He gave an inelegant snort. “We have all been hungry, Miss Darson, but never in a million years would I have hit a woman over a missed meal.”
Their gazes locked. What was he saying? Emily stared and he looked to the floor. Realization dawned and she was reminded how little she knew the man who now sat with her, alone in her drawing room.
“You have known what it is to live on the streets?” She was thankful no tremor sounded in her voice.
“I do not wish to talk about it.”
She sat immobile as her mind raced with a million and one suppositions and questions. He intrigued her, fascinated her. Mr. Samson was a man of the world, not one of social class and privilege, but a man who could teach her things. Real things. Things that mattered. She froze. What was she thinking? She had a loyalty to her father’s legacy. A need to keep every option and opportunity open for her children. Thoughts of what a man like Will Samson could or could not teach her were deplorable. Shame flooded her senses.
She coughed. “It is one thing to be hungry and quite another to have no idea when you will eat again.”
The seconds passed. After what felt like minutes, he raised his head. His eyes shone like sapphires beneath the candlelight. Angry. Passionate. A faint blush darkened his cheeks.
“I have known both and I would never raise my hand to a woman.”
Before she could respond, the drawing room door flew open and Emily was forced to swallow her curiosity. Her father hobbled into the room as quickly as his weakening body would allow.
“Emily, my love.” He came toward her with his arms outstretched. “What in heaven’s name happened?”
He bent over her in an embrace and Emily’s gaze met Mr. Samson’s over her father’s shoulder. A muscle leapt and jumped at his jaw. Looking away, Emily eased her father back and held his hands tightly in hers.
“I’m perfectly all right.” She smiled. “Thankfully, Mr. Samson rushed to my and Annie’s aid like a hero from one of my romantic novels you detest so much.”
“What if he hadn’t been there?”
“Ah, ah. What is the use of ifs, whats, or maybes? All is well and we should thank Mr. Samson and ask that Malcolm take him back to his lodgings.”
She sensed Mr. Samson’s gaze on her but kept her eyes firmly on her father. It was best he left and she never saw him again. Every moment she spent with him, the more he piqued her interest, and that spelt nothing but trouble.
Her father straightened and turned to him, his hand outstretched. “I don’t know how to thank you, sir. My daughter is everything to me. If anything were to—”
Mr. Samson clasped her father’s hand. “Now, now, sir. She is safe and I only did what any other decent man would’ve done had he been there.”
“Well at least have a drink with me so I can thank you properly.”
Emily stared. No, no, no!
Mr. Samson briefly met her eyes and a small smile twitched his lips before he faced her father once more. He dipped his head. “You are most kind, sir.”
Her father beamed. “Excellent. Annie? Would you be so kind as to pour myself and Mr. Samson a small measure of wine?”
Annie curtsied. “Of course, sir.”
Her father turned to Emily. “My dear? Will you join us?”
Emily’s nerves heightened. She wanted Mr. Samson gone but forced a wide smile. “That would be lovely.”
Annie left to get the wine and hopeless resignation swept through Emily when her father cupped his hand to Mr. Samson’s elbow. He led him to the fireplace out of her earshot. Mr. Samson was nothing more than a charming stranger. A man she’d met once or twice. She blinked against the unexpected burning in her eyes. She could not be drawn to a man without letting down a sea of people, including her father, Nicholas’s father, even Annie, Malcolm, and the rest of the staff who relied on her for their future wages. Her hands were tied and having Mr. Samson near made the twine that bound her pull tighter than ever.
Her father turned and the smile dissolved from his lips. “What is that upon your cheek?” He moved forward and touched his fingers to her tender place as though she were made of porcelain. “What’s this?”
Her eyes met Mr. Samson’s but his gaze was unreadable. She covered her father’s hand with hers and gently drew it from her face. “My face must have hit the ground when I fell. It’s nothing. Now, if Annie hurries along with the wine, Mr. Samson can be on his way. I am quite sure he doesn’t wish to be delayed any longer.”
