Page 24 of His Scandal
“My lady.”
Emmeline barely controlled a shiver at the deep, smooth tone of Alex’s voice. She could not imagine what it would be like to be the sole recipient of his attention, to be the constant focus of a gaze so direct, so dark with a secret knowledge she didn’t possess.
She was tempted to leave him alone—especially after their evening together three nights before—but she could not be so rude. She had to sit with him like an elderly aunt, because her father had ordered it.
Lifting her chin, she entered the parlor and walked toward Alex. He had remained standing, and a shaft of sunlight from the high mullioned windows seemed to glow about him, reflecting off the shining emerald satins and brocades of his garments.
And then he smiled at her, and his teeth flashedlike the diamond dangling from his ear. It was a knowing, secretive smile, and she knew that her blush must rival the hue of her hair.
She sat down opposite him on a cushioned bench before the hearth. “Good day, Sir Alexander.”
He shook his head as he settled his long arm on the back of the wooden settle. “I thought we had settled that issue. Call me Alex.”
“’Twould be highly improper, sir.” Goodness, now she evensoundedlike an elderly aunt!
“Improper? Nothing is improper between two friends. You did save my life the other night.”
“Save your life?” she repeated.
“Of course. Had you not used your own body to shove me into that stall, your father might very well have fed me to the swans.”
She controlled the smile that threatened to erupt. “Come, sir, my father is not a barbarian. He would have understood my explanations.”
“Would he? His daughter, out alone with a man?”
His deep voice and wicked eyes made her wonder what could happen out alone with him—not that she wanted to find out.
The truly sad thing was that her father would have been angry withher, not with Alex. Though her father had allowed her education, and trusted her judgment just as well as the steward of his estates, her judgment with men was ever faulty inher father’s eyes. Not that she’d had much chance to test his theory.
Just then, Blythe stepped into the room, and Emmeline could only smile her fondness at her radiant sister, who glittered in white and silver like a ray of moonlight. And she knew just what Blythe was thinking—Sir Alexander and Lord Seabrook were both coming to visit her. Two flirtations in one day, for a girl new to having a man’s attention, was a heady thing. Emmeline was happy for her—but she felt a flash of guilt as Alex kissed the back of Blythe’s hand. Her guilt would never leave her, for she could not tell her sister the truth—that she’d felt something when Alex had touched her, that his tongue on her palm burned her, that his chest pressed to hers made her ache in places she’d never imagined.
Was he even now making Blythe feel the same things?
Emmeline turned to go sit in a corner of the room to work on her embroidery, when Alex said, “Lady Emmeline, come, do not sit alone. What more could a man want than the attention of two such lovely sisters?”
Blythe smiled. “Surely you can work here with us, by the warmth of the fire.”
With a nod, Emmeline sat down on a stool near her sister, then dropped her gaze to the canvas in her lap. There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, but soon Alex’s ready voice relaxed her.
“Lady Blythe, I enjoyed dancing with you, very much. Whoever tutored you was clearly the best in London.”
Emmeline gripped the canvas, waiting.
Blythe giggled. “I already told you, Alex, ’twas my sister, because she teaches me everything.”
Emmeline could not stop her gaze from rising to Alex. He was watching her quietly, an amused smile lifting his generous lips. His eyes roamed down from her face, and it was as if he spoke, telling her he would dance with her soon. She shivered.
Why were her thoughts so fanciful? she wondered wildly, as she looked back at her canvas. She would never dance with him. No man asked her anymore, not in years. It was as if they had all suddenly decided at one particular party that she was unworthy. She remembered it as if it were yesterday, the humiliation and loneliness. She’d never known why, and always wondered if they’d heard about Clifford.
“Your sister must be an excellent dancer,” Alex said, and she could hear the amusement and promise in his voice.
Emmeline was mortified at his flirting, and wished desperately that he would not do so in front of Blythe. But her sister began to ask Alexabout his friends, his travels, and the conversation moved on to safer topics.
Safer in one way, perhaps. Her curiosity about him was dangerous, yet she could not stop listening. Though he told Blythe many amusing stories about the people who moved through his life, Emmeline could tell instinctively that he had only Edmund Blackwell for a true friend. Why? Alex was so amusing and interesting, and even kind in his own way. He’d defended her figure, she remembered with a blush, making her aunt’s comments about her lack of beauty seem petty rather than hurtful.
“You have a brother, too, don’t you?” Blythe asked.
Perhaps only Emmeline sensed the sudden tension in the room. She looked up to find Alex regarding her sister almost warily. If she were Blythe, she would move on to another subject.
