Splendid (15 page)

Alex's already bad mood deteriorated rapidly.

He pushed his way into the crowd surrounding Emma and Belle. “Hello, Emma,” he said sharply.

“Alex!” she exclaimed, her eyes glowing with unfeigned enthusiasm.

He strode to her without acknowledging her companions. “I believe you saved this dance for me,” he
stated, taking her hand and leading her somewhat forcefully to the dance floor.

“Really, Alex, you've got to stop being so autocratic,” Emma scolded good-naturedly.

“Ah, a waltz,” Alex commented as the orchestra began to play. “How fortunate.” He swept her into his arms, and they began to twirl slowly around the room.

Emma briefly wondered why Alex was in such a strange mood but quickly dismissed such concerns, preferring to savor the delicious warmth she could find only in his arms. One of his hands rested lightly on her hip, but from the heat of it, Emma felt like she'd been branded. His other hand held her own, and Emma was convinced that a thousand tiny lightning bolts were shooting up her arm, straight to her heart. She closed her eyes and unwittingly made a soft, mewling sound from deep in her throat. She was completely and utterly content.

Alex heard the tiny sound and looked down at Emma. Her face was slightly turned up to his, her eyes were closed—she looked as if she'd just been thoroughly made love to. Alex's body reacted instantaneously. Every muscle clenched, and he felt himself growing painfully hard. He groaned.

“Did you say something?” Emma's eyes flew open.

“Nothing I can tell you about in the middle of a crowded ballroom,” Alex muttered, beginning to steer her toward the French doors that led to the Lindworthys' garden.

“Ooooh, how intriguing.”

“I wish you knew exactly how intriguing,” Alex said under his breath.

“What did you say?” Amid the din of the crowded ballroom, Emma hadn't been able to understand his words.

“Nothing,” Alex said in a louder voice, but the word came out more sharply than he'd intended.

“Whatever is wrong with you tonight? You're positively surly.”

Before Alex could reply, the orchestra finished the waltz, and he and Emma bowed and curtsied to each other reflexively. When they were done with the social niceties, Emma repeated her question to him, this time in a more demanding tone. “Alex! What on earth is the matter?”

“Do you really want to know what's the matter?” Alex said harshly. “Do you?”

Emma nodded weakly, not at all sure that she was taking the wisest course of action.

“For God's sake, Emma, every man in this room is ogling you,” he ground out, pulling her toward the French doors.

“Really, Alex, you say that to me every night.”

“This time I mean it,” he hissed. “You're practically falling out of that dress.”

“Alex, you're making a scene,” Emma shot back. He stopped dragging her but nevertheless continued out into the garden at a more respectable pace. “I don't see what has you so angry. At least half the women here under the age of thirty are wearing dresses which are far more revealing than mine.”

“I don't care about those other women, damn it. I won't have you flaunting your charms for the whole world to see.”

“Flaunting my charms? You make me sound like a loose woman.
Don't
insult me,” Emma warned, her voice strained.

“Don't push me, Emma. You've led me a merry chase for damn near two months now, and I'm at my wit's end.” He pulled her behind a large hedge that shielded them from view of the ballroom.

“Don't try to blame this on me. You're the one who is overly sensitive to my dress style!”

Suddenly, Alex reached out and grabbed her upper arms, pulling her close. “Damn it, Emma, you are mine. It's time you understood that.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. Although his actions during the previous weeks certainly demonstrated his possessive nature, this was the first time he had actually verbalized the sentiment. His green eyes were blazing with anger and desire, but there was something else there, too. Desperation.

Emma was suddenly very uneasy. “Alex, I don't think you know what you're saying.”

“Oh, God, I wish I didn't!” Alex suddenly crushed her to him, his strong hands sinking into her fiery hair.

Emma gasped at the sheer force she felt in his body. He held her this way for a few long moments, nose to nose. His breathing was harsh and uneven, as if he were lost amidst some internal struggle. “Oh, Emma,” he finally said in a ragged voice, “if you only knew what you do to me.” With that, his mouth slowly lowered that last inch to cover hers.

