Page 33 of Sinfully Wed
Good lord, I’ve been staring at Emerson’s hands.
“Very kind, my lord. But I think it time we returned home,” Aunt Lottie announced. “My niece still looks a bit pale. The walk helped, but—”
Another burp erupted from Odessa, giving credence to her aunt’s words.
The lift of his lips twisted up further. “I agree, Miss Maplehurst. But I enjoyed our time together nonetheless.”
The carriage rolled forward, and Odessa fell back against the seat, not daring to look at Emerson again. Fighting the urge to study his glorious hands.
Emerson pointed to another squirrel running alongside the carriage, and her eye followed the movement, as if he knew of her strange fascination with those elegant but roughed fingers.
Drat.
“My youngest sister, Aurora, once kept a squirrel as a pet,” he said, watching the creature scamper about the grass, an acorn held in one tiny paw. “I can’t recall what she named him. He preferred walnuts to acorns as I recall.” He turned to her. “I myself like pigs.”
“Pigs, my lord?” Odessa blinked in surprise.
“Pigs,” he stated again, a perfect row of white teeth gleaming in the sun as he bestowed a breathtaking smile on her.
Emerson was the most infuriating man she’d ever met. First squirrels and now pigs. Despite Odessa’s best efforts, he refused to treat her with anything but polite respect, nor did he give any indication of disgust. Odessa was quite annoyed.
“Your brother preferred horses, as I recall,” Aunt Lottie mused. “It seemed his favorite topic.”
“Yes, but I’m not my brother, Miss Maplehurst.” His gaze drifted once more over to Odessa. “It would be best for all concerned if we keep that pertinent fact at hand.” The edge to his words, impossible to miss, seemed out of place with his polite manner, offering a glimpse at a man who was nothing like the nitwit dandy Odessa had originally imagined him to be. For the first time since Papa had mentionedthisEmerson, doubt trickled down her spine. Her efforts might well fail.
Emerson wasnothis brother.
“Why pigs, my lord?” Odessa murmured, refusing to raise her eyes to his or look at him directly. Doing so had an unwelcome effect on her.
“Why not pigs?” Emerson countered. “They are surprisingly intelligent creatures.”
“I’ve never known a gentleman such as yourself to express the slightest affinity for a pig.” Her interest in him was piqued once more. She wished Emerson would stop that. Being so different that she was forced to pay attention to him. Another piece of tar moved from her tooth, and she had to twist her lips to keep it in place.
“I think we can both agree you’ve not met a gentleman such as me before, Miss Whitehall.” He shrugged. “At any rate, while intelligent, pigs can have a vicious temper. Sows, in particular, can be territorial. I nearly lost a finger once. Didn’t move quick enough.” He held up his palm where the scar she glimpsed earlier lay in a stark, whitened line against his skin.
“You’ve been in their immediate vicinity?” she found herself asking.
“I raise them.” The green in Emerson’s eyes sparkled and deepened, like the murky depths of the pond they’d so recently strolled about. “Or at least I did until recently. But I might again. I miss doing so, you see. Never thought I would.”
How incredibly shocking. And mildly, at least for Odessa, stimulating. That blasted flutter took up once more between her breasts.
She could clearly picture Emerson stomping about a pen of grunting, vile-tempered pigs. He’d be muddied. Trousers stretched deliciously tight across those muscled buttocks glimpsed earlier. Shirtsleeves rolled up, showing off what Odessa imagined were broad, muscular forearms. The wild tangle of his hair would be damp with his exertions, clinging to his forehead and cheeks. Curling a bit around the edges, as it was doing now during the warmth of the day.
She jerked her eyes over the side of the carriage, praying rather desperately for another squirrel to come into view and dispel such improper thoughts of Emerson. Anything to keep Odessa from staring at his hands. His thighs. Or any other part of his magnificent person.
“Where did you raise these animals?” Aunt Lottie inquired. “May I guess, my lord?”
A tiny grin fell over his lips. “You may, Miss Maplehurst.”
Odessa’s aunt made a soft giggle, delighted to have Emerson’s attention.
Ugh.
“I knew a gentleman who lived just to the south of the Scottish border once. Somewhere in Northumberland, I believe.” Aunt Lottie leaned towards Emerson just a tad. “You sound at times remarkably like him.”
“You are correct, madam. Northumberland. Specifically, an estate of my father’s called Dunnings, which sits just outside of Spittal.” At their twin looks of confusion, he said, “A small village on the coast. My family…” He hesitated, the carved lines of his face sharpening. “Took up residence there after the death of my father. There aren’t many activities for agentlemansuch as me in that part of England. Pig farming seemed as good a hobby as any to keep myself busy and make a bit of coin.” The clipped, patrician accent dropped completely.
The previous Lord Emersonhadbanished his father’s second family from London; that much was apparent even if Emerson hadn’t said so. And admitting to not only liking pigs but raising them? For money? A proper earl would never—
