Page 25 of Sense and Suitability
Oh, why did he have to be so handsome? Emme was certain that if he were a little less handsome, he’d prove much easier to ignore.
She glimpsed Simon twice more—once while enduring a dance with dear old Mr. Trundle, who fancied himself in want of a bride but would do better with a loyal hound, and again while paired with Mr. George Armstrong, Aunt Bean’s favored suitor of the evening.
Simon had danced with serpentine Selena Hemston and cheerful Miss Croft. Well, Emme wouldn’t mind Miss Croft so much for the brooding man. He could do with a bit of sunshine, and Emme’s particular brand of radiance clearly hadn’t suited him.
She frowned at the idea as she took a sip from her glass. If he weren’t so irritatingly captivating, she might have spared herself the trouble of caring at all.
“You’re being too obvious, Em.”
Emme spun around to find Thomas lounging against the wall near her, looking every bit as polished as most of the other gentlemen in the room.
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.” She turned her gaze in any direction but Simon’s.
Thomas drew in a deep breath, casting a glance skyward as if for divine intervention. “I wasn’t here during your first season to witness firsthand, but if he treated you as you claim, why must you persist in courting him with your eyes?”
“Courting him with my eyes?” Emme’s voice squeaked most unbecomingly, so she lowered it at once. “I am not courting him in any respect, eyes or otherwise.”
Thomas arched a skeptical brow.
A flush crept up her neck. “He did treat me poorly,” she admitted. “But not until the very end. I had every reason to believe he cared about me before then.”
Thomas studied her, narrowing his eyes as he shifted his attention from her face back across the room. “His reputation as a flirt precedes your... time with him.”
“I know.” She nodded, trying to clench her hurt a little tighter to fight against the growing uncertainty. “And at first, he seemed every bit the sort, but then... well...” She shrugged. “He changed. Nothing like what I’d heard.” Saying it aloud sounded so unconvincing, and she’d nearly gone dotty wondering how she’d misjudged his character so thoroughly, but after seeing him again... after speaking with Father, maybe she’d not been shortsighted after all.
Maybe.
“He became my friend, Thomas.” How to explain? “There was a sincerity in our conversation, an authenticity, to truly show me who he was, or who I thought he was. And it shifted my affections from a simple flirtation to...”
“Hmm.” Thomas tilted his head. “You wrote him as Frank James inThe Castle, didn’t you?”
Heat flooded her face, and she glanced away. Writing had been her solace—and her revenge. In the pages of her novel, she’d poured all the fury and hurt her broken heart could muster.
“There was no redemption for Frank James, Emme.” Thomas squinted, lips tipped. “In fact, I believe he ended up at the bottom of the English Channel.”
She winced and tossed him a glare. “Frank James didn’t deserve redemption, but that’s fiction.”
“And Simon Reeves?” Thomas asked, his brow as pointed as his tone.
Her lips parted, but no answer came. Instead, she worried her bottom lip, her gaze drifting back across the room. “I don’t want another chance with him,” she said at last. “I just want the truth.”
“And if the truth still leads you to wish him at the bottom of the English Channel?”
“Thomas!” Emme laughed despite herself. “I’d never truly wish such a thing on anyone. Besides, you, as a clergyman, should encourage charity and goodwill about this whole thing, should you not?”
His lips quirked and he straightened. “As your cousin, and without an elder brother to protect you, I find my charity... tested.”
Emme’s smile flashed wide. “I wish you’d been here that first season. I could have used your wisdom.”
“Well.” He sighed. “I’m here now and, in the spirit of charity, I shall do a bit of poking about to see what I can learn of your infamous”—he narrowed his eyes—“Frank James.”
“Frank who?” Aunt Bean sidled up to Emme’s right. “Is he from the James family of Newcastle?”
“No, Mother.” Thomas’s eyes lit with their resident humor. “A fictional rogue, from one of those dreaded novels you abhor.”
“Then why mention him at all?” Her expression puckered like a withered plum. “Someone might overhear and think you read such drivel. You, a clergyman, of all people.”
“Perish the thought.” He threw Emme a wink.
