Page 49 of Sinfully Wed
Emerson rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“I—next read of the ghost of Anne Boleyn,” she stuttered feeling more foolish by the second. “She carries her head. And from there, accounts of executions written of in criminal broadsides, which in turn led to strange murders and—” Odessa sounded ready to be taken to Bedlam. She didn’t know why such things fascinated her. “It doesn’t matter.”
“And the rash? What causes it?” Emerson had pulled her closer to the warmth of his body, and Odessa’s skin tingled whenever her breasts came in contact with his chest. “Is that what scared Bentley off?”
“A strawberry.” Odessa thought they’d been dancing for an eternity. She kicked Emerson in the leg. “Bentley never saw the rash. Your brother’s accident precluded me having to resort to such an extreme measure.”
A low sound came from Emerson. A growl, possibly. His gaze dropped to her lower lip for a moment, his teeth dragging over his own.
Something coiled tightly within Odessa, decadent and threatening to spiral out of control.
“Is that how you rid yourself of Bentley? Possibly with the help of Phillips? You certainly have done enough research. Well, you won’t get lucky a second time, you bloodthirsty little creature.”
“You can’t be serious,” Odessa said in shock. “I would never do such a thing.”
“Wouldn’t you?” His palm flattened against the small of her back, fingers stretching along her spine. Warmth spilled down her buttocks and the backs of her legs along with the unsettling urge to mold her body to his.
“Let me apprise you of the situation, Miss Whitehall. I want to be perfectly clear should there be any other gentlemen, like Captain Phillips, lurking about. You could be dipped in horse manure,” he annunciated every syllable, “and I would still wed you.”
“How flattering,” she snapped. “I see we find each other equally appealing.”
“Appeal has nothing to do with it.” The edge of his nose trailed once more along the slope of her neck, uncaring for the scene he created for Lady Curchon’s other guests.
“Though I do prefer the scent of honey and lavender to that of an onion.” Emerson’s knee pushed briefly between Odessa’s thighs, sending another pulse of sensation through her.
The crowd around them blurred, though not enough for Odessa to miss the dozens of curious looks cast in their direction. Lady Curchon’s face came into focus. She wasn’t smiling.
Cousin Alice will be most distressed. I’ll never receive another invitation.
“What do you hope to accomplish with such antics? Dragging me about the dance floor. Behaving inappropriately. Good lord, neither of our reputations can suffer much more.”
“I merely remind you of our circumstances.” Emerson’s cheek brushed along hers, sending a flood of warmth along her shoulders and neck. The feeling was one of intoxication, which Emerson ruined by stepping on her toe again.
Odessa kicked his shin. “Is your intent to make me lame?”
“It will make it that much easier to catch you.” Emerson’s features, harsh and cut with sharp edges, were softened by the light of the chandeliers above them. The hand at her waist drifted between them, fingers trailing lightly over her abdomen.
A ping sounded through her body, like the vibration of a fork striking a glass goblet.
Odessa’s breath halted in her lungs, willing it to stop, less she lose herself in it. “You aren’t a gifted dancer. You’ve stomped on my foottwice. But as you say, it is to be expected.”
“Is it?”
He could cut wood with the hard edge of his jaw if he chose. Small curls, the color of chocolate, formed around his ears.
His stupidly beautiful ears.
A bleat of frustration left her at the inescapable fact that no matter what Odessa did, she would not be free of Emerson. And was no longer sure she wanted to be.
“Given your father married his mistress,” Odessa said in a cool tone. “Iwas probably raised with better manners.”
“Doubtful.” Emerson trod on her foot deliberately. His heel caught in the delicate fabric of her skirts, tearing at the silk. “Angus Whitehall doesn’t strike me as a stickler for rules and decorum. And his origins are far worse than mine.”
Odessa kicked him in the ankle, though he spoke the truth. “All the more reason for us to end this hostile courtship. We don’t like each other or trust each other. Neither of us wants this marriage. Make this easy, my lord. Find another heiress, one not so far beneath you.”
“We are both in themuck, Miss Whitehall. And I very much doubt that your Captain Phillips cares for mud on his boots.”
“Stop.” She twisted away, pained at the truth in Emerson’s words. Earl or not, his family’s reputation forced him to the fringes of society, while Odessa’s very name kept her from even getting close. “Let me go.”
