Page 31 of His Scandal
She laughed. “Oh, Emmy, he does not want or need my money. He comes from a powerful family in his own right.”
“Do you see many women lining up to marry him?” Emmeline couldn’t believe how cold and cruel she sounded.
Blythe cupped Emmeline’s cheek in her hand. “You are just saying these things to scare me, and I appreciate your devotion. But look out there—does Alex look like a man who lacks female friendship?”
Emmeline turned her head, and across the lawnshe could see that the dancing had resumed. Alex was in the thick of it, moving with an abandon that seemed forced. Couldn’t Blythe see that?
They returned to the gathering, and Emmeline allowed her to go off with her friends to the bridges between the ponds. Emmeline seated herself on a stool beside Lady Morley, who held court as if she were the queen herself. More and more Emmeline was one of the elders, sitting off to the side while the young people danced.
“He looks so like his brother ’tis uncanny.”
Emmeline could not help listening to the conversation going on a few feet away from her. The speaker was an older woman she hadn’t met before, whose nose was so high in the air that it was amazing a bug had not flown in.
“But he’snotlike his brother,” cautioned a younger woman whose perpetual frown already marred her brow. “Do you remember that dreadful statue he presented to Her Majesty?”
Emmeline held her breath, fascinated despite herself.
“Yes, young lady, I do, though we should not be discussing it. Imagine sending a naked statue of oneself to your Queen!”
Emmeline was so busy choking down a horrified laugh that she almost missed their next words.
The young woman leaned closer to her companion, and Emmeline unashamedly leaned nearer as well.
“Tell me truly, Lady Boxworth, did it honestly have wings, like an angel?”
“Or the very devil himself,” Lady Boxworth intoned. “After displaying it rather vulgarly, the Queen gave it back to him. I understand he uses it to decorate his brother’s home.”
The two women turned to look at Alex, and Emmeline did the same. Oh, how she wished she’d known that the statue was at Thornton Manor, because she surely would have looked for it.
When Emmeline realized how improper her thoughts were becoming, she fanned herself vigorously to disguise her blush.
To make everything worse, Alex came over to the ladies and flopped down on his side on a blanket, propping his head in his hand. Those dark eyes were alive with such mischief that Emmeline braced herself for the worst as she allowed her anger to simmer. Even worse, his fingers casually rubbed the lace on her hem, and she could feel every tug of the material across her knees and up to her waist. Appalled, she wondered if anyone could see. She wanted to kick him, or step on those groping fingers, but such behavior would only call more attention to his antics.
Soon the other gentlemen joined them, and as the sun began to wane, Alex said, “Ladies, I fearwe have not much time left of our lovely afternoon.”
Blythe came to sit beside him, holding her skirts down with her arms.
“What amusements can we poor gentlemen provide you?” he continued.
Emmeline straightened with sudden inspiration. “Sir Alexander, I have heard you say more than once that you are a gifted poet. I am certain we’d all enjoy hearing your work.”
Though the smile never left his face, Alex’s gaze was riveted to hers, and she barely withheld her own smile of glee. Ah, what a wicked repayment for treating her sister so lightly.
Sir Edmund choked on his tankard of ale. “Poetry?” he managed to say, before succumbing to a coughing fit.
There were titters of laughter, and even Blythe grinned. Alex slowly sat up, every muscle rippling into the next like the stretching of a wild wolf. Emmeline caught her breath, refusing to do the sensible thing and back down.
“Ah, Lady Emmeline, I would not want to make anyone uncomfortable with my deepest feelings.”
“Sir Alexander,” she replied sweetly, “you do us a grave injustice if you believe we would not appreciate your thoughts.”
She could not believe her own nerve, and she knew some of the women would be looking at herin a new light. She usually said little at parties, except to her few friends. But something about Alex brought out her daring, and she relished the heady power of it.
“Very well, I accept your challenge,” he said.
“Challenge? Whatever do you mean?”
“You of all people know how private poetry is.”
