Strange, considering he was still concerned for his aunt and that the work on his gatehouse was being started without his supervision. He told himself that it must be the fact that the sun had decided to struggle its way through the gray clouds. It certainly made a pleasant change from the days of drizzling rain. But he knew that his light heart had far more to do with the scent of Emma that still lingered upon his skin.
It had been a wrench to leave her at all last night. Every instinct had urged him to pull the covers over them and remain locked together until the dawn beckoned. It was only the knowledge that not even the eccentric household of Mayford would tolerate such scandalous behavior that had at last forced him to slip from the bed.
Who imagined simply holding a woman in his arms could make the day seem a bit brighter?
Gads, he was becoming daft, he thought as he left the breakfast room and made his way to the library.
Although it was far too early to call upon his aunt, he had no doubt that when he did, she would be fussing to be allowed to rise. He hoped to forestall her demands with a selection of her favorite gothic novels.
He was busily piling the novels onto the Chippendale desk, when Mallory silently slid into the room and offered a half-bow.
“Pardon me, my lord, but a Mr. Winchell has called.”
Cedric abandoned his work with a start of surprise. He had nearly forgotten the mysterious Mr. Winchell in the confusion of yesterday. Now he felt his curiosity once again stirred to life.
Clearly Emma was not about to confide the truth. Perhaps he would have better luck with the gentleman.
“Show him in, Mallory,” he commanded, moving to stand in the center of the room.
“Very good.”
Disappearing from the room, the butler returned in just moments with a lean gentleman attired in black.
At first glance it would be a simple matter to dismiss him as a modest, even dull fellow. Just the sort to run various errands for a proper bishop. But Cedric did not allow himself to be deceived by the clever image.
One only had to note the studied elegance of the man’s movements and the natural hint of arrogance in his carriage to realize he was no man’s toady.
Here was a gentleman more accustomed to giving orders than taking them.
There was no doubt, however, that the concern etched upon the thin face was genuine enough, Cedric acknowledged as the man hurried forward.
“My lord,” he greeted with a hurried bow.
“Mr. Winchell.”
“Forgive me for intruding, but I heard that there has been an accident.” He came directly to the point of his visit.
“My aunt has suffered a minor mishap,” Cedric admitted, not willing to indulge the local gossips with details of his aunt’s accident.
“Oh.” Mr. Winchell gave a shake of his head. “I thought . . .”
“Yes?”
As if realizing that Cedric was closely scrutinizing his confusion, Mr. Winchell smoothly regained his composure.
Far too smoothly, Cedric told himself.
“I understood that there had been a fire and that Miss Cresswell was gravely injured.”
Cedric grimaced. As usual, the local rattles had been busily spreading the latest rumors. And as usual, they paid scant attention to the truth.
“Miss Cresswell did acquire a few burns upon her hands,” he conceded. “Thankfully, nothing that will not heal within a day or two.”
Mr. Winchell briefly closed his eyes before opening them to smile in relief.
“Thank God.”
“Thank God, indeed,” Cedric agreed, sensing the older gentleman had been far more concerned than warranted by a causal acquaintance with Emma. “Will you have a seat? You appear rather undone.”
With a faint nod of his head Mr. Winchell chose a wing chair beside the fire. Cedric moved to place himself in the matching chair. Close enough to study the guarded expression upon the lean countenance.
“I will admit that when I heard the rumors, I feared the worst.” Mr. Winchell attempted to dismiss his concern with a shrug.
Cedric was not fooled for a moment. First there had been Emma’s stricken reaction to this man’s arrival in Kent, and now his barely concealed panic at the fear Emma had been harmed. There was definitely a history between the two of them.
Now he just had to discover what that history was. And what his intentions were toward Emma.
Concern or no concern, Cedric would have the gentleman flogged and hauled out of Kent if he so much as brought a frown to her lovely face.
“You must be very close to Miss Cresswell to have become so concerned,” he challenged with no attempt at subtlety.
His sudden attack brought a glint of mockery to the green eyes nearly hidden behind the thick glasses.
“Naturally, as an old friend of the family, I am concerned.”
“More than an old friend, I suspect,” Cedric charged.
He had hoped to disconcert the man. To catch him off guard and startle him into revealing his connection to Emma.
Instead, the older man lifted a practiced brow that would have effectively cowed a lesser gentleman.
No toady, indeed, Cedric acknowledged with a wry flicker of admiration.
“And I would suspect that you take more than a casual interest in your aunt’s companion.” He deflected the thrust with the skill of a worthy fencer. “I noted your tendency to hover around her like a hawk guarding his prey.”
Cedric felt a swift stab of annoyance.
He did not particularly care to be likened to a hawk. And he liked even less that this stranger dared to comment on his possessive desire to protect Emma.
Then the annoyance faded as swiftly as it had arisen.
Good Lord, he had nearly allowed the overly clever man to lure him into his own trap. His cool words had been quite deliberate to goad him into an impetuous confession.
Of course, he thought with a hint of amusement, the gentleman could not be nearly so well acquainted with Emma as he supposed if he were willing to thrust her into the role of hapless prey.
