Chapter Thirteen
Avoiding Emma didn’t help. James fisted a hand against his desk top and glared at it as if it had done something to offend him. And in truth, he was angry at himself. After their prior encounter twenty-four hours ago, James had tried to stay away from Emma, hoping it would reduce this strange sensation in his chest. But it hadn’t.
Sitting far from her at supper the night before had only made him wonder what she was saying to the gentleman she was seated beside. Later, when games were played, he had only watched, hating that he wanted to congratulate Emma when she won or give her advice when she was losing a hand of whist.
And when he had been asked about her—coyly, by Lady Montague, who had sidled up to him with her batting eyelashes and inviting smiles—saying glowing things about Emma was just too easy.
“Idiot,” he muttered to himself as he flexed his fist open and stretched his stiff fingers.
“What have you done now?” Graham asked as he entered James’s office and shut the door behind himself.
James shook his head. This felt like such a private topic. Too private, even for his best friend. But when he looked up at Graham, he knew he would discuss it. Graham had always been able to milk the truth from him. He never rested until he had. It was why he was more like a brother to James than just a friend.
“I have no idea what I’ve done,” James muttered. “Something entirely foolish, it seems.”
Graham’s teasing expression slipped to something more serious and he took a spot across from James and leaned forward, draping his elbows over his knees. “What’s this about? You’ve been out of sorts for days.”
James tilted his head back and stared up at the elaborately carved ceiling. He let out a long breath, but couldn’t find the words to explain what he wasn’t certain he entirely understood himself.
“Is this about that woman? Emma Liston?” Graham asked.
James stared at him, taken aback by Graham’s gentle tone. His expression was no different. Graham already seemed to know the answer to the question he’d asked. James gritted his teeth. “Yes,” he admitted softly.
Of course Graham seemed unsurprised by that answer. “I see. I thought you had that all worked out, that your ruse was perfectly planned. What’s wrong?”
James pushed to his feet and walked away. “You needn’t gloat, you know. I hear it in your tone.”
“Why would I gloat?” Graham asked. “Unless I was right and you’ve fallen in love with the girl.”
James pivoted to face him, feeling all the color drain from his face. “In love with her? No, of course not. Of course not. Of course I don’t love her.”
“Of course,” Graham repeated. “You say ‘of course’ three or four times and it makes your lack of feeling toward her infinitely clear. So you are not in love with her, of course not. Then what is it? Her pushy mother? The strain of lying to everyone? She trods on your feet when you dance together? What is it?”
James looked down to find his foot tapping wildly and he forced himself to stop before he ground out, “She can…see me.”
Graham wrinkled his brow. “See you?”
Now that it had been said, James wished he could take it back. Oh, Graham knew his history, as did Simon. But they never spoke of it. He never let it affect what he did or what he took or how he behaved. Now he was about to lay something bare and he wasn’t pleased about it.
“She sees what is real,” he clarified. “Not just what I choose to show.”
“Such as?” Graham pressed after a pause that felt like it stretched for an eternity.
“She said she saw sadness in me,” James whispered, trying not to react to that claim once again and failing, just as when she’d said it and it had felt like she’d slipped her soft hand around his heart and squeezed.
Graham’s lips parted. “I see.”
“It is…entirely disconcerting.” His voice sounded choked and his throat was tight.
“Of course it would be, to be exposed in such a way by a woman who you’ve really only begun to know in the past few weeks.”
James nodded, but in truth he didn’t feel like that. Sometimes it felt as though he’d known Emma a lifetime.
“I don’t want her to see,” he said, more to himself than to Graham.
Graham let out a sigh. “But what she says is true, isn’t it?”
James shut his eyes, not wanting to look at his best friend. “Of course not,” he lied. “I’m the life of every party, you know that better than most.”
“Oh yes,” Graham said. “You dance and you laugh, you take risks and you seduce the ladies. You are, on the surface, every joyful and carefree thing in the world. But I know you.”
“Yes, you do,” James admitted, looking at him at last. “Most people only see me at my best, but you and Simon have seen me at my worst.”
“We have. I saw you after your father’s fit when your marks weren’t perfect.”
James flinched. “He hit me so hard, I thought he’d knocked my teeth out.”
“I wanted to kill him,” Graham said, his face growing red with just the memory.
“You would have, if Simon hadn’t held you back,” James said with a shake of his head and the shadow of a smile.
“And I saw a great many other days when the previous Duke of Abernathe treated you like a dog and not his son. I saw you when your father died,” Graham continued.
“You and Simon were there for it all. It’s why I arranged the union with Meg,” James said. “I wanted one of you to be my brother in truth.”
A shadow crossed Graham’s face briefly, but he pushed it aside. “I will always be your brother,” he said softly. “No matter what happens.”
“And I appreciate that,” James said, sliding a hand through his hair. “But it’s different with Emma. As you said, I’ve only known her for less than a month. Having her be so perceptive is…I don’t know.”
“Well, maybe that is worth something, James,” Graham pressed. “Maybe the discomfort is a sign that it is time to be real. To allow someone else to see past the exterior. Maybe this is an opportunity.”
“What are you suggesting?” James asked. “That I make this courtship real, that I consider marrying her, despite all the vows I’ve made to the contrary?”
Graham shrugged. “I always thought your drive to avoid wedlock punished you more than it could ever punish a dead man.”
