An instant later, she jumped as a shout went up and the horses surged forward in a blur of long legs and flying manes.
Lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, she hurried to the wood railing that encircled the course. The others followed and she found herself standing between the Earl of Edgebrooke and the Regent as the horses rounded the first corner.
Standing on tiptoe, she strained to distinguish one horse from the other. “Where is—I cannot see Circes.”
“She is in the middle,” Edgebrooke indicated helpfully as the horses, still in a tight pack, took the next curve.
Spotting the cobalt and silver amongst the riot of color she held her breath as Circes and three or four other horses began to pull away from the rest of the field.
“Capital! Capital!” Prinny said, clapping his hands as the other ladies waved their handkerchiefs with excited vigor.
Rounding the next curve, the horses surged into the straight with the jockeys bent low over their necks. The pack thundered past her and she closed her eyes, unable to look in case Circes was falling behind.
“Two more laps,” Edgebrooke shouted over the excited cheering of the crowd.
Opening her eyes, she leaned forward to watch the horses take the inside curve. Her heart lurched to her throat when she saw a flash of crimson satin pulling ahead.
Cheers rose anew at this change in the leader, and her heart sank as Circes stayed in the middle.
“Crimson is the Duke of Kingston’s color. His horse usually gets out early, but fades in the last quarter,” Edgebrooke said, keeping his narrowed gaze on the field.
This information did little to calm Emma’s pounding heart as she watched the horses, starting to spread out now, on the opposite side of the course.
She began to breathe again when the jockey maneuvered Circes into third place. Run, run, Circes! she silently shouted, gripping the railing with both hands.
“Kingston’s filly is sure to lose her stamina soon,” Prinny shouted. “It will come down to Prunella and Circes at the end. Both are in perfect position right now.”
Kingston’s horse still led, but Grafton’s Prunella, her jockey wearing sky blue, was gaining as they turned into the next curve.
Just then, a tall, hatless man standing on the other side of the course distracted Emma’s attention from the tense competition.
It was Jack and he was not watching the horses. She kept her gaze on him as he scanned the crowd. An instant later she was sure he saw her and she pushed away from the rail. Unheeding of anything but the need to reach him, she left her friends and began to hurry through the crowd.
Halfway around the course, heart pounding and breathless, she slowed her steps when she saw Jack striding toward her, his expression determined. He continued striding across the grass toward her, ignoring everyone else. She stopped and took a deep breath; there was so much she wanted to say, needed to say, to him.
She could not read his expression, but the intensity of his dark gaze had her struggling to find her voice. Her desire had been to be near him as the race finished; it never occurred to her that he would not be completely focused on the tightly contested battle taking place on the turf.
He was less than three yards from her when a deafening cheer rose from the crowd.
Instantly, a dozen or more men surrounded him, and their hurrahs had him looking around with an expression of stunned surprise. Emma stepped back as they began to pull him toward the finish line, still cheering loudly.
She watched with growing delight as Jack resisted his friends’ entreaties for a moment, then shrugged and sent her a wry grin.
With a joyous smile coming to her lips, Emma felt something within her heart—something that had been in bud thirteen years ago—now unfold into full bloom as the crowd swept Jack away to the winner’s circle.
Chapter Twenty-six
Sitting at the dressing table in the charming bedchamber she had been appointed, Emma tapped her foot impatiently as Milton put the finishing touches on her hair. It was the most intricate and flattering hairstyle she had worn all Season, Emma decided as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She had agreed to let Milton take the time to arrange her hair only to offset the dismal impression she had made earlier. But now she was growing increasingly impatient to go down to the ball.
“Gracious me! What’s this? I cannot believe you are not ready.”
Emma turned to see her grandmother standing in the doorway, looking glorious in a blue-gray evening gown that did wonderful things for her bright eyes and white hair.
“Milton is almost finished with me,” Emma said with a smile as Grandmère strode in and sat down on a nearby chair.
“’Tis a miracle, your grace. Her ladyship has stayed still long enough to let me give her a proper hairstyle,” Milton said, placing another pin in one of the coils on the back of Emma’s head.
“Excellent, Milton. I still shudder to think of all the gossip floating around the house at this moment. Everyone is wondering what Lady Fallbrook will wear to the ball after her shocking appearance at the races today. So it is imperative that she look her best this evening. The gown is a perfect choice.”
Emma had to agree. Earlier, after she had had a bath and sat in front of the fire drying her hair, she had decided to wear the most sophisticated gown she owned to the ball this evening. Made of deep purple, gleaming, tissue-weight silk, it gave her fine complexion an alabaster glow.
Fussing with her reticule, Grandmère sniffed and said, “I cannot believe I missed the race and all the excitement that followed.”
“You did not have to miss the race. We certainly arrived in time,” Emma replied, adjusting her diamond eardrops.
“Hah! As if I would allow myself to be seen by all the rank and fashion looking like a muddy urchin. No, I had to seek my room and hear later how Circes nosed out Prunella at the very last moment. Everyone says it was the most exciting race they have seen in years, and I missed it.”
Emma smiled at Grandmère’s grumbling as Milton finally professed herself satisfied with her mistress’s appearance.
