Lady Rutherford’s card party was going to be a sedate, relaxed affair, Emmeline realized, as she came through the doorway. At her side was Blythe, who had arrived home in time for the event. On the coach ride over she’d told Emmeline about the people she’d seen in Kent, the parties she’d attended, but all the while Emmeline had gotten the impression that Blythe was almost relieved to be back in London.
Guilt swamped Emmeline as her sister rushed forward happily to a table occupied by her female friends. She hoped Blythe wasn’t looking for Alex, because how could she tell her that Alex wasn’t interested in her anymore? Blythe would want to know how she knew, and Emmeline would have to say—because he’s trying to seduce me!
Blythe waved her over and Emmeline shook her head, pointing to the refreshment table. She stood there alone a moment, sipping wine handed to her by a servant, until Maxwell joined her.
Perspiration shone on his forehead, and his normally pristine appearance seemed hastily put together.
“Maxwell?” she said uncertainly.
He seemed to force a grin. “A good evening to you, Lady Emmeline.”
Before she could say another word, he burst out, “I cannot do this.”
She slumped with disappointment. “Oh, Maxwell, what am I to do with you? You know Alex is right.”
“Yes, but I feel so foolish. Surely I will be the joke of the party.”
“Never. You are a well-respected man. So let us see who’s at the spinet.”
They both turned and saw that Blythe had just taken the bench, and was now looking through the sheet music.
“How perfect!” Emmeline said, though she could see him swallow and tug at the high ruff beneath his chin. “Go ahead, Maxwell.”
“But…surely her friends will help her.”
“Then you’d best sit beside her before they do.”
She turned him about by the shoulders and gave him a little push toward the spinet. He stumbled, then straightened and walked determinedly to the instrument. Blythe looked up and smiled at him, easing Emmeline’s nerves.
Maxwell took Blythe’s hand and bowed over it, pressing a kiss that made Blythe blush. Emmeline could barely contain her glee. Maxwell spoke to her sister, leaning over, and suddenly Blythe was making room for him on the bench.
Emmeline could have clapped and shouted her praise. Oh, good for Maxwell!
She didn’t want to spy on them, so she turned her back and looked out over the room. Little tables were scattered about, and already people were engrossed in card games, while servants wandered about with wine and food.
At the table behind her, a man said, “Did you hear? Viscount Thornton has returned to London. I just spoke with him tonight.”
Emmeline barely stopped herself from rudely interrupting for details. Alex’s brother was back from the Isle of Wight? She could not wait to see the man Alex had successfully impersonated for almost two years. Were their personalities as alike as their faces?
And then she saw him speaking to their hostess, Lady Rutherford. She studied him thoughtfully, amazed at their identical looks, then looking deeper for their differences. He held himself with a formal, straight bearing, where Alex always seemed casually relaxed. As he spoke his expression was serious, and the smile he finally showed seemed restrained. This was not a man who freely gave in to his emotions.
And then Lady Rutherford was leading him toward Emmeline, and she saw for herself that the banked wickedness in Alex’s eyes was absent in his brother’s.
And she missed it. In Alex there was always the promise of wildness and unpredictability.
“Lady Emmeline?” Lady Rutherford said. “I would like to introduce you to Lord Thornton.”
Emmeline curtsied deeply, then looked up into the interested eyes of Alex’s brother.
“Lady Emmeline,” he said, “I asked for this introduction because I had to meet the woman that my…mother spoke so much of. I understand she and your mother were friends.”
“Yes, my lord. And how is your mother doing?”
“Quite well, thank you. We had a pleasant visit together.”
Oh, he was nothing like Alex, so formal, so polite.
“Congratulations on the birth of your child, Lord Thornton. I understand it was a boy? And your wife is well?”
“Thank you, yes. She was not up to traveling yet, but I’m sure she can’t wait to meet you.”
Emmeline tried not to frown. “But…why? I am merely a friend of your broth—mother.”
“I guess it was because of the message my brother asked me to relay to you.” His smile was full of chagrin. “Regretfully I cannot say it in so public a place. It is a rather private request.”
She didn’t know what to say as Lord Thornton took her arm. What could Alex have said to him?
