Page 26 of Sense and Suitability
Aunt Bean ignored him, turning her sharp gaze on Emme. “I was quite pleased to see you dancing with Mr. George Armstrong. He seemed thoroughly engaged. I do believe my lessons are making their mark.”
Gratefully, Mr. Armstrong was a reader and rider, two things Emme enjoyed discussing with anyone. And he was a good sort. The cheerful, lapdog type of man who put everyone at ease except for themost introspective or morose. “Mr. Armstrong is a lifelong acquaintance, Aunt. I should hope I can hold a conversation with him.”
“Well, he’s not in infant’s gowns any longer.” She huffed, sending an appreciative glance across the room as George spoke with Miss Wilcox. “Eligible, affable, and wise enough to avoid the likes of Miss Gloriana Wilcox.”
Emme exchanged a quick glance with Thomas but held her tongue. Despite being an almost-nonexistent conversationalist, Gloriana Wilcox was a pleasant enough woman and possessed a far better dowry than Emme’s. Surely Aunt Bean, who valued social astuteness above all, would approve ofhersilence.
“She’s placed her beauty spot on the wrong cheek, poor girl.” Aunt Bean raised a brow. “A woman of consequence would know better.”
Emme closed her open mouth with a little snap and refused to look Thomas’s way for fear of losing complete control of her laugh, but in facing forward, she made eye contact with the disconcerting Mr. Arthur Rushing.
A chill skated down her spine.
Last season, he had begun to show her attention after what society deemed a suitable mourning period for his third wife. This season, his intentions were no secret.
He was hunting.
And Emme, unmarried and of respectable lineage, was prey.
From the gleam in his eye as he prowled the ballroom, his interests had not waned since the prior season. Some women called him a dandy, but Emme could not ignore the arrogance that clung to his every movement. His meticulously tailored attire and genteel manners only emphasized the hawkish intensity of his gaze, as if assessing not just a potential partner but a prize to be won.
“Oh, I see you’ve caught the attention of Mr. Rushing.” Aunt Bean hummed her pleasure. “A worthy conquest, Emmeline. He is wealthy, handsome, and has experience in matrimony.”
“How is being thrice married an advantage?”
Aunt Bean conveniently ignored her. “Oh, look, he’s coming this way.” Her fan tapped Thomas’s arm. “Introduce me, won’t you? Then I can assess him properly.”
Thomas frowned and shot Emme a look. She responded with an emphatic shake of her head.
“Mother,” Thomas began, taking her by the arm to steer her toward the approaching Mr. Rushing. “Let us not be hasty.” Giving a gesture with his chin—an unspoken command to flee before Aunt Bean’s plans solidified—he turned his mother’s attention in the opposite direction.
Emme loved Thomas.
And needed no further encouragement.
The arched doorway leading to a side hall caught her eye. With a knowing glance to her sister, she slipped through the crowd, pulse hammering in time with her feet. She knew exactly where to go.
The Ruthtons’ library! Its towering shelves and thick drapes had offered refuge on many past occasions.
She entered the dimly lit room and pressed the door closed behind her with the faintest click. The welcome scent of leather and books offered an immediate calm to her nerves. On the far wall, the flickering fireplace cast shadows over the rows of books and the empty room, so she allowed herself a small sigh of relief.
Until she heard the approaching voices.
Who were they? Ladies’ voices? Her face cooled. And a gentleman? “Drat!” She hissed, immediately remorseful for using the word she’d learned from her father.
Pushing off the door, she darted toward the window-covered wall of curtains and flung herself into those thick velvet folds only to run directly into a very solid form. With a little yelp, she pushed back to find herself face-to-face with Simon Reeves.
“What?” He barked the word in time with her gasp.
“Are you following me?” she whispered fiercely, stepping back but not far enough to leave the curtain’s concealment.
“Following you?” He voiced the question like an oath. “I’ve been trying to avoid you all evening.”
Well, that was incredibly rude. “I’ve been doing the same with you,” she shot back.
“Clearly, we’re both excelling at avoidance.” He ran a hand through his hair and took another step away, the cool air from around the windows sending a chill over Emme’s warm skin. “God, help me.”
“Ah.” She raised her chin. “Are you a praying man now? I’ve heard it’s a sign of wisdom.”