Jumping up, Emma grabbed her reticule and shawl from the bed and walked to the door. “Thank you, Milton. I am ready, Grandmère.” With a trembling hand, she reached for the door handle, and a wave of nervousness gripped her heart.
“Are you well, my dear?” Grandmère asked softly as they stepped into the well-appointed hallway.
Emma gave a vulnerable little laugh. “Honestly, I am not sure. But I do know that if I do not leave this lovely room right now, I may lose my nerve.”
She met her grandmother’s startled gaze, relieved when Grandmère made no reply as they continued down the hall toward the staircase.
Muffled in the distance, Emma could hear the full orchestra playing a reel and her heart sped its beat in time to the lively tempo. She would be seeing Jack in a matter of moments.
Just then, Grandmère said in a conversational tone, “You may be pleased to know that Monteford left immediately after the race. The tattle is that he seemed to be quite upset and in a hurry.”
This interesting bit of information distracted Emma from her growing anxiousness. “Did he? That is excellent. I will not have to kick him again.”
Grandmère laughed at this and they joined several other guests at the staircase.
“By the by,” Grandmère said as they descended, “have you been introduced to our host and hostess yet?”
Emma nodded. “You forget that I knew Severly years ago. But I did meet the duchess when I came in to change my gown. What a delightful creature! Such ease of manners and grace.”
“I am sure the duchess was much too polite to gawk at your muddy hem,” Grandmère said with a hint of asperity.
Emma only grinned as they left the dim hall and stepped into the dazzling light and festive noise of the ballroom.
Making a concerted effort to keep her composure, Emma immediately began to scan the hundreds of guests enjoying themselves in
the large, mahogany-paneled room.
As her gaze was drawn to every dark-haired man in the room, she refused to think beyond the next moment. All she knew was that she desperately wanted—needed—to see Jack. She had no idea what she would say when she did. And she was keenly aware that an inexplicable fear still lingered beneath her desire to be with him.
“How does one bridge thirteen years in an instant?” she whispered, reverting to her old habit of speaking her thoughts aloud.
Feeling a gentle grip on her arm, she looked down and met her grandmother’s perceptive, smiling eyes. “Why, with love, of course,” she said softly, before turning to greet some friends.
At her grandmother’s completely unexpected comment, Emma stayed very still for a moment and allowed the wisdom of the words to sink into her heart. Then Emma began to move through the crowd on her own, addressing people here and there, oblivious to the stares and murmurs she left in her wake.
Pausing by a column near an alcove to scan the room again, she overheard a lady on the other side of the column say, “Look, Edith, there is Baron Devruex! Oh, isn’t he devilishly handsome? Those dark eyes give me the trembles.”
With an amused smile, Emma renewed her efforts to locate Jack as the unseen Edith replied to her friend, “He is terribly dashing. I am so glad his horse won the race. The Duke of Severly is going to present the cup right before we go into supper. Perhaps at that time I can attempt to gain his attention.”
Just then, Emma finally spied Jack standing beneath a large pastoral painting on the far side of the room. Her heart caught at how handsome he looked in his formal black evening clothes.
The atmosphere was definitely congratulatory, as any number of ladies and gentlemen surrounded him. Emma suddenly despaired of getting close enough to have a private word.
In fact, the thought of even attempting to speak to him while he was the center of attention suddenly seemed ridiculous.
With a wry smile on her lips to cover her unsettled emotions, she left her spot by the alcove and continued across the room.
She looked over at him standing in the midst of his friends as she moved toward a pair of open French doors that led to a lantern lit garden beyond. Her heart constricted as their eyes met and held, and even at this distance she felt the heat from his glittering black gaze.
It was too much. The music, noise, and people were all too much for her to take in while she felt so overwhelmed and unsure of herself.
With some difficulty, she pulled her gaze from his and strode passed the other guests and stepped into the warm, soft air of the formal garden.
She took a deep breath and willed herself to calm down. But no matter how she tried, she could not shake the feeling that she was about to step off the edge of a cliff.
She continued to walk along the bricked path through the garden, aided by the half-full moon and the faerie lights scattered throughout the shrubbery, vaguely listening to the muffled noises of the party behind her.
“What?”
Emma froze upon hearing the surprised male voice. Glancing around in alarm, she determined the voice came from the other side of a bush to her left.
“I am quite serious, Tunbridge,” she heard Penelope’s shaky voice reply. “I do not wish you to give me any more jewels. It is insulting.”
Penelope and Tunbridge! Emma put her hands to her fast-blushing cheeks, hardly able to think what to do, mortified that she had stumbled upon them this way.
“Insulting?” Tunbridge replied as Emma carefully and slowly began to turn around to go back up the pathway. “Explain to me how giving you jewelry could possibly be considered insulting.” She heard the note of bewilderment in his deep voice.
“It is as if you are patting me on the head. You do not love me, and all these diamonds and emeralds are a poor way to make up for it.”
In the ensuing silence, Emma held her breath as she tiptoed away, praying her friends would not decide to move and discover her. Stepping gingerly to avoid making any noise, she also prayed that Penelope was not about to get her heart utterly broken.
