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on her and, without wasting another second, she quickly ebbed into the throng of people until she could neither see her brother or...him.

It was when she was safely away, did she realize how furiously her heart was beating. It was throbbing in her chest like she had been running and running for ages. Emelisse still cannot fathom what happened. One moment she was talking to Amelia and next moment she was crashing into his chest. It felt like a wall of hard muscles to her. The way he gazed down at her, there was just something about his eyes. She had never stared into someone's eyes for so long and hard. It was like they caged her up in their intense scrutiny or something. She couldn't even move. Or breathe.

She was paralyzed.

"There you are!" Amelia exclaimed, grinning. "What just happened back there?" Emelisse blinked at her and shook her head.

"I don't have a clue," She answered, the moment flooding into her head again.

"Who is that man? Do you know him?" Amelia implored, and she could feel her green eyes scrutinizing her with innate intensity.

"No, I am not," Emelisse murmured. "Benedict is. He is his friend. They met at the time he was traveling. And he is also the crowned duke of Marholm," Amelia's eyes widened and she looked taken with the fact for sure.

"Oh...he is a duke?" She exclaimed.

"Yes, indeed he is," Emelisse answered distractedly. When Benedict used the word duke, this was most definitely not what she imagined him to be. Not at all. He was way far from what she imagined him to be. She was expecting someone old with a shut face and, well, she had no idea. But she most definitely did not expect what she had just seen. Old was not the word that could be used here. He had to be Benedict's age or maybe younger, but not the kind of old she imagined.

"I have never seen a man so handsome in my entire existence," Amelia murmured, distracting her. "Not even Benedict, harsh as that sounds,"

"You are just one and twenty," Emelisse pointed out, rolling her eyes. "Your existence is painstakingly limited," Amelia made a face and shrugged.

"We definitely need more knowledge about him," She chortled. "If he is Benedict's friend and judging by his greeting earlier, a particularly close one at that, he could be the perfect match for you!"

What?

"No, absolutely not," Emelisse blurted out and blushed as Amelia raised her brow.

"Why ever not? What is wrong with him?" She demanded. "Look around, Em...can you see a man in this entire room who could match him? And him being a duke doesn't hurt either. You could be a duchess. I am sure lady Featherstone cannot ask for a better match. The prospect of her daughter becoming a duchess is sure to be one of her wildest fantasies coming true."

"He is my brother's friend," Emelisse prompted. "And..."

"And?" Amelia inquired.

"And he is...he is..." She had no idea what she was trying to say. "He is, I don't know Amelia. It's wrong. That is all. I promised Josiah a dance. He must be waiting."

"But," Before she could say further, Emelisse escaped towards the dance floor, her mind reeling. Okay, she needed to focus. She still had eight dances left. There was no way she could afford to be distracted. It was an accident. It happened. At least, thanks to him, she didn't create a mess out of herself. Now she just needed to focus on her job: to find a suitable husband. And definitely someone who was not her brother's best friend or someone she so embarrassingly crashed into.

By the time the dance finished, she felt a lot better. The bizarre encounter was pushed at the back of her head and she was starting to feel relaxed again. Josiah was an excellent company. He made her laugh and smile and had some extremely hilarious anecdotes to share. He was perfect. And in her mind, Emelisse was sure that he was the best match that she could ask for. A man who could make her laugh. What else she need in a husband?

"I enjoyed that a lot," he smiled, bowing. "It has been a pleasure getting acquainted with you, Ms. Featherstone,"

"Likewise, my lord," Emelisse smiled. They both nodded and reluctantly moved away. She still had other men to engage, after all. She was exhausted but there was no way she could refuse the gentlemen waiting their turn.

"Em!" Emelisse turned around and froze as Benedict motioned her towards him. And her heart sank as she noticed who was accompanying him.

Oh lord...

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself, sister," Benedict said, even though his tone was more accusatory. "Was that Josiah Pembroke?"

"He indeed was," Emelisse answered, and she had this innate sensation crawling at the back of her neck that he was watching her. The intensity of his gaze was burning into her skin.

"Are you spying on me?" She grumbled, narrowing her eyes at her brother.

"Why ever would I do that?" Benedict asked breezily. "And didn't I promise that I would stay right beside you and keep an eye on every man who lingers around you? I intend to keep through that, sister."

"Ben," Emelisse began, but he shook his head.

"Later," he smiled. "Do me a favor, sister, please keep my friend here company on my behalf. I promised a certain erratic green-eyed girl a dance. I will be right back."

Oh no.

There was no way she wanted to keep him company. His mere presence was making her skin crawl with unspoken anticipation. There was no way she could muster the courage to speak up. And two people silently standing...how awkward was that? Not to mention uncomfortable.

"Thank you," Benedict smiled before she could even reply as he turned to his best friend. "I will be right back. Do not disappear,"

"I don't see a chance," Maxwell replied, and Emelisse couldn't help but marvel at how deep and heavy his voice was. Very...masculine. She watched in dismay as her brother walked away and gulped. What now? She could barely breathe in his presence. There was just something about him that was making her exceedingly nervous. But she cannot just stand there like a dummy, can she? It was impolite.

