Emmeline had thought her plan to spy on Alex and record his behavior was brilliant—until it was time to carry it out. It took two days even to find an opportunity to sneak out of the manor.
The only people usually on the street were commoners, but it seemed too risky to dress as a maidservant, and be at the mercy of every passing man.
When she thought of disguising herself as a boy, she felt a shiver of unease, followed by a mounting excitement.
It was easy to shuffle through the supply of servants’ garments to find a pair of breeches and a loose shirt. When she was dressed, she added a doublet to hide the curves that would mark her as a woman, and high boots to disguise her legs. She tucked her hair up beneath a round woolen cap.
When she was safely out the door she broke into a run through the garden, enjoying the freedom from her gown and the promise of a sunny day for her adventure. At the Thames, she hired a wherry boat to take her to Southwark.
Surely she would find Alex abed at the Rooster. The sun still hid behind the buildings as she tried to walk with a confident swagger from the dock to the tavern. More than once she had to fling herself into a doorway to keep from being run over by a fast-moving coach. She was deciding how to watch both entrances to the building, when the front door began to swing open. Ducking aside, she glanced over her shoulder and stared with surprise at Alex’s back as he strode away. He tossed his short cape back from his shoulders; the spurs on his long boots jingled. He looked awake and ready for the day, and a whistle trailed behind him.
Why had she thought him the type to be grumpy and ill from the effects of drinking? She had expected that to be the first fault on her list.
No matter. The day was young, and Alex was certainly capable of every kind of scandal, both large and small. She would have plenty of things to warn Blythe about.
The first place he visited was Paris Garden, only a few streets away from the Rooster. She knew what went on there—bear-baiting—and she repressed a shudder.
But as the crowd gathered, and she had to stand on the tips of her toes to see Alex’s dark hair and broad shoulders, she was determined to follow him.
All sizes of men closed about her, from hunched, toothless old grandfathers to eager youths much younger than she. She was elbowed and pushed along a path she hadn’t chosen, and the sudden roar of cheering men rose like a wave. After losing sight of Alex, she could only trot along to keep from being trampled. She dreaded that someone would notice she was a woman.
They went into a tunnel beneath the building, and Emmeline paid a penny. Soon she was standing beneath the gallery, with large men blocking her view of the sunlit pit. While a pack of dogs snarled, every roar of the bear made her wince as she imagined what was being done to the poor thing.
“Here now, lad,” said a gruff voice behind her. “Can ye not see?”
She looked over her shoulder to find an older man squinting down at her, his tanned face etched with white lines at his eyes and around his mouth.
“I don’t need to see, sir,” she said, remembering to deepen her voice. “I’m looking for my friend.”
“So he brings ye to the bear-baiting and leaves you for a doxy, right?”
“Well, no—”
“Worry not, lad, me boys here can make sure ye have a grand old time. Who has another pint of beer for me new friend here?”
Emmeline’s eyes widened. “Sir, you are too kind, but—”
“The name’s Robbie, lad.”
Someone thrust a tankard of beer at her, and as it sloshed all over her hands, everyone laughed.
“Now lad,” Robbie continued, “we can tell ye be taking a holiday from the manor to be with us common folk—”
She glanced nervously at the many curious faces peering down at her. Why had she spoken so formally?
“—but no need for fear. Ye’re among friends. Drink up!”
A couple of the boys cheered as she took a cautious sip, and then another. She’d had beer before, and though this was hardly the best she’d sampled, it did quench her thirst.
“Come on, it’ll put hair on your chin!” Robbie said with a laugh.
He put his big hand on her back and pushed her between two much taller men, whose elbows grazed her shoulders. She was pressed against a wooden balustrade, and she clutched the tankard to her chest to keep from spilling it. She could see a muddy pit encircled by three levels of galleries, all crowded with boisterous patrons. There were even women hanging on the arms of their men. Taking another sip of beer, she laughed as she realized she could have dressed plainly and come as herself.
