Page 28 of Chasing the Earl
Emmagene swallowed and pressed her knees together again, desperately trying to staunch the sudden ache such thoughts brought. She was at the wedding of her dearest friend and cousin, for goodness’ sake. Seated in a pew at a church. Clutching flowers. A vicar was speaking, though not very well.
Huntly had not been at the light luncheon served before the guests had walked the short distance to the church standing at the edge of Southwell’s estate. Emmagene had lagged behind the others, hoping to see him, nodding politely to Lady Bainbridge and her dimwitted niece, Miss Cradditch. He wasn’t at the church, Emmagene had noticed as she’d taken a seat, alone, near the back. Nor had he arrived with Montieth. It was time she faced the obvious: Huntly, having bedded her last night, would now take great pains to avoid her. Which was what she wanted. Or didn’t. She couldn’t be sure.
Emmagene tore the head of a daisy clean off the stem.
The vicar droned on, seemingly oblivious to the overly warm air of the church and the guests carefully dabbing their upper lips. She had never in her life heard such a grating, annoying voice. From a vicar, one expected better diction. A more pleasing tone.
Another daisy met the same fate as the first.
The pew creaked with the weight of someone taking a seat next to her. Warmth slid against her side along with the scent of shaving soap with not a hint of vinegar.
“Dear God, what did the bloody daisy ever do to you, Miss Stitch?”
Her pulse skipped, though she willed it not to.
“You’re late,” she hissed, suddenly overjoyed Huntly was here, next to her. She clutched the daisies tighter.
“I had a rather exhausting evening.”
His eyes were very blue in the early afternoon light of the church. And guarded as if he was unsure of his welcome.
“I could barely crawl out of bed this morning and make myself presentable,” he growled. “May need a nap after the ceremony. Was hoping you’d join me.” He raised a brow. “Stop scowling. We are at a wedding.”
“I’m not scowling; I’m composed.” A sort of giddiness filled her at his teasing. “And I have a bouquet,” she retorted.
“Which you’re destroying.” He moved his thigh closer so it pressed against hers. They were seated far in the back with no one behind them to see his improper behavior. “I take it you don’t like daisies. Or weddings. I don’t care for them overmuch either. Mildly surprised lightning didn’t strike the church as I entered.” He nodded none too discreetly toward the front of the church. “Where do you think they dug up this vicar? He’s terrible with that pronounced lisp of his. If I begin to snore, please wake me.”
“You are awful.”
“You were thinking the same. Shrewish spinster.” There was a tiny tug at the corner of his mouth. He leaned in until his nose brushed the curve of her ear. “Luscious thing.”
The ache between her thighs throbbed in response to his words. Emmagene surmised, somewhat unhappily, if she wasn’t careful, she would end up like some trained dog. Huntly would need only to whisper to her and she’d become undone.
“He married Southwell’s parents, from what I understand,” she replied tartly.
“Yes, well I know how that relationship ended.” At her look, he said, “Not well. There is a reason South is an only child. His mother was said to have cried tears of joy at producing the requisite heir and immediately set off for London, leaving South with his nursemaid. Mine at least waited until my brother went off to school.”
Douglas. It was clear Huntly’s parents had blamed him for the death of his brother because Huntly had gifted him the horse, though she didn’t think his relationship with the former Earl and Countess of Huntly had ever been warm.
That bloody unwanted tether to Huntly tugged harder in his direction. She fixed her gaze on the front of the church.
Southwell was repeating his vows to Honora, his features full of love and adoration for her. It was so honest, so genuine, she could barely watch. And because Emmagene had been ruined by a lying, spoiled gentleman, she’d nearly helped destroy Honora’s relationship with Southwell. Her own experiences had led her to become bitter. Hurling her scathing opinions around to anyone she deemed beneath her, in an effort to protect herself. She’d become hard. Difficult.
Unlovable.
Moisture gathered behind her eyes, and she blinked to dispel it. Perhaps that was truly why she and Huntly were drawn to each other.
A large, warm hand, calloused because he refused to wear gloves, captured her fingers just as a tearful Honora vowed to love Southwell to the end of his days. Emmagene shivered, just slightly, at the remembered feel of those same fingers caressing her skin.
“Didn’t promise to obey him, I noticed.” Huntly laced his fingers with hers, holding tight as if she’d dash away from him.
“You’ll snap my fingers with such a grip.” She tried to tug her hand away, suddenly embarrassed by self-pitying thoughts. “I don’t need to be comforted.”
“No one said you did.” His baritone brushed sensually against her skin just as his mouth had done last night. “Stop wiggling about. It’s annoying.”
Emmagene glared at him.
Huntly glared right back.
