Tonight, her smile held a special meaning reserved only for him.
In response, his eyes widened and then his own incandescent smile grew more scorching in effect. Good heavens, this man was dangerous in so many different ways.
She forced herself to remain calm. “What a fright! For a brief moment, I thought you were going to say something important.” She waited for her comment to register. “May I share something?” This time she didn’t wait for his agreement but whipped open her fan to move the stuffy air between them. “You may go to the devil.”
She turned and with a glide, increased the distance between them. She kept her smile to bestow on anyone lucky enough to be in her way and went in search of Daphne. Emma found her at the mezzanine terrace doors, a discreet viewing area that overlooked the entire ballroom.
“Why do you have that look on your face?” Daphne asked.
“It’s nothing to worry about.” Still reeling from her confrontation with Somerton, Emma let out a sigh.
The most beguiling grin broke across Daphne’s face. “I didn’t realize Somerton was such an unpleasant partner. He doesn’t attend many events, but he should have grasped the basics of conversation with a lady. He darted out of here like there was a fire to attend.”
“Forget Somerton. I certainly have.” She whipped her fan open. She’d not allow him to affect her mood any longer, nor would she allow him to interfere with her plans. “We didn’t have an opportunity to finish our conversation this morning. I have news. Mary Butler is in Portsmouth.”
Daphne eyes held a hint of tears. “Oh, Em.” With one quick movement, her friend grasped her hand and squeezed. “I know how much this means to you.”
“You’re the only one who does, and the only one I’ve told.” Emma squeezed her friend’s hand in return.
“Claire doesn’t know?”
“I couldn’t risk her worrying. Not with the baby coming. She’d tell Alex or my parents,” Emma explained. Claire loved her dearly, but her cousin was still too protective of her, especially after Lena’s death.
“What about your parents’ demands you not pursue Mary?”
“I’ve thought of that. They’re the type of people who wouldn’t send a servant away if she needed their help. I must bring her back to London. Perhaps she’s desperate.”
“I have Claire’s carriage ready for travel. Shall I go with you?” Daphne asked. She’d do anything for her, and Emma would do the same for Daphne.
“No, it’s too risky. I need you to send it to the smithy’s on the pretense of repair work. Have it prepared for travel tomorrow night. Arial and I will meet it there the next day and leave for Portsmouth. My parents are taking a trip out of town.”
“What if your cousin asks for her carriage?”
“Claire hasn’t used it since she married your brother. Besides, I can’t take one of my father’s carriages. I’ve learned my lesson the hard way. With outriders and the ducal seal on the carriage doors, it all but announces itself as the Duke of Langham. Word would reach my father before I’m five miles out of town.”
“That is a dilemma.” Daphne tapped her finger against her chin.
“The only missing piece is who will drive me to Portsmouth. Is your old driver, Harry, still in London?”
“Emma, this is madness.” Daphne shook her head. “Harry is trustworthy. You’re one of his favorites, but you can’t go with only one attendant. Who will help drive?”
“I’m sure he’s fit enough to handle a day’s travel. If need be, I’ll hire someone to assist.” A look of disbelief crossed her friend’s face, but Emma pressed on. “Hear me out. We’ll meet the next morning, then he can drive through London. We’ll stop at the first inn and engage another coachman for the trip down and back.”
Daphne’s face darkened with doubt. “Em, no. Have you asked McCalpin or William to take you?”
“McCalpin’s out of town for two weeks. William would never agree. My window of opportunity is closing fast. Besides, what could possibly go wrong?” Emma widened her eyes in a desperate plea. “I can’t bear another ball without taking some action. If I ever meet Aulton at one of these blasted things, I won’t be responsible for my actions. Soon, we’ll hear an announcement of his betrothal. I have to stop him, and Mary will help me, I’m sure of it.”
Daphne studied her without saying a word.
“Besides, I’ll never find any peace in this gilded cage we live in with all these men.”
