Emmeline felt frozen with shock and the rush of such confusing emotions that she was overwhelmed. Alex Thornton was kissing her, his lips moving so gently, so lightly, that she wanted to groan with the tantalizing promise of it all.
Then he lifted her up on her toes, pressing every part of them together. Through her gown, she could feel that hard part of him again, and her restraint vanished with this sure knowledge that he desired her.
“Emmeline,” he said hoarsely against her mouth.
Then his tongue slid along her lips and she gasped. Only one man had ever kissed her, but it had been chaste and sweet—not like this. Not like he had to go on kissing her or die.
Her hands were caught between them and she pressed them flat to his chest, feeling the strength and hardness of his body, the tautness as he leaned over her.
“Let me taste you,” he murmured, and the vibration of his mouth on hers made her moan.
“You already are,” she whispered back.
She could tell he smiled, could feel every part of him. He slanted his head and his mouth took hers harder, until she helplessly parted her lips and let him do as he willed.
He invaded her mouth like he’d invaded her life and dreams, swiftly, forcefully. His tongue claimed hers and she shuddered, letting him press her even harder to his hips. His hands cupped her buttocks, and she shamefully wished there were no layers of garments between them.
She moaned, reveling in the wildness of his mouth on her lips, on her cheek, on her throat. She arched back, secure in his embrace, giving him freely whatever he wanted to kiss as she plunged her hands into the softness of his hair.
He murmured her name against her throat, then against the barely revealed curve of her breast. She wanted more; she wanted to disappear with him into the dark, to—
And then she heard laughter.
They came apart so fast that Emmeline had to grab hold of tree trunk not to fall.
Alex straightened his garments as he looked over his shoulder. “I don’t see anyone coming.”
“I hear them!” She covered her mouth with her hands and waited, trying desperately to invent a fabrication for why she would be out in the dark with a known scoundrel. She looked into the trees, out across the dark Thames, anywhere but at him. Oh God, what had she done? What would she have done, if they hadn’t been interrupted?
Then the voices drifted away, and they were alone again. She burned with a humiliation she’d never felt before. This couldn’t go on; he had to get out of their lives, out of her thoughts.
“Alex.” She winced at how uneven her voice sounded. “I have to tell you something, something important. And I want you to listen very carefully.”
By moonlight he looked amused, but his intense eyes never left her.
“Emmeline, what just happened was—”
“No! Do not speak of it; just listen to me. I don’t mean to offend you, but you have to understand that you are not the man for Blythe.”
One of his eyebrows rose, but she was desperate to get the words out now—because otherwise she might remain silent just so that she could occasionally see him, even if only from afar.
“Allow me to finish. Blythe wants marriage and children. She needs a steady man, one who will provide for her.”
His smile never diminished, and she hated feeling that he laughed at her.
“My dear Emmeline, I have no plans to marry.”
“Well, that settles that,” she said in a rush.
“But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself, and provide some enjoyment in return.”
Her cheeks heated again, and she was grateful for the night. “You must understand that that isn’t what I wish for my sister.”
“Or yourself?” he asked softly.
When he reached for her, she stepped away.
“I have to return. They’ll be looking for me.”
“Blythe will, but I’m not so certain about your father.”
“Don’t!” she warned coldly. “Don’t speak about things you don’t understand.” She turned away, drew her cloak tighter, and began to walk as quickly as possible.
Alex walked slowly up the path, whistling softly. As he approached the lights of the party and the sounds of guests enjoying themselves, he tried to analyze what he was feeling—something he hated to do. He’d never lost control of himself like that, especially not in someone else’s home. But in those few moments when he’d held her against him, nothing else had mattered, not even the dangerous excitement of impropriety.
Kissing Emmeline was more exhilarating than even he had imagined—and he could imagine a lot. There was a hunger inside her, a passion she denied, probably because she hadn’t known it existed.
But now he knew, and just the thought made him hard again.
When he finally had himself under control by thinking about crop management rather than Emmeline, he left the dark garden paths and returned to the party. Blythe was making a speech, thanking her father for the evening. But her true thanks were reserved for her sister, whom she drew forward despite Emmeline’s protests.
Emmeline was blushing prettily as she hugged her sister. She curtsied to applause, but Alex thought she looked uncomfortable, that she forced her pleasure for her sister alone. He knew her well enough to know exactly what she was thinking: I just kissed your suitor!
Alex didn’t feel guilty. Blythe was led off to dance by Seabrook, while Emmeline did the hard work of keeping the masque running smoothly. Blythe would easily find someone better than Alex to marry. But Emmeline—
His thought stopped as he watched her speak with the servants, and he felt something in his gut tighten. Emmeline seemed to always be in the background, making everything run smoothly for everyone else. Even he, who’d wanted to visit her during the week, had pretended it was Blythe he meant to see. He was positive no one had danced with Emmeline tonight.
