by Julia Quinn
“Well, what happened?” Ned asked impatiently.
“This is the good part.” Belle leaned forward and smiled with glee. “About a week ago she absolutely pressed herself up against him, and believe me, her gown was far lower-cut than mine.”
“And?” Ned urged.
“And Ashbourne simply gave her one of those cold stares he’s so famous for and said—”
Emma cut in, lowering her voice in imitation of Alex’s, “‘Miss Trent, I can see down to your navel. ’”
Ned’s mouth fell open. “He didn’t!”
“No, but I wish he had.” Emma laughed uproariously, and Belle exploded into giggles.
“What did he really say?” Ned urged.
“I believe it was: ‘Miss Trent, kindly remove yourself from my person. ’”
Ned was ecstatic. “And then what happened?”
“For a moment I thought Clarissa was going to faint,” Belle said animatedly. “At least a dozen people heard the remark, and she’d been telling everyone that she was out to snag him. Which was ridiculous, of course, because it’s obvious to everyone that Ashbourne is only interested in Emma. Anyway, after giving everyone the most murderous glare, she fled the ballroom, and no one has seen her since. My guess is that she’ll spend a month or so rusticating before she comes back to try to sink her claws into the Duke of Stanton.”
“But he’s well over sixty!” Ned exclaimed.
“And thrice widowed,” Emma added.
“You know how women like Clarissa are,” Belle sighed. “She’s got it into her head that she wants a duke. Ashbourne was obviously the top choice since he’s still young, but I doubt that Clarissa will be choosy now. She wants a title, and she wants it now. If she doesn’t get a duke, mark my words, she’ll start on the marquesses and earls. That’s when you had better watch out, Ned.”
“But I’m only a viscount.”
“Don’t be obtuse. You’ll be an earl eventually, and Clarissa knows that.”
“Well, you can be sure I’ll avoid her assiduously now that I know what she’s really like.”
“You know, Ned, I think that you owe me a favor,” Emma declared. “You’d probably still be pining over her if I hadn’t sent you that fake love note.”
Ned grimaced at the thought of being in Emma’s debt. “Much as I hate to admit it, you’re probably right. But don’t get it into your head to continue meddling in my affairs.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Emma said innocently.
Belle and Ned both looked at her dubiously.
“It must be almost time to leave,” Emma said, rising.
As if on cue, Caroline swept into the room. She was dressed in a lovely midnight-blue gown that complimented the stunning blue eyes she had passed on to both of her children. Her chestnut hair was swept up atop her head, and she certainly did not look old enough to have mothered two adult children. “We really must be off,” she announced. With a quick turn of her head, she scanned the room until her eyes fell on her daughter. “Arabella Blydon!” she exclaimed, horrified. “What on earth are you wearing? I do not recall giving you permission to wear such a low-cut gown.”
“Don’t you like it?” Belle countered weakly. “I think it’s rather flattering.”
“I told her that one could see right down to her navel,” Ned drawled.
“Edward!” Caroline said sharply. Emma whacked him in the shoulder with her reticule, flaying him with a mutinous glare. Caroline gave them only a passing glance before she continued her lecture. “I do not know what you were thinking. That gown will give men the wrong idea.”
“Mama, everyone is wearing gowns like this now.”
“‘Everyone’ does not include my daughter. Where did you get that?”
“Emma and I bought it at Madame Lambert’s shop.”
Caroline whirled to face her niece. “Emma, you should have known better.”
“Actually,” Emma said truthfully, “I think Belle looks beautiful.”
Caroline’s eyes widened and she quickly turned back to her daughter. “You may wear that gown when you are married,” she announced.
“Mama!” Belle protested.
“Fine!” Caroline huffed. “We’ll ask your father. Henry!”
All three members of the younger generation groaned. “I’m sunk now,” Belle mumbled.
“Yes, dear?” Henry Blydon, the Earl of Worth, ambled into the room. His brown hair was liberally streaked with silver, but he still retained the air of elegance and affability that had won Caroline’s heart a quarter of a century earlier. He smiled lovingly at his wife. She looked pointedly at their daughter. “Belle,” he said simply, “you’re naked.”
