Page 38 of Chasing the Earl
“Clearly,” he snapped.
“I’ve no wish to enter into a sordid relationship with you, my lord.”
“Too late.”
Emmagene took a deep breath. Pleasure suffused her skin, and she knew it was due to Huntly’s presence. “Must you interrupt my every thought? Does it amuse you?”
“Somewhat.” He drummed his fingers, glaring at her.
“Why are you here, Lord Huntly? To ask my opinion again? Perhaps of Miss Cradditch?”
“Are you bloody serious, Emmagene?” Huntly’s brows rose.
The use of her full name refocused her. “Go back to your balls and dinners. I’ve no desire to discuss the benefits of any woman whom you might wish to wed. I find it in poor taste that you did so previously. Under the circumstances.”
His nostrils flared. “You’re an idiot.”
Emmagene bristled, wondering if she should throw her tea at him. “I am not an idiot.”
“I’ve missed you dreadfully, Emmie,” he interrupted. “And youarebehaving like an idiot. Miss Cradditch?” He shook his head.
She sucked in a breath, feeling the pressure of her ribs scraping against her rapidly beating heart. “I don’t need to be insulted in my own home, my lord.” Standing, she smoothed down her skirts and headed toward the door. “If you won’t leave, I will. Good day, my lord.”
“I detest you in brown.” Huntly reached out, thick fingers wrapping around her wrist. “Don’t you want to know why I’m here?”
“I do not.”
“Yes, you do. You’re bubbling with curiosity. You just don’t want to admit it. Rattling on about Miss Cradditch. I’ve completely forgotten what the girl even looked like.”
“Let go.” Emmagene tugged at her hand, all the emotions she’d kept restrained threatening to tumble out of her in a painful rush.
“I don’t want to let go of you. Ever. Are you blind or just in denial?”
“Neither.” Moisture was gathering behind her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks.
“I promised that harridan you call a cousin I would be patient. Gentle.” His thumb smoothed along the inside of her wrist. “I allowed myself a good amount of time for my anger to cool. When you left Longwood”—his voice thickened—“I found it quite painful.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it furiously away.
“Jesus, Emmie.” He tugged her, protesting and sputtering, into his lap. His nose glanced along her neck and into her hair. “I’m afraid too,” he whispered. “Terrified. Like you. It’s why it took me so long to call—well, that and the anger.”
She shook her head in denial even as he pulled her against the solid wall of his chest. He smelled of fresh air and a bit of horse. He’d been out riding before coming to her. “I’m not afraid. You are rude and impolite. I’m just—”
“Difficult. Contrary. Opinionated. Wizened like every other elderly spinster in London.” His chest rose beneath her cheek as he took a deep breath. “I regret to inform you, Miss Stitch, that I still desire you above anyone else. Even Miss Cradditch.” She struggled against him, and he pulled her tighter. “I wish to God I didn’t, but I do.” His lips grazed her temple. “Don’t you find we fit together, Emmie?”
“Stop.” She slapped at his chest. Hope. Panic. Fear. They all welled up inside her. “You’re only saying this because—”
“I want to fuck you? Of course I do. That should come as no surprise. We especially fit together well when we’re naked. But that isn’t all I want. You know that in here.” He placed a big palm against her heart and took the opportunity to cup her breast.
“No.”
“I am”—his voice broke—“solonelywithout you, Emmagene Stitch. And I can’t bear it.”
A sob left her, the painful opening of her heart stealing her breath. “Henry, you can’t be serious.”
“I assure you, I am incredibly serious. I’ve already spoken to your father, the esteemed Mr. Stitch. Didn’t you wonder why he wasn’t rushing in here with a brace of footmen to defend you?”
“You’ve met my father? Why in the world—”
