Because damned if she’d ever experienced such a sensation.
Emily had dined at Eden’s Court before, when she’d attended Sophia and Dev’s wedding, so this time the awe of the elaborate dining room didn’t bowl her over quite so much. Furthermore, the table had been shortened to accommodate the smaller party. Emily wondered where Sophia had learned to handle such matters. It wasn’t as though her friend had been born and raised to be a duchess. Certainly, her parents had hoped she’d land a flush-in-the-pockets gentleman, at most a baronet. Likely, they still delighted in her good fortune.
Emily only cared that Sophia was safe and loved and happy. What kind of friend would she be, otherwise?
Sophia and Rhoda obviously cared for Emily’s well-being. They’d arranged for her to sit smack dab between both the lieutenant and Lord Carlisle. And all the while, Emily did her best to try to be good enough. She even ate her food without lowering her face to the plate to identify the foods each course consisted of. A few mouthfuls surprised her. Particularly the one where she’d expected a sweet-flavored cake and found herself chewing a morsel of meat. At least that’s what she thought it was… hoped it was.
Be good enough.
Lord Blakely’s advice rolled around her brainbox. What did it mean? Good enough for what? The more she considered the words, the more she realized her problem.
She wasn’t good enough. Not for her father, certainly not her mother, and as much as her friends loved her, she didn’t quite believe herself to be good enough for even them.
She’d been the confidante, the resource for vital information, she’d even been the one they looked to for ideas. It was just that….
She’d never felt she really mattered.
Searching the room for Lord Blakely’s dark blob of a head, Emily wished at that moment she could throw something at him. How had he managed to bring such pathetic self-rumination about on her part?
A hand dropped on her arm. Lord Carlisle.
“You’ve gone rather quiet, Miss Goodnight. Are you well this evening?” Such a sweet thoughtful man! Perhaps Rhoda had the right of it. Perhaps she needed to make some serious efforts in his direction. If only she could believe herself to be good enough for him. The cursed words had spun themselves around her to the point of strangulation. Lord Carlisle had been a vicar. She wondered…
“Are you happy with your newfound status, my lord?” She allowed the words to escape unheeded. “I wondered if you resent leaving behind your vicarage.” Did he feel good enough to be an earl?
He laughed softly and patted her arm. “Would you prefer my honest response, Miss Goodnight?”
“Most vehemently.”
“Always first,” he said carefully, “I am a man. I am Justin White, the only son of Katherine and Jordan White. I am flesh and blood, and spirit. I will perform the duties of either a vicar or earl with the same consideration in mind. So, in answer to your question, I am neither happy nor resentful of my new station in life. I will simply accept what God has given me and hopefully fulfill his path for me sufficiently.”
Emily wondered how she might apply this wisdom to her own predicament. My goodness, but Lord Carlisle was a good man.
What on earth did that make Lord Blakely?
And why had that thought jumped into her mind? Because of what she’d witnessed in the library at the Crabtrees’ ball? Because he’d been blacklisted in nearly every respectable establishment inside of London? She’d never heard any person accuse Lord Blakely of goodness, and yet… He’d seen the need to have her spectacles repaired.
He was the only one.
Could he and Rhoda find happiness together?
And was she, Emily Goodnight, good enough for the likes of Lord Carlisle?
CHAPTER NINE
Parlor Games
“Let’s play a parlor game!”
Emily’s heart raced at Sophia’s announcement. Her two friends had discussed this earlier, promising to help Emily in her quest. Everyone knew parlor games, in a ripe setting, had the potential to devolve into inappropriate interactions between single persons… even married ones.
“But not Charades,” Rhoda inserted. “Something new! Something fast!” Mrs. Mossant and Rhoda’s youngest sister, Hollyhock, had retired for the evening, leaving Emily, Sophia, Rhoda, and Coleus downstairs with Prescott and three equally available bachelors.
Oh, yes, most certainly they’d premeditated whatever was to come next.