Alex stepped forward to right that wrong, then halted. She wouldn’t welcome an offer to dance from him now. So he stood in the shadows and watched her.
It was another hour before Emmeline felt like she might make it through the evening after all. She had calmed her mind by returning to her duties, and now Alex’s kiss was just another memory, best forgotten. She was grateful he did not come near her—yet depressed at the same time. She needed a distraction.
And got it in the form of Maxwell Willoughby, a baron and cousin to an earl. They met at the refreshment table, and Emmeline found him charming and gentle, so thoughtful in his speech. He had a blond English handsomeness that seemed refreshingly safe. He wasn’t very tall, or very broad, not threatening in any way.
He might be perfect for Blythe. After all, Blythe would tire quickly of Lord Seabrook when she realized all he truly loved to talk about were his horses.
Emmeline allowed Lord Willoughby to pour her a wine punch, then asked, “Lord Willoughby, do you live in London?”
“Only occasionally, my lady. I spend most of the year at my estate in Sussex.”
Not too far away; that was good. “And what most occupies your mind there?”
His eyes widened a bit, but he had the grace to laugh pleasantly. “Do not allow me to start on my passion, Lady Emmeline. I might bore you.”
“Never, my lord!”
“Very well. I am endeavoring to grow wine grapes. It is such a shame to import wine, when here in England we have the finest soil, if only we could figure how best to use it.”
“So you study for this interest of yours?”
“Oh, yes. And I travel each year to the best vineyards in France.”
This was even better. Blythe had always talked about wanting to see the world. As he talked longer; Emmeline was charmed by his fascination with his project, his good-natured intelligence, and his love of reading.
When Blythe came over to speak with her, Emmeline tried to control her excitement.
“Blythe, dearest, I’d like you to meet Lord Willoughby. My lord, this is my sister, the Lady Blythe.”
Lord Willoughby’s eyes widened as he beheld her sister, and he bowed quite charmingly. Smiling with excitement, Emmeline looked back and forth between them. But…Lord Willoughby remained silent, though his posture spoke interest and attention.
After a moment, Blythe said, “How nice to meet you, my lord,” and reached out her hand.
Emmeline looked at Lord Willoughby and waited. He licked his lips once, and just as Emmeline was tempted to give him a subtle kick in the ankle, he wiped his palm on his breeches, took Blythe’s hand, and bowed over it.
“Lady B-Blythe,” he murmured. “A p-pleasure.”
Emmeline wanted to gape at him. Where had this stuttering, unsure young man come from? He had been so pleasant and confident with her. She tried to bring up his estate, surely a good topic. But he seemed to have nothing to say, and could only stare at Blythe.
Blythe managed to escape when Lord Seabrook asked her to dance. She shot a sympathetic smile at Emmeline and whirled away.
Emmeline was speechless. She watched her sister for a moment, then turned to Lord Willoughby, whose face now glowed a dull red.
“I muddled that, didn’t I?” he murmured, and shook his head in obvious disgust.
“I don’t understand what just happened.”
“Lady Emmeline, forgive me. This always happens. Whenever I try to impress a beautiful woman, I cannot think of a thing to say.”
“You had no problem conversing with me.”
“But you’re different, my lady. You’re easy to talk to, and you seem interested in what I have to say. A woman like your sister—why would she be interested in someone like me, when she has Lord Seabrook dancing attendance on her?”
Though Emmeline felt frustrated, she wasn’t going to let Lord Willoughby off this easily. He was too nice a man, and she wanted her sister to see that. There had to be something she could do.
When Alex finished a dance with Lady Morley, he escorted her to the benches, then turned to look for Emmeline again.
She was talking to a man.
Frowning, Alex walked slowly towards them, keeping to the shadows beneath the overhang of the trees. He eventually recognized Maxwell Willoughby, a decent fellow, if a bit shy. They were talking rather animatedly, then Emmeline laughed and shook her head in a fond way.
Had she finally found her next poet?
Alex folded his arms across his chest, and a wave of blackness enveloped his mind, a sudden surge of jealousy that took him totally unaware.
The women he usually surrounded himself with were but pale imitations of Emmeline’s vibrancy and intelligence, yet she remained ignorant of her own attributes. Now she was trying to replace one weak man with another, as if she didn’t deserve better.
And suddenly Alex knew he wanted better for her, that somehow he wanted her to move ahead with her life, and leave her past mistakes behind. And he was just the man to show her the way.
Late that night, Emmeline stood behind Blythe and brushed out her hair. Usually a maidservant did the task, but Emmeline felt a need to be close to her sister. She knew it was out of guilt, but felt she could make it up to Blythe by introducing her to the perfect man. If only Lord Willoughby had cooperated.
