Alex thought for certain that Emmeline was cured of her curiosity, but he was mistaken. When he took in a play at the Curtain with a young woman he frequently escorted, there was Emmeline in the balcony across the theater, her narrow-eyed gaze taking in everything he did.
Alex only smiled at her, bowed his head, and then threw an arm about his companion. Emmeline nodded once in challenge, then left, as if him seeing her was all that mattered.
What was her game?
Even an afternoon spent fencing with Edmund at the Queen’s tiltyard could not keep him free of Emmeline. He felt her gaze before he saw her. He parried Edmund’s blade aside, then shielded his eyes as he searched the balconies at Whitehall. He saw her then, standing alone at a railing just above, watching him. He swept his hand before him and bowed low.
Was that a glimpse of a smile? What did she hope to achieve by following him?
But still she didn’t go away, so he turned back to Edmund and gave her the show he was capable of. Edmund stumbled back a few paces, eyes wide. He glanced between Alex and Emmeline speculatively, then brought his sword up and attacked. Steel met steel and rang repeatedly through the tiltyard. Soon Alex’s breathing became labored, and his arm felt afire. He had never beaten Edmund before, for Edmund had raised himself up from poverty through mercenary work, and his body was massive because of it. Alex was good enough to survive a duel, but Edmund was good enough to survive a war.
Inside Alex’s focused mind he and Edmund were youths again. Edmund had been the best friend of his childhood, a poor laundrywoman’s boy who’d never shown fear of his masters, only belligerence and stubbornness. After a fight, the two had become fast friends, and as they’d aged, Alex had insisted Edmund be his squire, instead of the noble boy who fostered with the Thorntons. Side by side they’d learned and trained, until Edmund had left to make his own way in the world.
Suddenly with Emmeline watching, Alex was determined to hold his own.
And Edmund knew it. With a grin, he increased the tempo, increased the power of his sword thrust. From somewhere Alex thought he heard the sounds of men cheering, the call of bets.
Emmeline gripped the balustrade so hard that the stone scraped her palms. The skill and grace Alex displayed were mesmerizing. She could tell that Edmund would soon triumph by sheer size alone, but Alex was crafty and intelligent, as she already knew.
With a sudden flurry of motion, Alex drove hard at Edmund, who stumbled back and tripped. As he landed on his backside, Alex knocked his sword away, threw back his head, and laughed.
Then he turned and looked up at her, as did all the soldiers in the tiltyard. She was on display, conspicuous beneath the glare of the sun. But it didn’t seem to matter. All she could do was stare at Alex, who wore a sleeveless leather jerkin that bared muscular arms the likes of which she’d never seen displayed. She’d been held tightly in those arms, pressed against that body he now used like a weapon. She felt overheated and overwrought, and very aware that he was a man and she a woman, because his eyes told her so.
Suddenly he dropped the sword and came toward the palace.
With a gasp, Emmeline drew back from the edge of the balcony and fumbled for the door handle. She knew he was coming to her.
All week she’d followed him, taking notes on his behavior, telling herself she would use it all against him somehow. Yet she’d said nothing to her sister so far, even as she’d watched Blythe open Alex’s letters, or set his gifts next to all the others she’d been sent by various admirers.
All Emmeline had accomplished was to make Alex suspicious, and now he was coming for her.
A little thrill shot through her as she ran through a dimly lit parlor set aside for the Queen’s ladies. Thankfully, no one was about to see her haste. She went out into the corridor, where there were enough people that she was forced to slow to a walk.
“Lady Emmeline,” Alex called in a loud voice, “might I have a word with you?”
She glanced over her shoulder and saw him at the far end of the wide corridor. She picked up her pace, knowing none of these important courtiers would know who she was. No one would care that she was ignoring Alex—except Alex.
She turned down the next hall, then ducked through a door leading to one of the queen’s private gardens. A sudden brisk breeze made her shiver as she pressed her ear to the door. When the handle shook, she gasped and tried to hold the door closed with her body.
“Emmeline!”
His voice was low, intimidating. She could not fight him on strength alone, so she lifted her skirts and ran, knowing the paths that circled the elaborate marble sculpture almost as well as her own gardens. She heard the door slam open, then closed. Her breath came rapidly in her chest, she was almost gasping—but she wanted to laugh, to fling her arms wide at the exhilaration of the chase.
“Emmeline!”
He was close now, just on the other side of the statue. She skirted a pear tree, then ducked through a vine tunnel, which was ripe with the new greenery of spring. She just knew there was a door through the wall somewhere. Queen Elizabeth liked to have more than one exit, in case her life was in peril.
Emmeline came out of the tunnel and saw the door across a patch of blossoming flowers. She had taken one step away from the gravel path, when suddenly Alex caught her arm, spinning her about.
With a cry she tripped and fell backward, tangling her legs with his and landing amidst the daffodils. He came down on top of her.
