Page 67 of His Scandal
Chapter 18
Emmeline put her hand in Alex’s, happy to be escaping such malicious women, even if it meant subjecting herself to the temptation of his embrace.
“I would enjoy dancing with you, Sir Alexander.”
His eyebrows rose, but he said nothing, only led her into the center of the hall.
As they performed the dance steps together, she watched his face, trying to make sense of this new information. She was curious about the two years of his life he’d given up, but she did not know how to raise the subject with a man so private with his true thoughts. She found herself feeling compassion for him, and it softened her. What had it been like to risk his life for his country, then give up the power and wealth towhich he must have become accustomed? Had he felt the same as she had when she’d given up Clifford Roswald: lost and frightened of the future? Did men merely hide their feelings beneath bravado?
His grin turned wolfish. “Ah, you study me so thoroughly, my lady,” he murmured. “I feel quite…ravished.”
She wanted to groan. His arrogance only hid even more arrogance—and salacious thoughts. “Alex, you really should learn to control your tongue.”
He laughed outright. “Em, you can attest to how well my tongue obeys me.” He lowered his voice and leaned nearer. “And there are so many interesting places on your body it wants to delve, to taste. I want to part your thighs and—”
As she felt her face blush hotly, she was glad that the dance steps drew her to another man. But her vivid imagination expounded on Alex’s implications until she was breathless and yearning for the secrets he hinted at.
Yet Lady Boxworth’s words rose again in her mind.
When the dance brought Alex back to Emmeline’s arms, he couldn’t help staring down at her, wondering at the subtle change in her. She seemed pensive, and he wondered if it was because of the intimacies they’d shared—or the ones he’d just implied.
Or was it due to Maxwell Willoughby? He’d seen Maxwell’s hand on her arm, seen her touch him. Feeling a primitive jealousy, Alex had wanted to break off his dance with Blythe and drag Emmeline away.
So she was the next woman he’d danced with. And the only woman here hewantedto dance with.
Thankfully, Emmeline spoke before he could dwell on such a ridiculous thought.
“Alex, did you just arrive at the palace?”
“No, I’ve been here for a time. You just didn’t see me.” He saw the curiosity in her eyes, watched her bite her full lip to keep from questioning him. “I was with the Queen.”
They were swept apart again for several minutes. When they returned together, she repeated, “With the Queen?”
“My, aren’tyouthe curious one?”
Emmeline couldn’t help it. For a man so looked down upon by much of the nobility, he seemed to have the Queen’s attention and companionship. How did he do it? What made him so good with women, even women who knew they should not be attracted to him—like her?
Just dancing with him made most women swoon; why couldn’t Maxwell dance like this with Blythe? There must be some secret; maybe all Maxwell needed was guidance.
And who better to teach him than Alex?
A plan began to form in Emmeline’s mind, andshe shivered with the daring perfection of it. Could she persuade Alex to teach Maxwell what he knew about courting women?
But how to explain her plan to Alex? She needed privacy, but not enough for him to work his magic on her.
When the dance ended, they bowed to one another.
“Alex, would you lead me to the refreshment table?”
He raised one eyebrow as he eyed her suspiciously. “You don’t wish to run from me as quickly as you can?”
“Certainly not. You must be as thirsty as I am.”
He inclined his head, then led the way through the milling crowd. At a table laden with sweets, he poured her wine from the elaborate fountain, then sipped his own as he studied her.
Emmeline knew she must be blushing. After all her attempts to get him out of Blythe’s life, how could she ask a favor? But she must—for Blythe’s sake.
“Emmeline, what is this all about?” he asked softly.
