Lady Emma's Dilemma (9781101573662)

by Woodward, Rhonda

  Even so, her gaze swept the guests, looking for a certain pair of broad shoulders and black hair. She knew the time must be past midnight, and once again, there was no sign of Jack Devruex. Maybe she would not see him again for thirteen years, she thought with bitter humor. Because of the intense way their kiss had affected her, the idea of never seeing him again no longer gave her any comfort. She fanned herself, feeling restless and jumpy.

  Just then, Amelia put her hand on Emma’s arm. “Unless I am mistaken, it looks as if Lord Edgebrooke is coming directly toward us. This must certainly be attributed to you, Emma.”

  “Why me? I have never met the man,” Emma said with a laugh, glancing over to see a tall handsome man with dark brown hair threading his way through the crowd toward them. “He is rather a Corinthian, isn’t he?” she said, thinking him almost as handsome as Jack.

  “Mmmm, rather. Oh, I do believe Sir John Mayhew is also heading in our direction. You should feel excessively flattered, my dear.” This last bit was spoken behind her fan, for both men were almost upon them.

  Composing her features to her most serene and confident expression, Emma smiled. She thought the gentlemen managed quite elegant bows, in spite of the crowd pressing so close.

  After greeting them, Amelia, with a charming lack of subtlety said, “This is Lady Fallbrook, of course.”

  Emma smiled, bowed slightly to both men and said good evening.

  “Lady Fallbrook, I can finally say the Season is a success,” Lord Edgebrooke said as his friend chatted with Amelia.

  “Oh? How can that be? The Season is not yet half over.” Emma found the teasing twinkle in his hazel green eyes charming.

  “Why, everyone knows the Season could only be considered successful if one has had the good fortune to make your acquaintance.”

  Emma laughed at his blatant flattery and decided that the earl had a way about him. Certainly, his brand of charm was not as potent as Jack’s, but impressive nonetheless.

  Suddenly, over his shoulder, she caught sight of a fair-haired man and her smile froze. Lord Monteford was looking at her with an expression that could only be described as beseeching.

  She instantly thought of Mrs. Willoughby and wondered what the volatile woman was doing this evening. Odd, she had never before wondered what a mistress did in her spare time. There had been something in Mrs. Willoughby’s aggressively proud demeanor that made Emma believe she would not like the way her protector was behaving at the moment.

  Fervently, she hoped that Monteford would not be so impertinent as to address her. She had steadfastly ignored his notes begging her forgiveness, hoping he would just give up bothering her. Unfortunately, he was proving annoyingly persistent.

  Although his unwanted advances had disconcerted her, it had been deliciously satisfying to kick him last week. After all, she had come to London looking for a bit of adventure, she thought, allowing her gaze to move coolly past him.

  “Lady Fallbrook, shall we brave this mad crush and attempt to get near the floor?” the earl asked. “Earlier, I noticed a few brave souls dancing.”

  “Yes, why not be intrepid?” Emma said, amusement glinting in her dark blue eyes. Taking his arm, she glanced back to see Amelia still engaged with Sir John but she could no longer see Monteford among the mingling throngs.

  As Lord Edgebrooke guided her through the crowd, Emma noticed Amelia and Sir John following close behind.

  “I daresay that Lady Litchfield is excessively pleased with herself this evening,” Lord Edgebrooke said conversationally.

  “No doubt. I heard that no less than three ladies have already swooned,” Emma replied as a group of dandies parted to let them through.

  “Nothing is more likely to guarantee the proper cachet than a few fainting spells amongst the guests,” the earl agreed with an air of mock gravity that matched her own.

  Even though she was thoroughly enjoying Lord Edgebrook’s company, after the disappointment of Lords Darley and Monteford she would not be so quick to consider the handsome earl as a potential paramour. But at least he was an attractive distraction from the intrusive thoughts of Jack.

