by Jaycee Clark
“There you are.”
Speak of the devil and he arrives, she thought.
“I must say, Emily, you are looking very lovely this evening. That color does become you.” His voice rolled over her, calming her nerves like nothing Rayne could have said.
Which, of course, was ridiculous.
Emily smiled and ran her gaze over Jason—Ravensworth. To think of him as Jason was not proper.
Why?
It didn’t matter. He was dressed as other men here, yet stood out utterly. An overcoat the color of the sea at midnight only deepened the blue of his eyes. There were no splashes of gold or silver, other than a sapphire that winked from his right hand.
“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured finally remembering he’d asked her something. The man would think she was a half-wit before long.
Strains started from across the room.
Ravensworth bowed to her grandmother. “Madam, if I may?”
Her grandmother looked from him back to her, and with a smile placed her hand in Ravensworth’s. Edward offered Emily his hand and she accepted.
The waltz was not quite as easy here in a crowded ballroom as it was in the drawing room back home, but at least she wasn’t falling on her face.
She looked up at her grandfather. Trouble shifted in the brown of his eyes, and wrinkles creased his forehead.
“What?” she asked. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” he said with a soft smile. “You look so much like your mother. Sometimes it makes my heart stop.” He cleared his throat and looked over her shoulder.
Emily didn’t have anything to say to his comment, so she followed as he led her across the floor. Thrilled at the feel of the music, the bodies and people rainbowed into color. The music ended and another fast song began. People lined up across from each other. This was a dance she was not about to attempt just yet. Her grandfather walked her back over to Rayne where other men surrounded him.
“Don’t want to tempt the fates?” Ravensworth drawled beside her. Where had he appeared from? When she didn’t look at him, he continued, “It’s not too difficult once one learns the steps.”
Her grandfather let go of her hand and took her grandmother’s.
“Come, I want to show you around,” Ravensworth said.
Emily did look at him then. “Show me around? This is hardly your home.”
A brief grin lit his eyes. “No, but then again, Gwen and my mother are friends of sorts, so I’ve been here several times. They have a lovely little garden.”
A garden with him? No. Something about him made her… He made her feel something she could not put her finger on. It was not fear, of that she was certain. But whatever it was, her stomach fluttered, and her pulse raced whenever he was near.
“I’m sure they do,” she answered, “but I don’t care to see them at present.”
His expression never changed.
“But thank you,” she added.
He bent his head. “Then allow me to introduce you to some of our families’ mutual acquaintances.”
The names and titles, faces that went with them, soon started to blur. All but one.
“Lord Drake?” she asked on a laugh.
He rolled his deep green eyes and shook his head. “Madam, I have searched high and low for you for well over a month. Not a word, not a single blessed word.”
“You know Drake?” Ravensworth asked.
“How did you two meet?” her uncle inquired.
“Oh. We met when I arrived in Portsmouth. The man almost ran me over with a wicked beast of a horse.” She smiled.
“I was going to attempt to make amends by seeing you to London, Mrs. Smith.” He bowed over her hand, kissing the gloved knuckles.
“You made amends by helping me find the inn and procure a room,” she said.
“For God’s sake, Emily,” Rayne muttered glancing around.
Lord Drake grinned, his eyes twinkling, yet she sensed a seriousness in him. A hidden tension. Emily took a step back.
“If memory serves you’d agreed to allow me to accompany you the next morning,” Lord Drake said with a smile, though his eyes were anything but amused.
“Was I? I remember saying I hardly needed your help finding my way to London.”
Ravensworth shook his head. He didn’t seem very amused. She looked around and wondered where her grandparents had wondered off to. The other gentlemen who had been around her uncle, seemed to have faded. Between Rayne, Ravensworth and Drake, all tall, all well built men, no one approached.
“Yes, but the roads can be very dangerous places, Mrs. Smith,” he said.
Jason looked from Emily to his friend and wondered what the hell was going on. He had a damn good idea, but since he’d yet to talk to Nickolas Hardin, Earl of Drake, he’d not been able to discuss what he needed to. Mainly one De Fleur. Sir Taber had said Nickolas was not the man involved with The Attack itself, but that obviously didn’t mean Nick wasn’t involved at all.
“She should have waited on you,” Rayne said. “Her stage was…” He trailed off at the polite and—Jason knew, as he sensed did Rayne—clearly false look of interest on Drake’s face. “You were in Portsmouth that eve?”
Not so much as a flicker from Drake. Jason stared at him, until the man finally met his eyes. “You know, Nickolas, I believe it is time you and I had a chat.” Anger shimmered along his nerves. She could have gotten killed. What game had been about? Because of the problems at the shipping yard and then the storm, Jason had been too late to make the meeting he’d needed to.
A rueful grin tilted Drake’s mouth. “I know it. I was about to come see you. Almost did some three weeks ago, but figured I’d wait and then things got…complicated.”
“Did they indeed, mon ami?”
“Another time,” Drake turned to Rayne.
“Definitely.” Rayne crossed his arms over his chest. “I have a feeling it will be rather enlightening if you’re concerned.”