“Oh, fine! I’ll change my gown!” Belle flounced out of the room.
“Goodness, that wasn’t difficult at all, was it?” Henry smiled at his wife. “I’ll be waiting for you downstairs.” Caroline rolled her eyes and followed him.
“May I escort you, darling Emma?” Ned laughed, offering her his arm.
“But of course, Edward dearest.” The two of them followed the older couple down the stairs. Belle proved to be quite speedy changing her gown, and within fifteen minutes the family was on its way to the Iindworthy mansion.
When they arrived, Belle, who had changed into pink silk, pulled Emma aside. “You had better be far, far away from Mother and Father when you take off that shawl,” she advised.
“Don’t I know it.” Emma waited for Henry and Caroline to get swept up in the crush before she turned to Ned and said with mock imperviousness, “You may take my shawl now, Edward.”
Ned responded in kind. “Oh, but you know I’m just dying to be your servant.” He deftly took Emma’s shawl and handed it to one of the Lindworthys’ footmen. “Emma,” he asked carefully, “you do realize that your dress is every bit as low-cut as Belle’s?”
“Of course. We purchased them at the same time. Can you see down to my navel?” she asked daringly.
“I’m afraid to try. Ashbourne could descend from the shadows and wring my neck.”
“Don’t be silly. Oh, look! There’s John Millwood. Let’s go say hello.” Emma, Ned, and Belle wended their way toward John and were soon lost in the crowd.
Alex arrived soon after and, as usual, mentally cursed himself for once again putting himself through the torture of a large London ball. Such affairs were only tolerable with the knowledge that he would find Emma and hopefully whisk her off and enjoy her company without a hundred other onlookers.
Unfortunately, Emma was always surrounded by admirers, and it was getting damned irritating. Every day he swore he’d give up this ridiculous process of seeking Emma out and every day he found himself longing to see her—and smell her and touch her—and sure enough, he donned his midnight black evening attire and headed out to participate in the endless round of parties.
The hard part was his damned foolish decision not to try to even kiss her. After seeing Emma nearly every single evening for the last couple of months, it was growing incredibly difficult to keep his hands off of her. Just when he thought he’d memorized every turn of her lips, she would surprise him with a new kind of smile, and he was immediately overcome with the desire to grab her and kiss her senseless. He’d wake up in the middle of the night knowing he’d been dreaming of her because his body was hard and hot with need.
And no other woman could satisfy this ache. He’d long since stopped visiting his mistress, and she’d politely informed him that she’d found another patron. Alex had only sighed with relief, glad to be rid of the expense.
He had originally decided to keep this physical distance between Emma and himself because he wanted to give her time to learn to trust him. When they finally did make love—and he was certain that they would; he only wondered if Emma realized the inevitability of it—he wanted it to be perfect. He wanted Emma to come to him because she wanted him and him only. He wanted her to come to him because she, too, was waking up in the middle of the night drenched w
ith desire.
He just hoped that happened soon, because he was slowly going insane.
“Ashbourne!”
Alex turned to see Dunford making his way through the crowd. “Hello, Dunford, good to see you tonight. Have you seen Emma?”
“My, we have become somewhat single-minded these days.”
Alex smiled with uncharacteristic sheepishness. “Sorry.”
“Not at all.” Dunford waved away Alex’s apology.
“But have you seen her?”
“For God’s sake, Ashbourne, when are you going to just marry the chit and put yourself out of this misery? Make her your duchess and you can see her twenty-four hours a day.”
“Really, Dunford, it’s hardly come to that.” Alex dismissed the idea of a wedding with a flick of his head. “You know how I feel about marriage.”
Dunford raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to have to get married at some point, you know, if only to get yourself an heir. Your father would turn over in his grave if the title passed out of the family.”
Alex winced. “Well, at least I have Charlie. He may not be a Ridgely, but he’s certainly as closely related to my father as any child of mine would be.”
