Page 68 of His Scandal
She wet her lips and forced herself to meet his gaze. “I need to speak with you…privately.”
For a moment he looked incredulous, then his eyes smoldered. “It seems our last private moment was interrupted too quickly for you.”
“N-No!” she stammered quickly. “It is…nothing like that. I need to ask a”—she lowered her voice—“a favor of you.”
Could his smug smile make her face feel any hotter? She wanted to run from him—and yet there were Maxwell and Blythe, two people she knew should be together. She stiffened and tried to meet his gaze coolly.
“It will not require much of you, Alex. Are you willing to hear me out?”
His black eyes regarded her and she stared back. He would not defeat her, she vowed to herself, warming to the challenge of besting him.
“Very well, my lady. Where do you suggest for our little…tryst?”
“It is not a tryst,” she said crossly, looking toward the high windows. “Do you know how to reach the terrace?”
He grinned and nodded, and she wondered how many secret places in Whitehall he knew about that she did not.
“Very well, I shall meet you out there in a quarter of an hour.”
“Must I wait so long?” he murmured.
She resisted the pull of his voice. “I need to speak with you, not lure the rest of the party outside for curiosity’s sake.”
He heaved a melodramatic sigh. “The minutes will drag like hours.”
“For a poet, that is a highly unoriginal phrase, Alex.”
He put a hand to his heart and leaned over her. “You wound me, Lady Emmeline.”
She backed away. “You’ll meet me, then?”
“Of course. How could I resist?”
“Resist your baser impulses, sir, and think only to listen to my request.”
He caught her hand before she could escape. “My baser impulses control me when I’m with you, Em.”
She could confess to the same sin. She pulled away, trying not to remember the way he’d kissed her, held her, and stroked her. “Fifteen minutes,” she whispered, and let the crowd swallow her.
To calm her wayward thoughts, she spent the next few moments discovering Blythe’s whereabouts, and then her father’s. Neither was looking for her.
She began to walk the length of the chamber, staying near the wall. She wandered through archways and back, hoping to confuse anyone who might see her. Finally, with a last look over her shoulder, she slipped behind a marble column, then out the open doors to the terrace.
The night was overcast and dark, and a slight breeze made bumps stand up along Emmeline’s arms. There were torches lit near the palace and guards on duty at the doors, but farther out into the gardens, where the ground dropped awayinto the next level of terrace, it looked like the end of the earth.
She didn’t see Alex. She had not thought of an exact place to meet him, and she now realized she could wander the grounds for days before they found one another.
She walked out toward the stone balustrade, hugging herself against the chill, wondering if she was acting stupidly. Should she have just invited him to the manor and met him in broad daylight? Before her doubts could escalate, he seemed to materialize out of the gloom at her side, his midnight velvet garments concealing him.
She gave a little start of surprise, then sagged against the balustrade with a sigh.
“Expecting someone else?” he asked calmly.
She felt foolish and far too daring than could be good for her. She almost said he might be as good at spying as his brother, but she restrained herself. He had confided none of this to her, and she didn’t want to offend him just when she needed something from him.
“I didn’t hear you coming, Alex. But thank you for doing so.”
“How could I resist when asked so mysteriously?”
