The Seduction of Emily

by Rachel Brimble

  “Daughter? What on earth are you grinning at?” Her father approached from the side.

  With her eyes on Mr. Samson, Emily couldn’t fight the pull at her lips. “Nothing, Papa. Nothing at all.”

  “I say, is that Mr. Samson?”

  “I really wouldn’t—” Emily’s words halted.

  Mr. Samson’s gaze locked on hers.

  Her glass trembled. If he approached her, how would she hide her interest? He looked so regal, so handsome.

  “Emily?”

  She glanced at her father and back to Mr. Samson. Her mind was numb but her traitorous body very much alive. “Why, yes, Papa. I think you might be right.”

  She failed to drag her gaze from Mr. Samson’s. He looked so refined in a double-breasted tailcoat and matching trousers. His dark hair groomed, his stature proud. His mouth—that delicious mouth—was lifted into the slightest of smiles. His manner was so evocative, her toes curled inside her slippers. Emily shifted her gaze to the women casting continual glances his way. He was easily the most handsome and powerful-looking man in the room.

  When she met his steady gaze once more, an illicit thrill shot through her very center. He looked only at her.

  He gave an almost indiscernible nod, the intoxicating smile still playing at his lips. Emily snatched her gaze away as panic erupted deep inside her. If Nicholas saw their silent exchange . . .

  She needed to leave. Right away. She turned to her father. “We must go.”

  “What, but why?”

  “I do not feel well . . .” The remainder of her claim died on her lips when the light around her fell into shadow.

  “Miss Darson, how lovely to see you again.”

  Her stomach dropped. Mr. Samson stood so close beside her; she felt his heat. Her heart beat hard but she forced herself to turn. His stunning blue eyes met hers.

  “Mr. Samson, what a surprise.”

  “A nice one, I hope.” His blatant appraisal wandered from her hair, to her lips, and finally her eyes. “I am hoping you will allow me the honor of the next dance?”

  Her father straightened. “Well now, I’m not sure . . .” He stopped and then his eyes took on a wholly different glint. “I think that is a wonderful idea. Don’t you, my dear?”

  Emily stared at him. What in heaven’s name was he thinking? She opened her mouth to refuse when Nicholas stepped between them, huffing and puffing like a raging bull. “That, Mr. Samson, will not be happening.”

  Nicholas’s and Mr. Samson’s eyes locked in silent battle. Emily stared as her future burst to life before her eyes. Who knew what would happen once she and Nicholas were wed? Who knew if she’d manage to change him and build a happy life or if their children would follow her regard or his?

  Careless abandon pumped through her veins. This was her final chance to dance with another man as an unmarried woman. Albeit an engaged one. What if another man never looked at her in the hungry, challenging way Mr. Samson was at that singular moment? Emily drew in a breath through flared nostrils, brushed past Nicholas, and took Mr. Samson’s elbow.

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Samson. I’d love to dance.”

  Mr. Samson’s slow and devilish grin as he led her away threw Emily’s stomach into a frenzied loop-the-loop. The man was so undeniably exciting, she did not care one wit that she’d endure Nicholas’s wrath later. She bit down on her bottom lip to stop her smile from spreading and together, they took their places on the dance floor.

  Will stole a surreptitious glance at Miss Darson. From the moment she walked in the ballroom on Milne’s arm, he wanted to talk to her. He watched them walk around the room, Milne with his nose in the air like a goddamn bloodhound, Miss Darson like the elegant vision she was. They looked like a couple—an engaged couple. Will hated the way the scene made his stomach knot and his head pulse with tension.

  When he left his rented accommodation, he was clear in his mind that he was over his initial shock of Miss Darson’s beauty and confidence. He was focused and knew what to expect from her. He was wrong. She was dressed in red. The color of danger. His conscience screamed inside his head, warning him off, urging him to find another way to punish Milne without involving her.

  His pull to the woman was unprecedented. Even the line of her jaw distracted him.