“I’m quite happy, Miss Darson.”
Emily shot him a glare and he winked. Heat warmed her face. Yes, the man needed to leave. She pushed to her feet and he immediately came forward as if to assist her.
“I am quite all right, thank you.” She faced her father. “I think I will retire, Papa. I have become very tired all of a sudden.”
“Of course, my dear. Of course. I will summon Annie.”
Mr. Samson coughed. “I think it best we leave that drink after all, sir, and let Miss Darson rest.”
“There must be something I can do to repay you. Will you take a cash reward maybe? Or maybe join us for dinner tomorrow evening?”
Emily blanched as her hands turned moist. Didn’t her father already acknowledge how dangerous it was for her and Mr. Samson to be in the same room together? Yet now he saw fit to extend an invitation for the man to dine with them. Her mind whirled with excuses, proclamations, anything to stop such a thing coming to fruition.
“That would be most generous, sir.” Mr. Samson’s eyes locked on hers.
Emily glared. The man was positively enjoying himself! Enough was enough. She had to stop this. She looked from her father’s melted chocolate gaze to Mr. Samson’s sapphire one and a strange sensation clutched painfully at her heart. Two men so different, yet instinctively, she felt they would be all she needed in a different time and place.
“I am sure Mr. Samson is accepting your invitation merely to be polite, Papa. He must have a million and one preferable things to be doing than spend tomorrow evening with us.”
Mr. Samson’s eyes glittered. “On the contrary, there is nothing I would enjoy more.”
Her father chuckled. “There now. It is decided. Shall we say seven o’clock?”
Mr. Samson bowed. “Perfect.”
Emily met his gaze. His eyes shone with undisguised glee. Her cheeks burned and her chest tightened. Just for the need to do something, anything, she poked her tongue out. His smile widened to a grin. Had she lost her mind? Sliding her hand from her father’s arm, she sat back down on the settee, sucking in a breath as her bruised behind touched the seat.
Her father and Mr. Samson’s voices faded into the background as her blood pumped hard throughout her body. Was her father no longer concerned about Nicholas’s opinion? The dance at the ball would dissolve into nothing once he discovered Mr. Samson had dined at their home.
Her father’s voice cut through her befuddled mind like a knife through soft brain tissue. “And, of course, I will ask Mr. Milne, my daughter’s intended, to join us for dinner.”
“It will be a pleasure to see Mr. Milne again.” Mr. Samson smiled.
“Indeed. I’m sure he’ll want to thank you for coming so bravely to Emily’s rescue.”
“Well, it will be an honor to sit at your table, sir.” He shook her father’s hand.
Helpless desperation scratched at Emily’s insides like a million lions’ claws as she sat in stupefied horror. What was she to do? The truth of her alarm couldn’t be ignored.
“Miss Darson?”
She started at the sound of Mr. Samson’s rich baritone. “Yes?” He left her father’s side and came close enough for Emily to see flecks of gold in his eyes. Infinitely conscious of every part of her body, her mouth drained dry. Attraction hummed between them on a tangible thread.
“I wish you a good night’s sleep.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “I am happy I was there tonight. I hope you will feel better tomorrow.”
He dropped her
hand and walked from the room with her father. Silently, she raised the hand Mr. Samson had kissed and pressed the faint moistness of his mouth to hers. She was in the direst of situations yet could not wipe the silly smile from her lips.
Chapter Six
The next day Emily awoke late. The midmorning sun filtered through a narrow gap in the drapes, spearing a ray of light across the bedspread that stopped directly at her heart. She stared at its point and superstitious apprehension jangled her nerves. It was a sign. A sign that could be read in one of two ways—each as terrifying as the other. It could be the tip of the dagger that would slowly and painfully kill her upon her marriage to Nicholas or else, the fated tip of Cupid’s arrow if she dared explore the way Will Samson made her feel whenever he looked at her.
