by Allison Lane
She would wear the pale yellow Venetian gauze with its broad blond flounce edged in roses and pearls. Even her dull brown hair and muddy brown eyes seemed brighter when she wore yellow. The fan she’d bought this morning would be perfect – yellow silk painted with a pastoral scene. Her grandmother’s pearls. And the yellow slippers with—
“We’re here,” said Huggins from beneath a pile of parcels.
“Of course.” She pulled herself together. Not once in ten years had she revealed her love, and she wasn’t about to slip now. She looked forward to everyone’s surprise at her instant success almost as much as to her next meeting with Jacob. So she chattered gaily about the day’s shopping even as her mind remained on him.
Jacob, whose dark hair was usually a little too long for fashion, whose laugh could send shivers down her spine that had nothing to do with cold, whose reputation—
She wouldn’t think of that. All young men sowed wild oats.
He was one of her brother’s best friends and had often visited Cherry Hill during his school days. As had Charles, for that matter. Now that the three lived in town, she had to glean information about Jacob from Richard – which meant listening to interminable tales of Charles, too. But singling Jacob out might raise questions that would reveal that kiss. Even ten years later, the incident could cause him trouble. Richard would be appalled, and her father—
Their footman lowered the steps and helped her down.
Richard wasn’t her only source of news, of course. Jacob’s aunt, widow of the ninth earl, lived at Hawthorne Park. Emily called often – unremarkable, for she called on all her neighbors. And she had no trouble hiding her interest in Jacob. Lady Hawthorne doted on him, sharing his letters with everyone.
Now her secrecy was nearly at an end. In another week he would claim her, letting her shout her love to the world. The next time she saw Hawthorne Park, it would be as Jacob’s countess.
Leaving Huggins to deal with her packages, she skipped up the steps and into the hall … and bounced off a gentleman unaccountably standing inside the door.
“Oomph!” she grunted as his hand shot out to catch her.
“Steady, Miss Hughes. You must temper your exuberance. This isn’t a racetrack.”
Jacob.
Emily backed into the wall, her head shaking in disbelief. This was all wrong. He wasn’t due until next week. She was wearing a faded walking dress two years old. Her bonnet—
Forcing air into her lungs, she curtsied, then managed, “My lord. How pleasant to see you again.”
“And you.” But his tone dismissed her as negligible.
She cringed. How could she meet the love of her life when she looked like a hoyden who’d been dragged through a hedge?
Without another word, he turned back to Richard. “Convey my appreciation to your father. He has my eternal gratitude. I’d no place else to turn.”
“It’s nothing,” said Richard. “Even Mama seems pleased.”
“About what?” Emily forgot her embarrassment, touching Jacob’s arm so he had to look at her.
“Ask your mother, Tadpole. I’m pressed for time.” His use of the despised childhood nickname threatening her with tears. “White’s tonight?” he added to Richard.
“Charles will join us for dinner.”
Jacob nodded, then left without another word.
“What was that all about?” Only fierce effort kept Emily’s voice steady. Her hand burned where she’d touched him.
But Richard was as dismissive as Jacob. “Just a small favor, Em. Mama will explain.” He headed for the study, leaving her to climb the stairs to the drawing room alone.
Something was up that neither man wanted to discuss – how often had they hidden secrets in just this way? Their capacity for ignoring questions had long infuriated her. It was one reason Jacob’s openness that summer had been so precious. But what could he be hiding now?
Needing time to regain her composure – and not wanting her mother to spot the sheen in her eyes – she passed the drawing room and continued up to her bedroom.
“Stupid girl!” she cursed her reflection as she removed her bonnet. “Scrape the stars out of your eyes.”
Footsteps in the hall snapped her mouth shut, but the oaths continued to bounce through her head. Jacob had been less than dazzled to see her.
She wanted to blame her appearance, but he’d seen her looking worse – like the day he’d fished her from the lake after a tree branch cracked, dumping her in. It had been the most frightening experience of her life – yet also exhilarating. He’d dragged her ashore, then held her until the shaking stopped, all the while murmuring soothing nonsense into her ears. His warmth had driven away her chills, replacing them with heat as sparks rampaged along her nerves.
The next afternoon had been that devastating kiss…
Idiot! He could hardly sweep you into his arms in front of an audience.
“True.” He couldn’t know that she still loved him – one of his charges had been that she was too young to know her mind. With Richard standing in the hall – to say nothing of the servants – he could only treat her as Richard’s baby sister. They must talk privately before pledging their love in public. Perhaps his abrupt departure covered his struggle to remain aloof.
A weight lifted from her chest, restoring her excitement. Everything would be all right. She could wait. Hadn’t she waited ten years already? Hadn’t she expected a week more?
As Huggins pushed open the door, Emily smiled brightly, smoothed her skirts, and headed downstairs.
The drawing room hadn’t been refurbished since her grandmother’s tenure, but the staff kept the French furnishings impeccably clean. The red silk wallcoverings had long since faded to rose, but they still added warmth to the space. A new Grecian sofa covered the worn spot in the carpet and gave Lady Hughes a place to lie during the day.