"Do you like it here, your grace?" She mumbled, her voice all timid as she peeked up at him.

His dark eyes shifted from the dance floor to her and Emelisse could feel the clamminess in her palm as he gazed down at her. He was exceedingly tall. She was tiny compared to him. His build was very strong too and she felt her breath hitching as she remembered his tight grip around her waist. He had to be the first man who had ever touched her. Even if it was just to save her from making a fool out of herself.

His eyes were the darkest hue of brown she had ever seen and as beautiful as they were, they were also really unnerving. Like holding hundreds of secrets in their dark depths. His jaw was sharp, hidden under his fashionable dark stubble that covered half his cheeks too. His entire demeanor screamed authority and something else that she didn't want to dwell upon. Once again, she was unable to move her eyes from him. Amelia was right, Emelisse realized.

He was indeed like a dream.

"I am afraid I don't have an affirmative answer to that, Ms. Featherstone," he answered politely.

Oh, he doesn't like it here.

"Ah," She nodded and she hoped, this time he would initiate a conversation, add something further to that or just ask her something, but she was sadly mistaken again. He didn't seem in the mood to talk. Emelisse noticed that he was looking everywhere but at her. She frowned and stared down at herself just in case she spilled drink on her dress or something. Everything seemed fine to her.

You are too ordinary to interest him...

Emelisse blushed at her snide thoughts and bit her lips furiously. The bizarreness between them was stretching and stretching. Even if he was absolutely silent she could feel it. It was unspeakably uncomfortable. She hoped Benedict would quickly return so that she could leave.

"Are you going to stay long?" Emelisse tried again, nevertheless.

"I don't have a fixed schedule, Ms. Featherstone," Maxwell answered, still not looking at her. He sounded irritated too. His voice was hard and she could see for herself how tightly his jaw was clenched.

By any means was she making him uncomfortable?

"I see," Emelisse nodded. She decided that it would be better to stay silent.

Talking to him was even more uncomfortable than that. As the seconds started to stretch, she realized that not once did he even bother to glance at her. And it startled her further as she noticed how his huge hands were tightly clenched into fists at his sides. Oh dear, was she that bad a company? Emelisse scowled at him inwardly. No way, she wasn't the problem here. He was. Josiah said he enjoyed her presence. And so did the other gentlemen she danced with. She cannot see the slightest hint of the man Benedict described to them in him.

Enigmatic? She doesn't think so.

He seemed too proud and snobbish to her. When a young lady, who also happened to be his friend's sister was standing beside him, desperately trying to initiate a conversation for the sake of decency, was it so hard to be a bit polite and join in? She had no idea what Benedict saw in him.

Maybe he was...celibate? Emelisse blinked, appalled at her thoughts, and inwardly shook her head. She must be insane to go there. It was not her business anyway.

"Your grace," Her thoughts were distracted by a soft female voice and she turned to see Delilah Fitzgerald walking over to them.

She was wearing her sparkling smile and Emelisse felt a bit jealous about the way she greeted him. So graceful and yet confident. And what did she do? Crash into him in the most un-lady like possible. No wonder he wasn't interested in talking to her. He probably thinks she was a clumsy fool or something. Her mood took a nosedive at the thought and she glared around at the dance floor searching for her brother.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Delilah smiled.

"Likewise," Maxwell said, managing a small smile for her. "Ms. Fitzgerald, if I am not mistaken?" Emelisse blinked at him, surprised. Now, he was talking. She was right.

It was her.

The thought was not appealing and she shuffled from foot to foot with annoyance, scraping at the satin of her gown with impatience and irritation. She was not even sure who she was annoyed at. At herself or at him? Probably at herself. And undoubtedly at Benedict for leaving her with a stranger.

"Yes," Delilah smiled. "It's an honor that you know of me," She looked smug, her face reddening as she gazed back at him. Emelisse was sure he had forgotten that she was standing there as well. She couldn't care any less. She just wanted to escape from here.

"Pleasure is mine," Maxwell muttered and gave her a polite nod. He was still clenching and unclenching his fist, Emelisse noticed. She had no idea what was with him.

"If it's not too untoward, would you like to join me for a dance?" Delilah asked, still smiling.

Emelisse blinked, thrown by her audacity and confidence. No young woman ever asks a man to dance with her unless the former approaches first. And even if they could, Emelisse could never muster up the courage to ask him, of all the gentlemen present here, to dance with her. He looked like he would like to strangle someone to death. And something told her that that someone could be she, herself.

"I must apologize," Maxwell said, his voice hard as stone. "But I don't dance, Ms. Fitzgerald. I should take my leave now," He turned abruptly and gazed down at Emelisse. She could bet his eyes were darker than the first time they met hers. He looked so angry that she literally cowered under his heated gaze, her lungs fighting for air again.

"Ms. Featherstone," he hissed, clenching his jaw as he gave her a bow. Emelisse was too surprised to respond. And she didn't need to. It wasn't like he was waiting for that. He strode past them like a gust of wind, shoving past the crowd in such a hurry as if someone was going to kill him or something.

"What happened?" Benedict demanded, finally appearing. Emelisse blinked and slowly shook her head.

She had no idea...