Before she knew it they were in a small library, where a fire was rapidly becoming only embers. She turned in confusion to Lord Thornton, and found him closing the door. He leaned back against it, watching her.
“My lord,” she began cautiously, “what could Alex have needed to say that he could not say himself?”
Instead of speaking, he reached for both her hands. He suddenly yanked her against him, and wicked amusement spilled from his eyes. She only had a moment to breathe, “Alex,” before he kissed her.
As always, his passion threatened to overwhelm her, but Emmeline fought the pleasure stealing over her by pushing him away.
“Alex Thornton!” she gasped.
The courtly bow he gave her was exaggerated with a flourish. “My lady.”
“I didn’t even guess—I didn’t see—”
“No one ever does,” he said, still laughing.
But she was uneasy at his laughter, at…something.
“I have not met your brother, but you were very successful at not portraying yourself. I can see why you fooled so many people.”
“Not just ‘so many people.’ I fool everyone.”
“Even your mother?”
“Well, no. But you, Em, you believed it.”
And though he smiled at her, made a joke of it all, she felt a sympathetic chill move through her. Somehow, she knew he had wanted her not to be fooled, to know him anywhere. And she’d failed.
She didn’t think that he even knew it had been some sort of a test. She suddenly realized that Alex used laughter when anything cut too deep to his emotions. So many things made sense now.
Emmeline forced a smile, but all she felt was sadness. Living as his brother must have changed him in ways he didn’t want to face. Instead of seeing himself as but a man doing a job, he must have thought of himself as somehow less than Spencer. Had such feelings always been a part of him?
She wanted to reassure him, to tell him she knew everything, but it was not her place. Such rights belonged to a wife, not the current object of his fancy. So she had to distract him, while inside her throat ached with unshed tears.
“Alex, I need to ask your forbearance.”
“Over what?”
“Maxwell and Blythe. I know you’ve claimed that you are finished courting her—”
“I never courted her.”
“—but please, give them this chance at happiness. They are perfect for each other. You’ve helped Maxwell, and forgive me for not telling you the full truth, but I thought you would feel I was pushing you out of Blythe’s life.”
Alex knew he stared foolishly down at her, his mouth open, but for once he was at a loss. He blurted, “But I thought you wanted Max for yourself.”
Her eyes went wide. “For myself? Maxwell is a dear friend, that is all. No, it is Blythe I am concerned for.”
Alex could neither understand nor explain his relief, and he had never thought to feel such confusion. “But…what about your dreams for yourself, Em? What about your life?”
Though she laughed, he saw the pain she always kept buried. And for the first time, a woman’s pain hurt him.
“Oh, Alex, surely you see that I have made my peace with my life? I know my future, and I gladly accept it. I will be happy living with Blythe’s family. And I want her to be happy, to choose the sort of stable man who will complement her high spirits. We do well together, my sister and I. I can help raise her children, and be her companion in our old age. What more could I want?”
Alex saw that she had convinced herself that she meant it.
“Go back to your sister, then,” he said, smiling at her. “I will not interfere between her and Max.”
The light in her face could have blinded him. “Truly, Alex? Oh, thank you! You do not know how I have worried. I shall see you at the party, won’t I? We can play cards together, and I can see if you play just as well as you use your mouth.”
Her face flamed scarlet as she realized what she’d said.
“Oh! I meant how you talk, not how you—you—” She ran from the room.
Alex was left alone, staring after her, reflecting on a strange ache in his chest. His smile faded as he went to the window and looked unseeingly outside.
How had he not noticed it? Not only had Emmeline given up on her own life, she thought to live through her sister. All his kisses and passion had done nothing to make her see that she was a desirable woman, that any marriageable man would be happy to have her.
But it wouldn’t be someone like him. He certainly didn’t need to be with her—he didn’t need any woman.
But Emmeline needed someone to show her that her life was not to be led in the service of her sister. He wouldn’t let her give up that easily.
When Emmeline returned to the card party, she fanned herself as she gazed about the room. Would she always make a fool of herself around Alex?
She was distracted by the sight of Maxwell and Blythe, still sitting at the spinet, but seeming to be in turmoil. Then she saw that Maxwell’s sleeve was caught on the shoulder trim of Blythe’s gown. Emmeline could have groaned. The dear man must have tried to follow Alex’s orders, and only succeeded at embarrassing himself further. This would certainly not help his confidence.