The first touch was unbearably sweet, and Emma could feel his body shiver as he fought to contain his passion. His lips brushed softly over hers as he waited for a response. Emma couldn't help herself, and her arms snaked up to encircle his neck. That was all the encouragement Alex needed, and his hands moved down to her back, pressing her even more tightly against him. “I have waited so long to hold you like this,” he murmured against her mouth.

Emma was lost in a sea of newfound passion. “I—I think I like it,” she said shyly, entwining her fingers in his thick black hair.

Alex's low growl was a sound of pure masculine
satisfaction. “I knew it would be perfect. I knew you would be this responsive.” He kissed these words against her jaw, then trailed his lips down to her throat.

Emma arched her head back, not understanding all of these new feelings yet unwilling to stop them, as she knew she should. “Oh, Alex,” she moaned, clutching him tightly.

Alex quickly took advantage of the soft sound that escaped her lips by capturing her open mouth with his once more. His tongue darted in, caressing her deeply. His intimate touch brought such pure pleasure, Emma was amazed that she could still stand. She simply hadn't thought it was possible to feel with such intensity. Even their earlier kiss, illicitly shared in her bedroom, could not remotely compare to this one. That first kiss had been exciting because she hadn't known Alex. But now she did. She knew him well, and the knowledge that it was him holding her close made the intimacy all that much more spectacular. All she knew was that she wanted to get closer to him, much closer. She wanted to touch him in the ways he was touching her. Hesitatingly, she rubbed her tongue against the roof of his mouth. To her delight, Alex's response was immediate. Hoarsely moaning her name, he swiftly pulled her to him so that she was pressed intimately against his aroused manhood.

Emma was startled by the evidence of his rampant desire, and this realization of his urgency broke through her passion-induced haze. She was suddenly aware that she was swiftly heading into a situation she probably could not handle. “Alex?” she questioned softly.

Alex took her question to be another moan of desire. “Oh, yes, Emma, yes,” he responded. His lips had traveled to her earlobe, which he was
sucking gently, and one of his hands had covered her breast. Everything he was doing felt terribly perfect, and it was all Emma could do to say his name again, this time a little more forcefully.

“What, darling?” he asked, cradling her face in his hands as he prepared to tease her lips with his own again.

“I think it's time to stop,” Emma said shakily.

Alex was agonized. He knew that she was right, but his body was throbbing, demanding release. But then again, he couldn't very well make love to her in the middle of the Lindworthys' garden. He released her slowly and turned away, his hands on his hips as he fought to regain control of himself.

“Alex? Are you angry with me?”

He didn't move. “No,” he said slowly, his breathing still labored. “Just with myself.”

Emma touched his shoulder comfortingly. “Don't blame yourself. I was as much at fault as you were. I could have stopped you at any time.”

Alex turned around to face her. “Could you?” His smile was wry, and it didn't reach his eyes. He took another deep breath. “Well, Emma, you do realize that this changes things?”

Emma nodded, thinking that his words were an understatement if she'd ever heard one. She did, however, wonder just exactly
how
things were going to change.

“Perhaps you should sneak around to the washroom before you reenter the ballroom. Your hair is mussed,” Alex advised, afraid that he'd once again lose control if he allowed himself to speak of anything other than the most mundane of matters. “I've been here before. If you go around the corner, there is a side entrance that leads to the main hallway. From there, you should be able to find a washroom without trouble.”

Emma's hand reflexively flew to her head, and she quickly tried to assess the damage. “All right. If you go back now, I'll go fix my hair and won't show up for another fifteen minutes.” Her voice sounded breathy, unnatural. “That should quell the gossip.”

“It seems we have made a habit of orchestrating separate returns to ballrooms.”

Emma smiled at him weakly before she turned and fled around the corner.

Chapter 9

E
mma slunk along the side of the Lindworthys' home, muttering ungraciously to herself all the while.