“Oh, come now. It’s not that horrid of a life.” Daphne waved her fan around the room. “Look at all these fine specimens. There must be a hidden treasure among the lot you’d be satisfied with.”
“There are no hidden treasures. Every man here looks at you, me, and all the other women as steppingstones.” Determined to bridle her frustration, Emma shook her head. “We should all list our dowry amounts on our calling cards and pin them to our bodice. It would make our lives so much easier.”
“I don’t agree with your opinion of courtship, but I’ll help.” Daphne’s faint smile still held a hint of uncertainty. “I’ll see Harry accompanies you, but nothing else. I’m honored you trust me with your secrets. Be forewarned. If there’s as much as a hiccup, I’ll go straight to Pembrooke. I want you safe.”
Emma closed her eyes in relief. “Thank you.”
This was the perfect opportunity to show Somerton never to cross her.
* * *
The next morning Emma found several posies and nosegays arranged on the entry hall table. All sent from the few smattering of men she’d danced with last night—in appreciation, they had sent flowers. None held any special interest.
Her stomach grumbled to remind her there were more important matters that needed attention—toast and jam. When she made her way to the breakfast room, a large bouquet stole her breath away. Dozens of deep yellow roses majestically reigned over the table with what looked like hundreds of black-eyed Susans as subjects. A package addressed to her rested against the vase. When she opened it, a note and a small painting of a bumblebee were enclosed.
Lady Emma,
Your sting was sharp. Let us start anew.
Somerton
Emma inhaled the sweet fragrance of the roses and caressed the prickly black center of the wild flowers. Many used the flower to calm a bee sting.
What an exasperating but clever man.
A soft sigh escaped. She should forgive Somerton’s boorish and, even worse, authoritarian manner from last evening. Anyone who put that much thought into a gift deserved a reward, even if his motives were still questionable.
Truly, it was a shame he would not get what he wanted. She was leaving for Portsmouth first thing in the morning.
She supposedly had a fictitious pirate queen’s diary waiting for her.
More importantly, Mary was there, and Emma wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Chapter Six
That evening Emma entered the library where the family and a few close friends had already assembled before dinner. Even though the group was small, the noise from the collective conversations hinted at the comfort and love shared by her family.
She started toward the group that included Daphne and Pembrooke. When Daphne shifted, she revealed … Somerton. Emma stopped as if she’d stepped in knee-deep mud. What in the devil was he doing here? Dread threatened to chase away her good spirits.
Her reverie broke when his arresting eyes, accompanied by a slight indention in a square chin, focused on her. Somerton immediately separated from the others and came her way. In a silent prayer, she begged he’d not introduce the mythical pirate queen’s diary or Portsmouth as a topic of conversation. If anyone overheard a peep, all would be lost.
“Lady Emma, I wondered when you’d join us.” In his elegant but subtle manner, he took her hand and bowed.
“Thank you for the flowers and the painting. I’ve enjoyed them immensely.” Remarkably, it was easier than she imagined feigning a nonchalant casualness.
He
rewarded her with a wink and a sly smile that intimated he wasn’t through with Portsmouth. The scoundrel thought to unsettle her with such an intimate gesture. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
If she kept repeating that thought, tonight would be bearable.
“You accept my apology?” His eyes glowed with a touch of humor and something else, regret maybe.
“We shall see how you behave as the evening progresses.” She playfully tapped him on the arm with her closed fan. “You were a horrid rogue last night. How do I know you’re sincere in your claim to be remorseful?”
As they spoke, the rest of the dinner party drifted past to the door. Soon everyone, including the servants, had vacated the library. It was the perfect opportunity to set the mood for the evening. She would chase him away before he brought up Portsmouth again. With a step, she closed the distance between them. His maddening scent wrapped itself around her as if to force her to succumb to his allure.