“Yes, well, I’ll hope you still consider it that way.”
Jason noticed Emily looking at the ceiling as if she were bored. He figured she was anything but. “My apologies, Emily. We shouldn’t discuss business tonight.”
“Were you?” she asked. “Oh, don’t mind me, I’m quite used to being ignored.”
“No one would dare ignore such a beauty as you, Mrs. Smith. So which of these two blackguards is courting you?” Nickolas asked her. “Surely not both. You’ll tear their friendship asunder. And please call me Nickolas, or Nick.” He grinned. “Or even Nicki, as many of my friends do.”
Jason knew only the ladies called Nick, Nicki and Emily was not going to refer to Drake in that manner.
Emily sighed. “Lord Drake.”
“Please, at least Nickolas.”
“Very well.” Emily smiled. “You are upon occasion amusing. But now is not one of those times.”
“I dare say that’s more amusing than what some—” he abruptly stopped.
“Yes?” Jason prodded. “You were saying?”
“Nothing,” Nickolas mumbled.
Another man, fair-headed and a rake in Jason’s opinion, asked Emily for a dance. Jason gritted his teeth when she smiled at the rogue and prettily declined, but asked for lemonade.
“Lord Sheldon, madam. I would be honored if you’d accept this dance?”
Emily blushed prettily and just as she placed her hand on the man’s proffered arm, Jason reached forward and grabbed her hand.
A waltz started.
“My dear, I believe this dance is mine.” Jason waited to see what she would do. When she frowned at him, he smiled, and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.
The music started. Lord Sheldon smiled, his eyes twinkling and nodded to Jason before taking himself off. Jason swept her around the room. She was as guileless as a clear summer day. Most widows he knew, hell most women he knew, would either be ignoring him outright, dancing with him because she knew it rude to turn him down, or they woul
d be flirting with him. He’d had several attempted seductions aimed at him on the dance floor. Batted eyelashes, slow appraising looks, lips that had been licked ever so slowly, softly whispered innuendoes.
But Emily. Ah, Emily was different. Her gaze was direct as though she might have something else altogether on her mind. And in her case, she probably did.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, tightening his hold about her waist a little more than necessary.
“I’m trying to count.”
“Count?” he smiled.
She grinned. “One. Two. Three.”
He twirled her in a deep turn around couples. “Well, you needn’t worry about counting it seems. You’re dancing wonderfully.”
And she was. In fact, he thought they danced well together given the differences in their height. Her head only went to the center of his chest.
And did he really care how tall she was?
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He let the silence between them lengthen and scanned the crowd. Several people watched them. He knew no one had missed the fact he’d danced the first waltz with her grandmother and then the next with her. Rumors would be alive.
He noticed the other young bucks and rakes staring at her and found he didn’t like it one damn bit.
His gaze turned back to the slight woman in his arms. Her gown brought out the colors of her hair, the bronze material teased the gold in her eyes. Jason noticed the back of the evening gown rode higher along her neck than most of the fashionable plates. But in her case, she at least had the option of hiding her scars, except for the one on her lip. His was a bit hard to miss. Though, he noticed Emily never remarked on it. In fact, she rarely seemed to actually see it.
He spread his fingers, then pulled them back toward his palm across the small of her back. The shiver that glanced through her was not lost on him. Nor was the smell of her, a faint vanilla scent.
She tilted her head at the movement and looked up to him. “Are you still angry with me, Ravensworth?”
“For?” Under the lights her hair took on the color of honey.
“Leaving so abruptly. I was under the distinct impression you were not pleased with me this afternoon.”
“On the contrary, Mrs. Smith, I was very pleased to see you this afternoon.”
Her brow creased with a slight frown, yet she said nothing.
“You don’t believe that.”
“No, Ravensworth, I do not.”
The skirt of her gown whispered against his legs. He wanted to hear her say his name. “Jason,” he said.
Her frown faded. “I beg your pardon?”
“Jason. It’s my name.”
Brown eyes narrowed slightly before her tongue darted out wetting her lips, which he saw were the color of ripe peaches. As beckoning as the luscious fruits hanging just out of reach.
She cleared her throat. “I don’t think—”
“Jason.”
Something shifted in her eyes. He wished he could read her better, understand her more. Normally, he could read, understand and give a woman that which she sought. As far as Emily was concerned, he had no idea where he was with her, or exactly where he wanted to be.
“Jason,” he said, lowering his voice.
Her sigh wafted gently. “Jason.” A small grin pulled the edge of her mouth up.
Jason. An image hot and intense flashed unbidden into his mind. The two of them, sweet and tangled, dark and passionate, his name whispered just that way, a sigh on her lips.
“Though why you insist is beyond me.”
Her sharp words jerked him back. “Excuse me?”
“Why must I call you Jason?”
The music was fading. He slowed them, watched her try to concentrate on the dance steps, him, and her question at the same time. Perhaps the trick to her was to keep her busy.
“Why indeed. Mayhap because I want to hear you say my name.”
