Page 1 of The Marquess's Scandalous Game
CHAPTER 1
Livingston townhouse, London
It was only the start of the season, but Miss Emma Corbett already had enough of it. She detested balls and only attended because to do otherwise would irk her father and cause him to vent his frustration. She would do well to avoid his attention since he was in a foul mood, and she was the cause of his irritation. Emma had thwarted all the suitors from her first season last year, and her father insisted that she choose a husband, or he would choose one for her this season.
The very idea is insupportable. Emma had no interest in taking a husband. She did not need one because she believed she had a higher calling. As far as Emma was concerned, a special gift for healing had been bestowed upon her. She did not see why she should waste her capabilities by getting married to a gentleman who would likely prevent her from using her gift.
“This is so frustrating. I have no intention of parading myself in front of these men who show little interest in getting to know me and understanding my calling as a healer. What couldbe more noble than curing the sick?” Emma muttered as she exhaled in frustration.
She was standing in the far corner of the Marchioness of Livingston’s garden, hoping her father had not missed her. The first ball she attended for this season was in full swing. People were crowded in all the common areas, which made all the rooms hot and stuffy. Emma needed a reprieve from it all. She had fled to the garden, relieved to hurry down the cobbled pathway faintly lit by lanterns.
She blew out a long, deep breath. How could she convince her father that she wanted something else for her life? Tipping her face to the heavens, she peered at the star-studded sky and whispered, “I am a learned lady in possession of enviable skills and ability. Why should I be satisfied with less than what is due to me? No gentleman should control my destiny, for I deserve to chart my own path. After all, my gift is for the benefit of others, and there is no selfishness on my part. I always use my gift to do good.”
There were seats in the corner of the garden, slightly obscured by the foliage, yet Emma remained standing. She was so frustrated that she did not wish to sit. An angst had built up inside her, and she was all but pacing. It had been a warm day, but earlier this evening, she saw the raindrops hitting the glass panes of the window facing the garden. Thankfully, the rain had made the air much cooler.
She could smell the remnants of the rain that had hit the parched earth along with the sweet smell of roses. Emma inhaled the cool air deeply into her chest and held her breath before slowly releasing it. She contemplated how far her father was willing to go if she did not choose a husband. Would he really force her?
“How can I make father understand I would be happiest if I could become a physician. Sadly, this pursuit is only madeavailable to men in this world. A world for men dominated by men. One could say that I should be grateful that I can do any healing at all, butwhy? Why must I be satisfied with what I can do when there is the potential for me to do so much more?” Emma placed her hand on her hip. “I suppose I will not change the world tonight. I must make the most of what I have. It is certainly better than being burned at the stake for witchcraft when all I wish to do is help others.”
There was a distinct chuckle, which caused Emma to jump. Her heart began to pound wildly, and she detected a soft tremor in her hands.Who the devil is that? She thought she was alone when she entered the rear of the garden. Though oftentimes unconsciously done, Emma was mortified to have been caught speaking to herself.
“Show yourself,” she demanded, pleased to hear her voice did not tremble. She was alerted to movement by the bench when a tall figure rose above the foliage. Emma did not think it was possible for her heart to pound any faster, but it did. She beheld a tall man with quite broad shoulders. He exuded virility, power, and confidence in his stance. The lantern cast a soft glow over his features. He was indeed handsome but ruggedly so. Emma tried to dismiss his astonishingly handsome appearance.
“Are you in the habit of creeping up on young ladies in the dark?” Emma asked. She sounded haughtier than she intended, but she put this down to the fact that the stranger had scared the life out of her.
“I do apologize. It was not my intention to startle you,” the gentleman said as he slowly stepped from behind the foliage. An altogether imposing figure.
His voice was a deep, rich baritone that sent shivers down Emma’s spine as if his fingers reached out and lightly caressed her. Emma had never experienced such a tingling feeling when a gentleman spoke to her.How peculiar. There was a momentof breathless silence. She found she was gazing wordlessly at his beauty. She could not remember another occasion when she was at a loss for words. Emma reasoned it was the combination of his voice, physique, and his proximity.
“Am I forgiven, Lady …”
The stranger’s voice jolted her from her thoughts.
He raised a brow and looked at her expectantly.
“Miss Corbett of Buckden, Cambridgeshire,” Emma finally replied, and her face flushed.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” The handsome stranger gave a slight bow. “I must point out that you are more than a hundred years too late to be burned at the stake. Have no fear.” He tilted his head and scrutinized her. “I gather you already knew this.”
“You heard everything,” she gasped, a bit stricken. “It was ungentlemanly of you to listen to a private conversation.”
“A private conversation? You were speaking to yourself.”
“Well,” she said, “are those not the most private ones?”
A smile lifted the corner of his mouth, and his face lit up. Emma’s breath caught in her throat. He was even more fetching when he smiled, although she was trying very hard not to notice. She had already stared at him enough. In all her eighteen years, she had never thought of a man asfetching. Emma raised her hand to her forehead and felt it but did not have a temperature. She could not blame her errant thoughts on being ill.
Eager to not appear too smitten by his good looks, she said, “I suppose I should not have drawn parallels to being burnt at the stake.” Emma’s gaze bored into the gentleman. “Let me reiterate, you should not have been privy to my … musings.”
He chuckled. “Do you often speak aloud to yourself?”
“I confess, I am always astonished to discover others do not,” she said tartly.
“I suppose from time to time I curse to myself,” the stranger drawled, stepping even closer. “You had so much to say. I searched for your companion just now. I was pleasantly surprised to see that you are alone.”
A touch of humor rushed through her. Emma was quite aware of how her family reacted whenever they caught her chatting to herself. “When I speak aloud, it is merely my inner voice which helps me to calm myself. A deplorable habit my father scolds me for.” Emma was startled to find she was sharing such an intimate detail with the mysterious gentleman.
His eyes appraised the full length of her body, and Emma was ever so conscious of his piercing gaze. When he lifted his eyes from her curves, his lips held a hint of mockery. “I would say it is charming, and it speaks to the honesty of a character.”