The weight and pressure of his long body felt dangerously intriguing, touching her in all the places that burned. Wide-eyed, she stared up into his shadowed face. He wore a small smile but said nothing, just used his lazy, dark gaze to roam her face and settle on her mouth.
Emmeline was stunned by how delicious sin could feel. No man had ever touched her like this, and she felt the first inkling of uneasiness. Alex wielded a special kind of power, making her feel like she was the only woman in his mind—at least, for that moment.
The sensation was…overpowering.
Every breath she took pressed her breasts even harder against his broad chest. Her hands shook where they touched his hot, bare arms that had just performed feats of incredible strength and skill. Even though all their clothes separated them, she could feel his thigh between hers, resting against her.
Her mouth was suddenly so dry that she had to lick her lips, and she discovered with astonished wonder that this somehow affected him, because he tensed against her.
It was up to her to stop this. She had to master her emotions, fight him, force him off her.
But all she could manage was, “Alex, you should stand up.”
“I should, should I?” he murmured, his laughing gaze sweeping her face.
“I mean you must.”
He lifted himself up the slightest bit, and his gaze continued from her face to her neck to her chest.
“You’re very comfortable, Emmeline.”
She sucked in a breath, then wanted to groan because it only made her ridiculously large chest look bigger. And he was staring at it!
She slapped at his shoulder. “Please, Alex, stop looking—there!”
“Where?”
“You know! My—my—”
“Your breasts?” he murmured.
She sucked in a breath. “It is improper for you to say such things.”
“But ’tis the truth. I’m looking at your breasts.”
A blush burned her cheeks.
“And they’re surely a lovely sight. Shall I describe how they make me feel?”
With a gasp, she covered her breasts with her hands. A groan rumbled through his chest, vibrating deep within her.
“Maybe I don’t have to describe what I’m feeling,” he whispered, leaning down over her. “Can’t you tell?”
He slowly ground his hips into hers, and she felt something long and hard and dangerous. She gaped at him in shock, so embarrassed that she felt suddenly warm and wet between her thighs. What was the matter with her?
Alex lowered himself even farther, until their mouths were dangerously close. She saw nothing but his face; her world was the strength of his body, and she was frightened because it felt so right.
“Don’t I even deserve a kiss for all you’ve put me through?” he murmured.
“A kiss!”
She pushed against his chest, and he rolled to his side almost too easily. She scrambled up and away from him, brushing down her skirts, feeling for leaves in her hair.
“No kiss?” he asked in mock sadness.
She meant to give him her best glare, but he suddenly rolled onto his back in the yellow daffodils, folding his bare arms behind his head as if she’d just left him in bed.
Oh my lord. A wild, wicked side of her wanted to lie back down with him. What was he doing to her—no, what was she allowing to happen?
“Why the sudden blush?” Alex asked.
“Was not your—your—groping enough of a reason?”
He looked so relaxed, stretched out at her feet, as if he was not nearly as affected as she was. She whirled and stalked away, but he quickly rose and appeared at her side.
“Emmeline, surely I deserve to know why you’ve been following me.”
“Is it not obvious?” she retorted.
“Have you been reporting my activities back to your sister?”
She caught her breath and looked away. “Not…everything.”
“And what does that mean?” he asked, tugging on her arm and pulling her to a stop.
How could she explain? She hadn’t told her sister all the truth, not because of Alex, but because of her own unusual behavior. Every decision she’d made where he was concerned turned out wrong. Even if she told Blythe that she’d been following Alex for Blythe’s protection, was it true? Or was it only her own curiosity, the fact that she was enjoying his scandalousness too much?
She’d become a different person somehow, a woman who truly understood how much she was missing, what she’d never have in her life. And it hurt.
“I have to go, Sir Alexander,” she said formally, trying desperately to push her foolish emotions aside.
“It’s Alex,” he whispered, reaching to cup her cheek. For once he wasn’t smiling, and he looked more intense and handsome than she could have imagined.
For her own sanity, she broke away from him and ran.
Alex watched her go, then remained alone in the garden, trying to remember the wager, Blythe, anything instead of the beguiling sight of a flustered Emmeline. Strands of her hair had come loose to tumble temptingly down her cheeks and neck. Why hadn’t he touched them when Emmeline had lain beneath him?
Because her hair wasn’t what he’d been thinking about then. With a sudden overwhelming need, he’d wanted to lift her skirts and settle himself between her soft thighs. He’d wanted to kiss every part of her skin, smell every scent, until she blushed for him alone.
The thought of that damned wager made him sigh with regret. Unless…would Edmund agree to modify it? Surely a spinster was just as much of a challenge as a girl guarded by a spinster?
Then he remembered the way her expressive eyes had dimmed when he’d asked if she were reporting his activities to Blythe. Did she truly think him so unworthy?