Gads, she would shred a mere hawk to a mound of feathers with the sharp edge of her frigid composure.
“I consider her to be a friend,” he informed his guest, allowing a distinct note of warning into his words. “And as a friend I would take deep offense to anyone who would wish to disturb her.”
Mr. Winchell acknowledged the threat with a graceful nod of his head, a peculiar smile tugging at his mouth.
“I assure you that I have nothing but Emma’s best interest at heart. It is high time she had a bit of happiness in her life.”
Cedric was not so easily swayed. He could not forget the expression upon Emma’s face when she had first caught sight of this gentleman. She clearly did not believe that this man possessed her best interest. Indeed, there had been more than a hint of fear lurking in her emerald gaze.
He slowly narrowed his eyes. “I could not agree more, which is why I feel it imperative to point out that your presence seems to bring more distress than joy to Emma.”
A dangerous anger sharpened the older gentleman’s features, causing Cedric a twinge of unease. He suddenly realized that this man could be a formidable enemy if he chose. There was something utterly ruthless in his countenance.
Then, in a blink of an eye, the anger disappeared and he gave a rueful grimace.
“Our past is not without its troubles,” he said with an air of regret. “I tend to behave in a reckless fashion and have courted more scandal than any young maiden could hope to forgive. I intend the future to be far different.”
Cedric did not miss the import of his words.
More scandal than any young maiden could hope to forgive . . .
Was this man the reason Emma was determined to close herself off from the world? And why she was willing to flee from those who cared for her to search for some unexplainable sense of security?
His hands curled into fists as he battled the urge to reach ac
ross and plant the man a facer.
“Why are you here?” he rasped.
If Mr. Winchell sensed Cedric’s sudden desire to bloody his nose, he gave no indication as he gave a lift of one shoulder.
“That, my lord, is between Emma and myself.”
Barely aware that he was moving, Cedric surged to his feet, his brows pulled together in a frown.
“If you hurt her—”
“I could say the same for you, Lord Hartshore,” Mr. Winchell cut into his warning words, elegantly pushing himself out of his chair. “Emma is unlike most young ladies. She is unaccustomed to common flirtations and the delicious games played between men and women. She could easily mistake flattery for sincerity.”
Cedric was taken aback by the sudden assault.
Did this man dare to imply that he was trifling with Emma’s affections? Or, worse, that he was dastardly enough to lure an innocent maiden into a scandalous liaison?
Heavens above, Emma was more precious to him than his own life. He would fall upon Mrs. Borelli’s cleaver before he would offer her insult.
“Emma will come to no harm through me,” he said in tight tones.
“I pray you are right.”
* * *
Emma was not certain what led her to the conservatory.
It was not until she stepped into the room and was surrounded by the warm scent of earth and pungent fragrance of flowers that she realized being here made her feel closer to Cedric.
A rueful smile tugged her lips as she settled upon a short bench.
When she had awoken that morning, she had tried to stir a sense of outrage at the memory of his presence in her bed. Good heavens, if someone had walked in on them, she would have been thoroughly compromised.
But despite her best efforts, she had been unable to find anything but gratitude within her. And astonishingly, a hint of regret that when she awoke she was no longer in Cedric’s arms.
She had never felt so safe as she had with her head laid upon his chest. As if the world could not trouble her with Cedric at her side.
She gave a sharp shake of her head.
She had no right to such thoughts. Soon she would be leaving Kent. She would once again have no one to depend upon but herself.
Which was precisely what she wanted, was it not?
“What a lovely vision.”
The smoky, dark voice sent a familiar tingle down her spine as Emma turned to watch Cedric strolling down the path toward her.
Her heart halted, then awkwardly surged back to life at the sight of his splendid form shown to advantage in the charcoal jacket and black breeches.
Gads, but he was handsome, she thought with a pang.
“Cedric.”
“Do not tell me that you are a secret gardener?”
Emma briefly thought of the numerous plants and flowers she had effectively murdered over the years.
“No, I shall leave such talent to you.”
The golden gaze swept over her upturned countenance with a near tangible force.
“How are you this morning?”
Feeling oddly vulnerable, Emma lowered her head.
“I am sorry that I disturbed you last night.”
Although Emma did not glance up, she would have sworn he stroked a hand over her curls.
“I was not disturbed. You must know I delight in any excuse to be near you.”
She shivered, the potent image of lying in his arms difficult to dismiss.
“I am not usually so silly as to be disturbed by a mere dream.”
“No, you do not ever allow yourself to be silly,” he said in dry tones. “It might be better if you did.”
A small, uncomfortable silence fell, and with a determined effort Emma lifted her head to meet his searching gaze.
“Have you seen Lady Hartshore this morning?”
“No, not yet.” He considered a moment before giving a shrug. “Actually, I just finished a rather interesting interview with Mr. Winchell.”
Emma stiffened. Blast her father. Had she not made it clear she wanted him to stay far away from her?
“He is at Mayford?”
“He just took his leave.”
