The Virgin who Bewitched Lord Lymington

by Anna Bradley

  It was simply who he was.

  “You look fatigued, my dear.” Lady Crosby abandoned her place on the bed and approached Emma, plucking one of the ribbons up from the dressing table and wrapping it expertly around a cluster of curls at the back of Emma’s neck. “Pretty as ever, of course, particularly in that gown, but fatigued, nonetheless.”

  “It’s been a long five days, my lady.” Who could have imagined facing the man she loved over the breakfast table every morning for days on end while waiting for a murderer to make an attempt on her life could be so exhausting?

  Lady Crosby tidied a loose lock of Emma’s hair, tucking it neatly under the ribbon. “There we are. The simpler style suits you.”

  Emma let her head rest against Lady Crosby’s arm. “Thank you.”

  “You will take care this evening, won’t you, Emma? No wandering off alone, or taking reckless chances?” Lady Crosby attempted a smile, but her blue eyes were anxious.

  Emma reached behind her to squeeze Lady Crosby’s hand. “I promise it, my lady.”

  Lady Crosby had done her best to hold her tongue since she’d made the decision to accompany Emma and Daniel to Lymington House, but she was far from reconciled to Emma’s plan to put herself in the way of the villain who’d murdered Caroline Francis.

  A villain who might very well be at Lymington House even now, flirting and sipping champagne in the ballroom two floors below. Emma couldn’t say whether she was more fearful he’d appear tonight, or that he wouldn’t appear at all.

  She was out of clever schemes. If this one failed, they’d likely never catch him.

  “You look as lovely as an angel, Emma. Shall we go down, then? I’m certain Lord Lymington is waiting for you.”

  “You go ahead, my lady. I just need to get these ribbons in order, then I’ll come down.”

  “All right, dear. Don’t be long.”

  “I won’t.” Emma managed a cheerful wave, but she made certain the door had closed behind Lady Crosby before she slid open the top drawer of the dressing table and withdrew the pendant.

  She’d wanted to spare Lady Crosby this moment.

  There was a tiny loop at the top curve of the oval, where a gold chain could be attached. Emma threaded one of the narrow blue ribbons through the loop, tied the ends under the fall of curls at the back of her head, and adjusted the pendant so it lay flat against her neck.

  Her hands shook as she arranged the pendant over the hollow of her throat, where it was impossible to miss, then met her reflection in the glass.

  The skin of her neck and throat were smooth and white, not a bruise to be seen, but when Emma looked in the mirror, it wasn’t her own neck she saw. It was Helena’s, mottled with dark bruises, the imprint of a man’s thumbs right over her pulse point, and Caroline, in her mind’s eye, with the same bruises around her neck, except darker, and her body limp, like a broken doll.

  Emma’s breath caught with a painful hitch. For the first time in a long time, she was truly afraid, and even with Lady Crosby waiting for her in the ballroom, and Daniel keeping watch outside, she felt very much alone.

  * * * *

  Emma wasn’t here.

  Samuel paused in the entrance of the ballroom, his gaze moving over the crowd, searching for the distinctive shade of blue he’d come to think of as hers alone. Most of his mother’s guests had already arrived, many of them twirling about on the dance floor, engaged in a lively country dance.

  But Emma wasn’t among them. Samuel frowned, scanning the ballroom. Lord Dunn was here, not dancing, but standing on the side of the room, chatting with a group of gentlemen. Lovell and Lady Flora were dancing together, their gazes only for each other, and Lady Silvester was standing a little apart from the rest of the crowd, watching them with a beatific smile on her face.

  Samuel strode toward Lady Crosby, who was on the opposite side of the ballroom with his mother, their heads bent together. “Good evening, Lady Lymington, and Lady Crosby.” Samuel offered them each a hasty bow before turning his attention to Lady Crosby. “Has Emma come down yet? I don’t see her in the ballroom.”

  “Good evening, Lord Lymington. I imagined you’d turn up, sooner or later.” Lady Crosby, who hadn’t quite forgiven him for his coldness to Emma, swept a cool gaze over him. “Emma was still primping in front of the glass when I came down, my lord. Young ladies and balls, you know. I daresay she’ll be down very soon.”

