Running from Scandal

by Amanda McCabe

  Emma marvelled that they seemed to fit so perfectly together. Their mouths, their hands, their bodies—as if made to be just like they were now. She parted her lips and felt the tip of his tongue sweep over hers. Lightly, enticingly, but it made her feel as if she had tumbled straight down into the sun itself. The kiss turned frantic, full of raw need and burning desire.

  She felt him press her back against the wall, his hands strong and hungry as they slid over her shoulders and traced the soft curve of her breasts through her muslin bodice. Emma was astonished and delighted at his boldness, at the way he seemed to know just how she needed to be touched. She moaned at the delicious sensations that shivered through her, like sunrays and snow showers all at the same time.

  Oh, this is terrible, she thought. Terrible and wonderful all at the same time. She knew she shouldn’t be doing this, but she couldn’t stop.

  Through the silvery, sparkly haze of desire, she heard him whisper her name.

  ‘Emma, Emma,’ he said, as if he was in pain. ‘What do you do to me?’

  What did she do to him? He cracked apart her whole world and reformed it, just by being near her. She didn’t know why or how. All she could do was hold on to him.

  She felt his fingertips trace the edge of her bodice, caressing the bare skin of the soft upper curve of her breast. She was shocked—and delighted. She drew him closer to her, desperate for him not to leave her. To have him touch her again. She’d felt so cold, so alone, for so long, and now she finally felt warm again.

  Because of David.

  Her head fell weakly back against the wall and her eyes drifted shut as she tried to blot out everything but the feel of his touch on her skin. His warm, slightly rough fingertips, the brush of his cool breath—it was all so wondrous. She wanted more of it, and yet more and more.

  He bent his head to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her neck, to the soft, sensitive spot just below her ear. She shivered as his kiss trailed over her collarbone, the curve of her shoulder over the thin muslin of her gown, like a silky ribbon of fire.

  The tip of his tongue lightly traced a teasing circle on the slope of her breast, just above the ribboned trim of her gown. His touch came teasingly close to her aching nipple, just the merest brush, but it made her cry out.

  Emma arched against him. Through the layers of her dress and his doeskin breeches, she felt the heavy length of his manhood, hard with a desire that echoed her own. As her body touched his, he groaned against her skin and his mouth found hers again.

  Emma buried her fingers in the silky waves of his hair, almost sobbing at the intense force of connection that flowed between them.

  The haze of her passion cleared a bit as she felt him draw back. His kiss slid away from her lips, leaving her chilled. His hands loosened their hold on her waist, his fingers tense on her skin, and he braced his forehead on her shoulder. Their rough breath mingled and Emma was sure he could hear the pounding of her heart in the sudden silence of the room.

  She reached up to smooth a gentle caress over his rumpled hair and her hand trembled. She wanted to cry with the terrible yearning that grew inside of her, the longing for what she couldn’t have. A new life, a new beginning. Her mistakes had made those impossible. But she still longed for them, here with David.

  ‘Oh, Emma,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘What is it that you do to me? What is happening here?’

  Emma choked out a laugh. ‘I have no idea,’ she managed to answer. She pressed a lingering kiss to the top of his head, clinging to him for as long as she dared before she let him go. She feared this precious moment close to him would be the only one she might ever have.

  As his touch left her, she turned away from him and adjusted her gown. She drew in a deep breath, then another and another, until she felt her trembling slowly stop. Her thoughts still swirled, but at least she could feel the ground under her feet again.

  Behind her, David braced his fists against the wall, his head hanging between his shoulders. His inner struggle almost felt like a physical thing between them, a building of a wall as thick as any stone. How could they be as close as any two people possibly could be one moment, and so far the next? She longed to know what he was thinking, for him to take her in his arms again and tell her what was happening.

  She glanced back at him shyly, just in time to see him stand up very straight. He seemed to draw the invisible protection of his infallible dignity around him. He straightened his coat and raked his hands through his hair.

