Page 57 of His Scandal
“May your life be as blessed as mine has been. Come, I want you to take the noon meal with my family. And that was your sister, Blythe, then? My,how she’s matured into a lovely young woman. You must be very proud.”
Through a frozen smile, she said, “I am, thank you.”
Emmeline barely remembered meeting Clifford’s wife, Henrietta, and his children’s names escaped her altogether. She was too busy imagining what she’d say if she had Alex alone at that moment. Blythe and Maxwell rejoined them, and Clifford led the way to what he called his favorite tavern. Alex strode along at her side, smiling at everyone, especially her, while she gave him murderous glares whenever she could get away with it.
As they moved through the crowd, she deliberately hung back and Alex stayed at her side.
In a low voice, she said, “What did you mean to accomplish with such a lie?”
“I can’t hear you, my love,” he answered, sliding his arm into hers and leaning toward her. “Go ahead, whisper your loving thoughts in my ear.”
“Loving thoughts? Right now I’d be content to bite your earlobe!”
His eyes took on that wicked gleam that she was beginning to know so well. “Mmm, what a tempting thought. Can I bite you anywhere I want in return?”
She tried to yank her arm away, but he didn’t let go. He waved and smiled at Blythe, who was looking back at them curiously.
“You’re causing a distraction, Em.”
“I’mcausing a distraction? You practically said we were betrothed! What did you wish to accomplish with such a lie?”
He shrugged as he pulled her along. “I’m not sure. It just seemed amusing. You looked sad, and I’d rather you be anything else, even angry with me.”
Emmeline opened her mouth, but could think of nothing to say to such a peculiar thought. Why would he care if she were sad? “But don’t you realize that now he thinks I’m getting married?”
“Do you want him to feel guilty, thinking you’re a miserable spinster?”
“I—” She stopped in astonishment. “I’m not miserable! And ’tis hardly his fault that I could not marry him.”
“Good.” He patted her hand. “Then allow him to think that your father hasn’t defeated you. After all, Iama good catch.”
“You, a good catch?” she scoffed.
Again, something unknown flickered in his eyes and was gone.
“And no one has defeated me!” she continued.
“Then let us enjoy the day. Your pig farmer seems like a decent sort.”
“How do you know he’s a pig farmer?” she demanded.
“I don’t. But I like pigs; they’re good to raise and sell—and eat. Maybe he likes them, too.”
Before she could respond, he led her through the doors into a dimly lit tavern, where people pushed and shoved good-naturedly as they moved between the tables. Clifford had commandeered a long table, and was busy pulling up extra benches. He pulled one out for Emmeline, then with a wink made sure Alex sat beside her. His wife was already seated, holding the youngest child asleep in her lap.
It was a strange meal. Blythe chatted amiably with Henrietta, while Maxwell ate and watched them. Clifford and Alex talked about farming, even discussing a disease that had swept the pig population the previous year. She could have easily gaped at both of them, but she found herself mostly watching Alex.
There was no gambling to keep him interested, there were no young ladies to seduce. Yet he seemed to be enjoying himself, discussing farming of all things.
He constantly leaned his arm against hers, asking her opinion, making her appear foolish as she stammered. She knew Clifford must think her flustered with love, for he beamed at them as if he’d made the match himself.
Beneath the table, Alex’s hand kept wandering to her thigh. She pushed it away more times than she could count. But always it returned, and he watched her with obvious amusement. She didn’t know how many times the barmaid happily refilled his tankard. But as his mood mellowed, his gestures grew expansive, and he constantly bumped against her. She felt like Blythe was staring at her, and she could only imagine what her sister was thinking. Was she hurt? Did Alex mean more to her than she’d admitted?
As the afternoon wore on, the laughing crowd swelled, Clifford’s children grew worse behaved, and Alex’s wandering hand crept higher up her thigh. Emmeline felt as if she’d reached a limit.
She stood up and smiled at Clifford and his sleepy-eyed wife. “Please excuse me; I’m feeling a little light-headed. I just need some cooler air.”
As she skirted benches and tables, she heard Clifford say, “Why don’t you go with her, Sir Alexander? Islington can be dangerous at festival time.”
