Page 100 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

Heath hadthe overwhelming desire to send Sir Thomas Mason crashing right through one of Danby’s highest windows. He’d never seen such a disgustingly ardent display of adoration in his life, and certainly not over dinner. The young magistrate might as well have dropped to his knees before all and sundry to pledge his utter and complete devotion to Emma Whitton. He’d gushed over her gown, her wit, and some needlepoint she’d sent his aunt.

Purely nauseating.

Even worse, Emma seemed only to have eyes for Mason over dinner.

It didn’t help that the damned magistrate had inexplicably ended up beside Emma at the dining table while Heath had been placed between the Marchioness of Norland and the ancient Aunt Somebody further down the table, too far away to overhear most of Emma’s and Mason’s hushed conversation. Emma didn’t once—not once—look in Heath’s direction. The fictional Balthasar Blommen would have been green with envy over the display.

When it was time for the gentlemen to enjoy their port, Heath quietly excused himself from the other men and followed the ladies from the dining hall. Emma’s arm was linked with Miss Mason’s, their heads tilted together as though they were the closest of confidants.

He quickened his pace to reach the pair and his heart lifted a bit when Emma cocked her head to the side, looking at him for the first time that evening. Then she nearly stumbled, but Heath caught her elbow to keep her upright. “My lady, are you all right?”

She glanced anxiously back over her shoulder. “Why aren’t you with the other gentlemen?”

Because if he had to sit in the dining hall with that damned magistrate one more moment, Heath might be forced to break the man’s skull. “I was hoping for a word.”

“That’s highly improper,” Miss Mason said with a scowl.

The enterprising chit could go hang right alongside her brother for all Heath cared. He ignored Miss Mason altogether and leveled his gaze on Emma, imploring her to see him. “Just for a moment, my lady.”

Emma took a steadying breath, but finally agreed with the nod of her head. “I’ll join the rest of you momentarily, Clara,” she muttered to her companion.

Heath didn’t give Emma a chance to change her mind and towed her towards the closest salon, away from the prying ears and eyes of Miss Mason. Then he closed the door behind them and leaned against it.

Emma gasped. “Are you trying to ruin my reputation, my lord?” And though fire burned in her hazel eyes, at least she was looking at him.

“What’s all that about?” Heath gestured to the corridor with a flick of his head.

“What’s all what about?”

“Mason and his sycophantic sister.”

“I have no idea what you could possibly mean.” She shook her head as though he was mad. She might even be right about that, but Heath had no intention of conceding so easily.

“Tell me, what would your Mr. Blommen think if he saw the way Mason pays court to you?”

Her mouth fell open and her cheeks flushed pink, whether from shock or anger he couldn’t quite tell. “I-I,” she stammered. Then she straightened her back and stood her tallest. “Sir Thomas was hardly paying me court. Besides, Mr. Blommen is not the jealous sort. Is that all you wanted to speak with me about? If so, I should get back to my guests.”

“Not the jealous sort, hmm?” Ha! Mr. Blommen was whomever she decided at any given moment. Heath stalked towards Emma, and she backed up a few steps until she bumped into a brocade chair that blocked her escape. He quickly closed the distance between them and tipped her chin up with a crooked finger until she met his eyes. “He wouldn’t be jealous if he saw me standing this close to you?”

“You should back away,” she replied quietly.

“Or risk being called out by Blommen?”

“He’s much too refined for that.” She swallowed nervously. The muscles in her slender neck made more than one erotic image pop into Heath’s mind. What he wouldn’t do to experience that fantasy. “Mr. Blommen would never do such a thing,” she continued imperiously.

“Then he’s a fool.” Heath dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers. Emma’s sweet honeysuckle scent enveloped his senses, and Heath slid his arms around her waist, needing her closer, needing her lithe body pressed against his.

She shivered in his arms and he smiled against her mouth in victory. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. He could feel it in the way she clutched his jacket and sighed against him. Heath nibbled on her bottom lip, urging her to open for him. When she finally did, he slowly introduced his tongue to the haven that was her mouth.

Dear God, she tasted better than she smelled, and Heath needed more of her. Emma moaned when she tentatively touched her tongue to his, making his cock strain against his trousers. Emma Whitton had turned him into a lust-crazed libertine.

Heath squeezed her rounded bottom and drew her closer to his hard length, needing to feel every part of her. “Ah, sunshine,” he whispered. “You’re perfect.”

Her hazel eyes opened when he spoke, and Emma took a staggering step backwards until she bumped, once again, into the brocade chair behind her.

* * *

Emma stared at Lord Heathfield in alarm. Heavens, what had he done? What hadshedone? He was betrothed. He had a fiancée, for pity’s sake. And, and…she touched a hand to her well-kissed lips and let out a horrified squeak. “Don’t come near me.”

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