  ‘Emma, I...’ he said, his voice rough and sad.

  ‘No, David, please,’ she answered, trying to laugh, to be light. Not to cry. ‘Don’t say you’re sorry. I should never have opened that wine. I never had a head for it. It seems to cast such a strange spell...’

  ‘Not just the wine,’ he muttered.

  No—not just the wine. Emma shook her head. She had more words, no more excuses.

  ‘I hope that my behaviour doesn’t mean you won’t spend time with Beatrice in the future,’ he said.

  Emma was shocked. She would have thought he wouldn’t want her to tutor his daughter, not after her wantonness. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, his voice still tight, as if he held all his emotions on the tightest of leashes.

  Emma wished she could do the same. She felt as if she was about to crack with it all and just wanted to be alone so she could cry.

  ‘I am sorry, Mrs Carrington,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what madness came over me.’

  Madness. Of course. That was what it had to be, if he desired her. Emma swore she could hear her heart cracking apart inside of her...

  ‘Is that someone at your door?’ David said.

  ‘Wh-what?’ she gasped. The whole world seemed to be spinning madly around her and for an instant she wasn’t sure where she was. She tilted back her head and stared up into David’s glowing grey eyes.

  He seemed almost as bewildered as she felt, a frown forming on his brow as he stared down at her. His hair was tousled, his eyes intent as he looked at her. He had never looked so attractive to her, like a flame she beat against helplessly, like a moth drawn again and again to the very thing that was worst for it.

  She opened her mouth, only knowing that she had to say something, anything, to snap the taut, sizzling tension between them. Then she heard the loud pounding sound again and she realised it was not her heart.

  Someone was at the door.

  ‘I suppose I should get that,’ she said, feeling very slow-witted indeed.

  David nodded and slowly stepped back. Emma swayed, hoping she could walk without tumbling down on her trembling legs. She spun around and hurried toward the door, her feet moving automatically.

  In the hallway, she glanced back over her shoulder just in time to see David stoop to pick up his spectacles from the floor. Murray gave a confused little whine and David absently reached out to rub at the dog’s head. David stared down at the spectacles in his hand, frowning. She longed to go back to him, to feel him touch her again and beg him to tell her what he was thinking.

  But she knew very well that he wouldn’t tell her. He’d said it himself; he was sorry for what had just happened. Probably sorry he had lost control with a woman like her, no matter how momentarily.

  When he kissed her, in that instant she felt safe, as if she belonged, as if she didn’t have to be lost. But now she felt even lonelier than ever.

  Another knock sounded at the door and it was very clear Mary wasn’t going to answer it. Emma quickly smoothed her skirt and tucked her hair back into its confining combs. She had no idea who would come calling on her, as no one had yet made their way to her cottage sanctuary. She only knew she had to get rid of them, whoever they were. And then she had to get rid of David, so she could be alone and think, and remind herself sternly why she was done with romance.
r />   Any hint of the blighted thing was obviously very bad for her.

  She pulled open the door, a polite smile pasted on her lips—and froze.

  It was Philip Carrington. Henry’s cousin and best friend, his partner in carousing. And the only one who had stood as her friend during her misbegotten marriage.

  Philip stood on her doorstep in a stylishly cut greatcoat and impeccably fitted doeskin breeches, tall-crowned hat in his hand. The breeze tossed around his honey-coloured curls and he grinned at her in a show of dazzling delight.

  For an instant, all Emma could do was gape at him. Surely he was some sort of illusion? It had been months since she refused his offer of help and left him in that dingy lodging house. She’d thought she would never see him again, yet here he was. Right on her doorstep.

  Emma shook her head, mingled disbelief and delight sweeping through her. Philip had been her one friend during life with Henry, even though he had often been in trouble himself.

  ‘Philip,’ she gasped. ‘Whatever are you doing here?’

