Page 32 of Sinfully Wed
I hadn’t expected we would ever be so close.
“Mother was fond of Shakespeare.A Midsummer’s Night Dreamwas one of her favorites. Do you know it? We, my siblings and I, all took turns playing a part. I’m familiar with costumes and disguises.” His voice dipped. “The art of pretending to be someone else.”
Odessa was fond of Shakespeare as well, though admittedly, putting off what seemed to be an unending stream of Lord Emersons had kept her from reading much as of late. “Your brother,” she gave him a careful glimpse of her rotted teeth, “never mentioned playing dress-up and the like.”
“Bentley, as you’ll recall, was myhalf-brother, Miss Whitehall. We didn’t grow up together. He rarely visited River Crest.”
A distinction that was becoming more apparent as time went on. The first Lord Emerson had been everything Odessa despised with his pretentious mannerisms and snide politeness. Papa only saw that Emerson had been an earl, and little else. ButthisEmerson, in addition to his annoying attractiveness, was incredibly kind. Rough around the edges. And his hands—
“I must apologize, my lord,” Odessa spit out, demanding her skin stop tingling so deliciously. “You did mention Bentley was your half-brother during our first meeting, but I’d forgotten. I’m terribly forgetful at times. My aunt insists I write everything down,” she ended with a tiny trill.
Now she’d declared herself a simpleton in addition to smelling terribly, burping, and resembling a rotting pear. Surely,thatwould deter him.
“You’ve so many challenges, Miss Whitehall. I must confess—”
“Yes?”Please beg off. Please.
The brown of his eyes warmed her, the bits of green sparkling at her in the dappled light filtering through the trees. “I’ve nothing but admiration for you. What a courageous young woman you are to be yourself when faced with such challenges.”
Wait.
Odessa stumbled and Emerson’s grip on her arm tightened. He couldn’t possibly be serious.
“How understanding you are, my lord.” Odessa turned her face to his with a smile, gratified to see the quivering of his nose and the gleam of disgust as he took in her rotting teeth.
“What happens if you do not avail yourself of onions on a daily basis?” Emerson turned his attention back to the pond, pulling her gently in the direction of the waiting carriage.
Aunt Lottie leaned over the side watching. At least she had the decency to look guilty.
“It is too frightening to contemplate. The onions are the only thing which staves off my affliction.” Odessa took a whiff of herself, which forced the moisture to gather in her eyes. Dear God. She was truly quite pungent.
“So, you’ve said.” There was a curious tilt to his head as he glanced at her from beneath his lashes, which were longer and far more lush than such a slightly wild-looking earl should have.
A burp came from her lips. “Pardon.”
“No need for apology, Miss Whitehall. I only wanted to inquire what I could expect if you don’t indulge in your onion. I’m quite sympathetic to your plight and will do everything in my power to ease it.” Emerson sounded sincere, but there was an undercurrent of steeliness in his pretty speech. “Would you forego an onion? Just once, mind you, so that I can gain more understanding of what you face. And only if it will not put you at great risk.”
Damn him.
“I can try for your sake, my lord.” Odessa looked straight ahead, her steps full of grim determination.
A strawberry it is.
Tiny pustules would appear in clusters across her skin. The rash, red and raw-looking, would spread across her entire body, but especially her cheeks, chin, and forehead. Aunt Lottie had an ointment which would help the worst of it, but Odessa would itch and scratch for days.
Worth it, though, if Emerson truly realized his alternative to a foul-smelling wife was one who looked like she had the pox. It might be the inducement he needed to end their association.
“Did you enjoy your stroll?” Aunt Lottie asked once Odessa was settled beside her again. “Do you feel better, dear?”
She was put out with her aunt for allowing the walk with Emerson. A burp erupted and Odessa blew the resulting odor directly into Aunt Lottie’s face.
“I feel much better. Lord Emerson is most accommodating.” Odessa gave Emerson a flirtatious smile to reveal more of the rot. The effect was ruined by a small coughing fit when a piece of tar became stuck in her throat.
“Miss Whitehall, would you care for an ice before returning home? I know that you’ve mentioned you aren’t particularly fond, but the day is warm.” Emerson wasn’t smiling, more…smirkingat her. The small grin, unabashedly sensual, had Odessa’s heart nearly leaping from her chest. An image of Emerson in only shirtsleeves pushing a plow across a field flashed before her. Those powerful, callused palms grabbing at—
“Odessa?”
Aunt Lottie’s elbow nudged her in the ribs, barely felt through all the padding Odessa was wrapped in.
