Lady Emma's Dilemma (9781101573662) (16 page)

Striving for some normalcy, she said, “Thank you for arriving when you did, Lord Devruex.”

“Think nothing of it, Lady Fallbrook. If I had not happened upon you, Mrs. Willoughby was certainly not far behind.”

Startled into a laugh by his dry humor, Emma looked up at him again. A moment later, her gaze strayed to his slight smile.

Being so close to him brought to mind another balmy night, long ago, when they had daringly sneaked out of a ballroom to a secluded garden. There, they had shared their first kiss beneath a vine-covered arbor. It had been an intensely passionate kiss that had confirmed to her that their love was eternal. How young and foolish she had been, she thought with a flare of anger.

Nevertheless, as she walked with him now along the darkened path, his body brushing against her side, that kiss did not seem so long ago. Suddenly she felt a deep, hot anger rising from the pit of her stomach.

Tilting her head up, she sent him a look full of speculation. “How did you come upon us?” she asked, not caring that her tone had an edge.

He looked down, and his slight smile did not waver as he cocked a black brow at her. “I would have sworn that only a few moments ago you were pleased to see me. Now I have the opposite impression.”

“That is not an answer, sir.”

His black gaze flickered over her and her heart began to pound again.

He shrugged. “I saw you walking with Darley. A moment later I watched Monteford follow. I did not think you were expecting him. And you know what a curious fellow I can be.”

Feeling helpless in the face of her own spiraling emotions, Emma said nothing.

Not far away, stringed instruments filled the air with a waltz. Emma's every sense felt keenly aware of the tall, muscular body next to hers and she hoped she betrayed no outward signs of her distress. She had already exposed too many of her emotions to him.

“So is Darley still your favorite?”

At the look she sent him, he laughed richly. “I thought not.”

Another question occurred to her and she could not resist asking, “You were not really serious when you challenged Lord Monteford to a duel, were you?”

His smile faded completely away. “Of course I was.”

“Why?” Dueling was not only illegal, but she had understood that Monteford and Devruex were friends.

He looked down at her, his dark eyes roving over her features, but he did not answer.

She had to look away, and watched her feet as they continued along the graveled path. “Well, I am just glad it's over,” she said.

“I do not believe that you need be concerned that Monteford will annoy you again.”

“Oh, I'm not.” And she meant it. The only things concerning
her were the disturbing emotions stirring within her at his nearness. Being this close to him was a torment that she could neither fully understand nor dismiss.

“That's right. I forgot for a moment that you had come to London looking for adventure,” he said as they walked beneath the glow of a low hanging lantern.

Bristling at the teasing challenge in his voice, she said, “I still am. I will just have to try again and hope for better luck next time.”

He stopped abruptly and she, perforce, stopped as well and looked up at him in surprise. Her heart fluttered at the expression of intensity in his eyes.

As he faced her, his features—all shadows and planes—revealed nothing of his thoughts. Anger swelled within her and she clenched her fingers into fists.

Once upon a time she had believed that they would always be attuned to each other's every feeling. During that fleeting spring, a shared glance was all they needed to understand every bit of longing and laughter and passion the other felt. Looking at the enigmatic man before her, she could not imagine how they ever shared that kind of intimacy.

His gaze had not left her face. “Then Monteford's interruption must be doubly vexing.”

She sensed a sharpness beneath the amusement lacing his tone. Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “How so?”

“He not only insulted you, but prevented you from enjoying the moonlight with Darley.”

“Yes, that was certainly more annoying than forcing his honorable intentions upon me.”

“The evening does not have to be a complete loss.”

She watched him with narrowed eyes, wondering what he was about. “Oh?”

“You could continue to walk in the moonlight with me.”

At the hint of challenge in his tone, her heart began to race and the temptation to pretend the past no longer
mattered almost made her take his arm again. But her finely developed sense of self-protection burst to the surface.

“No, thank you. If I did, then the evening really would be a loss.” As soon as the words left her lips, she desperately wished them back. What was wrong with her? It was completely out of her character to be so cutting.

“You are a most curious creature,” he said. “Tell me why you are so angry.”

“I told you, I am not—”

He stepped closer and she had to tilt her chin up to look at him, but she did not step back.

“It's far too late to pretend otherwise, Emmaline.”

In the half-light beneath the trees, his deep voice rumbled over her, and old familiar feelings swirled through her. She could not find her voice to save her life.

He moved imperceptibly closer, but she still did not move. She watched his gaze travel down to her mouth and her heart began to hammer.

He is going to kiss me
, came the breathless realization. As his head lowered, and with a dizzying feeling of anticipation, she lifted her chin ever so slightly. Just as she felt his warm breath on her lips she closed her eyes and in the next instant he pulled her against his chest.

Unthinking, she responded to the warm, firm pressure of his lips as if her will were no longer her own. Putting her hands on his hard chest, she felt his heart beating beneath her fingers before sliding her arms around his neck.

She shivered as his hands caressed her back through the thin material of her gown and pulled her closer. Her hand settled on the smooth, warm nape of his neck and her pliant body seemed to meld into the hard lines of his as the kiss deepened.

With her other hand, she pushed aside her shawl so that she could press against him even closer. His lips moved
against hers more urgently and at the rumble of his groan, the passion his touch ignited flared even higher.

Parting her lips at the insistent tug of his mouth, she felt his need and, touching her tongue to his, was instantly lost to their magic.

He kissed her again and again until her hands bit into his back to keep her knees, weak with need, from collapsing.

For thirteen years she hadn't felt his touch, had nearly forgotten the pleasurable, aching hunger that shot through her with renewed intensity.

Because of him, the hazy thought surfaced through the passion, she had never known what life could have been like.