  To her surprise, there were indeed a few brave couples attempting to dance in the meager space to be had on the floor. She and Amelia did their best to converse with the two gentlemen, but it proved difficult over the general noise. They watched the dancing for some minutes before an odd shiver on the nape of her neck made Emma glance around.

  Instantly, her gaze locked with a pair of eyes as black as night.

  Frozen, she stared as Jack, his heart-wrenchingly handsome features hard with determination, weaved his way through the densely packed guests.

  “I say, Emma dear, are you feeling well?” Amelia whispered at her side.

  With tremendous difficulty, Emma pulled her gaze from Jack and turned to see the concerned curiosity in her friends’ blue eyes.

  “Of course. Why do you ask?” Even to her own ears her voice sounded a little tremulous and strained.

  “Because you look a little flustered. Only a little, mind you. But I have never known anything to fluster you. Even the time the wheel broke on the coach we were in, you behaved as if the tea water was not hot enough.”

  Taking a deep tremulous breath, she smiled at Amelia’s description.

  “Pay no mind to me. In truth, I am unused to such crowds and noise. I am rather out of practice you know.”

  Amelia sent her a disbelieving look. “But I have been to any number of your parties at Maplewood and you are the most accomplished hostess of my acquaintance. You certainly have not been a hermit.”

  Emma forced a laugh at Amelia’s observation, grateful for the distraction. Even so, she cast a furtive glance toward Devruex. He was still coming directly toward her. She recalled his strong hands pulling her against him and felt a shiver cascade down her body despite the warmth of the room.

  “Can you honestly compare this evening to any normal mode of entertainment?” Emma stated, barely paying attention to her own words. “I have never entertained one-fifth this number in my home. I’m just out of practice at this kind of thing.”

  “Oh, tosh. You are—” Amelia stopped and put her hand on Emma’s arm. “Oh look! No, don’t! Devruex is making his way toward us. Blast this dreadful crush, it will take him twenty minutes to reach us.”

  At Amelia’s words panic gripped her chest even tighter. Not yet! she thought, casting a slightly desperate look around for an escape. “Why don’t we move to the other side of the room? It may be cooler,” Emma said in an inane attempt to avoid Jack. It was too soon after their kiss! It would be impossible to face him at this moment with any composure.

  “Don’t you want Lord Devruex to come over?” Amelia asked in a low voice. “It was so gallant of him to come to your rescue at Vauxhall Gardens.”

  Galvanized by the fact that Jack was less than ten yards from her, she pasted a bright smile on her lips and turned to Lord Edgebrooke and Sir John.

  “I beg you to excuse me, but I see my grandmother trying to gain my attention.”

  “It would be my pleasure to escort you to the dowager duchess,” Lord Edgebrook offered in a tone of voice that would, at any other time, have been quite flattering.

  “How kind,” she said quickly, knowing she must seem the veriest oddity, “but that won’t be necessary.”

  She turned on a heel, but not swiftly enough to miss the surprised expressions on their faces, and began to work her way through the crowd.

  Panic aided her flight and she refused to look back in case Jack was right behind her. She realized that she was receiving some curious glances—after all, the sight of Lady Fallbrook crossing the room unescorted was unusual—but she did not care. Something in Jack’s expression had set alarm bells off in her head.

  A moment later, she came to a wide French door. She grasped the handle, turned it, and slipped out to a wide flagstone terrace. Quickly, she closed it behind her and inhaled deeply, feeling as if she had just esca
ped something she had no desire to face.

  As she stepped farther onto the terrace, a cool breeze brought the scent of lilacs across her heated skin. The sudden quiet was a welcome balm to her fevered thoughts.

  Guided by the golden light spilling from the windows, she took the wide stone steps down the terrace into the well-manicured garden below.

  She walked until she came to a bubbling fountain ringed with lanterns and dropped her shawl on the stone bench next to it. Tilting her head back, she gazed up at the dark velvet sky. The vast expanse was almost as dark as Jack’s eyes.