“There you are, dear,” she said as Emily entered. Her waxen cheeks were nearly transparent, confirming how difficult she’d found their recent journey. On days like this, Emily felt selfish for expecting a Season. Even stretching the two-day journey into four hadn’t kept it from draining Lady Hughes’s meager store of energy.
“You look tired, Mama,” she said, pressing her hand before taking the nearest seat so Lady Hughes needn’t raise her voice.
“A little, but I’ve wonderful news for you. Lord Hawthorne has asked us to take in his ward. It is a marvelous honor, and she will provide company for you.”
“Why would she be in town?” asked Emily, frowning. “It would make more sense to send her and her governess to Hawthorne Park.”
“Miss Nichols is past needing a governess. She is coming out, just as you are. The earl and Richard can chaperon you together, allowing me to rest. And I’m sure you will enjoy having a friend beside you at balls. I often wished there was someone with whom to share confidences during my own come-out. So many incidents require a stoic response in public when one would so much prefer to laugh.”
Emily stared, the words buzzing loudly in her ears. Share her come-out with a stranger? Six postponements, only to be saddled with a green girl? And Jacob’s ward to boot. Where the devil had he acquired a ward? Lady Hawthorne had said nothing of it, though they’d last spoken only a week ago.
She wanted to scream.
But it wasn’t possible. Her mother would fall into a swoon at the first sign of unpleasantness. Triggering one of her spells would postpone this come-out yet again.
“Who is Miss Nichols?” Emily asked with credible calm.
“His ward,” said Lady Hughes crossly. “I told you.”
“But who is her family? I know nothing of any Nichols.” She knew Jacob’s family tree as well as her own. There wasn’t a Nichols on it.
“As to that, he didn’t say, though he mentioned India.”
“Captain Nichols was a close friend of Jacob’s father,” said Richard, joining them. “His daughter Harriet is now nineteen. Her mother died last autumn, naming H
awthorne as her guardian. There is no other family. She will arrive from Bombay any day now, and he can hardly house her himself.”
“True.” Such an arrangement was too scandalous to contemplate. But she was reeling. Of all the times she and Jacob had talked, he had never once mentioned his life in India. Even in childhood, when he’d been back only a short time, he’d turned aside any questions. It was as if the first ten years of his life didn’t exist.
She didn’t recall his actual return, of course – she’d been in the nursery at the time – and though he’d met Richard shortly afterward, they’d not become close until Jacob started school the following year. Only then had he started spending more time at Cherry Hill than at Hawthorne Park. Richard had once remarked that the death of Jacob’s parents had cast shadows over the park that Jacob couldn’t forget.
Emily understood. She meant to erase those shadows once they were wed. Her success would boost his love even further and—
“This is a wonderful opportunity for all of us,” repeated Lady Hughes. “Her housing allowance will let us expand your wardrobe, increasing your chances of drawing attention. Perhaps we can even afford a rout – I know we’d talked of holding one, but I didn’t know how we could manage. Everything is so much more dear than I recalled. Your father was complaining only this morning—”
“You needn’t fret about our finances,” said Richard, patting her hand. “That is not your affair. If you want a rout, we will hold one, but do not schedule anything until you discover how wearying it would be. For now, have you finished the list of friends we must notify of your arrival?”
“Yes, but—”
Emily swallowed a snort. Lady Hughes would never manage a rout, which would keep her in a receiving line for hours. Nor did she know the first thing about expenses, having lost interest in the world twenty years ago after suffering a debilitating miscarriage. Ten years later, she’d turned her last duties over to her only daughter and taken permanently to her sofa, preferring to wallow in her fragility rather than oversee the staff.
Emily suppressed the suspicion that some of her relapses had been exaggerated to keep that daughter home until Richard was of an age to wed, allowing his wife to run the manor.
Richard again patted his mother’s hand. “Hawthorne trusts us to take good care of Miss Nichols. She will likely be a trifle rustic, having never moved in the more exalted circles, so we must be ready to smooth her manners. Em and I will take care of that. You need only welcome her.”
Emily nodded, but inside she was moaning. How could Jacob do this to her? Not only must she share her Season, but she must teach his ward how to go on in society, then accept the blame if the girl misbehaved.
Yet wasn’t this proof of his love and trust? He must know how frail Lady Hughes was. Even a restricted social schedule would exhaust her, so Richard would be Emily’s primary escort. If that frailty hadn’t postponed her debut, she and Jacob would have long since wed, making Miss Nichols her responsibility. So who better to take charge of the girl?
Housing Miss Nichols at Hughes House would allow him to call often without raising eyebrows and to remain at her side every night.
Satisfied, she poured tea and let her mother chatter while her mind recalled today’s glimpse of her beloved. Their collision had stolen her breath.
He had become an imposing man, adding breadth to the height he’d achieved at age twenty. His eyes still burned like sunlit sapphires. His hard body exuded a masculinity that recalled the feel of his lips on hers, his long fingers digging into her skin as he crushed her in his arms. His manhood had pressed against her stomach, igniting sensations that loomed large in many a dream. His tongue—
Heat pooled between her legs. Her fingers itched. The longing was more powerful than ever, though she couldn’t explain what she wanted beyond Jacob himself. But the wait was unbearable. Heat made her want to rip off her clothes. She might have run for miles as far as her body was concerned.