Gritting his teeth, he strode back through the corridors of Whitehall until he reached the tiltyard. He found Edmund straddling a bench, a dipper of water in his hand. Alex took the dipper, slurped the last of the water, picked up his sword, and went out into the center of the yard.
Edmund stared at him.
Alex lifted his sword. “We weren’t finished, were we?”
Edmund walked toward him, his weapon dangling from one hand. “What happened with Lady Emmeline?”
“Nothing,” he said, raising his sword. “Let’s have at it.”
But Edmund only circled him slowly, his eyes thoughtful. “Did she tell you why she’s been following you?”
“I’ve always known why.” Alex thrust forward.
Edmund parried, then stumbled back as Alex came at him again. “Since when has practice become serious to you?”
Alex only answered with his sword.
Emmeline’s father decided to celebrate his homecoming with an “event.” He wanted to have a masque, with actors performing for his guests, and she hoped planning it would make her forget the thoughts of Alex that constantly crept into her mind.
But she wasn’t successful. Every moment that she wasn’t focused on the party, she thought of him and remembered their solitary moments in the garden like some secret dream she had never thought could come true. She’d felt every part of his body against hers, and the dark, simmering passion of it all would not leave her. She didn’t know how she would face him again, for she could barely face Blythe—or even herself in the mirror.
He’d wanted to kiss her! Over and over she wondered what it would have felt like, and guiltily wished he’d done it. The shame of being dangerously attracted to her sister’s suitor was all mixed up with the excitement and dread. During the week before the masque, he had twice visited Blythe, and Emmeline made sure she was busy elsewhere. Oh, she was careful to keep a servant in the room with them, but she herself stayed far away.
How could she look him in the eyes? Certainly all she would remember was his body on hers. Her face would give her away, especially to Blythe, who might want answers Emmeline couldn’t give.
The sooner she got Alex Thornton out of their lives, the better. She personally oversaw the guest list, inviting every eligible man in London. Surely there were other men who would appeal to her sister.
Though it had rained all week, the night of the masque was clear and moonlit. The gardens seemed to shimmer with moisture and the promise of summer’s heat. On impulse, Emmeline had allowed Blythe to set up a pavilion for the masked drama, rather than hold it indoors. All week she’d been close to changing her mind, but as the beauty of that Saturday night unfolded, she was thankful. Her father actually commended her efforts before he disappeared into his withdrawing chamber with the other older gentlemen.
The guests hummed about her in droves, the food was devoured and praised, even the actors’ performances drew hearty laughter and applause. Though Emmeline was in the center of it all, she felt alone, removed from everyone. The week’s efforts had culminated in a success—but all she felt was tiredness.
Even as she watched approvingly while the young men gathered about her sister, she thought of Alex. She didn’t want him here—yet she did. Once, she had seen him standing beneath a cluster of lanterns as he watched one man after another dance with Blythe. He didn’t seem sad, so much as…alone. He made no effort to dance with Blythe himself, as far as Emmeline could tell.
Could he finally be realizing that Blythe was wrong for him? Or was he just bored and ready to move on to another young woman?
Emmeline watched her father approach Blythe, while a young man trailed him. There were introductions made and shy smiles exchanged, and her father’s approving nod.
Tears stung Emmeline’s eyes. But her hard work would be worth it if Blythe could be happy all of her days.
Turning away, Emmeline hugged her cloak about her shoulders and followed a torchlit path. The breeze was cool off the river, and the sweet smells of budding flowers calmed her. She wound deeper into the garden, until even the voices of her guests faded. Nothing but lapping water and peace. She sniffed and wiped away a foolish tear.
“Blythe!”
Emmeline gave a start at the sound of Alex’s voice.
From around the bend of hedges, she heard him call again. “Blythe, you know your sister wouldn’t want you to run off by yourself.”
He was coming. Emmeline looked about almost frantically, but the Thames was before her and Alex close behind. She kept her back to him, wishing she knew what to say, how to explain the reasons for her actions.
She heard his heavy sigh, then stiffened when he caught her elbow.
“Blythe, let me take you back—” He turned her about, then froze, his hands gripping her upper arms. For what seemed like an endless moment they stared at each other, again caught alone in a garden, but this time with the magic of moonlight.
She tried desperately to sound unaffected. “Alex,” she said, nodding her head.
He didn’t let her go, just watched her with an unreadable expression.
She felt her throat go dry, her heart beat strangely, but still he didn’t release her. “Is it your turn to follow me through a garden?” she asked in a husky voice unlike her own.
He bent his head even nearer. “I’m glad I did.”
She could feel his warm breath on her face, felt his hands slide down her back to her waist. She couldn’t seem to get enough air, didn’t know what to do with her own trembling hands. What was he doing? What could he be thinking?
Then he caught her hard against him, and she only had time for a gasp before he touched her lips with his.