She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned into the silence of her bedchamber. Her entire life she had been destined to marry Nicholas. A boy she trusted growing up, maybe even admired, but when his father died leaving him alone in the world, Nicholas changed. Sometimes she saw flashes of the boy who made her laugh, who cared if she scraped a knee or struggled with her reading, but when she grew into a woman, his interest in her became feral and financial. Neither held appeal nor attraction.
She opened her eyes. Now Will Samson had come along and sent her focus into a spinning mess of emotional confusion. His face filled her mind’s eye and Emily swallowed against the hard lump lodged in her throat. How could she ignore these feelings? Her attraction to the man with eyes bluer than the ocean was too strong.
He made her sit up and take notice more than any unturned stone or dilemma ever had. A burst of laughter tickled her throat and she laughed aloud into the room. She lifted the covers over her head and stared blindly into the golden hue, her smile wider than the River Avon. The man shifted her attention from expectation and priority. He took her naïve fantasies of a happy life being possible with Nicholas and made her fantasize about things more explicit.
When he looked at her, she felt invincible. When he smiled at her, she wanted to laugh and when he touched her, she wanted to . . .
The covers slipped from her hands and she smoothed her fingers over the hills of her sensitive breasts. She stared at the gathered gold-colored material of the canopy above her, as erotic images filled her mind. Her fear of being in his company was justified in the illicitness of her desire but another part of her felt he was the answer she was waiting for. How? Why? Emily shivered. The knowledge in the heat of his gaze told her to trust him.
Her cheeks heated. Had he not suggested exactly what he wanted from her at the ball? Physically arresting, Will Samson was a handsome man and when she was in his arms, the desire to have him kiss her heated her very core. Now thoughts of doing more than sharing a simple kiss rushed over her body with a desperate longing. To have one wild night . . . a forbidden night of intimacy with her hair loosened of its pins and her body free to follow its desires.
Shaken, Emily forced open her heavy eyelids and her breathing slowly returned to normal—along with her senses. She adjusted her nightgown and drew the covers close to her chin.
The harsh rap at the door sent Emily’s heart leaping into her throat.
“Who is it?” She quickly sat up, dropping the coverlet and smoothing it straight in nervous agitation.
“It’s Annie, Miss. It is nearing ten o’clock.”
Emily relaxed back against the pillows. What did Annie know of lustful thoughts? Even if her guilt was written on her face, Annie would not comprehend it.
“Then you’d better come in.” Emily fixed a welcoming smile in place.
The door opened.
“My, you look to be in a good mood today, Miss.” Annie came toward her, a breakfast tray expertly balanced along her forearm.
“The sun is shining and I feel a little shoe shopping might be the order of the day.”
Annie lifted her eyebrows.
Emily swallowed. “Why are you grinning at me like that?” Silence.
Emily straightened her shoulders and pulled on what she hoped was a stern expression. “Annie, stop that right now.”
Annie placed the breakfast tray over Emily’s trembling legs and busied herself pouring milk into a teacup. “I’m thinking Mr. Samson’s saving you last night might have stirred up some feelings, is all.”
Emily stared wide-eyed at her maid. “We may have become close over the years, Annie, but I will not tolerate insolence.”
Annie whirled away from the bed, her hands outstretched. “I knew it.” She turned in circles around the bed until she came to a stop on the other side. “He is so handsome I would have been ordering you to have a sight test if you hadn’t seen it. Those eyes! I swear I nearly swooned when he winked at me. What a rogue! So funny and strong. When he lifted you into his arms—”
“Pull yourself together this instant.” Emily bit back her smile and turned her attention to the breakfast tray lest Annie notice the humor in her eyes. “Mr. Samson is a gentleman visitor to this house and I will not have you fawning over him like a lovesick child.” Emily picked up her fork and speared it into a piece of bacon. “Furthermore, you should not have been staring at him long enough to notice his eyes.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“The man already regards himself as something special. Let alone enduring stares from my maid when he comes here.”
“No, Miss.”