All the years, all the sad, dull, duty-filled years that had unfolded between their last kiss and this moment tumbled down upon her with suffocating force.

Suddenly, it became utterly clear why his presence stirred up such a searing anger within her.

If only he had not arrived the night of their intended elopement half foxed and gotten them lost, this feeling of passion, and desire, could have been hers for the last thirteen years.

While the dreams of her youth had slipped away, while tragedy scarred her heart, while Charles had worn her down with his petty tyranny—she had been missing
this.

His lips slid across her cheek, to her ear. “Emmaline.”

The hungry, rough sound of his voice speaking her name heightened her heartbreaking sense of loss. She whispered, “Oh, how I hate you.”

If it were possible, his arms tightened even more around her pliant body. Emma closed her eyes and breathed in the warm, smoky scent of him.

“You are faced with quite the dilemma,” he finally said, his lips still against her ear.

Opening her passion heavy lids, she pulled back and met his gaze. “Dilemma?”

“You may hate me, but, my dear Lady Fallbrook, you want me just as much.”

A
t the break of dawn, Jack boarded his traveling coach and headed for Woodhouse, his small estate less than two hours beyond London.

He had purchased the hundred-acre property a few years ago because of its excellent state of repair and the size of its mews and stable yard. Its convenient proximity to London and Newmarket was an added bonus.

The house itself had been the least of his considerations when he had first toured the property. However, after the purchase, he discovered it to be as perfectly proportioned and charming as a jewel box.

As his carriage turned up the well-manicured, curving drive he felt a sense of pride.

During the dark years right after Emma had left him, the only thing that had sustained him was the fierce need to overcome his penury and somehow restore his family's good name—as well as its coffers.

It had been difficult, but he had sold a few more family heirlooms and, on the advice of trusted friends, had invested the money in a venture in the West Indies. It had seemed like a miracle when his investment paid off handsomely.

Through more careful investing and management—including ambitious improvements to his farms—his fortunes had turned dramatically.

After working to put things right at Kingsmount, he had
been able to purchase Woodhouse and begin to actively pursue his desire to breed blood horses. And he had managed to do it without any financial difficulty.

Now, several years later, he was an extremely wealthy man, but had not forgotten what it had been like to struggle.

Woodhouse reminded him of how sweet it felt to overcome those obstacles. Even though the manor was only one-fifth the size of Kingsmount, he had grown to feel very much at home in the picturesque place.

Unfortunately, that was not the case this morning, he thought some hours later as he made his way toward the mews.

Usually, he thrived in the hivelike atmosphere of his stud farm. But as he strode past stable boys busily going about their chores, the usual solace he found was patently missing.

In the yard, Caleb, his head trainer, was in the process of giving Tommy—who was going to ride Circes in the Severly Stakes—instructions.

“Now take her for a run, but don't be giving her her head too soon,” Caleb told the wiry jockey. “Just get her good and warm. Then we'll run her against Persephone ‘cause she's the only one who can keep up with our Circes.”

Jack approached and leaned his forearms atop the fence as Tommy urged the chestnut filly into an easy trot. Doffing his cap as he went by his master, Tommy led the horse out of the stable yard.

Devruex swept his gaze over the filly as she pranced in the same high-spirited way that had caught his attention mere weeks after her birth.

The Duke of Richmond and Squire Watt—both men renowned for their keen judgment of horseflesh—had expressed the opinion that the filly was too high-strung to have the heart of a champion.

But Jack had known different. Beneath her skittish surface, Circes was fearless.

Just like Emmaline, he thought, recalling how she had
knocked Monteford on his arse and refused to back down from his threats. Despite his continued desire to flatten Monteford he could not help smiling at the memory.

Caleb finally noticed him leaning on the wood railing of the fence. A grin split his grizzled features as he trotted over.

“Good morning, Caleb. Everything looks in fine form,” Devruex called.

The groom gave a quick bow of appreciation and said, “We wasn't expectin' your lordship this week, or I would have held up Tommy so you could take Circes out yourself this fine morning.”

He glanced back to see Circes and Tommy trotting off into the lush green parkland beyond the stable yard. “That's all right. I was thinking it might be best if Tommy is the only one to ride Circes until after the race.”

Caleb rubbed his chin and nodded. “I'll tell the rest of the boys, sir.”

“What else has been happening?” Devruex asked.

As the trainer—who liked nothing better than to go over every detail of every horse the baron owned—launched into a long monologue, Jack's thoughts instantly began to wander.

Nodding occasionally, Jack allowed the groom's gravelly voice to roll over him as the events of last night replayed in his mind.

Emmaline Fallbrook was the most maddening woman he had ever met. This thought returned for the countless time since a pack of drunken dandies, coming down the dark walk and singing at the tops of their lungs, had forced them to separate.

Jack had led her back to the promenade and their friends without a word and had not had a chance to speak to her again. To his great annoyance, they had left the gardens in different coaches.

Now, standing in familiar surroundings in the bright morning light, he found it difficult to comprehend how
much she had changed in the last thirteen years. At the age of eighteen she had been bright as quicksilver and expressively volatile. She had delighted him, as well as the beau monde, with her artless, direct manner.

Her youthful prettiness had grown into a beauty and elegance that filled him with admiration, desire, and deep regret.

As they walked together in the balmy night air, he had struggled to tamp down the passion spreading throughout his body.

Thirteen years had passed and all she had to do was turn those amazing sea blue eyes toward him and he followed her like a besotted boy, he thought with sharp self-disgust.

However, he found her sophisticated façade almost impossible to read, which was why her passionate response to his kiss had taken him by complete—and pleasurable—surprise.

Lost in the unexpected intensity of their kiss, he had been on the verge of leading her out of the gardens to a hackney carriage when her softly spoken words had him doubting his hearing.