In the mirror she watched Blythe’s eyes blink slowly, heavily. “It’s time for you to sleep,” she murmured.
Blythe shook her head and sat up straighter. “Oh no! My head is still buzzing with memories of our wonderful party. I would so like to be more a part of the preparations next time, so I can someday do what you do.”
Emmeline smiled. “That would be wonderful.” She completed a few more strokes, then asked, “So whom did you dance with this evening?”
She sighed. “So many men that I feel blessed! Lord Seabrook was especially generous with his time, and even Alex’s friend Sir Edmund showed that for such a big man, he is quite graceful.”
“I didn’t see you dance with Sir Edmund,” Emmeline said cautiously, trying not to frown.
“He didn’t arrive until late in the evening.”
“Oh. What about Lord Willoughby?”
“Who?” Blythe asked, once again blinking slowly.
“Lord Willoughby, the young man I introduced you to at the refreshment table.”
“Oh him! He seemed…nice, I guess. He didn’t ask me to dance.”
Emmeline already knew that, and she wanted to groan at the man’s shyness.
“But Alex did.”
When she heard his name, she accidentally pulled the brush too hard and Blythe gasped.
“Oh, dearest, forgive me!” she said, upset that her hands started to shake, that her mind immediately took her to the dark garden, and Alex’s arms around her, his mouth on hers. “What did Alex do?”
“He danced with me,” she repeated, giving Emmeline a puzzled look.
“Oh. I’m surprised he managed to find the time to attend our little party. He has been so busy of late.”
“He has?” Blythe said after a big yawn. “How do you know?”
“I have seen him…about.” Oh, why had she started this conversation?
“Where?”
Emmeline softened her strokes and lowered her voice, to put Blythe to sleep. “I saw him at a play, when I went with the queen’s ladies.”
“On the day that my head ached so?”
“Yes.” She hesitated, then blurted out, “He was with a lovely young lady.”
Blythe only nodded. “He told me about her. She’s married, and her husband dislikes plays, so Alex takes her.”
Was that all Alex did with her? Emmeline couldn’t help wondering, and she realized that she was jealous of a woman she didn’t even know. She began to brush again, slower, slower, as Blythe’s eyelids drooped.
She whispered, “Come dearest, go to bed now. You’ve had a long evening.”
Eyes practically closed, Blythe kissed her cheek and crawled under the covers. Emmeline returned to her own bedchamber, but sleep would not come easily—not with Alex tormenting her mind, reminding her of everything she would never have.
Alex’s shadow had returned. Once again he could not shake the feeling he was being followed, nor the frustration of being unable to catch the scoundrel. If he owed somebody money, why didn’t they just ask for it? At least the creditors hounded him openly. It had been damned difficult getting used to no longer having his brother’s money to spend, and maybe in a drunken state he’d wagered something he shouldn’t have.
In a brief moment of clarity, Alex wondered what the hell he was doing with his life. All he had to do was go back to his estates in Cumberland. The work he’d been doing as viscount could be applied to his own land. There, he was their master, whom his steward had no choice but to listen to. He could gain their respect, if he wanted to try.
But when he’d lost the viscountcy, when he’d returned to being Alex Thornton, drunken scoundrel, none of it seemed so important. He couldn’t go back until he’d exorcised this restlessness inside him, until he’d proven—
Proven what?
That he was still Alex? That pretending to be Spencer for a year and a half had not changed him in some fundamental way?
So, he would continue to live his life the way he wanted, determined not to let these hidden cowards affect him. Let them try to capture him, if they wanted.
They tried again on his return home from a night of cards and gambling at a friend’s house. He was riding his horse through the muddy streets by moonlight and the occasional lantern hung outside a shop.
He heard the jingle of horses nearby. He pulled up on the reins and stopped. So did the sound from the other horses. A feeling of menace stole over him, and he looked over his shoulder. He had his sword with him, but they might have firearms.
He had deliberately taken the road leading past the high walls surrounding Emmeline’s estate. He had meant to look upon it and think of her kiss, and his next plans for her. Now, in the shadows where the walls met at a corner, he reached up and caught the top of the gritty wall, letting the horse slide out from under him. He pulled himself up and over, then dropped to the ground and held still. He heard no outcry, only the jingle of spurs as horses passed by.
Alex leaned back against the wall and released his breath in a sigh. Across the neat rows of a kitchen garden loomed Kent Hall, massive and regal, jutting with turrets and tall windows in every wing.
Somewhere in there Emmeline slept.
Well, he had to do something until he was certain he’d eluded pursuit. It had only been a few months since he’d snuck into a woman’s house. He hoped he wasn’t out of practice.
He approached the mansion, then moved from window to window on the ground floor. It wasn’t long before he found one unlatched. Pushing it open, he slid his legs inside and dropped to the floor.