The Seduction of Emily (4 page)

His smile dissolved. “What way is that?”

She waved her free hand in the air, looking to pluck the adjectives she needed from thin air. “So . . . superior.”

He choked out a laugh. “Superior? Well, isn’t that what I am to you, my love?”

Heat seared Emily’s cheeks. “Maybe in the social world, but do you have to stress it when we are alone? Could we not just be Emily and Nicholas?”

“Do you not mean Nicholas and Emily?”

She thrust her hand from his and glowered. “Very well, Nicholas and Emily. Either way, I would like to enjoy a few moments with you without feeling you are the master and I little more than a puppet. We were once . . . friends. We enjoyed each other’s company. I never felt as though I had to bow and scrape to you.”

He stared. “I make you feel that way?”

She swallowed. “Occasionally, yes. We are to be married. I’d like you to respect me, at the very least.”

He dipped his head. “I apologize. It is not my intention to make you feel that way.”

Careful not to show surprise at his compliance, Emily felt a strange sense of waiting for the hammer pounding in her head, to fall. The seconds ticked by and she cleared her throat. “Then let’s say no more about it and try our utmost to enjoy the ball. I’m sure we’ll have a wonderful time.”

“I have yet to be convinced.”

The hammer fell and Emily’s hackles rose. She clutched her fingers around her drawstring bag in a bid to curb her frustration. “Oh?”

He flicked his fingers across his trouser leg. “As we are confessing how each of us makes the other feel, I have a small issue I’ve been struggling with.”

Not trusting herself to speak, Emily waited for him to continue.

He met her eyes. His gaze cold. “I sometimes feel it is hard for you to be within ten feet of me, my love. You so often look as though you wish to flee from my company at any given moment.”

Asking for God’s forgiveness for her impending falsehood, Emily gave a small laugh. “There isn’t anywhere else I would rather be than here with you. Now, can we please try—”

He lifted his hand with such swiftness, Emily flinched. He didn’t grip her arm or her chin as she feared. Instead, he fingered the precious jewel around her neck.

“You need to understand I am not foolish enough to bestow gifts such as this without expecting some kind of remuneration.”

The insinuation was rife. Her stomach lurched. “Am I not remuneration enough?”

His gaze snapped from the jewel to her eyes. “You are, if I have all of you. Partial compensation is not an option.”

“I am not a bargaining tool, Nicholas.” The remainder of her self-control snapped despite knowing the risk she took to ruin the entirety of the evening by arguing with him. She could not stand him treating her as though she was nothing more than a bag of horse manure with which to trade. “This constant struggle between us needs to stop.”

A slow smile curved his lips. “Clearly you are not as compliant to our fathers’ wishes as I was led to believe.”

She stared at him. “Is what you expect from me at all times? Compliance?”

His laugh was derisive. “Is that not what all men expect of their wives?”

Her heart pounded. “I will do what is best for the people I love, but that doesn’t mean I will bark and beg and roll over for you on command.”

“Do you want to marry me, Emily?”

No! No! No!
Bitterness rose in her throat. “I want us to be husband and wife, to build a life together. That does not mean I won’t voice my opinion or occasionally disagree with you.”

His smile turned wolverine. “You really have so much to learn. I wish, too, that we be husband and wife . . . in every way. Yet I simply see no pleasure in your eyes when you look at me.” His gaze drifted slowly over her face. “Even though I am well aware you are capable of looking at a man in a manner indicative of physical attraction.”

She opened her mouth to ask what he meant but her voice was silenced when he raised his hand and looked past her toward the window. “Ah, we are here. We will have to resume this conversation another time.”

Panic pressed down on Emily’s chest. Everything Nicholas said or did of late was shrouded with threat. Tension assaulted her neck and shoulders as the carriage stopped in front of the Assembly Rooms. She forced her trepidation aside and gathered her skirts.

“Why don’t we push these silly disagreements away and instead be determined to enjoy ourselves?”

He stopped, his fingers on the door handle. “I concur entirely. Just so you know, I have seen your smile directed at one man in particular, in a much more captivating fashion than you have ever once smiled at me. So be careful, Emily. Be very careful.”

Perspiration struck cold along the neckline of her dress. “Nicholas, really. I have no idea of whom you speak. Shall we?”

His hand whipped out and gripped her wrist. “Of course you know. I speak of none other than your friend Mr. Samson.”

He tossed her arm away and pushed open the door. Emily stared after him, her mouth wide, devoid of retort or denial. Dread curdled her blood like soured milk. She moved unsteadily to the door and took Nicholas’s offered hand as he waited outside.

She stepped forward with her head held high and forced the exchange with Nicholas to the back of her mind. She would face the rest of the evening with a smile on her face and dancing angels at her feet. There would be plenty of time to worry about his further scolding tomorrow and indeed the day after that.

Arm in arm, they walked inside. Her father stood in the antechamber. Unobserved, he looked older than his forty-five years, his body stooped where it had once stood straight, and pain contorted his expression as he focused on what a fellow guest said. He turned and his anguished face softened. Emily returned his smile, even though her heart broke for the man who only wanted the best for her.

He nodded before resuming conversation with the gentleman standing to his side. Emily glanced at Nicholas. His green eyes gleamed beneath the candles burning in the wall sconces all around them; his dark blond hair shone and his pale skin glowed pink with health.

Yet his distraction showed in his shifting gaze as it moved around the antechamber, his jaw tight. Emily swallowed the words itching at her tongue. Having seen the same look on his face many times before, she sensed Nicholas was wary, on guard, waiting for something to happen. When Nicholas was nervous, it meant everyone else should be too. She wanted to reassure him all was well between them, wanted to make him believe their marriage would be a happy one. How could she utter such things when doubts tumbled through her blood on an unending wave?

He abruptly turned, his face softening as he smiled. “Shall we go through to the ballroom?”

She smiled. “I’d love to.”

An attendant took her mantelet and then she and Nicholas walked arm in arm into the main ballroom. Emily admired the ornately carved cornices, high windows, and secluded gallery filled with suited musicians. Nicholas led her around the grand room, smiling and nodding hello to acquaintances. Prisms of light from the three enormous crystal chandeliers bounced from soft yellow walls. The Assembly Rooms reigned supreme as the perfect background for people to play the giddy game of socializing, courting, and remembering. If only she were there to watch rather than be watched.

“Ah, I see an acquaintance I must speak with.” Nicholas’s voice broke through her contemplation. “I will be just a few moments. Will you be all right standing alone?”

“Of course. You go.”

He lingered a moment longer before giving a curt nod and moving away. As the minutes passed, Emily relaxed enough to watch the six or seven couples dancing. Her foot tapped to the music beneath the curtain of her dress and when a waiter walked past, she lifted a glass of champagne from his silver tray. Bringing it to her lips, she swallowed a delicious sip—and the bubbles promptly caught in her throat.

It couldn’t be.

She snatched a harried glance at Nicholas. Thankfully, he was engrossed in a conversation with a gentleman she did not know. She risked another look.

Mr. Samson laughed raucously within a circle of men he clearly entertained, their drinks forgotten in their hands as they listened in rapt male appreciation. Emily’s stomach swirled and her mind raced. She’d never been so absurdly pleased to see a member of the opposite sex in her life. Blithely forgetting her wish to never set eyes on Mr. Samson again and for Nicholas not to detect her attraction, she stared at his wickedly handsome face.

“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?