Page 40 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl
“Yes,” she said simply. “I hated being with the Ton.”
“Oh.”
He halted and she noticed that they had arrived at the lake. The surface was pale blue and glittered in the sunshine that had broken through the clouds as they rode. The expanse of water was not particularly large—perhaps ten paces across and maybe eight paces wide—but it was breathtaking, surrounded by trees of various shades of green and soft, pale green grass. Emmeline sighed at the beauty of it.
Andrew dismounted and waited for her to follow suit, then looped his horse’s reins up so that they did not trail and snag the horse on bushes while he grazed. Emmeline did the same and walked with Andrew to the lake.
She stood and stared out over the blue water. It was beautiful, the surface ruffled by a delicate breeze, the leaves on the trees moving softly around it.
“Why is that?” Andrew asked, making her frown.
“Why what?” she asked, tucking a strand of red hair out of her eye. It was easy to ignore his closeness when they were both riding, but when they were both dismounted, she was overwhelmingly aware of him standing beside her. Her heart raced.
“I expected you would like London. There’s much to do there, so much diversion. I am surprised you do not like it. It seems to me you are someone who does not like to be still.”
Emmeline grinned and nodded. “I dislike being still intensely.” She chuckled, feeling a flush creep into her cheek. He was watching her, genuinely interested in her. It made her entire body flood with warmth. She cleared her throat, self-consciously, and continued. “Which is one of the reasons I dislike London. It seems all people care to do in London is stand around at soirees and parties.”
Andrew laughed. “You’re quite right,” he agreed. “It is all they seem to do. That, and gossip.”
“Yes!” The word shot out more loudly than she expected. She lifted her hand to her mouth and giggled. His eyes shone.
“Did you find the gossip tiresome?” he asked.
“It’s always tiresome if it’s about you,” she replied swiftly. She hadn’t meant to speak so intensely, and she looked up at him, half expecting to see a frown of distaste on his brow. He was looking away, looking across the lake, and when he looked back, his eyes were emotion-filled.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, it is.” His voice was hoarse, and Emmeline swallowed hard. She realised that Lady Rilendale had been right...the malicious rumours about him killing his grandfather were just that—malicious rumours.
“I know,” she said softly, trying to think of something to say to soften the harshness of her words earlier. “They said I was far too ready with my opinion for a woman; too direct and intense.” Her heart twisted at the memory. Her father’s face flashed into her mind, his words filling her head.Be yourself,he whispered.The world needs your light.
Her eyes filled with tears.
To her surprise, he touched her on her cheek and when she opened her eyes, Andrew was resting his hand on her face, his gaze gentle and concerned. He stared into her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. His voice was rough with emotion. “I’m sorry that you have been suffering so hard.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that. It wasn’t hard. Not...exactly.” She could barely talk. Her throat was too tight with her feelings. His hand on her face was gentle, his thumb rubbing the tears away. “I was thinking of Father.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again softly. “It’s so hard at first. Losing a parent. I was just a child—I barely remember the year after he passed.”
She shook her head. “You were just little more than a babe in arms,” she said gently. “And it wasn’t just your Papa, but your Mama too.” She recalled what Lady Rilendale had told her.
“Yes.” His eyes were filled with tears now too. “Yes, it was. It was hard.”
“I’m sorry,” she said gently.
“Don’t be,” he said with a grin through the tears. “It was an awfully long time ago now.” His smile was watery, the traces of tears wet on his cheeks. “Sorry.” He shook his head. “I haven’t thought about them, or cried, in a long time. A very long time.”
“I don’t know if it gets easier,” Emmeline whispered. The horrible ache inside her whenever she so much thought of Father had become worse, not better, with time.
“It does,” he said softly. “I promise. It does.”
“Good.”
She gazed into his eyes. Very gently, he moved his hand so that he could tuck a stray curl of red hair behind her ear. She swallowed hard. The touch was so warm, so tender. It sent shivers down her spine, and a sudden ache filled her—a need to hold him and be held by him, to feel his lips trace the path that his hand had just traced. She gazed up at him. He gazed back.
“We should go back,” he said softly. “My grandmother will be most upset if we are late for mealtime.”
“I wouldn’t wish to upset her,” Emmeline said quickly.