The bear roared again, and her gaze was reluctantly drawn to the pit. A brown bear with scars about his muzzle and through his fur was chained from his iron collar to a stake in the very center of the pit. Circled by a pack of growling mastiffs, the poor bear didn’t know which way to turn.
Emmeline gasped when the first dog finally leapt at him. With a roar, the bear caught him in a bone-crushing hug. Feeling queasy, she turned away and took another swallow of beer. She knew the bear wouldn’t be allowed to die, for he was worth much to his handlers. But as for the dogs…she didn’t want to speculate. She sipped her beer and lifted her gaze to the gallery above her.
She suddenly saw Alex. He was standing with a group of men, not even watching the bear-baiting. There was money passing between him and another man—could he be gambling? Absently drinking her beer and studying him, she remembered how he had questioned the quietness of her life. Of course she took risks! What would he think if he saw her now?
Robbie swung a beefy arm about her shoulder. “Ye done with that one yet, lad?”
“Not quite, sir.”
“Drink it down! Me boy Matt wants to race ye.”
“Race?” she echoed. The youth had to be several years younger than she was, for he was thin and gawky, with ears too large for his head. He clutched a tankard between two hands.
“Sure, drinkin’s something all me boys are good at. Here’s another pint.”
She found herself gripping two tankards.
Though she wasn’t afraid, for they seemed a nice sort, her stomach felt uneasy, and her head a bit light. She really didn’t want to drink any more beer.
Alex leaned his elbows against the balustrade and munched the lamb pasty he’d just purchased, fighting a feeling of boredom. Bear-baiting was not his first choice in entertainment—in fact, it was near the bottom. But his dwindling supply of money was keeping his entertainment simple.
He took another bite of the pie and let his gaze wander over the crowd. Down below he heard raucous cheering, and watched with interest as a boy was being urged to drink by a circle of half-drunken revelers.
Alex’s smile slowly faded, and a strange sense of tension tightened his muscles. The boy looked about him, then up at the gallery Alex was standing in. Their gazes locked, and Alex saw blue-green eyes rimmed with a heavy fringe of lashes no boy would have.
Emmeline.
What the hell was she doing at Paris Gardens dressed as a boy? And why was his first reaction on seeing her an immediate tightening of his groin and the memory of her well-curved body held against his?
Dropping the pie, he ran for the back of the gallery and pushed past several men on the stairs. It was more crowded at the bottom of the stands, and he had to force his way through until he reached the circle of men gathered around Emmeline.
“Excuse me,” he said loudly, elbowing two of them aside. “Emmett, why did you run off?”
He almost laughed at the sight of Lady Emmeline Prescott with a cap pulled low over her forehead, and a pint of beer in each hand. She gave him a nervous smile as he scowled and shook his head.
“Em, you promised that if I brought you today, you’d remain at my side.”
She grinned, and he realized she was already befuddled from the beer.
“But Alex—” she began in a dangerously normal voice.
“Not another word.” He hoped she understood the warning. “I see you’ve not finished the beer these kind gentlemen purchased for you. Certainly I’ve taught you better manners than that.”
Slowly her eyes widened, and she looked from him down to the beer and back to him. He could have sworn she gulped before obediently bringing the first tankard to her lips. It only took her a few gulps to drain the contents, and as a cheer rose around her, she blearily grinned.
Straightening almost in defiance, Emmeline started on the next beer. Alex let her have a few swallows before his conscience got the best of him.
Taking the tankard from her hand, he said, “I guess that’s enough for today, Em. How do you feel?”
She shrugged, and to his surprise, her gaze dropped almost speculatively down his body. Pleasure stole over him like a warm summer rain until he remembered that they had an audience, drunken though it was. He took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the entertainment. He sipped her beer, and found himself contemplating drinking from the same spot her mouth had touched. Damn, his thoughts were getting away from him.