Her expression, the furrowed brow, the narrowed mouth clearly told him what she thought of his confession. The music stopped. He looked up and noticed several more men scanning her as if she were a delectable confection. Jason ground his teeth. He did not like other men looking at her. At all. It wasn’t as if she were some light skirt, some…
“Jason?” she asked, her voice tentative.
He realized he’d been squeezing her fingers. Gently, he rubbed them, then brought the gloved digits to his mouth and kissed the backs. “I’m sorry, my mind was on other matters for a moment.”
She looked to the men, her chin jutted up, but her gaze lowered.
Jason merely glanced at them and raised one brow. They fell back out of his way as he led her toward her uncle.
“Would you like some lemonade?” he asked, wishing he’d made more out of the dance with her and not set her on edge at the end. He wanted her to smile, perhaps even laugh.
“Thank you. That would be lovely.”
He grinned, and raised her hand. “Jason.”
Her lips twitched. “Has anyone ever told you, you are impossible?”
“On several occasions. It’s nice to see I haven’t lost my touch.”
She chuckled. A small laugh, but a laugh all the same.
He looked up and saw her uncle just ahead surrounded by young bucks and older rakehells alike.
“I will fetch you a glass as soon as I see you safely back to your uncle.” He put his other hand atop hers, which rested on his arm.
“I can manage to walk all of a few yards to Uncle Rayne, you know.”
“Humor me.”
“My goal in life.”
The wit was so unexpected, he laughed aloud. Then it was as if she realized what she said and paled. “I-I-I’m…”
He stopped and put his finger to her lips. Jason didn’t care who saw or what they thought. He wanted others to know not to slight her in the least.
Her dark, expressive eyes questioned.
Her lips shifted beneath his finger and Jason inhaled deeply. Forget not wanting others to slight her.
Emily was his.
He didn’t want another to have her. Period.
Where the thought came from, he knew not, but there it was, and he knew in his gut, it was right.
She was his.
As far as he was concerned, Emily was his to protect and see to. He just knew it was going to take some time to convince her of this. After all, he’d been taking care of her since the day he met her.
“Don’t,” he whispered, lowering his finger. “I won’t hurt you. I like you just the way you are. Perhaps one day you’ll see that I enjoy wit and humor in a woman and think no less of her for it.”
Her eyes had dimmed but then flashed in rage. Emily’s voice though was as cool and composed as she always was. “Forgive me, but I’m not afraid of you.”
Jason smiled. “I know that, Emily. It is my experience that old habits often die hardest.”
For a moment, she said nothing, then nodded and attempted to smile. “You’re right. And I hate it.”
“That I’m right? It does seem to be an affliction I have.”
Emily smiled. “That’s not quite what I meant.”
“I know.” He patted her hand again and started through the crowd. Some had pressed closer to see what the two of them might have been talking about, but the gossip mongers retreated several steps back as he sent them a look. There was at least one advantage to appearing like a demon.
Emily didn’t know if she was more embarrassed or confused. There had been no pity in Jason’s eyes and she knew he suspected her husband was not a nice man. He’d hinted so much when she’d stayed at the Abbey with him.
It didn’t matter. She was not going to fret and worry about it. He was right. Old habits were hard, but not impossible to break and she would break them one way or another.
“There you are,” Rayne said as they walked up.
Jason put his hand on her shoulders, squeezed slightly and said, “Emily would like some lemonade.”
Finally, the set was over and Umbridge led her back to her uncle. More men pressed in. Jason was nowhere to be seen. After several moments of polite conversation, she leaned over and whispered to her uncle that she needed to refresh herself. He told her where the retiring room was located.
A momentary respite. There were so many people here she felt as if she couldn’t get a deep enough breath. Or perhaps the maid, Tilly had merely tightened her corset a bit too tight.
When she came out the door she heard her name. “Mrs. Smith? What kind of a name is that anyway?” a woman’s voice asked.
Emily looked around and saw a large potted fern stood partially in front of an alcove. Not wanting to meet the woman, she darted behind the plant.
“Did you see the way he fawned over her, though, Patti?” another woman asked.
Emily couldn’t see the women, but she could hear them, and they sounded young.
“I don’t believe that bit of nonsense about some lost family member either. Do you remember an Elizabeth?”
“No, but then she was before our time.”
“I dare say she’s probably Warring’s mistress. And the Marquess is giving him a bit of competition. They share everything else.”
The words and meanings made Emily blush. She’d never heard women talk so.
“Patti!”
“Koleta, you really must grow up. That is the story going around the ballroom tonight.”
Koleta, who seemed quiet for the most part, said, “I wouldn’t be spreading that if I were you, Patti. If she’s who she claims to be, they are both powerful families. The Warrings won’t take the slight in stride. Young Lord Warring isn’t a man I’d want to cross. Nor is Ravensworth.”
A moment passed and silks rustled. Emily peeked between the fronds of the plant. Two women, one blonde and tall the other a bit shorter and dark-headed stood outside the ladies’ retiring door.