Page 55 of His Scandal
Chapter 15
Alex had heard everything. He kept his expression carefully blank, but inside, he pitied Emmeline. She had been denied what she obviously thought was her only chance at happiness. More than ever, she needed him to show her that she was a desirable woman, that she could someday find a good man.
But not Maxwell Willoughby. He was all wrong for her.
Alex turned to look where Blythe was pointing. A small family stood in the shade of a tree. The man, obviously Clifford Roswald, was plainly dressed and gentle of expression. He held a young child in his arms and talked to his wife. The woman was pregnant, and two more children spun a hoop in the dirt. Though they were wearing the simple garments of farmers, they seemed well fed and happy.Alex glanced at Emmeline, whose lips were pressed in a thin line. He saw the stiffness of her posture and knew she was trying her best to pretend it meant nothing to her. But if he allowed her to walk away from this, she’d never understand that Roswald was happy with his wife and family, that this was the life he’d been meant to live—that Roswald and Emmeline weren’t meant to be together.
He walked over to the Prescott sisters, swallowed a mouthful of beer, and asked, “Who’s that?”
Emmeline was visibly startled. “Who?”
“The family you two are whispering about.”
Blythe looked at them with the wide eyes of a wounded doe.
Emmeline smiled at her sister. “I’ll deal with Alex. Take Maxwell to the puppet show you’ve been eyeing.”
“Are you certain?”
“Just go, dearest.”
Alex stood at Emmeline’s side and watched Blythe walk away, Maxwell trailing hesitantly behind her. Alex shook his head. The boy was hopeless. Surely Emmeline couldn’t prefer someone likehim.
“You overheard everything, didn’t you?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Then there’s nothing to discuss.”
He slung an arm about her shoulders and she stiffened. “There’s plenty to discuss. So this is the tutor? He looks like a farmer now.”
“A gentleman farmer.”
“Don’t be defensive, love. Farming is a noble profession, and after all, I’m almost a farmer myself.”
“Oh, that’s amusing,” she scoffed.
“’Tis true. I oversee my own farmland. I simply employ men to do the actual labor.”
“As if you’d ever do such physical work.”
Now it was Alex’s turn to feel defensive. He brushed his fingers down her cheek and she stiffened. “Do you doubt that I’ve worked my own fields? These are calluses you feel, my lady. If you touched other parts of me, you could feel my hard-earned strength.”
She blushed in that lovely way she had. “Alex, stop! You have no interest in farming. And it looks like Clifford had taken a very active interest, for his family looks healthy.”
“And happy,” he murmured near her ear.
She pushed him away.
“I’ve studied everything there is to know about farming, Em. If your poet’s farm is anything like my lands, by now he’s finished plowing his fields, and he’s taking a well-earned break today from putting in his barley and wheat. If he makes a good beer, he should be tending to his hops vines. Shall I go on?”
Her suspicion was still evident. “You read that in a book somewhere.”
He put a hand dramatically to his chest. “Are you admitting that I might be knowledgeable enough to read books?”
“I never said you were a fool, Alex.”
“No, but the implication is there,” he answered, leaning toward her until their foreheads almost touched. “Would I make you swoon if I admitted I studied agriculture the last few years? If I list all the books in my library, will you fall into my arms? Was that how Roswald won your affections?”
