“Would you send women to war, too? If they have the right to vote, then shouldn’t they have the duty to defend the country?” Will asked. He popped a slice of apple in his mouth and chewed. The effort did little to hide his smugness.
“Of course, women have always gone to war in defense of their countries. Queen Elizabeth’s brilliance as a soldier and leader during the Spanish Armada’s invasion is one of England’s proudest moments. Consider all the women who’ve followed the drums in support of the troops.”
After her impassioned speech, the sound of a single person clapping rang through the dining room, followed by a masculine chuckle. Will’s laughter grew until he was practically bent in half from his guffaws. Her father cracked a smile. Even Pembrooke found the comments amusing, and he never laughed at her.
Anger hotter than a fire in a smithy’s forge shot through her. “Imagine how different England would be if there was no right of primogeniture. Firstborn males might have to work for a living if their birth order falls after the firstborn female.”
Every one turned to her with a wide-eyed gaze as if a parliament of owls had taken up residence in the dining room.
“Under the right circumstances, Claire would be the Duchess of Langham.” She’d see this through to the end, no matter the repercussions. “Her daughter, Lady Margaret who was born five minutes before Pembroke’s heir, would bear the courtesy title Marchioness of McCalpin.”
No one said a word. Silence hung heavy in the air. Finally, the longcase clock chimed the quarter hour, breaking the eerie quiet.
“Lady Emma and Lord William, need I remind you we are entertaining guests?” Her father had practically growled the words.
“Your Grace, I find this most enlightening.” Daphne trained her gaze on Will. “Lady Emma, correct me if I’m wrong. Under your scenario, if my brother was still the Marquess of Pembrooke, wouldn’t Lady Margaret also bear, by courtesy, the Pembrooke title, Countess of Truesdale?”
“Indeed.” A sudden sting burned Emma’s eyes, and she blinked to clear the offensive intrusion. All she could manage was a nod. Daphne’s loyalty was worth far more than the Crown Jewels.
“Emmy, I was teasing.” Will’s voice hinted at contriteness. “But what you suggest is beyond ridiculous—”
“Oh, this is rich coming from the debauched genius who placed a one-hundred-pound wager that Mr. Clayton’s pet leopard would change its spots overnight when it rained.” Those words would cost her, but it was money well spent. “If you believed that dubious hoax, is it so difficult to accept that women deserve freedom and autonomy in life?”
“The wager was whether his spots would fade in winter.” Her brother leaned back in his chair and regarded her. Nervous laughter echoed throughout the room. “Watch your step, little sister. With your chosen course of spinsterhood, you may in the future beg me to let you live in my home. How would you describe that freedom?”
She swallowed and pressed her eyes shut. As if an inferno had landed on her lap, heat blazed from her chest to her face. William had eviscerated her with the sharp truth of his words.
Under the table, something warm grasped her right palm. Fingers entwined with hers before delivering a gentle squeeze. She settled for a moment. What was Somerton doing? Surely, he wasn’t trying to comfort her in front of her family?
“Lady Emma makes an excellent point.” The laughter died when Somerton spoke. “Unrest is sweeping into our country and its territories. The Ludd riots are just an example. We only have to study France and America to see the results if we ignore it. We’d all be better served if we took others’ ideas seriously and welcomed an open debate.”
Her father rubbed the bridge of his nose.
The duchess stood to lead the women out of the dining room for tea. The men would stay to enjoy a glass of port and finish their discussions.
The bitter taste of humiliation squeezed her throat. This everyday ritual made her point exactly. Women left the table while men dissected into minute-detail politics, the nation’s economy, war, and anything else of importance. All under the guise that such a ritual was sacred.
Irritation over her circumstances singed her hard-fought control. Why couldn’t they stay and join in the discussions? Women’s perceptions and observations provided a completely different lens through which the men could better understand the issues.
The harsh truth?