To hide the breathing that refused to stay even, she excused herself to change for dinner.
Tomorrow she would attend the Penleigh ball, where Jacob would sweep her into his arms forever…
Chapter Two
Jacob’s heartbeat had yet to slow when he reached Hawthorne House ten minutes after leaving Hughes House. Slamming his study door did little to lessen his shock. He felt like he’d been kicked.
Emily had grown into a stunning lady. Not a diamond in the conventional sense, for she lacked the peaches-and-cream beauty that was currently popular. But her honey-brown hair and golden eyes would turn heads. And her natural manner felt refreshing after years of fending off determined flirtation.
He hated being a matrimonial prize. Girls stalked him, following him into gardens and private rooms, accosting him on the street, interrupting conversations. Yet none cared about him, coveting only his title and wealth. They would betray him as easily as breathe.
But Emily remained a friend, thank God. She had never tried to attach him, making her the only female he could trust. Even Charles’s sister Sophie was flirtatious enough to raise alarms. That niggling fear that she was holding out for his offer grew stronger every time she passed another Season without encouraging anyone in her court.
He’d feared that his stupidity ten years ago had irrevocably shattered his friendship with Emily, but she had seemingly put the incident behind her. Or so he hoped; wariness had flashed in her eyes when she’d identified him – and who could blame her? But she would soon realize he meant her no harm. He could finally set his grief aside.
For the first time in years, he allowed himself to recall their last summer together. He’d been twenty, home on long break, and frustrated because his requests to discuss the earldom that would soon be his had fallen on deaf ears. His trustees had refused to answer his questions. Even the Hawthorne steward had ignored him.
He’d been furious. Did they expect him to magically transform into a knowledgeable owner overnight?
The answer had been no. They had expected the ignorant earl to retain them as his advisers and administrators, just as his father and uncle had done. After all, what did a greenling know about the vast Hawthorne estates and complex Hawthorne investments? He would need help, and who better to provide it than the men who had run the earldom for twenty years?
His uncle, the ninth earl, had ignored his inheritance, preferring the excitement of London to the tedium of business, so he’d left the men hired by the eighth earl in charge. Jacob’s father had spent most of his brief tenure out of touch. He’d died six months after returning from India, having done little more than sign whatever people handed him. With Jacob only eleven at the time, the consortium of stewards, bankers, and trustees had continued in power. By the time he had come of age, they had treated the earldom as their personal fiefdom.
Thus he’d been helpless that last summer of his minority. His aunt understood his need to learn, but couldn’t help. With even the tenants unwilling to speak to him, Jacob had spent his days at Cherry Hill talking to Richard, for Lord Hughes had groomed him in estate management from birth.
That was the year Emily had changed from pest to friend.
Since the day she’d left leading strings, she’d followed the boys relentlessly, insisting that they include her in their adventures. It had been cute when she was six, but his tolerance had rapidly waned, though for Richard’s sake, he hadn’t complained.
Jacob shook his head. That year had been different.
Emily at fourteen had been a sympathetic listener willing to endure his rants. And he’d had plenty to rant about – Hawthorne Park, his trustees, his steward, his London banker, tutors at school… Once he realized that she never repeated his confidences – not even to Richard – he’d said plenty. In retrospect, some of his tirades made him cringe. He must have sounded mad at the world and everyone in it. But Emily had merely smiled. Sometimes she shook her head. Frequently she offered amazingly sensible advice.
As a result, he’d sou
ght her out often. He could tell her things he couldn’t tell Richard lest he seem to rub his fortune in Richard’s face. Even Charles didn’t know some of the things he’d told Emily. Talking to her never failed to ease his mind and brighten his day.
It was probably her sense that had made her seem older than her years. When he’d mentioned that Hawthorne Park would benefit from adopting new agricultural methods, she’d agreed but warned him that tenants were often suspicious, so he should be careful how he introduced change. She’d described agitators who played on ignorance and fear to foment rebellion against machinery, then urged him to educate his dependents so they could judge ideas for themselves.
He’d taken her advice to heart and included everyone in his discussions, down to the last field hand. As a result, Hawthorne Park had been spared trouble four years later when General Ludd and his frame-breakers urged everyone to riot.
He and Emily had become friends that summer, though few would think it possible. And though they never arranged meetings, they ran into each other three or four times a week. She’d still been a child, so he’d not feared compromising her. She was safe.
Thus he’d searched her out the day before he returned to Oxford, to thank her for her advice and bid her farewell. Another summer gone. A frustrating period survived. By his next term break, he would be of age and able to act.
He still didn’t know how it had happened. They had wandered through an orchard heavy with ripening apples, talking lightly as always. She had wished him well with his studies. He had compared them to her pianoforte lessons, which she hated. When they returned to his horse, he’d placed a friendly good-bye kiss on her cheek…
The next thing he knew, he was devouring her mouth, pulling her tightly against his heavy arousal, reaching for the ties that would bare her half-formed breasts to his hands. Her nails dug into his back. Her cries clogged his throat, muffling his moans.