Years ago, she’d acquired a famous eighteenth-century courtesan’s memoire that described the best way to shake off a clingy and demanding paramour. The author advised stealing a kiss and then suggesting marriage. Within hours, the potential beau would part company.
Besides the woman’s erotic adventures—an education in and of itself—her instructions on how to get rid of a man were scintillating. If Somerton fought against her charms, she’d double her efforts—anything to make him lose interest and stay out of her business.
“Shall I claim the kiss we discussed last night?” Her heart pounded with her forwardness, but she forced herself not to flee.
He stiffened and seemed incapable of speech. Finally, he relaxed and leaned close. “The door is wide open. Have you taken leave of your senses?” The underlying sensuality of his whisper floated between them.
“On the contrary, I’m using all of them.” With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and waited. Waited for his mouth to touch hers. Waited for the softness of his lips to caress hers.
Waited … for nothing.
With an exhale, her brief surge of triumph turned into confusion and emptiness. It wasn’t a surprise he didn’t want the kiss, but it hurt nonetheless. She hadn’t kissed another since their first kiss. She sighed at the sudden sadness and pushed her disappointment aside, though her heart protested. His departure was her goal—not his kiss. He must have taken heed and silently bolted from the room.
When she opened her eyes, he had shifted closer. Startled, she took a step back, and he smiled as if he were the cat that ate the last canary in the cage. If a feather fell from his lips, she wouldn’t be at all surprised.
A fiery heat marched up from her neck to conquer every inch of her face.
“You little minx. You want to play?” He lightly brushed the knuckle of his forefinger down her inflamed cheek, the touch soft and seductive. His sinfully dark whisper caressed her with a promise of something forbidden. “It’ll be a pleasure for both of us when I claim your kiss. But, sweetheart, I say when and where. Not you. This isn’t a game you will win.”
Without a look back, he walked from the room.
Stunned by his words, she snapped her mouth shut. It wasn’t a game. It was a declaration to stay away.
She made her way to the dining room—unaccompanied. Somerton’s revelation about the kiss left her unbalanced and truthfully bewildered. The best way to prove he hadn’t set her world spinning was to act as if nothing had happened. The only way to do that was to concentrate on her surroundings. She’d take the comfort she always found in Langham Hall’s informal dining room and settle her runaway nerves. She loved to dine here with her family. It served as their lodestone. All celebrations, gatherings, and remembrances occurred in this small room. Her family drew strength from these events. Moreover, unbeknownst to the others, tomorrow morning would mark another milestone—her trip to Portsmouth and the hope that the singularity of women would be recognized throughout England.
She joined the others around the table. Somerton sidled up next to her. Without a glance, he held her chair as he answered her father’s questions. With little movement to draw attention, he slid into his chair and caught her gaze. She was in danger of drowning in the ocean blue of his eyes. Her heart rattled and tumbled in her chest as if in a free fall. He shifted closer—surely closer than propriety allowed. She struggled with the urge to change places, with someone as far from him as possible. Even the next room might be too close.
What a bloody blunder. She wanted to slip under the table and flee. It should have been simple to convince him to cease showing up at her home and everywhere else. Trapped, she sat beside him without any plausible means of escape.
Somehow, she made it through the seven courses without completely ignoring the family. By the time the footmen presented the dessert, she’d found her bearings. A fabulous assortment of sliced fruits, cheeses, and exotic nuts decorated the table. The pièce de résistance was a decadent orange torte soaked in brandy.
With the first bite, she closed her eyes and savored the fusion of flavors that melted in her mouth. Her older brother Will, garnered her attention when he cleared his throat. The gleam of deviltry in his eyes meant his topic of conversation would not be to her liking. She didn’t move an inch. She half-expected it to be a lecture on Portsmouth, but the first shot fired was a surprise attack.
“I’m curious about the consensus of the room. Does anyone believe women will ever have the right to vote? If so, does anyone believe they’ll understand the issues?” Her brother discreetly waggled his eyebrows at her.