She heaved a small sigh of relief. At least she would not have to face him so early in the day.
“Oh.”
The golden gaze briefly flicked down to her clenched hands before returning to her wary expression.
“He came because he was quite concerned for you, my dear. He had heard rumors you were injured.”
The mere notion of the Devilish Dandy being concerned for anyone made her lips thin.
“I hope you managed to reassure him that I am well?”
“After considerable effort. He was clearly shaken by the thought you had been injured.”
“I find that difficult to believe,” she muttered.
“He also issued what I can only presume to be a warning,” he smoothly continued.
Emma frowned in bewilderment. “What?”
“He expressly informed me that you were an innocent and that I was not to trifle with your affections.”
Emma felt a wave of embarrassment rush through her. What was Solomon thinking? He had never so much as noted her existence before, and now he was gadding about, playing the role of the domineering father as if he were determined to make up for twenty-three years of neglect in a few short weeks.
To even think he would warn away Lord Hartshore as if he were some common lecher . . . it did not even bear considering.
“I am sorry. I cannot imagine why he would do such a thing.”
“Because he obviously realizes that you could easily have your heart broken,” he said gently. “I assured him that was certainly not my intention.”
“Of course not.” With a jerky motion she rose to her feet and turned away. She supposed it was too much to hope the ground would open up and swallow her whole. “The mere notion is absurd.”
“Yes, it is. I would never do anything to harm you.” She heard him move to stand directly behind her, then without warning he grasped her shoulders to firmly turn her to face him. “Do you believe me, Emma?”
“Yes.”
“Look at me.”
She wanted to ignore his soft command. The sudden tension that throbbed in the air warned her that the familiar awareness that always smoldered between them was threatening to blaze to life.
But a force beyond her control was suddenly in command of her body, and her head abruptly rose to reveal the excitement darkening her eyes.
“Emma,” he breathed, his hands tightening on her shoulders as he tugged her against his hard body and claimed her mouth in a hungry kiss.
Emma felt a shock of pleasure run through her. Before, Cedric had always taken great care to keep his passions in check. His kisses had been a gentle exploration, coaxing her innocent desire with a slow insistence.
She felt as if she had been plunged into a raging ocean without warning. The lips that had coaxed now demanded, parting her own, and Cedric searched the sensitive skin of her inner mouth with his tongue.
A near unbearable heat pulsed through her blood as she clutched at his coat. She had not been prepared for the stark, aching need that was opening in the pit of her stomach.
She wanted him to drag her even closer.
To push her down among the flowers and ...
Horrified by the vivid image of being laid down and covered by the large body, she abruptly pulled out of his grasp.
She was shameless.
Utterly, utterly shameless.
“Emma, forgive me,” Cedric rasped, clearly misinterpreting her sudden rejection. “I did not mean to frighten you.”
“You did not frighten me.”
He reached out to grasp her chin, forcing her to meet his darkened gaze.
“Then, what is it?”
She could hardly confess that she had been overcome by the desire to lie among the flowers and allow him to have his delicious way with her. Instead, she unconsciou
sly pressed her tongue to her faintly swollen lips.
“I leave at the end of the week.”
She was unprepared for the sudden anger that snapped his brows together.
“You still intend to leave Kent?”
“I ... yes.”
“May I ask why?”
She shifted uneasily, unaccustomed to this stern, demanding side of Cedric.
“I think it is for the best.”
Her words only hardened his masculine features. “You cannot convince me that you are leaving because of Aunt Cassie. Even a fool could see that you are very much attached to her.”
She pressed a hand to her stomach. “Please, I would rather not discuss this.”
“No, you never wish to discuss anything, do you, Emma?” he charged. “It is so much easier to walk away than confront such untidy things as commitment and emotions.”
She gasped at his attack. “That isn’t fair.”
“Does it not trouble you at all that my aunt will be devastated when you leave?”
The fact that it bothered her more than she wanted to admit made her meet his glittering gaze squarely.
“You are the one who insisted that I remain a month. I wanted to leave the day I arrived.”
He flinched at her impetuous words, but before she could call them back, he was offering her a humorless smile.
“You are right. I have no one to blame but myself.”
With a stiff bow he turned around to stride from the room.
Emma watched the uncompromising line of his body as he walked away, her heart clenching with an unbearable regret.
If only ...
Thirteen
The Valentine ball was a stunning success.
Amid the lavish decorations that had transformed the ballroom into a mystical garden, the costumed guests mingled and flirted with an abandon that could be attributed either to the fanciful masks that hid their identities or the copious amount of champagne being distributed by the fairy-clad servants.
Stepping into the glittering scene, Cedric easily spotted his aunt attired in a frilly white gown with a crown upon her head that he supposed was meant to represent her role as queen of the fairies.
He allowed a small smile to touch his mouth. The first smile in nearly five long days.
Although his anger when he had stormed from Mayford had calmed over the past few days, he had remained restless and frustrated. Why was the contrary minx determined to abandon them? Why would she not confess what she was running from? Why would she kiss him with trembling passion and yet refuse to admit that there was something magical between them?
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