“Emma’s going to have to get married at some point, too. And it might not be to you.”
Alex was stunned by the white hot streak of jealousy that shot through him at the thought of Emma lying in another man’s arms. But, determined to maintain his unflappable facade, he only said, “I’ll deal with that if it happens.”
Dunford only shook his head, convinced that his friend was denying the obvious. If Alex wasn’t in love with Emma, he was certainly obsessed with her, and that was a better basis for marriage than one usually found among the ton. “I did see Emma a few minutes ago,” he said finally. “She was surrounded by men.”
Alex growled.
“For God’s sake, man, she’s always surrounded by men. Get used to it,” Dunford laughed. “You should just be thankful that most of them are terrified of you. At least half the crowd disperses at the mere mention of your name.”
“Well, that’s a blessing.”
“If I recall, she was over there”—Dunford pointed to the far side of the room—“by the lemonade table.”
Alex gave his friend a curt nod but tempered it with a smile. “It has, as always, been a joy, Dunford.” He turned on his heel and began to push through the crowd. As he made his way toward the area where he hoped Emma was, he was continually waylaid by men and women eager for an audience with the influential Duke of Ashbourne. Alex quelled a few of them with his famous icy stare, nodded to some, exchanged words with a couple, and merely growled at the unlucky ones who caught him as he was finally finishing his journey.
He was not in a good mood.
That, of course, was when he finally caught sight of Emma. Her flaming hair always made her fairly easy to spot. Sure enough, she and Belle were surrounded by a pack of young men whose only problem in life seemed to be deciding to which cousin they should profess their undying love.
The sight of Emma’s admirers did not improve his disposition.
He moved in a little closer. She looked ravishing, but then he’d expected that. She always looked ravishing to him. Her hair was piled atop her head, with wispy tendrils left to frame her delicate face. Her violet eyes sparkled animatedly in the candlelight. She threw back her head and laughed at some joke, giving Alex an unobstructed view of her long, pale throat, her creamy shoulders, and the barest hint of…Alex frowned. He could definitely see a little more than the barest hint of her breasts. Not that her dress was indecent, of course. Emma had far too much taste to appear vulgar. But if he could see the ample swell of her bosom, damn it, that meant every other man in the ballroom could see it, too.
Alex’s already bad mood deteriorated rapidly.
He pushed his way into the crowd surrounding Emma and Belle. “Hello, Emma,” he said sharply.
“Alex!” she exclaimed, her eyes glowing with unfeigned enthusiasm.
He strode to her without acknowledging her companions. “I believe you saved this dance for me,” he stated, taking her hand and leading her somewhat forcefully to the dance floor.
“Really, Alex, you’ve got to stop being so autocratic,” Emma scolded good-naturedly.
“Ah, a waltz,” Alex commented as the orchestra began to play. “How fortunate.” He swept her into his arms, and they began to twirl slowly around the room.
Emma briefly wondered why Alex was in such a strange mood but quickly dismissed such concerns, preferring to savor the delicious warmth she could find only in his arms. One of his hands rested lightly on her hip, but from the heat of it, Emma felt like she’d been branded. His other hand held her own, and Emma was convinced that a thousand tiny lightning bolts were shooting up her arm, straight to her heart. She closed her eyes and unwittingly made a soft, mewling sound from deep in her throat. She was completely and utterly content.
Alex heard the tiny sound and looked down at Emma. Her face was slightly turned up to his, her eyes were closed—she looked as if she’d just been thoroughly made love to. Alex’s body reacted instantaneously. Every muscle clenched, and he felt himself growing painfully hard. He groaned.
“Did you say something?” Emma’s eyes flew open.
“Nothing I can tell you about in the middle of a crowded ballroom,” Alex muttered, beginning to steer her toward the French doors that led to the Lindworthys’ garden.
“Ooooh, how intriguing.”
“I wish you knew exactly how intriguing,” Alex said under his breath.
“What did you say?” Amid the din of the crowded ballroom, Emma hadn’t been able to understand his words.
