Page 32 of Chasing the Earl
When the first hour passed, Emmagene began to wonder if she’d misunderstood his intentions. Or possibly Huntly had become distracted by something. Or someone.
Miss Cradditch.
Surely not. The girl was a twit.
This was another reason Emmagene steered clear of gentlemen’s company for the last ten years. She remembered this sensation quite clearly from her time with Geoffrey. When he’d promised to meet her in the stables but had never arrived. She’d waited for hours, feeling rejected. Unwanted.
Emmagene stalked to the bed and threw back the covers, glaring at the closed door of her room. She smashed a pillow with her fist. If anyone was going to reject the other, it was Emmagene.
An image of Miss Cradditch, fingers on Huntly’s arm, flashed before her.
Without thinking, Emmagene tossed on her robe and slipped out of her room, determined to confront Huntly. She would announce an end to their acquaintance before he could unsettle her further. Marching down the hall, robe flapping around her ankles, hair streaming behind her, she went directly to Huntly’s door and knocked sharply. When he didn’t answer, she twisted the knob, which turned easily in her hand.
Huntly spun toward the door, surprise lighting his eyes. He was buttoning what looked to be a clean shirt, his large fingers moving with efficient grace. “Emmie.”
“You,” she sputtered, glancing around the room for any sign of Miss Cradditch. The girl was desperate to marry a title. Anyone could see that. Emmagene wouldn’t put it past her to try to ruin herself with Huntly and thus ensure her future role as countess.
He raised a brow. “Yes. Me. I’m not sure who else you were expecting. This is my room, after all.”
“I’ve been waiting, like some pathetic wallflower, for you to come to my room and—” She peeked over the side of one chair.
“I came up a few moments ago. Are you looking for something?”
“Not in the least. Good evening.” She started back toward the door.
“A servant spilled champagne on me, Emmie, so I changed my shirt. If it had been whiskey, I might have just worn it, since you seem to like whiskey better than champagne.”
Her toes dug into the rug at her feet.
“Will you shut the door?” His lips were twitching. If he burst into laughter, she might throw something.
“You find this amusing?” Emmagene suddenly felt very foolish and very angry. Mostly at herself. Nothing good could come of this.
“Emmie, the door,” he said quietly, coming to her.
“This is a horrible idea,” she whispered. “I should go back to my room.” She’d actually been jealous. Worse, of Miss Cradditch. “I—”
Huntly reached around her and shut the door, flicking the lock. “It’s all right.” He cupped the side of her face, stroking her cheek with one large hand, and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Why did you leave the church today before I could walk you back?”
Emmagene shook off his hand, feeling herself soften toward him. “You were speaking to Montieth and Miss Cradditch. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
A slow look of understanding crossed his rough, handsome features. “Miss Cradditch. The annoying twit. Oh, Emmie.” A big hand cupped the back of her head.
“I should go,” she said again. “This is a mistake, my lord.”
*
“No, it isn’t,”he whispered.
It wasn’t a bloody mistake. She’d been jealous of Miss Cradditch because the girl had been holding on to his arm and didn’t want to admit to it. That was why she’d stormed in here, hair whipping about her and ready to do battle. He should be grateful she hadn’t brought anything sharp with her. Probably meant to make a eunuch out of him.
God.Why did that arouse Henry so much?
She pulled away, looking down at her feet.
“This is not a mistake.” He knew that now, in his very soul.
Difficult. Crabby little apple.What must he do to convince her?
