Page 53 of Never a Bride
“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, I am a 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.”
Emmeline glanced over her shoulder and saw Blythe and Maxwell giving her curious stares, and Alex, so tall and imposing, following her. She wanted to run.
Behind the tavern a small garden was laid out around a well. A welcoming bench sat in the sunshine, but she couldn’t stop; Alex was bearing down on her, a determined, amused look on his face.
“Emmeline, stop!”
“No!”
He was gaining on her.
“Just talk to me.”
She skirted a pair of apple trees. “You have no hold on me, Alex Thornton!”
She gasped as he caught her arm and tugged. She found her back against one of the trees and Alex looming over her. Oh, how he made her weak and sent her thoughts in treacherous directions.
“Stop this foolishness!” she demanded. “Blythe will see.”
“The tree is shielding you, love. And I can see who approaches.”