She lied to herself. She was furious over more than some silly ritual. No one gave a fig about a woman’s role in the world, or her right to safety in her own home. Her own family thought what happened to Lena was a travesty best swept under the table for others to handle.
Without realizing, she’d squeezed Somerton’s hand so tightly that hers throbbed. “Forgive me,” she whispered.
Somerton traced the edge of her thumb with his in answer and then slid his hand from hers. With a dignified air, she hid the restiveness that bucked like a wild horse inside her and rose from the table.
Pitts, the Langham family butler, stood nearby and gave her two apples from the side buffet table on her way out. “In case you’re hungry later, my lady. They arrived this afternoon from Falmont.”
“Thank you,” she said softly.
With a resigned breath, she grabbed her shawl for a walk to her bench in Langham Park. It was the perfect place for the night air to cool her temper.
With perfect timing, Mr. Goodwin had sent a note earlier that afternoon. Everything was arranged for her arrival tomorrow at the Ruby Crown. It was fortuitous the distance was only a day’s journey if the weather held.
For her own sanity, she’d might just move to Portsmouth.
Chapter Seven
Nick stood next to the window and ignored the deep thrum of conversation behind him. It was black as ink outside with nothing to see except the reflection of the duke and Lord William behind him enjoying their port.
When he moved closer to the window, the glow of a brilliant harvest moon caught his attention, and slowly his gut unclenched. His anger fueled by Lord William’s confrontation with Emma slowly dissipated.
The entire dinner had been delightful until dessert. The duchess, Emma, and Claire were gifted conversationalists. Whenever there had been a lull in the conversation, one of them had picked it up without obvious effort. After he left Emma in the library this evening, he had little doubt she could entertain him for days.
“You’re a million miles away.” Alex stood beside him with two glasses of port and gave one to him. “Care for a game of billiards?”
“You never cease to amaze me with your boorish behavior.” Nick bit out the bitter rebuke. “Bad form to find amusement through your wife’s cousins.”
He turned to the window and caught the glow of a small lantern cutting through the darkness. He needed to get out of this room. It was stifling hot, and the conversation too loud and boisterous. He’d follow the light and wager it was Emma walking in her park.
Alex followed Somerton’s gaze to the lantern outside. “You’re right. I do owe her an apology. It’s no excuse, but the scamp was so serious. When she suggested the idea that Margaret could be the Marchioness of McCalpin—” Nick’s friend stopped abruptly, and his brow furrowed into neat rows of lines. “Did Daphne say Countess of Truesdale or Earl of Truesdale?” He shook his head as if to clear the confusion. “Either way, I couldn’t hold it in. Even Langham found it amusing.”
Nick held up his hand to stop Alex from continuing. “Did you happen to see the expression on your wife or sister’s faces or catch a glimpse of the duchess? If not, I suggest you seek them out and apologize.”
“Come now, my behavior wasn’t that offensive.” Alex drew silent for a moment before his forehead wrinkled again as if presented with an unsolvable puzzle.
“If you don’t apologize, I’d not be surprised if you’re locked out of your room tonight. If you’ll excuse me, I need some air.” With a brisk nod, he made his way into the night. He had business in Langham Park.
H
e crossed the grounds in long strides. The evening dew had made an early appearance, accompanied by the cool dampness of the autumn air. The moon’s orange cast reminded him of tonight’s cake. Its glow bathed the land with a light bright enough to follow Emma’s path through the formal gardens.
A stone archway and a copse of trees hid a granite bench, the place he’d first kissed her. Tonight, he found a far different woman from the girl he met years ago.
A missile sailed through the air, and he caught it in his right hand before it hit him square between the eyes.
“You bloody oaf!” Emma stood on the bench and hurled another apple his way.
He caught it in the other hand. “Is your arsenal empty? Otherwise, I’ll need to fetch a basket.”
She braced a hand on the back of the bench and gracefully hopped down. “I … I thought you were Will.”