James considered the comment a moment. Meg had said something similar and he’d dismissed it, but now it was harder. He could truly picture what they each suggested. There was a flash of fantasy through his mind. Of a life that would be possible with Emma. One with pleasure and laughter…but also vulnerability. The more she knew him, the more she would see. It wouldn’t just be hints of sadness then. She would know his anger, his pain, his fear…
He frowned. “No, I don’t think so,” he said.
Graham pressed his lips together in concern. “Well, then you only have two more options. You can abandon your plan completely…”
James shook his head. “No, that would hurt her. I don’t want to hurt her.”
Graham arched a brow, as if that statement proved something on its own. Then he continued, “Your other option is to make tonight a big show. Play out the ruse, give her so much attention that it is clear she is desirable. Once that’s done, let her go to pursue whatever options come out of it.”
James nodded. He knew Graham was right but the knowledge felt…hollow somehow. He pictured Emma finding someone else to love, to marry, to share all her passion that was just under the surface and he felt…empty.
But then, he’d always been empty in truth, no matter how he pretended otherwise.
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
Before Graham could answer, there was a light knock on his door. He turned to face it and said, “Enter.”
The door opened and Emma stood on the other side. She looked at him and his heart actually stuttered. She was dressed for the upcoming ball, and the blue color of the gown she wore brought her eyes to life.
“Emma,” he breathed.
She turned her head and seemed to notice Graham for the first time. She actually jumped. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were here, Your Grace.”
Graham sent James a look filled with meaning. “I was actually just leaving, Miss Liston. A pleasure to see you again.”
He executed a small bow and then slipped past her and left them alone. She entered the room at last and slid the door shut behind her.
He flashed to the previous day when they’d been alone in this room. To tasting her, to bringing her pleasure. God, how he wanted to do it again.
But she cleared her throat and said, “James, do you want me to leave?”
Emma watched James’s expression change at her question. When she entered the room, it had been an open one, a heated one. Now a guard came down over him and his voice was hard as he said, “You’ve only just arrived, Emma. Why would I wish for you to leave?”
She shook her head. “Not leave this room. Leave your home. Leave the party. Go back to London with my mother.”
His eyes went wide. “This is the second time you’ve suggested you leave here. Why are you bringing it up again?”
There was a hint of desperation in his tone now that she understood. It made her want to move forward, into his arms. It made her want to touch his face and sooth him. She didn’t.
“James, we agreed to a ruse, but this…this is getting out of hand, isn’t it?”
He folded his arms. “How so?”
She almost threw up her hands in frustration at his reaction. “Well, you aren’t exactly pleased with me, are you?”
He moved forward and she stopped breathing. “Not with you, Emma. With myself.”
She blinked at that unexpected response and stared up into his face. His emotions were so tangled there she couldn’t determine one or another above them all.
“Why?” she whispered.
“Damn it,” he burst out, and turned away from her. He walked to the fire and stared into it. She wanted to say something, to push, but she didn’t. She forced herself to remain still and steady, waiting for him.
Finally, he turned. He stared at her. He looked her up and down and made her feel stripped bare. Naked emotionally as well as physically. Then he made a soft sound in the back of his throat and he was moving on her.
He caught her arms, drew her against him and lowered his mouth to hers. She lifted into him, melting into his heated kiss, surrendering to the power of it and of him. This wasn’t what she’d come here for, but she couldn’t resist it. As dangerous as that admission was, now that the bottle had been uncorked, she could no longer fit her feelings back inside.
He drew back at last and looked down at her, panting. “You were not supposed to be irresistible, Emma. I don’t want you to be.”
She shivered as he pulled away from her. He kept his back to her and she had no idea what to do or say.
An answer she did not have to find when the door to the study flew open and her mother burst into the room. Emma’s heart sank at the bright and hopeful expression on her face. One that fell when she saw James far across the room and Emma where she stood.
“Oh, excuse me, Your Grace,” Mrs. Liston said, sending a side glance to Emma. “I heard my daughter was seen entering this room, but I had no idea you were with her.”
James had turned upon her entry and was now staring at her. Emma’s heart sank, for his expression was bland and bored, the same one she’d seen him give to a dozen grasping mamas over the years. Now she was no better than those women who he disregarded with such ease.
“Good evening, madam,” he said.
“Do I need to call a vicar?” her mother said with a chuckle.
Emma lunged forward. “Mama!” she gasped, cheeks burning. She couldn’t bring herself to look at James again. “That is enough.”
“Oh, hush, child, I’m only teasing,” Mrs. Liston said, her gaze still on James. “Though this is inappropriate, Your Grace. You alone with my daughter with the door shut.”
He was quiet a moment, long enough that even her mother shifted under his accusatory silence. He cast a swift glance at Emma, and she prayed he could see she had not arranged this ridiculous display.
“Of course you are correct, Mrs. Liston,” he said softly. “My behavior is untoward. I apologize to you and to Miss Liston.”
“Oh no,” Mrs. Liston burst out. “Of course my daughter is so very honored by the attention you pay to her.”
“Mama!” Emma hissed, grasping her arm.
Mrs. Liston shook her off. “We will leave you now, Your Grace. But I certainly hope we shall have the honor of you dancing with Emma tonight.”
James inclined his head without verbally responding, and Mrs. Liston caught Emma’s hand and drew her to the door. She went with her mother, incapable of doing anything else in the face of this new humiliation. But as they exited, she cast one final look back at James.
He was staring at her, face still impassive, and it was in that moment she realized that he’d never told her he didn’t want her to leave. And after this display, she could imagine he would want nothing but exactly that.