Chapter Thirty-One
Emma felt as if a spark had been struck in the darkness, a flicker of illumination like a physical thing. The touch of James’s lips ignited every nerve, shooting darts of fire through her entire body…yet the touch was so light it was barely there at all. He drew his head back, looked at her for a heartbeat, then joined his mouth with hers again.
There was no grasping, no bruising, just a slow, sensual caress that stirred every fiber of her being and set up an answering yearning deep inside. She leaned in to him, increasing the pressure of the kiss, and he moved his head, drinking from her mouth, cupping her face tenderly as the kiss deepened.
He broke away—much to her disappointment—and murmured, “You’re so lovely. How could I not have seen clearly what was before me all this time? Or rather I did see, but dared not act, for fear of driving you away. I don’t know how I could have borne that. You are so much better for me than Belinda. I thank the gods I found you.”
“James…” This was too much. She couldn’t cope with any declarations, not after what she’d just let Charles do. She wasn’t worthy.
“Hush.” James rested his forehead against hers for a moment, and when she leaned in to him again and closed her eyes, he placed a delicate kiss on each eyelid before seeking her mouth once more.
Her mind screamed that she should give him no more ground than she’d given Charles, but her body took no notice. She was completely under the spell James was weaving with his gentle touch, his teasing lips, and his gradual coaxing of desire.
She felt him opening up to her, inviting her to touch him, to explore his taut muscles and broad shoulders, to run her hands over the mounded biceps beneath his jacket. The dry heat of his body spilled through the cloth, igniting her fingertips, making every touch a new exhilaration, a fascinating discovery.
This was a man who put heart, soul, and body into his kiss. She felt melded to him, as if they were one being.
All too soon, he pulled away. Long before she’d finished exploring the magic of his kiss. She swayed toward him, her hand pressing against his chest.
Where it encountered something hard and flat in his inside breast pocket. Most men would have had a handkerchief, or perhaps a pocket book in there. But this was oval in shape, like a picture frame.
“What’s this?” she asked, then immediately regretted the question. It would be a picture of Belinda, wouldn’t it?
Or would it?
James’s hand closed over hers. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just a picture of…my brother Nathaniel.”
Her brows snapped together at his hesitation. Why ruin a wonderful moment by lying to her? Keeping her voice nonchalant, she said, “Oh, but I’d love to see it. Is it a miniature?”
“Um…not exactly. I don’t want to depress you with a picture of my dead brother.”
“James, I’m not sure you’re telling me the truth.” She used her best schoolmistress voice, trying to make light of something that was making her feel increasingly uncomfortable.
He pushed a hand through his hair, then exhaled slowly. “You’re quite correct. Very well, I’ll show you, but you’ll think me a damn fool.”
He released her hand, removed the oval case from his pocket, and gave it to her.
Heart thumping in trepidation, and wishing to goodness she’d curbed her curiosity, she walked over to the nearest lantern and opened up the hinged frame.
He hadn’t been entirely untruthful. There were two portraits enshrined there, one of a young man in military uniform who bore a strong resemblance to James. This must be the deceased Nathaniel.
The other portrait was a sketch of a woman’s face, drawn in three-quarter profile.
Her face.
She went numb, not sure what to think.
A moment later she felt the warmth of James’s presence at her back.
“It was foolish of me to keep it, wasn’t it?” he said, his voice soft, flowing over her like silk on a summer’s day. “How presumptuous of me to carry your picture, when for most of our acquaintance, we’ve barely been friends. But I hoped you wouldn’t always think me detestable.”
“Oh, James!” She turned to him, not knowing what to say. She loved that he’d been carrying her picture, and she hated herself for thinking so poorly of him for so long. He deserved much more from her.
“I’ve overwhelmed you with the suddenness of my declaration,” he continued, accepting the portraits back from her trembling fingers. “My feelings have been banked up for…well, for eternity, it seems. Forgive me. Having suffered one disastrous affair of the heart, I don’t want to suffer another through my lack of self-control.”
Her heart full, she looked up into his beautiful face, framed in moonlight, and wondered if another kiss would be out of the question. But how did one go about asking?
Before she could marshal the words, he took her hand and wrapped it over his arm as he gazed around him. “We’ve apparently escaped detection,” he said. “But for the sake of your reputation, I must return you to our party immediately.”
“Oh no,” she whispered. “Don’t apologize. Um…but there’s something you need to know.”
Never mind that kiss she craved—that could wait. She ought to tell him about Charles. Not that he should consider him a rival—for she could never think of Charles in that way—but because the men were friends, and if she didn’t tell James, she knew Charles would. She didn’t want any misunderstandings arising.
James pressed a finger to her lips, smiling down at her. “Come now—there’s no need to talk. If I’m forgiven, then I’m satisfied. Isn’t that the band striking up again? I demand you dance with no other man than myself. And in return, I promise to control my unruly feelings and display the gallantry you should expect from me. But before we join our party, I must tell you how happy you’ve made me in accepting my advances.”
She’d accepted his advances? Then, that must mean…
His swift pace had brought them level with the Rossburys’ supper box. She was running out of time to speak freely. “James—” she began in earnest.
“Not another word. Let’s keep our secret for the time being and show a nonchalant face to the rest of world.”
Too late. They were being welcomed back into their party, and James spent the next ten minutes in animated conversation with his mother, speaking too low for Emma to hear. But the countess looked pleased. If only she could fathom why—was James telling her he intended to court Emma? Or was she smiling because he was giving her his revised opinion of Miss Belinda Carslake?
Emma stifled a sigh of frustration. She mustn’t let her uncertainties spoil what was turning into a most splendid evening. Her heart missed a beat every time James looked at her, and she felt a thrill of anticipation when he stood up to claim her for a dance. As she moved about the floor with him, it felt like the music of the stars flowing through her, charging her body with a power that made her feel as though she were flying. The moonlight mingled with the warm glow of the hanging lanterns, casting his face into dramatic angles and hollows and adding mystery to the eyes that never wavered from her face.
Smiling up at him, she tried to recall all the reasons she’d once had for disliking him, but they refused to come to mind. He fit her perfectly, and his exultant mood continued to buoy hers throughout the rest of the enchanted evening.
It was a wrench to part from him at the end of the night, and she barely slept a wink, her mind full of wicked imaginings.
When a parcel arrived for her late the following morning, she immediately assumed it was from James, and tore off the wrapping excitedly.
It was a copy of that day’s Bath Chronicle. A notice on the front page had been circled several times in ink, and she stared at it, unable to comprehend.
Our social observer is pleased to announce that an engagement may shortly be announced between a certain Miss D—lately under the patronage of Lady R—and Mr. K of G—shire.
How was this possible? Could there be any doubt the writer was referring to herself, the countess, and…Charles Keane?
Our social observer…
Someone must have been in the gardens last night, someone who’d seen her being kissed by Charles. Of course there would be an expectation of marriage—the gentry didn’t usually behave like that in public if a union wasn’t in the cards.
If only that same observer had caught her in James’s arms instead. How different she would feel were that the case!
But she was given no time to consider what to do, for at that moment someone knocked loudly on the front door.
Shoving the paper hastily beneath a cushion, she peeked out the window down to the street below and saw a familiar figure gazing back up at her.
Her heartbeat doubled in an instant.
James.