Page 18 of Sense and Suitability
Emme instinctively shifted farther from the door, her movement betraying her unease.
His gaze flicked toward her, and a ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—the kind she used to find maddeningly charming. “You’ve always had a talent for disappearing at social events,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, carrying a thread of something she couldn’t quite name.
Her gaze caught back in his, face warming more than it already was. The words struck a nerve, dredging up memories she wasn’t prepared to confront. Their first meeting had been during the height of Miss Willow’s debut ball, when the aforementioned lady had pursued himinto the garden, only for him to trip—quite literally—into Emme’s hiding place behind a hedgerow. She, of course, had been evading the boorish attentions of an inebriated Mr. Douglas Clyde.
For some reason, when he’d literally knocked her to the ground, Simon had refused to leave her side, despite her assurances and a few scathing glances from Miss Willow. At the time, the last thing she’d wanted was the attention of the notorious flirt, but one dance and conversation after another, Simon Reeves had begun to change in her eyes.
From stranger to one of the dearest men of her acquaintance.
Or had appeared to.
And then... he’d left without as much as a word of explanation.
For almost two years.
A man who could find his way into any number of drawing rooms, ballrooms, or gambling halls surely could have found a pen and paper, could he not?
Her spine straightened, her resolve hardening. “Well,” she said, “in the future, would you be so kind as to locate your own hiding spot and leave me and my”—her finger flicked toward her face, cheeks blazing—“lips alone?”
His brows shot up, and his gaze dipped to her lips, lingering there far too long. The tingling warmth that followed infuriated and, to be perfectly honest, fascinated her.
“I’ve heard where you and your lips have been over the past two years and I’m not interested in... in...” Her face exploded with warmth. What was she even saying? “The shared experience.”
Her words hung awkwardly in the air, and she tipped her gaze heavenward, silently rebuking her own ineptitude. She was far better at these exchanges when they were confined to the pages of her manuscripts.
His attention shifted to her eyes, one brow arching higher than the other. “You’ve heard the rumors?”
She lifted her chin in defiance, refusing to envision the whispered tales of his exploits—Italy, Scotland, Ireland.
He tipped his head closer, studying her, his expression hardening a little. “And you believe them, do you?”
At the moment, answering seemed unwise, so she merely tipped her chin higher.
He took a deliberate step closer. “My elaborate escape to Italy with an exotic heiress, was it? Or Edinburgh, where I was supposedly womanizing in the company of poets and philosophers?”
Her lips pressed together, but the words slipped out anyway. “And Ireland.”
At the darkening of his countenance, Emme wished she’d kept silent, but she’d raised her chin as high as it could go, so she felt she needed to do something.
“Ah, yes. Ireland.” His laugh was short and humorless. “Why not add a voyage to the Americas while we’re at it? After all, I’ve so much leisure time and coin to spare.”
Emme flinched a little at the fury lacing his words. Could the rumors about debt be true? She’d thought them inconsistent with owning such an estate or traveling in such elegance—or was he trying to weaken her defenses?
“Why wouldn’t I prefer the wild and exotic over...” He trailed off, stepping closer, his gaze fixed on her with a ferocity that stilled her breath.
“Over?” she whispered, her voice betraying her traitorous curiosity.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he moved closer still, the railing pressing into her back as he leaned in, their faces so near that she could make out the tiniest golden flakes within the depths of his eyes. She didn’t push away. Didn’t wish to move. All she wanted to know was the end of his sentence.
Could he have been talking about her?
And if he was, what did that mean?
His hands caught her arms, steadying her, and for a moment she thought he might kiss her again.
Air squeezed in her chest to the hurting spot. Something between the rumors and his behavior, her heart, and the evidence of her own eyes didn’t fit together at all.
His gaze roamed over her face as if attempting to extract something she didn’t know how to give. Her breathing shallowed, her mind warring with itself. Would he kiss her again? She tilted her head just a bit as if to prepare.