  ‘I came because I couldn’t bear not to see you again, Emma. The Continent is a complete wasteland without you.’ His smile widened and Emma remembered how all the ladies would flutter their fans at him. Would practically chase him down through the casinos and shopping stalls.

  Yes, he was just as handsome as ever. As handsome as Henry had once been. But what was he doing there? They hadn’t parted on the best of terms. And she wasn’t one of his swooning admirers.

  Even though she could see why those ladies were enthralled. His smile was disorientingly sensational.

  But not half as disorienting as David’s rare flashes of humour.

  Oh, good heavens. David. David was just down the corridor in her sitting room. This was not good at all.

  ‘Philip, I—I am quite astonished,’ she managed to say. ‘You should have written.’

  His confident grin faltered a bit. ‘No time to write, Emma my dear. I could travel faster than a letter and I was most eager to see you. I can see now I should have travelled faster. You are looking lovelier than ever.’

  ‘Philip...’ Emma said, her desperation growing.

  ‘Blast it, Emma, I missed you so much,’ he said. Before she saw what he was about, his gloved hand slid out and grabbed her wrist to pull her towards him. ‘You are more gloriously pretty than I remembered!’

  His arms closed hard around her waist and he lifted her completely off her feet. As she curled her fists into the fine fabric of his coat, trying her hardest to push him away, he twirled her around and around.

  ‘Didn’t you miss me, too, Emma? Just a bit?’ he shouted. ‘Say you did or I vow you’ll break my heart!’

  ‘Philip...’ she cried.

  ‘I can see I’m quite interrupting. I’ll just take my leave, Mrs Carrington, and be out of your way,’ David suddenly said.

  Over Philip’s shoulder, she saw David standing in the corridor just beyond the open door, his hair and clothes impeccable again. As if nothing at all had happened.

  What was worse—far worse—was that he watched her seemingly cavorting with Philip with no sign of emotion on his face at all. No frown, no anger, only that calm, cool mask she had come to dread.

  The man who kissed her so passionately had completely vanished.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Philip, put me down!’ Emma cried, hating the thread of desperation in her voice. ‘This instant.’

  ‘It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, though, Emma,’ Philip protested. ‘Haven’t you missed me just a bit? I...’ Then he looked beyond her and saw David standing in the doorway. His teasing grin slowly faded and he lowered her to the ground. ‘I didn’t realise you had company. I thought that horse there was yours.’

  Emma staggered back, trying to pretend to at least a modicum of dignity. She really just wanted to scream, or run away, or rewind the clock to take her back an hour before this all happened. Or really, if she had such a magic cloak, she should turn it back to before she made the supreme mistake of marrying Henry Carrington.

  But all of those things were quite impossible. She straightened her shoulders and said, ‘Philip, this is my neighbour, Sir David Marton. Sir David, may I present my late husband’s cousin, Mr Philip Carrington?’

  ‘A neighbour, eh?’ Philip said as he offered David a bow. ‘You have settled back here quickly, Cousin.’

  ‘Is that not what home is for, Mr Carrington?’ David said quietly. ‘A place to belong, no matter how long we have been gone from it?’

  ‘I’m sure my late cousin would want his wife to be with family, no matter what,’ Philip said.

  ‘And yet his own family has taken so long to call on her?’

  Emma felt as if a conversation in some foreign language was going on over her head as Philip glared at David. She didn’t like that feeling at all. And she couldn’t like the solemn, watchful way David studied Philip. It made her feel like she had done something horribly wrong, when for once she had not.

  ‘Mr Carrington has quite taken me by surprise today,’ she said. ‘I thought he was travelling on the Continent.’

  ‘You were the one who left in such a hurry,’ Philip said, a thread of querulous irritation darkening his sunny demeanour.

  ‘Then I will leave you to be reacquainted,’ David said. ‘Thank you for the tea, Mrs Carrington. I am sure either my uncle or I will contact you regarding the books very soon.’