“I figured as much.” The moss between the cobbled bricks of the walkway softened the sound of his boots as he approached.
“I’m not good company at the moment.” Her voice was low and cracked with emotion. She tilted her face to the moon.
He slowed his approach. “That’s a pity.”
Emma continued her study of the sky.
He tried to think of a way to ease her back into conversation, but instead observed her without saying a word. Normally, he didn’t mind the silence, but tonight, it felt awkward. He didn’t have a clue what was appropriate to say or do.
Seemingly nonplussed, Emma started a conversation without any self-consciousness on her part. “I apologize for throwing the apples and … dinner. Sometimes, I allow Will to goad me to the point I say things without thinking of others.”
“There’s no need.” The moonlight kissed her skin and seemed to transform her into an ethereal creature.
“Since I turned seven, my mother has allowed me to wander the park. Whenever I seek my own counsel, I come here.” She finally looked at him with a small smile and whispered as if sharing a great confidence, “I enjoy it as much now as I did then.”
“We should discuss Portsmouth before I say good night.” As soon as he got her promise not to travel, he’d apologize for interrupting her evening, then leave.
“Portsmouth again?” Her voice grew soft. “Stay. Please. Let’s find something to talk about that pleases both of us. We could discuss business or banking or anything else you’d like…”
He smiled, no doubt like a bloody fool. She wanted his company. Surprising, since her behavior at dinner indicated his teasing in the library had displeased her. He sat and placed her arsenal, namely the apples, beside her.
Another luminous moonbeam caught the sheen of her hair. With little provocation, he’d pull the hairpins one by one until her hair tumbled free, then he’d run his hands through the golden waves. How he wanted to gently spear his fingers through her tresses and tilt her head for a kiss that would consume them both. She shifted, and the silvery light fell across her face. She resembled a faery considering which spell to cast on him.
A chill ran down his spine as reality hit him. He faced real danger of succumbing to her if he wasn’t careful. He wanted to see if she was all right, apologize, tell her to forget Portsmouth, and then leave. His study possessed a mountain of work demanding his company.
Now, all his thoughts focused on the softness of her skin. What was the chance one of her family members would find them? Not likely, as they all knew of her fondness for spending time here alone.
He needed a whip to tame such wild thoughts. He was in danger of seducing a duke’s daughter and losing what little self-restraint he possessed. He was completely bewitched.
“It’s late … I should return to the house.” Privately, he cringed at his clumsiness as he stood. He stared at Langham Hall alight in a yellow glow paler than the moon. He sounded like a schoolboy with his first crush.
He’d never had a crush or a love or even an infatuation before. How did anyone even distinguish between such knotted messes?
Escape was the only possible solution, particularly prudent before he said something witless. He shouldn’t confuse fondness for anything else. He found the chit fascinating and didn’t want her smarting from the embarrassment caused by her beastly brother. That was his real reason for following her here, besides settling the issue of Portsmouth.
He was known for logical thinking, but tonight, he was at her mercy. Pembrooke was correct. She could tie men up into knots with just one word. In his case, just one look.
“Please stay.” Emma looked straight ahead. “I’m happy you’re here.”
Once again, she drew him in with that simple request, so he reclaimed his seat.
Her hands played with her dress. “Thank you for supporting me at dinner. It provided an excellent opportunity to leave the room without engaging Will again. Sometimes, I don’t think before I speak. I made everyone uncomfortable.” After a sigh that seemed to restore her ability to look at him, she lifted her face. Her grin didn’t hide the hurt. It made her appear drawn and waif-like. “It was the perfect escape. My only regret is … I didn’t get to finish the orange cake, my favorite.”
Probably the number of times Emma Cavensham suffered public humiliation could be counted on one hand. Her natural warmth made most people gravitate toward her. The men and women who ignored her were fools. It pleased him that it seemed to make little difference to her. She was completely unfazed by the trappings of the gossiping ton as she held court on the sidelines of a gathering. Laughter and smiles were freely given.