Emmeline was looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Feeling uncomfortably aware of the men all around them, Alex for once wished a woman wasn’t staring at him so blatantly.
She suddenly took the tankard out of his hand and swallowed a gulp before he managed to pull it away. Her eyes were full of amusement as she licked the last drop from her lower lip. All sensation seemed to pool in his groin. He couldn’t look away from the slow, knowing smile that spread across her face. Innocent that she was, she couldn’t possibly understand what she was doing.
“Gentlemen, thank you for taking care of my brother,” Alex abruptly said. “He can be a handful, as I’m sure you’ve discovered.”
“He’s a good lad, that he is,” said one of the men cheerfully.
“Thanks, Robbie,” Emmeline replied through a grin.
Alex wanted to groan. How could they not know she was a woman? Her doublet was sagging down one shoulder, and soon the thin shirt she wore would reveal her charms. The tantalizing thought gripped him with a dark eroticism. Or had she bound her breasts?
He shook himself back to reality.
“I thank you, too, Robbie,” Alex said, handing the tankard over, “for taking care of my brother. Good day to you.”
He gripped Emmeline’s elbow and pulled her away from the pit. When they reached the grounds outside the entrance, he continued to drag her along.
“You can let go of me now.”
“I don’t think I shall.” He managed to frown down at her. “You’re drunk enough to be a danger to yourself.”
“I am not inebriated, I assure you,” she said, pulling away and straightening her doublet.
“You must have been drunk to even think of coming here dressed like that. This is a dangerous place for a woman alone.”
“But I’ve got you to guard me, don’t I?” Grinning, she leaned against his arm.
As Alex felt the insistent pressure of her breasts, perspiration broke out above his lip. When he gave her a little push upright, she stumbled and staggered ahead of him.
“So why are you here?” he asked.
She didn’t answer. He stayed behind her just to watch her hips sway, then realized what this might look like to other men.
Suddenly her feet went out from under her, and he caught her from behind, his arms beneath hers, his hands overflowing with her breasts. His palms burned as he felt her pointed nipples. With perfect aim, her backside landed against his hips, and his erection went from a possibility to a certainty.
He stood her upright so fast she almost went face-first into a ditch. He grabbed her elbow and steered her across a little river of sewage, trying not to breathe in the odor.
“Where are we going?” she demanded.
“Down to the river. I’m going to make sure you arrive safely home.” He leaned nearer and whispered, “Unless you wish to return to my lodgings. I live nearby, you know.”
“I know.”
Though her voice had a huskiness that intrigued him, she also sounded guilty, and he tried to read the truth in her face. Had she been to the Rooster today? Was she following him?
For a moment, he desperately wanted to take her to his chamber, because from the look on her face, she wouldn’t refuse.
Desperation? he thought suddenly. Was that what Emmeline Prescott had reduced him to? No, he would have none of it.
He escorted her through an alley to the river’s edge, then tossed a sovereign to a waterman standing near his boat. The man gaped into his hand and back at Alex.
“Let me borrow the wherry,” Alex said, helping Emmeline in and stepping down beside her. The craft almost capsized as she sat back heavily on the wooden bench. “I need to take the lad across while I speak to him alone. I promise to return this to you within the hour.”
The man fisted his hand about the coin and bobbed his head. “Aye, guv’nor.”
Alex settled down between the oars as the man gave them a push away from the dock. He began to row slowly, watching Emmeline. Their knees practically touched, and her gaze was almost a caress. He had to think of something besides the unfulfilled passion gnawing a hole in his gut.
She had been following him, he reminded himself. Why?
He knew she probably wouldn’t answer such a direct question, so he let the rocking of the boat and the cry of the gulls relax her. Gradually they pulled away from the city traffic as they headed upstream.
Emmeline swayed, then straightened stiffly. Her gaze narrowed on him, and when she spoke, her words were cautious and slurred. “You obviously know you are sinfully handsome.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She rolled her eyes. “Now you sound like me.”