  She turned and met his gaze. The fire behind those huge coffee-colored eyes burned into his soul. They were tinged with a plea. The notion confused him. Did she want something from him? Will stared. Why did he suddenly feel like he was a pawn in her game rather than the other way around?

  He pulled back his shoulders. If she had an agenda, then she’d met her match. His motivation was burned like a brand on his heart whereas Miss Darson led a privileged life and had everything a woman could want at her fingertips. The handsome, if not repulsive fiancé, money, social acceptance . . . a home. His mother had none of those things and Milne took even more from her. He stripped her of her dignity. The man would feel the backlash of that if it took every last breath in Will’s body to see it happen.

  He cleared his throat. “Is everything all right, Miss Darson? You seem—”

  “Happy? Empowered?” She gave a faint laugh. “I am, Mr. Samson. I am both of those things.”

  A strange and unexpected response. If he had doubted her before, Will was now certain she held an agenda. He shoved the screaming warnings to put urgent space between them into submission. Regardless of the dangers involved in getting her mixed up in his complex web of revenge toward Milne, she was too good an asset to waste.

  She was beautiful and intriguing. Intelligence resided in her gaze as much as her wish for something more. It made her alluring, which, although not ideal, gave Will a stronger incentive to find out how he could make himself matter to her. Her desire could be the key to Milne’s demise. If he could help her in some way, she might be inclined to want to see him again and that, in turn, would make her the next step in his plan.

  As the music began, Will sneaked a glance at Milne. He stared at Miss Darson, anger mixed with possession evident in the line of a jaw sharp enough to cut glass.

  Satisfaction poured into Will’s blood. She mattered to him. Nothing could be more perfect.

  “Mr. Samson, you’re scowling.”

  Miss Darson’s soft but confident voice cut through Will’s murderous contemplation. He blinked and met her gaze, a smile slipping effortlessly to his lips. Her eyes were an open window to an inquisitive mind. The women of high society he’d met before left no mark on his memory or libido. Miss Darson stirred both.

  He dipped his head. “I apologize. You are quite the distraction.”

  Faint color darkened her cheeks and they joined hands. A bolt struck his gut at the contact. Damn this magnetic allure to her. He focused on the steps he had learned by heart and observation over his formative years. He tried to ignore how the scarlet velvet of her dress and the shining jewel at her neck emphasized the pale perfection of her skin. She was truly breathtaking. The daring in her gaze added a sexual temptation Will was sure she was blithely unaware of.

  “He stares once more.” Her voice jolted him from his hypnosis.

  “I was wondering if my asking you to dance was made without thought or consideration to the aftermath.”

  She frowned. “Aftermath?”

  Will tilted his head toward Milne. “Your father looks vastly more pleased about us dancing than your fiancé does. I would hate to think I have caused you . . . or him to feel uncomfortable.”

  She smiled. “It is only a dance, Mr. Samson. I, for one, am not at all uncomfortable. As for Nicholas, I’m sure he will not lose sleep over our brief interlude.”

  “And your father?”

  Her eyes clouded. “Is dying. Believe me, nothing will make him happier than seeing his daughter do what she does best.”

  Will lifted his eyebrows “Which is?”

  She grinned. “The opposite of what I should.”

  Laughing, Will held her a little firmer than necessary. Her s
kin held the soft scent of roses and he breathed her in. She was slender and perfect in his arms, deceptively fragile as a porcelain vase. Yet he sensed Emily Darson to be far from weak. No lady could have her audacity, her teasing nature, without possessing nerves of steel.

  She was strong and sophisticated and hardly the type of woman to be easily duped. Only time would tell if he had the skill to steal her from under Milne’s damn ugly nose.

  The awareness of how comfortably she fit within his arms made Will’s heart beat like a hammer against metal. The look in her eyes belied her intelligence and she’d admitted she was a woman who didn’t always follow the rules. What if she turned out to be a challenge he did not need? His smile faltered. It did not feel good to be in such an unusual state of self-doubt.

  Her fingers tightened around his. “Mr. Samson, you really are the most preoccupied man I have ever met. Your preference appears to be glaring at my fiancé rather than engaging in conversation with me.”