“My darling Penelope”—Tunbridge’s tender, amused voice cut through the silence—“do you remember what you said to me on our wedding day when I tried to tell you of my regard for you?”
“Our wedding day? Ten years ago? I said lots of things, but I do not recall anything specific,” Penelope replied with a note of exasperation in her voice.
“Then I will refresh your recollection, my dearest goose. You looked me dead in the eye—and you were quite the loveliest thing I have ever beheld—and said, ‘Just remember, Tunbridge, actions speak louder than words.”’
Emma was just far enough away to hear Penelope’s soft reply. “Tunbridge, I do believe you are a bit of an idiot. Just because I said that does not mean that I never wanted to hear the words.”
“I am not the idiot in this marriage, darling—you are the one who has been oblivious to how deeply I love you. And just to be clear, I shall give you jewelry anytime I please.”
“Of course, my love” came Penelope’s laughing, tremulous reply.
Hurrying up the pathway, Emma dashed a tear from her cheek and felt her heart soar for her friend’s newfound happiness. She knew she was drawing near to the house, because she could hear the strains of a lilting waltz growing louder.
“Emmaline.”
At the sound of her name spoken in that searingly familiar voice, Emma came to a stumbling stop and stared up at Jack in surprise.
The light flooding out from the open French doors behind him revealed stern, angled features.
“It is time that we talked, don’t you agree?” he said.
Emma tried to swallow the lump in her throat so she could reply, but she was so overwhelmed that she failed.
It was strange, for she had wanted to speak to him so badly a short while ago, but now that he was standing before her, she could think of nothing to say.
She continued to gaze up at him and her heart ached with a tender joy as she marveled at the impressive man he had become. She had been unable to trust the boy he had been thirteen years ago. Could she trust the man who now stood before her?
She still hadn’t regained the ability to speak, but Jack was not so afflicted.
“There is much I need to say to you, Emma.”
“Yes?” she whispered, finding her voice at last.
“You were right to leave me that night, so long ago,” he said without preamble. “It has taken me this long to realize what a callow youth I was then.”
“No—” His words took her by surprise. This was not at all what she expected him to say.
“I was, Emma,” he said, moving close enough for her to smell the faint smoky, woodsy scent that surrounded him. “And arrogant. I had no understanding of what I was asking of you when I wanted you to run away with me. Even worse, I was so arrogant that it never occurred to me that you would not wait for me after you did leave. I went back to Kingsmount and began to make other arrangements for our marriage. In truth, I wanted to punish you a little by making you wait,” he said with a bitter, self-deprecating laugh before continuing. “I was so sure of our love, I thought you would wait forever, so it was a bitter blow when your uncle announced your betrothal to Charles Fallbrook.”
“I am so sorry,” she said, and her voice broke for a moment in remembered pain.
“Do not be,” his arms slipped around her waist and he pulled her close. “I cannot regret the past anymore. We will never know how things could have been. I may have stayed a callow youth and you could have grown to hate me worse than you did when we met again.”
Emma laughed a little at his dark humor. “I did not hate you, not really. I just never expected to feel what I did when we met again. It was as if you had the power to hurt me all over again, and I was frightened.”
She felt the muscles in his arms flex, as she gazed up at him with her hands on his broad chest.
“Frightened? I would never have guessed it. I do
not believe the girl I knew before would have kicked Monteford for his insult, dealt with his mistress with grace and good humor, nor ridden through the rain to warn me about his attempt to bribe my jockey. You have grown into the most amazing woman, Emmaline Wenlock Fallbrook.”
She lowered her eyes from his. “I could not stand by and see you lose unfairly.”
She realized her senses were being carried away by his nearness and the seductive emotion in his deep tone. She felt as if she was moving closer to the cliff’s edge, and the tiny rational part of her mind asked again, Can I trust him?
She felt his warm breath on her temple as he continued. “I know that I spoke much too soon when I asked you to marry me at the Litchfield ball. I now understand because of the circumstance of your past that you are not ready to contemplate marriage—all I ask is that you not run away again.”
Tears filled her eyes at the raw emotion in his voice. She suddenly knew with a clarity that seared her heart that instead of asking if she could trust him—she should be asking if she could she trust herself.
As the answer came, the last vestiges of regret and fear disappeared like vapor. The sweetness of this moment could not have been more perfect if it had happened when she was eighteen.
Finally, because of the love swelling in her heart, she felt completely, almost miraculously, free from the bleak pain of her past.
A tremulous smile came to her lips and she slipped her arms around his neck. “I’ll never run away again.”
An instant later, his lips were on hers in a half-fierce, half-tender kiss that took her breath away. She kissed him back with all the love and desire she had been keeping locked in her heart. The kiss deepened, and she pressed her body into his until her senses spun. His hands moved up and down her back and he said against her lips, “I love you, Emma.”
Just as she was about to respond, the music whirling around them stopped and the trilling notes of a fanfare filled the moonlit air.
“Oh!” Emma said, her eyes wide with passion and surprised delight. “The duke must be ready to present the cup.” She did not want him to miss his moment of victory.
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