“I know just the game.” Even without her spectacles, Emily could make out that Sophia had gone to stand beside Prescott. Those two never missed an opportunity to touch one another. Even now, Emily would bet their hands were entwined amongst the folds of Sophia’s skirts. “Cecily wrote me of a parlor game some ladies in her neighborhood played last winter. One of them was called Beast of Burden.”
She then went on to explain the rules and how it was played. The game was a scandal! Emily bit her lip and wondered if she might be able to cry off and return to her room early for the night.
“So, if I’m to understand correctly.” The lieutenant rose from beside her and crossed to pour himself something from the sideboard. “The gentleman crawls around on the floor carrying the lady on his back so that other gentlemen might kiss her?” And then a bark of laughter. “I’m game if the ladies are.”
And Emily had thought they’d traveled to Eden’s Court to put scandal to rest. Cecily’s husband had several acquaintances who weren’t members of the ton. Surely, such a game was only played amongst the demimonde… or worse! How could Rhoda and Sophia imagine she could secure an honorable gentleman under these circumstances?
Rhoda crossed the room and sat beside Emily. She then took hold of Emily’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Of course, Rhoda would have realized that Emily would disapprove. “Of course, we’ll play, won’t we, Em?”
And the only way Emily could escape at this point would be to fight with Rhoda to get her hand back. “I, er, suppose?”
Prescott wasn’t quite as obliging. “I can’t abide my wife kissing anyone other than myself.”
So unfashionable!
Emily sighed. So utterly romantic.
“The kiss can be either on the cheek or the lips. Like brothers and sisters,” Sophia reassured her husband. Could those two get any closer to one another? Romantic, yes, but also a bit annoying at times.
“As long as my objections are known.” Of course, Prescott would defer to Sophia’s wishes.
“One more thing,” Rhoda added. “Everyone is blindfolded except for the maiden and the beast.”
Emily contemplated the ramifications of the game and how she could make the rules work in her favor while Sophia sent for the blindfolds. General disorder ensued around her until chairs had been organized into what Emily presumed to be a circle. She couldn’t see much but found herself adapting, nonetheless.
Somebody placed a scarf in her hand, but just as she went to tie it around her head, Sophia’s voice stopped her.
“Emily is first.”
Rather than argue, Emily rose slowly from the settee and awaited the next name. The scarves were handed out, and everyone was instructed to sit boy-girl-boy-girl.
“And Blakely, you’re to be the beast.” Emily didn’t appreciate the humor everybody found at this statement. He wasn’t as beastly as all that.
“Now we all put our blindfolds on,” Sophia instructed.
When a large figure appeared before her, she leaned forward to study him. Ah, Blakely had removed his jacket.
“Who’s your preference, Miss Goodnight?” Lord Blakely leaned in and asked softly.
The question stumped her. She’d already informed him that she was contemplating Carlisle. Unfortunately, his nearness addled her brain. “Er. Doesn’t matter, I suppose.” She wished his distinctively masculine scent didn’t disorient her so much!
And then he knelt and settled on his hands and knees. “Climb on.”
A series of images ran through her mind. Blakely mane
uvering her through the waltz. and then, later in the library, his expression as he pumped into Mrs. Vivienne Cromwell. She also recalled his look of concern when he assisted her with the spectacles.
She was going to place her backside on top of him.
Emily eased her bum along the length of his side He must have realized he was too high for her, though, as he lowered himself slightly.
Placing her palms behind her, along his spine, Emily scooted on. Once she was settled, he rose a few inches. One of her hands ended up near his neck and the other, near the top of his breeches. She slid her fingers inside and gripped his waistband tightly.
Who would he take her to?
Marcus had played this game before. It was not about the fellows waiting, blindfolded in the chairs. This game was about the beast and the maiden. Of course, the duchess had manipulated the entire thing.