  Will met her eyes. “I apologize. Your fiancé is quite a newspaper favorite. It is strange seeing him in the flesh rather than print.”

  She looked toward Milne. Would she show a glimpse of fondness in her gaze or a twitch of love at her lips? Nothing.

  She drew in a breath and moved away from him as the dance dictated. After a moment, she swept back into his arms. “Being under constant study like an animal at the zoo is not all it’s made out to be.”

  “Do you not enjoy the attention of the media, Miss Darson?”

  Her eyes darkened with irritation and her cheeks flushed. “Not in the slightest. I abhor people’s gluttony of scandal.”

  Gazes subtly drifted their way from every direction. Surely she was as aware as he they were under scrutiny that very moment? Only his risk at public recognition was far more dangerous than hers. Ruining Milne made that risk endurable.

  He cleared his throat. “Yet you risk a significant scandal by dancing with me. A stranger. A man unknown amongst your peers.”

  Her gaze locked on his and her steps faltered before she collected herself. “Then tell me about yourself, Mr. Samson. That way you will no longer be a stranger.” She threw a glance at him and a spark of triumph shone in her dark brown eyes. “Better yet, tell me your interest in Nicholas.”

  A jolt of apprehension shot through Will’s veins as he met her steadfast gaze. “I have no interest in Mr. Milne.”

  She gave a derisive laugh. “I beg to differ.”

  Damn, the woman is quick. “I speak the truth . . . it is in you I have interest.”

  The wave of surprise that lit her eyes for a brief moment belied her discomfort. Her gaze darted toward Milne and back again. Will bit back a smile. Clearly she wasn’t quite the femme fatale she liked to convey. She blinked and her bravado fell back into place.

  She tilted her chin and her eyes shone with renewed interest. The contrast once more stirred his libido. If he were to crush her rosebud mouth beneath his, would she respond or reject?

  “Why would you be interested in me? Have you no regard for decorum?”

  He smiled. “Decorum?”

  Another twirl and sweep. “Come now, Mr. Samson. You know as well as I, it is not considered proper to be interested in another man’s fiancée.”

  His groin twitched as his gaze fell to her lips. The soft lift at the corner of her mouth was hard to resist. Instinct told him she knew exactly what she was capable of doing and achieving—and had no shame in using her female wiles to get her there.

  The dance dictated he step away from her and dance with a woman to the side of him. Will dipped and turned, his gaze hovering on the back of Miss Darson’s head as she moved hand in hand with another gentleman. He glared. The man wore the expression of someone who’d won a thousand gold crowns at the card table.

  Jealousy flashed hot and unwelcome through his blood but then he noted the way she looked at the man. The look of flirtation in her eyes was clearly reserved for him and him only.

  The tempo changed and she whirled back into his arms. “Are you not as equally interested in me as I am you, Miss Darson?”

  She flinched and her confident smile slipped. “Of course not.”

  “Are you quite sure?”

  She opened her mouth in response but no words came forth.

  He winked. “As I thought.”

  Will glanced toward Milne and her father. Milne looked fit to explode. His usually pale skin had reddened to the color of a fresh tomato and his mouth was so tightly drawn, his lips were invisible. Will resisted the urge to laugh out loud.

  “You’re right.” Her concurrence turned his attention and his humor waned.

  He hadn’t expected her agreement but rather anger. “I am?”

  “I want to know who you are.” Her eyes flashed with determination.

  Damn, he liked this woman. He liked everything about her. He smiled. “In that case, I’ll enjoy getting to know you and you I.”

  He turned and flashed a wide smile at his adversary. Milne immediately stepped forward, only to be restrained by Mr. Darson’s hand on his forearm. Interesting.

  Miss Darson had turned to look at them too. “Something amusing, Mr. Samson?”

  Will lifted his shoulders. “I am merely wondering how long it will take Mr. Milne to return to his normal pallor. The man looks as though a vein might burst from his temple.”

  “As he continues to be a concern to you . . . which I very much doubt is genuine, don’t look at him.”