“Nothing,” Alex said in a louder voice, but the word came out more sharply than he’d intended.
“Whatever is wrong with you tonight? You’re positively surly.”
Before Alex could reply, the orchestra finished the waltz, and he and Emma bowed and curtsied to each other reflexively. When they were done with the social niceties, Emma repeated her question to him, this time in a more demanding tone. “Alex! What on earth is the matter?”
“Do you really want to know what’s the matter?” Alex said harshly. “Do you?”
Emma nodded weakly, not at all sure that she was taking the wisest course of action.
“For God’s sake, Emma, every man in this room is ogling you,” he ground out, pulling her toward the French doors.
“Really, Alex, you say that to me every night.”
“This time I mean it,” he hissed. “You’re practically falling out of that dress.”
“Alex, you’re making a scene,” Emma shot back. He stopped dragging her but nevertheless continued out into the garden at a more respectable pace. “I don’t see what has you so angry. At least half the women here under the age of thirty are wearing dresses which are far more revealing than mine.”
“I don’t care about those other women, damn it. I won’t have you flaunting your charms for the whole world to see.”
“Flaunting my charms? You make me sound like a loose woman. Don’t insult me,” Emma warned, her voice strained.
“Don’t push me, Emma. You’ve led me a merry chase for damn near two months now, and I’m at my wit’s end.” He pulled her behind a large hedge that shielded them from view of the ballroom.
“Don’t try to blame this on me. You’re the one who is overly sensitive to my dress style!”
Suddenly, Alex reached out and grabbed her upper arms, pulling her close. “Damn it, Emma, you are mine. It’s time you understood that.”
She stared at him, dumbfounded. Although his actions during the previous weeks certainly demonstrated his possessive nature, this was the first time he had actually verbalized the sentiment. His green eyes were blazing with anger and desire, but there was something else there, too. Desperation.
Emma was suddenly very uneasy. “Alex, I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”
&n
bsp; “Oh, God, I wish I didn’t!” Alex suddenly crushed her to him, his strong hands sinking into her fiery hair.
Emma gasped at the sheer force she felt in his body. He held her this way for a few long moments, nose to nose. His breathing was harsh and uneven, as if he were lost amidst some internal struggle. “Oh, Emma,” he finally said in a ragged voice, “if you only knew what you do to me.” With that, his mouth slowly lowered that last inch to cover hers.
The first touch was unbearably sweet, and Emma could feel his body shiver as he fought to contain his passion. His lips brushed softly over hers as he waited for a response. Emma couldn’t help herself, and her arms snaked up to encircle his neck. That was all the encouragement Alex needed, and his hands moved down to her back, pressing her even more tightly against him. “I have waited so long to hold you like this,” he murmured against her mouth.
Emma was lost in a sea of newfound passion. “I—I think I like it,” she said shyly, entwining her fingers in his thick black hair.
Alex’s low growl was a sound of pure masculine satisfaction. “I knew it would be perfect. I knew you would be this responsive.” He kissed these words against her jaw, then trailed his lips down to her throat.
Emma arched her head back, not understanding all of these new feelings yet unwilling to stop them, as she knew she should. “Oh, Alex,” she moaned, clutching him tightly.
Alex quickly took advantage of the soft sound that escaped her lips by capturing her open mouth with his once more. His tongue darted in, caressing her deeply. His intimate touch brought such pure pleasure, Emma was amazed that she could still stand. She simply hadn’t thought it was possible to feel with such intensity. Even their earlier kiss, illicitly shared in her bedroom, could not remotely compare to this one. That first kiss had been exciting because she hadn’t known Alex. But now she did. She knew him well, and the knowledge that it was him holding her close made the intimacy all that much more spectacular. All she knew was that she wanted to get closer to him, much closer. She wanted to touch him in the ways he was touching her. Hesitatingly, she rubbed her tongue against the roof of his mouth. To her delight, Alex’s response was immediate. Hoarsely moaning her name, he swiftly pulled her to him so that she was pressed intimately against his aroused manhood.