Her father’s gaze shot to Will. The previous conversation had been light with little political comment, a perfect start to a casual evening. Her brother leaned back in his chair. If she wasn’t mistaken, little red demon horns had popped out of his head, a definite improvement to his looks.
She swept her gaze the length of the table to gauge the other’s reactions. The majority gave their full attention to their desserts. Only her father, Pembrooke, and Daphne appeared interested. If it had just been the immediate family, the conversation would have started at once with all taking sides until everyone exhausted their arguments. Her father had a fondness for throwing out controversial topics at family dinners and leading a raucous debate. But with Somerton and Daphne present, he played the perfect host.
Emma glanced at her mother who, with the slightest shake of her head, warned her not to engage Will. She cleared her throat, another sign to let Will hang in the wind.
With a deep breath, Emma tried her best to control her tongue. In all honesty, Will’s taunts caused her blood to boil, which wouldn’t take much tonight since her whole body felt primed to explode from the earlier debacle with Somerton.
“Emma? Cat got your tongue?” Will prodded.
Someone needed to issue a challenge and put her pretentious buffoon of a brother in his place.
But not her. Not tonight. She kept her focus on her plate.
“You prove my point.” Will’s words hung in the air like a putrid smell.
Enough was enough. How could her parents expect her not to challenge him? If the rest of the family wouldn’t take umbrage at Will’s histrionics, she would.
“You’ve managed to insult over half the people at this table.” She broke the lull in conversation and threw her serviette to the table like a gauntlet. “To answer your question, it’s long past due. Surely, the most intelligent people would welcome it. Women deserve the right to have their voices heard on all issues that affect the country, their compatriots, and their families. Only when each and every person accepts a woman’s right to education, the inherent right to make her own decisions, and an equal place in society will true freedom to think and act prevail for all.”
The delighted glee on her brother’s face reminded her of a jack-o-lantern.
“Emma, please.” He shifted his attention to Daphne and Somerton. “Our family, I’m afraid, is at fault. We’ve encouraged her to the point she gives her opinion on all subjects wheth
er she has the experience or capacity to address such complicated matters or not.”
“Lord William.” Her father’s voice had dropped to a low baritone, a clear warning he’d reached his limit for her brother’s pranks.
A flash of heat blistered her cheeks, fueled by the fact that more and more eyes came to rest upon her. They wouldn’t have long to wait for her response. She planned to string him up like a haunch of venison.
With the slightest twist in her chair, her gaze pierced Will’s. “You should have paid more attention at Oxford. Proof of the intelligence and acumen of women is rife throughout the centuries. Boudicca, Cartimandua, Queen Elizabeth, and even Mary Wollstonecraft are just a few examples. They all cherished freedom and, in their own way, brought it to the men and women of England. Of course, a woman’s privilege is still much less than a man’s in our current society and should be changed for the greater good of all.”
Emma waited, hoping for someone, anyone, to join the discussion. The only sounds around the table consisted of forks tinkling against the plates as her family scrambled to ensure their mouths were full.
“Emma, darling, you’re correct. But perhaps we should leave this discussion for another time.” Her mother’s voice was soft, but her heated gaze indicated she wanted to throttle Will.
“Allow me one more point.” She didn’t wait for her mother’s reply, as her time to answer was short. Her father was bound to change the topic of conversation.
Somerton shifted until one leg rested against hers. The heat from his body caused another flush to wash across her cheeks. She chanced a glance in his direction only to discover his lips pressed together in a grimace. Surely, he didn’t judge her or discount her beliefs. Damn William and him, too. She didn’t have to answer to either of them. Ever.
“Mary Wollstonecraft was maligned for her beliefs. The others had the right to voice their ideas and make decisions because of their royal blood. Every one of these women deserves our praise for their bravery in their speech and actions.” Her gaze settled on Will. “Someday a woman will serve as prime minister.”
The Bride Who Got Lucky Page 8