Page 16 of His Scandal
But Alex remembered the vivid feeling of being dismissed. One after another, Spencer’s friends tried to insist they’d known all along something wasn’t right, that Alex had behaved too scandalously to be Spencer. When Alex had had enough, he’d tried to draw away Lady Margaret, the woman he’d been most enamored of, only to have her look back at Spencer longingly. She’d pulled away, claiming their being together wasn’t seemly. Yet she hadn’t minded when he’d taken her out into the dark garden for stolen kisses only a week before.
He’d still been the viscount then.
But he’d been too stubborn to see the truth all around him. When women weren’t pretending to be away from home when he visited, they literally discussed marriageable noblemen in front of him—because he was no longer in consideration. He was the younger son, not the heir, and they had been quick to forget their association with him.
And Emmeline was the same.
Yet there was still something about her that drew him—surely only the mystery of her, why she hadn’t found another man to marry. With Blythe, he thought only of a stolen kiss; with Emmeline he thought of stolen passion, hot flesh against hot flesh in the night. He wanted to peel away each garment and reveal everything about her, to prove she was no better—nor worse—than any other woman.
Emmeline finally managed to disengage herself from the baroness and her elderly friends, careful not to hurt their feelings. They had lost husbands, and she would never have one, so she might soon be sitting in their circles regularly.
But she could not leave Blythe alone too long with Sir Alexander. She found them dancing again, and breathed deeply with relief. He lifted her sister high in the air several times, and each time she laughed gaily. Then another man swept Blythe away, and she seemed just as happy.
Emmeline’s gaze followed Sir Alexander as hedanced with another woman. He was richly dressed in a black satin doublet embroidered with tiny diamonds. His short black hair brushed his high collar, and another diamond dangled from one ear. Beneath the doublet he wore striped, padded breeches loose about his thighs. He seemed every bit the nobleman beneath the rakish tilt to his hat, and every bit dangerous. She could not blame Blythe for her flirtation, although she didn’t understand her own strange reaction to him.
Though he was gifted with words, he was not a poet. He did not speak of education or politics, as she so enjoyed. He obviously cajoled women with his eyes and his voice—and she grudgingly admitted that he was very good at what he did. Even she felt distracted and dazed every time he turned those dark eyes solely on her.
When Blythe returned to her side, Emmeline smiled at her sister’s out-of-breath laughter.
“Oh, Emmy, I am so happy that I am old enough to attend the queen’s court!” She gave Emmeline a hug and pulled her onto a padded bench.
“You are doing Father proud,” Emmeline murmured.
“He’s not here, is he?” Blythe asked quickly.
“No, dear, he went to Nottingham on business.” Their father seldom attended any party or court function, leaving Blythe’s care in Emmeline’s hands.
“I am greatly relieved, since I was dancing with far too many men than must be good for me. And I don’t want his anger to ruin this magical night.” She heaved a melodramatic sigh. “I could not believe Lord Seabrook noticed me! And we danced!”
Good, her first words were not of Sir Alexander. “Lord Seabrook will someday inherit his father’s dukedom,” Emmeline said reasonably. “His interest can only be flattering to you. And he is close to your own age,” she added.
The girl grinned. “I can’t even hold that against him.”
Emmeline should have known that the following sennight passed too smoothly. She spent each day with the servants, organizing a massive cleaning for her father’s expected return. Extra bakers were hired for the many special desserts he needed when he entertained. Blythe visited with friends or agreed to Emmeline’s occasional tutoring, but never once did she mention suitors.
Emmeline should have asked.
The day their father returned began as any other. Without even sending a messenger home, he and his entourage arrived in many coaches. Emmeline ordered the servants to begin unpacking, and then she met him in his withdrawing chamber to present him with the correspondence that had accumulated in his absence.
Her father was a big man, like her older brothers, although he’d grown stout as he aged. He was balding on top, and seemed to make up for it with a well-trimmed gray beard. His eyes, too, were a piercing gray, as if he could see right through to whatever she was hiding. Emmeline had long since come to terms with her ambivalence toward her father. He fed her, clothed her, allowed her to be tutored—but he did not love her.
While her father looked through his papers, she waited, looking out the windows toward the gardens and thinking of the approach of summer.
Without glancing up, he finally said, “Blythe has been introduced to all the important families?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Are suitable young men paying court to her?”
“Yes, Father.” In her mind she saw Alexander Thornton, and knew he was not the kind of man her father meant.
“Any serious suitors?”
“It is early yet.”
He looked up and studied her intently, and Emmeline forced herself not to fidget.
“Very well. Let us go over your estate accounts.”