Perhaps she’d not been privy to Miss Goodnight and Miss Mossant’s plans for him. Emily shifted uncomfortably on top of him. Poor dear, he wondered if she’d ever been kissed. She must be nervous as a cat in a room full of knives.
Marcus bent his arms, and she slid forward.
“What are you doing?” she hissed by his ears.
“Tell me who you want to kiss you!” he ordered her.
“I… I…”
“Oh, good Lord.” Marcus turned and crawled toward Prescott.
“No!” she hissed. “What kind of a person do you think I am?”
Ah, he nearly chuckled, he’d been giving her an out.
He then crawled toward the lieutenant. “No!” she said, less conviction in her voice this time.
She wanted Carlisle.
Carlisle would be perfect for her. And yet…
And yet, Marcus did not want to serve her up to the kindly vicar.
Nonetheless, he started moving across the room to the new earl. One of her fists clenched the top of his jacket and the other tugged almost uncomfortably at his pants. She was nervous. Perhaps even afraid.
Oh, hell.
In one smooth motion, Marcus tipped her off and then rose to his feet. Not giving her a chance to back away from him, he grasped the sides of her face. She would get her kiss. A proper one at that. A Lady’s Guide to Physical Pleasure, indeed…
Her smallness impressed itself upon him first. He’d touched her face before, while assisting her with the spectacles, but not with both hands like this, cupping her chin, her cheeks. He’d known many, many… many women. How had he never considered her fragility before?
She stared into his eyes like a startled doe, but unlike a startled doe, she did not try to flee. No, Miss Emily Goodnight tipped her head back in an exceedingly inviting manner.
Ah, sweet breath. He dipped his head lower. Petal-like lips. Nothing in the world quite like a woman’s lips. Except perhaps…
He dropped one hand to her waist and pulled her up against him. She’d gasped at his touch and so he had access to the moist flesh within.
Slick, smooth teeth, and then he circled the roof of her mouth. The urge to swoop her out of the room, to have her to himself, baffled him.
What the hell? He released her abruptly and stepped away.
“Blindfolds off!” Emily nearly spit the words out. She’d done something wrong.
“Rhoda is next,” Sophia said but it took all of Emily’s resolve to regain her composure. “And the beast is Lord Carlisle.”
When Carlisle arose, Emily returned to her seat and dropped into it thankfully. She barely paid attention while Rhoda found her seat upon Lord Carlisle.
“Blindfolds on!” Sophia announced.
Oh, yes, her scarf. The lieutenant lifted it over her head and tied the knot snugly behind her.
Did she thank him? She wasn’t sure. Why had Blakely done that? Why would he kiss her? Was he playing with her?
Did he pity her?
For some reason, this caused her heart to drop. A sob rose in her throat, but she quickly choked it back down.
Why had Rhoda and Sophia done this? Why couldn’t they simply allow her to do things in her own time?
Because Emily would persist in doing that what she’d always done. Repelling gentlemen with her bluestocking and blunt ways.
Listening to the creaking of the floor, Emily jumped when Rhoda said, “No!”
“You’re not supposed to talk,” Emily inserted.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Except Rhoda didn’t sound sorry.
Emily wanted nothing better than to return to her room, don her night rail, and crawl beneath her covers. And then she didn’t want to wake up until Lord Blakely returned with her repaired spectacles.
What was taking so long? Had she sat atop Lord Blakely’s back for this long? Surely not!
“This is becoming rather boring,” the lieutenant complained. “Is anything happening?”
The sound of rushed movements and then, “Blindfolds off.” Rhoda’s voice sounded froglike. Emily tugged at her blindfold and studied Rhoda as much as she could. Rhoda’s complexion might be pinker than normal. What had happened?
Lord Carlisle simply knelt in the middle of the floor, likely looking as pleasant and stoic as ever.
“My duchess and I had best retire. Our little Lady Harriette has the habit of shortening most nights for us.” His grace seemed to gauge his wife’s reaction when he spoke.