  She should not have come tonight, she told herself fiercely. After her recent conversations with Amelia and Penelope, and then Grandmère—well, she was in no mood to be at a party.

  Especially one attended by Jack Devruex.

  A moment ago, when their had eyes met, the shiver of awareness that hit her in the pit of the stomach brought her grandmother’s words back in full force—you are fearful of the possibilities the future holds for you.

  At first Emma had dismissed the words out of hand, but now a niggling feeling told her she needed to consider if there were any truth to them.

  She stood there, struggling with emotions she did not want to examine, when a husky, hauntingly familiar voice spoke behind her. “Emmaline, don’t you think it’s time we talked?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Startled by Jack’s sudden appearance, Emma whirled around to see him standing by a low hedgerow. What she could see of his expression in the low light emitted from the lanterns caused her heart to hammer.

  She considered his question and everything within her shouted NO. To talk of the past would not only be pointless, but unbearably painful. Swallowing hard, she could not seem to find her voice.

  Evidently, he was in the mood to be patient, for he stood still and let his words hang between them.

  A breeze ruffled his black hair as her gaze roved over his features. Again she felt a stab of pain at all the lost years that had wrought so many changes in him.

  Finally, unable to stand the silence stretching tightly between them, she said, “What could we possibly have to talk about after thirteen years, Jack?”

  “Does the amount of time really matter, Emmaline?”

  She met his gaze, and the bold look of demand and intimacy sent her insides quaking. Instinct told her this conversation was moving in a dangerous direction.

  Walking a little closer to the fountain, she forced herself to gain control of her agitated emotions.

  He took a step closer to her. “Considering the kiss we exchanged last week I find your behavior inexplicable.”

  At the challenging tone in his voice she gave a wry laugh. “My behavior is inexplicable to me, as well.”

  “You said you hated me. Why? You left me on that muddy road.”

  Again, she could not mistake the demand in his deep voice. Yet beneath the caution she saw in his near black eyes, she thought she saw a flash of desire and possessiveness and her breathing grew shallow in response.

  But it was his words that she could hardly take in. Did he really blame her for not eloping with him? Could he really have no idea what his defection cost her? From the hard line of his jaw and compressed lips, evidently not. This realization shocked her to the core.

  As their gazes held and clashed, she clenched her fingers into fists and fought to keep the tremor from her voice. “I did not leave you! I just went home. But you never came back!”

  Her angry shout startled them both. But strangely, saying the words aloud after so long felt very good.

  She watched his long fingers rake impatiently through his hair. “I never came back because you married Charles Fallbrook shortly after we parted.” His voice now held a hint of anger as well.

  “Because you never came back! I waited three months for you to come back. Every day I waited, expecting you to come up the drive, but you never did. You broke my heart.”

  In one stride he closed the space between them and swept her into his arms with fierce strength.

  Balling her fists against his chest, she buried her face against his shoulder.

  “Tell me, Emma. Tell me everything.”

  His husky whisper, spoken against her temple, seemed to knock down the last barrier, and the details of her painful past came tumbling out. “I felt so lost and foolish. I did not know what to do. I wrote you letters I did not send, because I was still so angry with you. But weeks went by and I realized that you could not have loved me.”

  She hated the way her voice broke, but felt powerless to stop the flow of words.

  “I had known Charles all my life, and with my mother and my uncle pressuring me the whole time, I grew numb. After months went by, I quit waiting for you and told myself that I could forget you. Charles and I married and I was relieved because my family seemed happy at last. I did not start hating you until—” She tried to choke back the sentence, for it was too painful to finish.

  His hand stroked the length of her back and she could feel the warmth of his body through her thin gown.

  “When did you start hating me? I need to know, Emma.”

  Suddenly, she wanted him to know it all. Every sad, ugly truth of it. “Did you know I had a child?” she whispered.

  “Yes.” His words were more of a rumble in the ear she pressed against his chest. “I heard you had a little boy.”