“Of all the stupid things to do. Letting him drag me out of the ballroom into a deserted garden. I should have known something like this was going to happen.”

Emma paused, grudgingly admitting to herself that she'd most definitely enjoyed Alex's kiss.

“All right, so I liked it,” she grumbled. “But where does this leave me now? I'm prowling around like a burglar, hoping to find a side door that may or may not even exist. My slippers are getting wet, I've probably torn the hem of my dress on a rosebush, and he doesn't even have the least inclination to marry me.”

Emma froze. Dear Lord, what had she just said? Thank goodness she had only been conversing with herself. Emma shivered and pursed her lips.

“Banish that thought, Emma Elizabeth Dunster,” she commanded, edging around the corner to the back of the mansion. She didn't really want to marry Alex, did she? It was impossible. She'd always meant to go back to Boston and take over her father's company. When she got married, it would be to some nice American fellow who would be happy to run the company with her.

But what if she never found that nice American fellow? And was he really worth finding when she had a rather amazing British one right here, right now?

Emma sighed as the memory of Alex and their few stolen moments flooded her mind. It was time to be reasonable, she decided. Were there really any good reasons why she should even consider the idea of marrying Alexander Edward Ridgley, the oh-so-lofty Duke of Ashbourne?

Well, for one thing, he was a superb kisser.

Besides that!

All right then, he never talked down to her. So many men of the
ton
talked to women as if they were some lower species whose brains hadn't developed fully. Alex always treated her as if she were every bit as intelligent as he was.

Which she was, Emma silently declared with a nod of her head.

Also, she felt very comfortable in his presence. When they were together, she never felt as if she had to hide her true personality under a sheer layer of artifice and illusion. He seemed to like her just the way she was.

Furthermore, he had a delicious sense of humor which was remarkably similar to her own. He certainly liked to tease her mercilessly, but he was never malicious, and he could take a joke as well as he could deliver one. Life with Alex certainly would not be dull, she could count on that.

And, of course, he was a superb kisser.

Emma groaned as she practically fell through the side door. She was going to have to give this matter a little more thought.

 

Meanwhile, Alex had slipped back into the ballroom by way of the French doors and was doing
his best to mingle graciously with a bunch of people in whom he did not usually have very much interest. But he was eager to appear cool and calm in case anyone had happened to notice his and Emma's rather hasty excursion into the garden.

He had just finished telling Lord Acton, a friend of his from White's, about a stallion he had recently purchased, when he spied Sophie and his mother across the ballroom.

“Excuse me,” he said smoothly. “I see that my mother and sister have arrived. I really must go greet them.” Alex gave his friend a nod and made his way through the crowd to his family.

Eugenia Ridgely, the dowager Duchess of Ashbourne, was not an imposing figure. Indeed, she couldn't have been an imposing figure if she tried. Her green eyes sparkled warmly, and her lips always seemed to form a vibrant smile. Accompanying this friendly demeanor was a dry sense of humor which had made her one of the most well loved members of the
ton
for years. She'd been born the daughter of an earl and been exalted to the rank of duchess when she married Alex's and Sophie's father, but she had never developed the snobbery that was so rampant among most of society. Her eyes lit up as she saw her son crossing the ballroom in her direction.

“Hello, Mother,” Alex said fondly, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek.

“Ah, Alex,” Eugenia said dryly. “What a pleasure it is to attend a function and actually see you in person.” She held out her cheek, dutifully waiting for his kiss.

It was easy to see where Alex had gotten his caustic tongue.

“Always a pleasure, Mother.”

“I know it is, dear. Now where is that darling girl
who has pulled you out of hiding?” She craned her neck, looking for Emma's familiar red hair.

“Actually, I haven't seen her since I danced with her a half an hour ago.”

“
I
saw her go out into the garden,” Sophie said pointedly.

Alex shot her a dirty look. “I thought you were planning to retire from society.”

Sophie beamed, smoothing her hands along her still-svelte figure. “Four months along, and I'm not showing yet. Isn't that lucky?”