Something in the arbitrary compliance of Annie’s demeanor alerted Emily to an ulterior opinion. The bacon dangled from the fork’s prongs as she turned to look at her. She frowned. “What are you up to, Annie St. Clair?”
Annie lifted her shoulders. “Nothing.”
Emily took in the way Annie swayed back and forth on the balls of her feet with her hands clenched behind her back. The girl’s mouth trembled as if it took an effort to keep it straight. Lowering her fork onto the tray, Emily lifted her teacup to her lips to keep her smile hidden. After a purposely long moment, she returned the teacup to its saucer with a faint clatter. “You know I’ve been thinking about him, don’t you?”
Annie’s grin lit up the room, even though the curtains were still drawn. “Isn’t he divine? I know you are engaged to Mr. Milne and there is little to be done about that but . . . Oh, Miss, how Mr. Samson looks at you.”
Emily’s heart jolted. “Looks at me?”
Annie’s eyes widened. “Surely you see the softness in his eyes, the way he runs his gaze over your face . . . and figure when you’re not looking.” Annie clasped her hands against her apron-clad bosom. “Having a man look at a girl like that could lead her to the ends of the earth.”
Emily swallowed. Annie had said exactly what she’d feared. If she’d noticed the attraction between them, who wasn’t to say Nicholas or her father hadn’t? She stared at her plate. “Nonsense.”
“I speak the truth. I know for a fact Mr. Darson noticed it too.”
“What?”
“Your father noticed him watching you. I swear it.”
Disappointment dropped like a stone into Emily’s stomach. “Then you are wrong. If my father noticed any such thing, he would not have invited Mr. Samson to attend dinner with us this evening.”
“I know what I saw.”
“You’re mistaken. Mr. Samson’s interest in me is nothing of the romantic sort or otherwise. He is simply a man who has come momentarily into our lives and will no doubt disappear again very soon.”
Annie shook her head, her hazel eyes gleaming. “I am never wrong about these things. My mam says I’ve got an intuition for it. I predicted every one of my three sisters’ love affairs and now they are each married with children.”
“Well, this time your intuition is completely off the mark. If Nicholas were to catch even a whiff . . . What on earth is the matter now?”
Annie stared at Emily with her eyes protruding as though they’d grown stalks. “Mr. Milne.”
“What about him?”
“I almost forgot.”
“Forgot what?”
Emily laughed. “See? Wrong again. It’s this evening he is coming.”
“No, Miss. It’s now. This afternoon.”
Emily frowned. “This afternoon? But father sent a message for him to come this evening.”
“I know, but the post came this morning and Mr. Milne has written of his arrival this afternoon. The correspondence must have crossed in the post.”
Trepidation clutched Emily’s insides like the claws of an eagle. Sharp, relentless, and deep. She forced a laugh. “Will you take that ridiculous look of horror from your face? Mr. Milne’s coming here should not distress you. It is I who haven’t seen him since the ball . . . not that I feel horror. I feel pleased.” Emily put the tray to the side of her and whipped back the covers. “It is time I was dressed.”
“What about your breakfast?”
Emily forced a smile as her stomach rolled. “I have quite lost my appetite. Everything will be quite all right with Nicholas this afternoon, I’m sure. The sun’s shining. We can take a walk.”
Concern shadowed Annie’s eyes. “What will he say when he sees the bruise upon your face? I fear he will be more upset by its imperfection than its implication.”
The bruise. She brushed past Annie to the dressing table and looked in the mirror. The bruise had developed overnight and now reflected back at her in all its rainbow-colored glory.
Pressing her fingers against it, Emily winced. “You’re right. I look as though I have been brawling in the street. This will give him ample ammunition to further distress Papa about what he deems as my insolent behavior.”
“We’ll find a way to make it less obvious. If I—”
“Ooh, why does he have to be so superior? He knows I will no sooner back out of the marriage and lose father’s money to him, than he would lose his father’s to me.” Tears of frustration burned Emily’s eyes. Why did she feel more trapped than ever before?
Rachel Brimble Page 7