  “Yes. Then you must also have heard that he died,” she whispered, barely able to choke out the words.

  “I did. I am so sorry, Emma.”

  “Henry was almost nine months old when he became ill with a terrible lung ailment. After—after a time hope was lost. During the funeral, my husband told me that he wished it had been me instead of our son who had died. I left him that day and started a new life in Melham. I began to hate you when I realized that if only you had not been drunk and lost the night we were to elope my life would undoubtedly have turned out in a vastly different way.”

  Her anguished voice trailed away but she did not move away from him. Neither spoke and the feel of muscular arms and his cheek against her temple calmed her quaking limbs.

  She knew not how long they stayed this way, embracing in the warm night air. Slowly, though, being in his arms became an intolerable comfort. She felt too unsure of her emotions—and his—to be soothed this way. Opening her hands, she pressed them against his chest and an instant later she was free.

  She found the look on his face unreadable as she said in a much more composed voice, “I had no intention of telling you any of this. In truth, I doubt these thoughts have been fully formed in my mind until this moment. But returning to London has brought so many memories back—it’s as if I barely know myself anymore.”

  She paused, but he did not speak and continued to gaze at her with an intense yet unreadable expression.

  “Truly, my life has been very fulfilling these last six years,” she continued quickly. “Nevertheless, I am sure this has been something like letting poison from a wound, and there is no need to fear that you shall have to suffer through another outburst.”

  She made a heroic effort to inject a light note in the last sentence, for now that her emotions were spent, embarrassment began to set in at exposing so much of her feelings to him.

  “Damn it, Emmaline, do not slip back behind that perfectly polished mask after what you just shared with me.”

  She could find nothing to say, feeling oddly empty after her outburst. Turning her head away, she looked out over the lantern lit garden.

  “Marry me.”

  The firm, huskily spoken words had the effect of a pistol shot upon her overwrought senses. Whipping her head back to him, she stared for a moment, hardly believing she heard him correctly.

  “Have you gone mad?” she whispered.

  There was a tenderness to his laugh she had never heard before.

  “You cannot deny what is between us. I now see what happened in a different light, Emma, and there is much we have to discu
ss. But for now—marry me.”

  Moving to the bench, she picked up her violet silk shawl. “Really, Lord Devruex,” she began in a surprisingly composed voice, “there is no need to be so gallant.”

  Sweeping past him, she refused to meet his gaze and hurried up the path. She could sense him right behind her and as she ran up the wide terrace steps he caught up with her.

  “Emma, don’t—” His words were cut off by a sudden burst of raucous laughter from a nearby crowd of young people playing some sort of game with one of the ladies’ fans.

  She glanced back to see Jack’s frown as he was forced to pause to let one of the dandies by. Emma took the opportunity to quickly cross the terrace and slip back into the house, where the sudden lights and noise dazzled her terribly confused senses.

  Chapter Twenty

  “You are here rather earlier than I expected. Was the Litchfield ball not to your liking?” Sally Willoughby asked coyly as she reposed upon the chaise in her salon.

  Monteford had arrived a half an hour ago and had gone straight for the brandy. To her exasperation he had not said a word, not even complimenting the emerald green lace negligee she wore.

  Sally watched him drink a quarter of the bottle—his expression growing more sour with each swallow—before she asked him the question.

  Instead of answering her, he sloshed more brandy into his glass and slumped down in the chair with a grunt.

  Sally pouted, yawned, and went back to flipping through a magazine. As much as his behavior annoyed her, she knew that he would not speak until he was good and ready.

  He continued to drink and she continued to read until the candles burned low. Finally, Monteford turned blurry eyes to her and said, “I’m in the suds, Sal.”

  She laughed at his slurred voice. “Whatever are you talking of?”

  “M’grandfather has cut me off.”

  The starkness of the statement and the desperate tone beneath the brandy-induced slur made her sit up and stare at him in alarm.