  Primping? Samuel frowned. That didn’t sound like Emma.

  He turned to his mother, but before he could say a word, she quieted him with a hand on his arm. “Won’t you go and ask Lady Mary Worthington to dance, Samuel? I do like to see all the young ladies dance the first dance of the evening, and you see, she doesn’t have a partner.”

  Samuel followed his mother’s discreet nod, and saw Lady Mary sitting on a gilt chair in a corner of the ballroom, her parents on either side of her, and she looked miserable indeed.

  At any other time, he wouldn’t have hesitated, but the urge to go upstairs and fetch Emma himself was so overwhelming, it was on the tip of his tongue to refuse.

  “Samuel, did you hear me? I asked you to invite Lady Mary to dance.”

  Samuel huffed out a breath. It was unspeakably rude of him to stand about when a young lady—one of his guests, no less—lacked a partner, and he couldn’t simply charge up the stairs and batter down the door of Emma’s bedchamber. “Yes, of course.”

  “Go on then, before the dance is over.” Lady Lymington shooed him away with a flick of her fan. “I’m certain Emma will have appeared by the time you return.”

  The grateful look on Lady Mary’s face when Samuel offered her his hand mollified him somewhat, but he kept a sharp eye on the guests wandering in and out of the ballroom as he took Lady Mary through an interminable country dance.

  Something was amiss. He could feel it—

  “My hand, Lord Lymington.”

  Lady Mary was gaping up at him, and all at once Samuel realized he was squeezing her hand much too tightly. He dropped it at once. “I beg your pardon, my lady.”

  The dance dragged on for another ten minutes—ten minutes in which Samuel couldn’t have said who was the more miserable of the two of them, himself or Lady Mary. He did his best to smother his impatience, but once he’d returned Lady Mary to her parents, he fled the ballroom as if the devil were chasing him, before his mother cursed him to another dance.

  At this point, he could think of nothing but Emma.

  Damn it, where was she? He didn’t like this.

  Perhaps he could charge up to Emma’s bedchamber, after all.

  His mother caught his eye and beckoned to him, but for the first time in as long as Samuel could remember, he ignored her, and strode from the ballroom. He took the stairs two at a time to the guest wing, each of his footfalls a dull thud in his ears, and hurried down the hallway to Emma’s bedchamber.

  Before he could knock, the door opened and she emerged, wearing a blue silk ballgown, her shoulders bare, her hair a cascade of curls and blue ribbons. Samuel froze, swallowing at the sight of her silhouetted against her bedchamber door. “Emma.”

  “Lord Lymington.” She jumped, startled, then her eyes narrowed. “You haven’t been waiting in the hallway for me, have you?”

  “No. I’ve just arrived.” Samuel didn’t add that he would have been outside her door far sooner if it weren’t for his mother. “You’ve missed the first two dances, and I—”

  Samuel broke off as she drew nearer, his gaze dropping to the pendant hanging from a blue ribbon around her neck. He caught the edge of it on his fingertip, his gaze meeting hers. “No. I won’t allow this, Emma.”

  To Emma’s credit, she didn’t try to pretend she wasn’t taking an enormous risk. “This may surprise you, but I do know what I’m doing, my lord, and Daniel will keep me safe—”

  “No,” Sa
muel repeated through gritted teeth. “A man who’d strangle a woman is vicious, conscienceless—more animal than human. I can’t simply stand by while you become his next victim.”

  “I don’t deny he’s vicious, Lord Lymington, but he’s clearly not a fool. There are dozens of people in your ballroom this evening. He won’t dare make a move tonight—”

  Samuel tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “This is madness, Emma. You must know that.”

  Emma jerked her chin from his grasp, her eyes darkening with emotion. “Do you suppose this is the first time I’ve been in danger, the first time I’ve been threatened? I was a courtesan, my lord. I’ve faced vicious men before, and survived it.”

  Unbidden, Samuel’s gaze dropped to her hands. White silk gloves stretched from her fingertips to the curve of her elbow, but he’d seen the evidence of her past written on her skin, and he could never unsee it. He reached for her, and stroked his thumb over the back of her hand, over the deepest of her scars. “There must be some other way.”