  He gave her another bow and hurried down her garden path toward the gate where his horse was tethered. He moved with such swift, elegant dignity, so quick to leave her.

  As if their dance, their kiss, had never happened.

  Emma longed to run after him to catch his arm and tell him everything. To beg him to believe her when she said she was not expecting Philip. But she knew she couldn’t do that. It would surely only make him think worse of her and he wouldn’t believe her anyway. Why should he? She surely looked the veriest wanton now, just like his wife.

  With David, she always felt like one baby step forwards—or one great kiss forwards—pushed her ten steps back. She wanted so much more from him, even though she knew that was foolish indeed.

  ‘Good day, Sir David,’ she called as his horse turned on to the drive that led away from Barton land.

  He gave her a quick wave and urged his horse to a gallop. All too soon he disappeared from her view.

  ‘I hope not all your neighbours are quite so dour, Emma,’ Philip said.

  Emma’s hands curled into fists as she turned back to face him. ‘Sir David is not dour. He merely has many responsibilities, which he takes seriously. Unlike the Carringtons.’

  Philip held up his hands as if in surrender and gave her a rueful smile. ‘Pax, Emma. I am sorry I was too impatient to see you to write first. But I have missed you.’

  Emma sighed and rubbed her fingertips against the headache forming at her temples. It really was not Philip’s fault that the timing of his arrival was so rotten. Once he had been very kind to her when she had so little kindness in her life.

  It wasn’t his fault that he was part of a past she wanted only to leave behind.

  ‘Do come in, Philip,’ she said. ‘I can ring for some tea and you must tell me what you have been doing since I saw you last.’

  Philip’s grin returned and he offered Emma his arm to lead her back into the house. ‘Missing you, mostly. It really has been horribly dull without you and Henry.’

  ‘I find it hard to believe you could find no amusement at all,’ Emma said. She hastily kicked the empty bottle of wine behind a sofa and piled up the used teacups on the tray before she rang for Mary and set about straightening the chair cushions. Her emotions were still roiling inside her, confusing and bewildering, but she was suddenly glad she wasn’t alone.

  �
��You would be surprised,’ Philip muttered. He examined her little room with his hands clasped behind his back, frowning a bit as he glimpsed Murray. The dog whined at him and sat up at attention. Murray had never much liked Philip, Emma remembered. ‘I was astonished when the housekeeper at Barton told me you were living alone here in this old cottage. Never tell me your sister cast you out?’

  ‘Oh, no, nothing like that. Jane is in London right now and I felt too lonely in the great house all alone.’ Emma sat down and gestured Philip towards the chair next to hers, trying not to think of how David had just sat there. Of how close she had come to him—only to be pushed away again.

  ‘It still seems a harsh place for the sister of a countess,’ Philip said. He fiddled with the china ornaments on her side table, a curious look on his face.

  ‘You know how Henry left me placed,’ Emma said softly, embarrassed to even mention his cousin’s bad behaviour. Philip had encouraged Henry in some of it, true, but it was not Philip’s fault he could handle it and Henry could not. Philip had tried to be her friend and now he had come all this way to see her. She couldn’t be unfair to him.

  ‘Do I?’ he muttered. Emma could hear that hint of some darkness again and it made her fidget in her chair. But then he smiled and it seemed as if a grey cloud scuttled away. ‘Yes, I fear my cousin did not deal well with either of us in the end.’

  Mary hurried in with a fresh tea tray. For a second, the maid’s eyes widened in astonishment to see a different man there. But Philip turned his sunny smile on her and she giggled as she set down the tray with a clatter. Her cheeks were bright pink when she dashed away. Such was the effect of Philip’s angelic looks on every female he encountered.

  Emma remembered that it was last a darkly exotic Polish countess, which made her wonder again why he had come so far to dull old Barton.

  ‘No, I suppose he did not,’ Emma said. She poured out the tea, knowing she would never offer a guest wine again. It only caused trouble.