Somewhere within the past few moments his exasperated free will had gone home—alone. Beside her, he was unable to move as his rational mind sounded the alarm and cried “Retreat.” He turned to take his final leave and got lost in the glimmering depth of her eyes while her familiar clean rosewater scent washed over him. He inhaled deeply and released a groan. The fragrance stole every reason to leave her side.
He raised the white flag, surrendered the fight, and leaned toward her.
* * *
Emma’s heart pounded loud enough that everyone at Langham Hall must have heard it. When Nick leaned close, awareness rushed through her body with the force of an ocean wave. She matched his movements, but didn’t wait for him to continue what he started.
Heedfully, she reached with one hand and cupped his face. The hint of bristles from his evening beard surprised her. It tickled her palm and made her realize what she had in her hand—a virile, vibrant man who she wanted to kiss.
Trying to appear composed, she slowly moved toward him, but her insides quivered like a fresh pudding. She closed her eyes and silenced all thoughts to concentrate on the sweet touch of his mouth. In sharp contrast to his evening beard, his lips were as soft as she remembered from years ago.
Their first kiss remained a secret locked deep inside; one she’d never shared with anyone—not even Lena. It was her first kiss ever—her first taste of him. From that day forward, she’d understood they were connected. She had replayed that kiss hundreds, thousands—no millions—of times in her mind.
As she swept her mouth over his, she took her tongue and caressed the seam of his lips, coaxing him to open as he’d taught her years ago. Without protest, he opened to let her in. She ran her tongue over his and he matched her movements. Her kiss was a conversation between them, and he listened. He allowed her to play for some time, and the raw power of seduction swept through her, but then it became apparent he tired of her gentle volleys and deepened the kiss. All thought surrendered to the pleasure of his potent lips on hers.
Growling, he crushed her body against his. It wasn’t enough—she needed to get closer.
In a flash, Nick stood before her with his long legs spread apart ready to escape.
“What is it?” Since her mouth throbbed from his kisses, it was miracle she could whisper anything at all.
A rustling sound came from the direction of the main path.
“Someone is coming,” he whispered. “I’ll call tomorrow to discuss you
r bank proposal.”
“I’ll be out of town.” Why had she blurted that? There was only one reason; his kisses were intoxicating.
“Portsmouth?” His gaze pierced hers with a strength that reminded her of a newly forged sword.
“Daphne and I … are visiting a friend.” Completely flustered, she let the words tumble.
“No one mentioned this at dinner.” One of Nick’s perfect brows arched in disbelief. “Tell me,” he demanded.
“Please, don’t. This is important to me,” Emma pleaded softly and placed her hand on his arm. “It’s not what you think.” She had to diffuse his anger while protecting her real reason for travel.
“Your mischief is at an end,” he clipped. “You’ll not go to Portsmouth.”
“Emma, where are you?” Claire’s soft voice carried to the shadows where they stood.
Fire flashed in his eyes. “Damnation, tell me.”
“Please,” she meekly offered. “You must go.”
“Emma?” Claire’s voice was getting closer.
“Nick, please.” She’d never had much luck pleading with him before, but as it was her only option, she’d try anything. She smoothed her hair before answering her cousin. “I’m here by the arch,” she called out.
She studied his face, cold and hard, much like a frozen river in the dead of winter—such a contrast to his earlier blazing kiss.
He ignored the pathway and left through the park. She’d never witnessed his anger before, but it burned like a wildfire out of control.
There was little else she could do. Within seconds, Claire stood beside her.
“Your lips are swollen.” Her cousin’s voice was barely above a whisper as she carefully sat. “Your dress is askew.”
Emma stiffened at the challenge in her words. “I couldn’t stay in the house another minute with Will, and I came here to be alone.” She drew a deep shuddering breath. “I’ve been crying. If my appearance is off, you have your reason.”
The Bride Who Got Lucky Page 9