Page 40 of His Scandal
“Emmeline, surely I deserve to know why you’ve been following me.”
“Is it not obvious?” she retorted.
“Have you been reporting my activities back to your sister?”
She caught her breath and looked away. “Not…everything.”
“And what does that mean?” he asked, tugging on her arm and pulling her to a stop.
How could she explain? She hadn’t told her sister all the truth, not because of Alex, but becauseof her own unusual behavior. Every decision she’d made where he was concerned turned out wrong. Even if she told Blythe that she’d been following Alex for Blythe’s protection, was it true? Or was it only her own curiosity, the fact that she was enjoying his scandalousness too much?
She’d become a different person somehow, a woman who truly understood how much she was missing, what she’d never have in her life. And it hurt.
“I have to go, Sir Alexander,” she said formally, trying desperately to push her foolish emotions aside.
“It’s Alex,” he whispered, reaching to cup her cheek. For once he wasn’t smiling, and he looked more intense and handsome than she could have imagined.
For her own sanity, she broke away from him and ran.
Alex watched her go, then remained alone in the garden, trying to remember the wager, Blythe, anything instead of the beguiling sight of a flustered Emmeline. Strands of her hair had come loose to tumble temptingly down her cheeks and neck. Why hadn’t he touched them when Emmeline had lain beneath him?
Because her hair wasn’t what he’d been thinking about then. With a sudden overwhelming need, he’d wanted to lift her skirts and settle himself between her soft thighs. He’d wanted to kissevery part of her skin, smell every scent, until she blushed for him alone.
The thought of that damned wager made him sigh with regret. Unless…would Edmund agree to modify it? Surely a spinster was just as much of a challenge as a girlguardedby a spinster?
Then he remembered the way her expressive eyes had dimmed when he’d asked if she were reporting his activities to Blythe. Did she truly think him so unworthy?
Gritting his teeth, he strode back through the corridors of Whitehall until he reached the tiltyard. He found Edmund straddling a bench, a dipper of water in his hand. Alex took the dipper, slurped the last of the water, picked up his sword, and went out into the center of the yard.
Edmund stared at him.
Alex lifted his sword. “We weren’t finished, were we?”
Edmund walked toward him, his weapon dangling from one hand. “What happened with Lady Emmeline?”
“Nothing,” he said, raising his sword. “Let’s have at it.”
But Edmund only circled him slowly, his eyes thoughtful. “Did she tell you why she’s been following you?”
“I’ve always known why.” Alex thrust forward.
Edmund parried, then stumbled back as Alexcame at him again. “Since when has practice become serious to you?”
Alex only answered with his sword.
Emmeline’s father decided to celebrate his homecoming with an “event.” He wanted to have a masque, with actors performing for his guests, and she hoped planning it would make her forget the thoughts of Alex that constantly crept into her mind.
But she wasn’t successful. Every moment that she wasn’t focused on the party, she thought of him and remembered their solitary moments in the garden like some secret dream she had never thought could come true. She’d felt every part of his body against hers, and the dark, simmering passion of it all would not leave her. She didn’t know how she would face him again, for she could barely face Blythe—or even herself in the mirror.
He’d wanted to kiss her! Over and over she wondered what it would have felt like, and guiltily wished he’d done it. The shame of being dangerously attracted to her sister’s suitor was all mixed up with the excitement and dread. During the week before the masque, he had twice visited Blythe, and Emmeline made sure she was busy elsewhere. Oh, she was careful to keep a servant in the room with them, but she herself stayed far away.
How could she look him in the eyes? Certainly all she would remember was his body on hers. Her face would give her away, especially to Blythe, who might want answers Emmeline couldn’t give.
The sooner she got Alex Thornton out of their lives, the better. She personally oversaw the guest list, inviting every eligible man in London. Surely there were other men who would appeal to her sister.
Though it had rained all week, the night of the masque was clear and moonlit. The gardens seemed to shimmer with moisture and the promise of summer’s heat. On impulse, Emmeline had allowed Blythe to set up a pavilion for the masked drama, rather than hold it indoors. All week she’d been close to changing her mind, but as the beauty of that Saturday night unfolded, she was thankful. Her father actually commended her efforts before he disappeared into his withdrawing chamber with the other older gentlemen.
The guests hummed about her in droves, the food was devoured and praised, even the actors’ performances drew hearty laughter and applause. Though Emmeline was in the center of it all, she felt alone, removed from everyone. The week’s efforts had culminated in a success—but all she felt was tiredness.