  Her eyes softened at the gentle caress, but she shook her head. “There isn’t. I’ll keep my wits about me, my lord. I always do.”

  Samuel remained silent as he struggled with himself, but at last he said, “You’ll remain in the ballroom at all times. No strolling in the garden, or even venturing onto the terrace.”

  “Daniel will be in the garden all evening—”

  “This isn’t a negotiation, Emma. Either you promise to do as I say, or you’ll return to your bedchamber, and I’ll see to it you don’t leave it again for the rest of the…”

  Night. Samuel bit off the last word, his face heating.

  That had sounded a great deal more suggestive than he’d intended.

  Emma’s eyes widened, and Samuel hurriedly cleared his throat. “You’ll dance either with me, or with Lord Lovell tonight. No one else.”

  Emma bit her lip. “I’ve already told Lord Dunn I’ll dance with him.”

  “Dunn!” Samuel’s brow lowered.

  A small smile curved her lips. “Forgive me, Lord Lymington. I didn’t think you’d want to dance with me.”

  Samuel did want to dance with her, and with no one but her, but all he said was, “You’ll remain where I can see you for the entire evening. When you’re ready to retire, I will escort you to your bedchamber. Is that understood?”

  Emma bowed her head, and said meekly, “Yes, my lord.”

  Samuel’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust your uncharacteristic obedience for a minute, Emma.” Still, he offered her his arm, and escorted her downstairs, mainly because he hadn’t any other choice.

  As soon as they entered the ballroom, a half dozen gentlemen rushed to claim Emma’s hand.

  She remained true to her promise, dancing only with Dunn and Lovell, and then Samuel himself before claiming a twisted ankle, and retiring to one of the gilt chairs with Lady Crosby for the remainder of the evening.

  An interminable evening, and a surprisingly painful one.

  Samuel hadn’t expected to get any pleasure from this ball, what with a murderer likely running loose in his ballroom, but he also hadn’t anticipated the wrench in his chest as he watched Emma holding court from her chair, bestowing one flirtatious smile after another on her crowd of admirers.

  He’d hoped never again to be cursed with the sight of Lady Emma Crosby, but as he watched her charm and dazzle the gentlemen who surrounded her, it occurred to him for the first time how difficult it must be for her to wear that masque, how exhausting.

  If it caused him this much pain to watch Lady Emma Crosby, how much more pain did it cause Emma to be her?

  The evening dragged on at a miserable crawl until at last the supper hour drew near. Lady Lymington had been glaring at Samuel all evening for leaving his young female guests languishing on the sidelines while he glowered at Emma, so he invited Lady Flora to dance while Emma was safely engaged with Lovell and Lord Dunn on the other side of the ballroom.

  “Forgive me, Lord Lymington, but you don’t look as if you’ve enjoyed yourself this evening. Are you not pleased with the ball?” Lady Flora asked as Samuel escorted her to the floor.

  Samuel, who’d always been fond of Lady Flora, managed a smile for her. “No. I confess I’m not much in the mood to dance this evening.”

  “Not since you had your two dances with Lady Emma, at any rate.” Lady Flora looked up at him with thoughtful dark eyes. “Oh, but I forgot. It’s not Lady Emma, is it? It’s Miss Downing.”

  Samuel blinked, surprised that Lovell had confided such a closely guarded secret to Lady Flora. “I see you’re in Lovell’s confidence.”

  “Of course. Lord Lovell and I don’t have secrets from each other anymore, Lord Lymington. Honesty between us was one of the conditions of my forgiveness.”

  “That was…shrewd of you, my lady.”

  “Not really, my lord. Despite Lord Lovell’s struggles this past year, he’s never been one to keep secrets. They make him miserable. So you see, this suits us both.”

  Samuel stared at her, rather amazed at her intuitiveness, but perhaps he shouldn’t be. She was no longer the credulous, naïve child she’d been when he left England, any more than Lovell was. “You know, then, about Emma’s—that is, Miss Downing’s efforts to prove Lovell guilty of a despicable crime?”