Poor Sophia. She’d mentioned that although she could just as easily allow the nursemaid to take care of the baby at night, she couldn’t bear the thought of not being the one to do it.
Everybody rose, and a few replaced some furniture. Emily could at last return to her room. But… could she?
“Oh, but we haven’t all had turns yet,” young Miss Coleus Mossant whined.
“It’s been a long day. We’ll play games again, I’m quite certain of it,” Rhoda consoled the younger girl. Really, this game was far too fast for Coleus. Although, knowing her for a few years now, she guessed Coleus wouldn’t think so.
Emily knew she’d have difficulty locating her chamber alone, so before she found herself left behind, she approached Rhoda and took her by the arm. “I can’t see, remember.”
Rhoda nodded and, after bidding the others goodnight, slipped into the corridor with Coleus following. Emily so wanted to question Rhoda about her ride on Carlisle but couldn’t do so with the younger girl following. Coleus exhibited brash behavior on occasions and was known to be something of a gossip.
Rhoda solved the problem by depositing her sister first, and then escorting Emily two chambers down. Emily waited until they’d closed the door behind them before either said anything of consequence.
“Well, did you kiss him?” Rhoda gushed. Confused at first, Emily wondered how on earth her friend new about—oh, she meant Lord Carlisle.
“Er, yes, um just a peck though.” She couldn’t tell Rhoda about Lord Blakely’s utter disregard for rules and conventions. Not when Rhoda was to marry the man herself! “But most importantly, I spoke with Blakely before supper and he’s amenable to the plan.”
Rhoda glanced at her sharply. “He is? Are you certain?”
Emily nodded. “Did you go to him? During your turn?”
Emily barely made out Rhoda biting her bottom lip and then nodding. “Nothing special though.” Cursed spectacles! She wished she could see Rhoda’s expression. Her wily friend sounded as though she were hiding something.
“When will you do it? When do you want to head to Gretna Green with Lord Blakely?” Emily could confirm these details with Blakely tomorrow. She also wanted to speak to Prescott. “The sooner the better, I should think.”
“Do you think he’s likely to change his mind?”
Emily hadn’t really thought about this. “He’s awfully sore with the duke. And he has no other redress. I don’t think he’ll renege, but it’s not something you want to risk, is it?”
Rhoda had begun unhooking the back of Emily’s dress. “Lift your hair,” she ordered. “Have you forgotten our deal, Em? I won’t leave with Blakely
until you’ve secured an offer from either the lieutenant or Carlisle.”
Emily had not forgotten. She only wished Rhoda had. “Very well. But how?” She probably should not have asked because Rhoda most certainly would have some outrageous notion.
Only… She could not live out the remainder of her life in Wales! She did not wish to be an elderly woman’s companion, forgotten by the rest of the world while she grew old and gnarly. Circumstances called for drastic measures. The remainder of her life was at stake here.
“You’ve not the patience to play courtship games. I think your best chance is to allow yourself to be ‘caught’ in a compromising situation.” She’d loosened the dress now and lifted it over Emily’s head. “And I really think it ought to be Lord Carlisle.”
Emily raised her fingers to search for the pins holding her hair in place as she contemplated the earl. “Why him? Have you heard something untoward about the lieutenant?”
Rhoda sighed loudly. “No, it’s just that… I know he comes highly recommended by Prescott, but I know nothing else about him, whereas…”
“Whereas?” Emily prodded.
“If you remember correctly, Carlisle was present when Harold fell off the cliff.”
“Yes?”
“And those were the direst of circumstances, were they not?”
“Of course.”
“Upon reflecting on that day, I can’t help but admire how he handled matters. He remained considerate throughout. He showed bravery and kindness. He never shouted or panicked. I know of no person of greater character for you.”
“He is indeed a man of great character,” Emily responded dully. What if she did not want a man of great character? A ridiculous thought. Of course, she wished to marry a man whom she could trust, one who would put her safety and comfort above all else. It was just that…
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