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       Emily pressed herself even closer to him, wanting to be ever nearer and nearer. Wanting she knew not what. But her sudden movement sent him off-balance, and he stumbled backwards into the bank of potted palms.

      She landed hard on top of him, and the impact, along with the crash of plants to the floor, shocked her awake. It was like a cold rain suddenly falling over her head.

      ‘Your Grace?’ someone said in a hushed, shocked voice.

      Emily, still lying prone on Nicholas’s chest, peered up through the loosened skein of her hair. At least ten people stared back.

      This was a nightmare. It simply had to be. It couldn’t be real, couldn’t be happening to her. Not to the Ice Princess, the most proper lady in all London.

      Nicholas lifted her off and rose to his feet in one smooth movement. He held onto her hand and kept her firmly by his side.

      ‘I am sorry to disrupt the ball. Lady Emily and I were going to announce our betrothal at a small family dinner, but I see we should do so now. Lady Emily has made me the happiest man in England by agreeing to be my wife.’

      There would be no escape for either of them. Not now.

      Praise for

      Amanda McCabe

      A NOTORIOUS WOMAN ‘Court intrigue, poison and murders fill this Renaissance romance. The setting is beautiful …’ —RT Book Reviews

      A SINFUL ALLIANCE ‘Scandal, seduction, spies, counter-spies, murder, love and loyalty are skilfully woven into the tapestry of the Tudor court. Richly detailed and brimming with historical events and personages, McCabe’s tale weaves together history and passion perfectly.’ —RT Book Reviews

      HIGH SEAS STOWAWAY ‘Smell the salt spray, feel the deck beneath your feet and hoist the Jolly Roger as McCabe takes you on an entertaining romantic ride.’ —RT Book Reviews

      About the Author

      AMANDA MCCABE wrote her first romance at the age of sixteen—a vast epic, starring all her friends as the characters, written secretly during algebra class. She’s never since used algebra, but her books have been nominated for many awards, including the RITA®, RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award, the Booksellers Best, the National Readers’ Choice Award, and the Holt Medallion. She lives in Oklahoma, with a menagerie of two cats, a pug and a bossy miniature poodle, and loves dance classes, collecting cheesy travel souvenirs, and watching the Food Network—even though she doesn’t cook. Visit her at http://ammandamccabe.com and http://www.riskyregencies.blogspot.com

       Previous novels by the same author:

TO CATCH A ROGUE^* TO DECEIVE A DUKE^* TO KISS A COUNT^* CHARLOTTE AND THE WICKED LORD (in Regency Summer Scandals) A NOTORIOUS WOMAN^† A SINFUL ALLIANCE^† HIGH SEAS STOWAWAY^† THE WINTER QUEEN (in Christmas Betrothals)

      And in eBook Mills & Boon Historical Undone!

      SHIPWRECKED AND SEDUCED^† TO BED A LIBERTINE THE MAID’S LOVER

^*The Chase Muses trilogy ^†linked by character

      THE SHY DUCHESS

      features characters you will have met in

      CHARLOTTE AND THE WICKED LORD

       THE SHY DUCHESS

      Amanda McCabe

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Many thanks to two of my best ‘writing friends’

      Deb Marlowe and Diane Gaston, for creating the

      Fitzmanning family with me!

      It’s been such a wonderful, fun journey.

       Chapter One

      Lady Emily Carroll wished with all her might that the polished parquet floor beneath her satin slippers would open up and pull her down into the fiery pits of hell.

      It would be far preferable to Lady Orman’s ball.

      Emily hid behind a bank of towering potted palms, the silk-papered wall at her back as she peered between the green fronds at the crowd. Lady Orman’s rout was the invitation of the Season. Everyone who was anyone at all—and a few nobodies who managed to slip by the footmen—was gathered in the sparkling ballroom. Thousands of candles cast their light over the sheen of fine silk, the glitter of sapphires and rubies, and the snap of lace fans.

      It was quite the “dreadful crush” that every London hostess longed for. The dance floor was swirling with the patterns of a country dance, while thickets of people packed around its edges to laugh and chatter and stare. Their voices blurred into a high-pitched, echoing cacophony where no words could be made out at all.

      Not that it mattered, Emily thought. No one came to such a gathering for rational conversation. They came to be seen, to have everyone know they were important enough to be invited to Lady Orman’s ball. They paid a great deal of money to the modiste and the hairdresser in order to pack themselves into a ballroom like a tight row of salted fish. To have their hems trod on, their ringlets wilted in the heat, their throats made raw from shouting at one another.

      And for what? For the dubious pleasure of having their names in the papers? “Mr and Mrs Whos-it were seen attending Lady Orman’s ball …”

      Emily sighed. There were surely many more useful, not to say more pleasant, things to do with one’s time. But her parents and her brother Robert seemed to enjoy it.

      She stood on tiptoe, peering through the palms to see her brother dancing with his new wife, Amy. They were laughing as they spun around, their faces alight with pleasure. Well, Amy did love society; she was good at being sociable, and that was all the better for Rob’s fledgling political career. They were surely well matched, even if Amy’s ancient-named family had not much money.

      That was what Emily’s parents, the Earl and Countess of Moreby, said anyway. Amy’s family name, as old as their own, and her outgoing personality were fine assets, and a good excuse for letting Rob marry where he chose.

      Besides, they would add, with sidelong glances at Emily herself, Emily will make our fortune. She is bound to marry very well!

      Except that Emily had been a terrible disappointment to them thus far. She had not come close to marrying a title or a fortune. Or marrying anyone at all. And now the Season was almost over.

      She instinctively raised her hand to nervously chew at her thumbnail, before she remembered she wore silk gloves. Her hand fell back to her side, tucked into the folds of her silver-embroidered white silk skirts. When, oh, when would that floor open up already?

      The whole evening, the

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