  Even saying the words aloud tore at Samuel, making the wound in his chest bleed afresh, but Lady Flora looked surprised by his words. “Is that the way you see it, my lord? How odd. I rather think she was trying to prove him innocent.”

  “But—” Samuel began, then broke off as the truth of Lady Flora’s words struck him.

  Emma had never denied she believed Caroline Francis’s accusations against Lovell at first, but that had been at the very start of the season. She’d only known Lovell a few weeks before she began to suspect Caroline was lying, and since then, she’d been working to prove him innocent.

  But the lies she’d told Samuel, her betrayal—

  “Lord Lymington?” Lady Flora asked, concerned. “Are you unwell?”

  “No, I…the lies, Lady Flora.” Samuel’s voice was hoarse. “How…how did you forgive Lovell for the lies he told you?”

  “Ah, the lies. Lies are difficult to forgive, but have you forgotten you forgave Lord Lovell’s lies, just as I did?”

  He had, yes, but that was different than Samuel forgiving Emma.

  Wasn’t it?

  “He’s my cousin, Lady Flora.”

  “Yes, of course. You care for him, just as I do, and so we both wanted to forgive him. We did it for our own sakes as much as for his. We’re meant to consider forgiveness divine, but I’ve always thought there was a trace of selfishness in it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Lady Flora’s brow furrowed, as if she were searching for a way to explain it that Samuel would understand. “Just this, my lord. I didn’t only consider Lovell’s happiness when I chose to forgive him. I also considered my own, just as you must have done. Withholding our forgiveness would have meant giving up Lovell forever. Neither of us ever wanted that.”

  No, Samuel had never wanted that. Losing his cousin would be unbearable.

  Nearly as unbearable as losing Emma.

  Samuel stared down at Lady Flora, stunned. “I, ah…never thought of it that way.”

  “I don’t know that forgiveness is divine.” Lady Flora cocked her head, considering it. “But the love that compels it, Lord Lymington, does transcend the ordinary. Perhaps that’s what Mr. Pope meant, for love without forgiveness isn’t much of a love at all, is it?”

  Samuel swallowed. “No. It isn’t.”

  The dance ended then, and he delivered Lady Flora to a beaming Lovell, who watched her approach as if he were watching a glorious sunrise, and couldn’t tear his gaze away.

  Lord Dunn had claimed Emma for suppe
r, so Samuel took his mother’s arm instead, but he passed the rest of the evening in a daze.

  The guests making the return trip to London that night took their leave soon after the supper ended, but the rest of the company—their neighbors, and those staying at Lymington House—danced into the early hours of the morning.

  Throughout the entire evening, Emma never faltered. She flirted and laughed and sipped champagne, but all the while, she was watching, her gaze flitting from one smiling lord to the next, searching for the one who wore the masque.

  And all the while, Samuel was watching her, his heart in his throat.

  When she came to him at last, she looked as if she were ready to collapse with exhaustion. “I’d like to retire to my bedchamber now, Lord Lymington.”

  Samuel gazed at her pale face, into the blue eyes that had bewitched him from the start, and thought of a love so powerful it transcended the ordinary, and became divine.

  Then he took her hand, and led her up the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The corridor outside Emma’s bedchamber was dark, the household already on its way to a blissful slumber, but there would be no sleep for Samuel tonight.

  Lady Flora’s words were running like a fevered dream through his mind.

  Love without forgiveness isn’t much of a love at all.…

  Emma paused outside her door, and turned to face him. “Thank you for your escort, Lord Lymington. Good night.”

  He could take her into his arms, or he could return to his own rooms alone and chase the dreamless sleep that had eluded him for weeks, a sleep that would never come tonight. He could pretend he didn’t want her, and leave her untouched, or he could wait outside her bedchamber door until morning, to ensure no harm came to her.

  While he wrestled with himself, Emma slipped quietly away, leaving him alone in the hallway, lost in an agony of indecision. He lingered for a long time after she’d gone, his forehead resting against her door and an ache in his chest, knowing he’d made the wrong choice.