He could barely keep from gaping. She reached out to touch his hand when it neared her as he rowed. He pulled back hard on the oars, cursing their lack of privacy.
“There’s another bench behind you,” he said. “Why not lean back?”
She hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder. With a sigh, she leaned back on her elbows and lifted her face to the sun. The cap fell off and her auburn hair tumbled down her back. Alex felt a hitch in his breathing as he watched the sun highlight the red in her curls. The pace of his rowing slowed.
How could she not understand how truly beautiful she was?
He studied her face, devoid of the paint so many women used to whiten their skin. She glowed with health and a touch of the sun. Her nose was pert and her lips the perfect fullness for kisses. Leisurely his gaze traced a path down the long elegance of her throat. With her elbows back and the doublet gaping, the shirt was tight across her breasts, which she had not bound.
His throat went painfully dry as he stared at her dusky nipples thrusting against the white fabric. She was laid out like a feast before him, her legs spread apart, the line of her throat begging for his kisses. He imagined finding a tree at the water’s edge, its branches drooping to trail in the water and form a natural bower. He would row beneath, and the leaves would close over them like bed curtains. In the dim coolness he would rise above her, then settle between her thighs. He’d start with her magnificent breasts, suckling them to hard points until the damp shirt was transparent.
“You’re not rowing,” Emmeline said.
Alex gave a start and glanced about them, noticing that the city had given way to the sloping lawns leading up to the mansions along the Thames. Hellfire, he’d almost come in his breeches at the idea of merely touching spinster Emmeline Prescott.
It wasn’t as if he would take advantage of a drunk virgin anyway, he thought as he adjusted his breeches. He picked up the pace of his rowing.
Unable to help himself, his eyes were drawn again to her relaxed body. He couldn’t stop thinking about what her breasts would look like in a damp shirt. Mischievously cupping a handful of water, he splashed her chest. He thought she would jump up indignantly, but she only laughed, and he ogled the spreading wetness as it enveloped one breast and practically revealed her nipple. It tightened into a little point and he almost groaned.
She slowly lifted her head and smiled at him, a womanly smile full of promise and passion. Alex told himself she was unaware of what she was doing, but she might as well have kicked him in the stomach, for the effect was just as profound.
He watched the slide of her hair along her arms and neck as she slowly let her head fall back again.
She licked her lips and spoke. “I still remember your tongue on my hand.”
He stared at her and his voice became hoarse. “What are you talking about?”
“That night—in the stables. Your tongue touched my palm when I was trying to keep you quiet.”
“Yes. I…remember.”
“I would have thought such a thing to be loathsome.”
“Was it?”
She laughed. “Not at all.”
“Might I do it again?” he asked softly, seeing Kent Hall slide ever closer and wishing he could stop time. “I long to taste other parts of you, as well.”
She looked wide-eyed at him and he could see a shiver move through her. She made him feel so unlike himself. Where was his easy control?
The wherry bumped against the stairs leading up to Kent Hall. Emmeline was the first to look away, and as she stood up, almost capsized them. Alex grasped her waist. Her hands dropped to his shoulders and they stared at one another a moment too long. When he let his thumbs rub across her stomach, she leaned over him, her hair a curtain about them. Would she actually kiss him? But her eyes went wide and she broke away to climb out of the boat.
“Thank you,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared up into the garden.
Alex dropped his head to his chest, then gripped the oars and rowed as fast as he could away from Emmeline Prescott.
Emmeline slammed the door to her chamber and leaned back against it, breathing heavily. Her head ached—from the sun, she was certain—and her mind was racing a thousand ways at once.
The day had not gone at all as she’d expected, though she could put Alex’s gambling on her list of his shortcomings. She should feel embarrassed to be caught and escorted home by him—but she wasn’t. Even though the details of her wherry ride home seemed rather vague, she still felt like she’d won a contest of sorts.
And she wasn’t going to stop proving to herself—and Blythe—that Alex was not a suitable suitor.