  He faced her and the need to kiss her grew more ardent. His gaze drifted lower and his blood burned with desire. The neckline of her dress plunged low. The curve of her breasts showed just enough to be acceptably provocative. Agonizing.

  He needed to concentrate on the job at hand. This extraordinary beauty, who fit against him so succinctly, represented an open door. He needed a way in. He cleared his throat.

  “Am I to assume by your indifference to Mr. Milne’s study of us, he has displeased you in some way?”

  Another twirl.

  She moved in front of him, their faces barely inches apart. The happiness in her eyes evolved to wariness and her fingers tightened around his. “He is my fiancé. My happiness is at the forefront of his mind at all times.”

  Will said nothing but purposely studied her, provoking her ill-ease, provoking her truth. He silently berated himself for doing so. He liked Emily Darson. She was beautiful, intelligent, and quick-witted. Yet she didn’t wear the expression of a woman adored by her intended. She wore the expression of someone who’d had her mask ripped from her face to reveal the pain beneath.

  The tension between them grew; the music rang louder. She snapped her gaze from his to look around the room. “You know, I surmised upon our first meeting that you were not all you appeared to be and it seems I was right.”

  Will smiled past the wariness inside him. “Not all I seem?”

  “Why are you so concerned about the ins and outs of my courtship?”

  “I sense more in you than marriage.” Why had he said that? He shouldn’t be sharing his inner thoughts with her. Fool. Damn fool.

  She halted. “What on earth do you imply by that?”

  Will arched an eyebrow in an effort to hide his shock. “The dance, Miss Darson.”

  She looked left and right as though remembering where she was and stumbled into her next step. Her panicked gaze and cheeks dark with color conveyed her annoyance—and the truth. The marriage was arranged. By no means unusual but extremely convenient in every way. If she didn’t love him but Milne loved her . . . Will’s gut knotted. Nothing could be more perfect.

  “When you’ve quite finished staring at me like the cat who got the cream . . .” Her eyes burned with anger. “Clearly the end of this dance marks the end of any further interaction between us.”

  “Is that the way you wish it?”

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth and lingered there. “What other choice is there?” Her voice dropped to a whisper.

  Will stared.
My God, she’s beautiful. “There are always choices. Always. This does not have to end here.”

  Color spread from her collarbones to the shallow hollow at the base of her neck. His torment and the answering passion in her eyes were not a pleasurable combination but a revelation that somehow or other Will cared. He cared that she was so clearly unhappy.

  Her eyes narrowed as her steps slowed. “I thought you might be a man of manners. I was mistaken. You are an arrogant oaf. And those, I have had my fill of.”

  Her beautiful breasts rose and fell with each ragged breath. His dangerous attraction to her increased tenfold. He grinned. “Yet you’ve admitted to wanting to know more about me.”

  Their eyes locked. When she spoke, the soft, teasing timbre of her voice whispered along his nerve endings. “What is it you want from me?”

  Her eyes darkened to two pools of melted cocoa and Will dropped his gaze to the creamy skin of her bosom once more. Oh, he wanted something, and right then it had nothing to do with Milne. He slowly raised his eyes to hers.

  The music dictated she twirl from his grasp and the feather in her hair brushed his cheek. She was a golden opportunity. He had to ensure she didn’t forget him the moment she left the ball.

  “I want you, Miss Darson.”

  She paled. “You are a fool to even contemplate such a thing.”

  “You cannot deny the connection between us. I felt it from the moment I saw you at the auction. You winked at me, remember?”

  She snatched her hand from his. “I did no such thing.”

  He raised an eyebrow and tried hard not to lower his lips to hers and devour each of her sweetly agitated breaths.

  She glared. “Despite your best efforts, you will never pass for a gentleman.”

  Apprehension tip-tapped up his spine. Did she know? Had she already guessed his true intention? He grappled for a witty comeback; a succinct response to alter her mindset or a declaration that would throw her into perplexity. Nothing came. She was intelligent, savvy, and far too astute.