She had to make things right between them, before Maxwell was discouraged forever. She took a step forward, then felt a hand suddenly clasp her shoulder.
“No, Em, stay here.”
Alex stood at her back, his words gentle but firm.
“Let me go! Surely you see that all my plans could be ruined right here!” She looked frantically toward the spinet, but two men had stopped before her to talk, blocking her view.
She knew Alex leaned toward her, because his words were close to her ear. “It’s time to trust them. Your sister is a grown woman, Maxwell a man. You can’t live their lives for them—you can’t live through them.”
The last was said so softly she almost thought she had imagined it. But surely he was wrong. How could she risk seeing Blythe unhappy—as unhappy as she’d been when she was forced to give up Clifford?
“But Alex—”
“Just look,” he whispered, pointing over her shoulder toward the spinet.
The men had gone, and she had a clear view of Maxwell and Blythe—laughing. He was leaning close to her, fingering a spot at her shoulder that had perhaps torn. But he wasn’t blushing; he didn’t seem to be stuttering. Could it be—
And then Lord Seabrook approached, obviously asking Blythe to partner with him. He led her away, and Emmeline groaned, feeling a total failure. But just before she turned away in defeat, Maxwell looked at her—
And smiled. He mouthed the words “Thank you,” crossed his arms at his chest, and watched Blythe walk away.
To Emmeline’s amazement, Blythe looked back at Maxwell and smiled.
“There,” Alex said. “You have done your sisterly duty. Now I think it’s time you proved your proficiency at cards.”
She turned to face him, gazing up at the scandalous man who’d become a friend. “I am quite good at cards.”
“You are quite good at many things, and I have yet to discover them all.”
She wasn’t sure she knew what that meant, but perhaps she could find out. She laughed and followed him to a table.
Over the next few days, Maxwell came alive as a suitor. He sent Blythe gifts and flowers and even visited every day. Many times Emmeline came upon them in the parlor or the garden, their heads bent together in conversation as if Maxwell’s stuttering had never existed.
She realized with satisfaction that although Alex’s tutoring had helped, it was Maxwell’s true, more confident self that Blythe seemed interested in. But her other suitors were still a part of her life, and Emmeline had to remind herself that she had interfered enough.
She had not seen Alex since the card party five days before and told herself it was for the best. When he sent a missive asking to see her, she ignored it. She had no illusions that Alex wanted more from her than merely satisfying his physical needs.
But she couldn’t help the curiosity that kept her awake at night. She couldn’t stop herself from wondering about the man who’d masqueraded so successfully as his brother. Surely that meant he’d had much practice. Before his ruse for the good of the country, why would he have pretended to be Spencer?
As if Emmeline’s thoughts had magically produced him, she saw Alex the next day.
She had agreed to go boating with Blythe and Maxwell, and sat on a cushion at one end of the boat. At the far end, beyond the two servants rowing, Blythe reclined amidst dozens of pillows, with Maxwell seated at her side. Netting hung from a canopy about the two of them to keep out the insects, and it might as well have blocked their voices, because Emmeline could hear nothing but low murmurs and occasional laughter. They sat properly apart, so she had little cause to watch them.
Instead, she pushed her canopy back a bit, so she could lift her face to the sun. The lazy rocking of the boat relaxed her, soothed her.
“Lady Emmeline, Lady Blythe!” a voice called out across the water.
Alex.
Emmeline opened her eyes with a snap. She expected to find him on the shore, but he was in another boat.
She calmly lifted a hand, even though her heart seemed to bounce about in her chest. As he turned his back to row, she admired the way his white shirt clung damply to his back, revealing muscles that she had pressed her palms against. She remembered every caress, every kiss. Her body heated clear to the depths of her stomach as he approached.
And kept approaching. Surely he would turn away from them, she thought uneasily.
But when he continued to row, she called, “Alex, you’re getting too close.”
He didn’t turn around. Behind her, their oarsmen began to row harder, but it would be too late. She heard Blythe gasp, and Maxwell call out a warning. Without thinking, Emmeline stood as if she could push the boat aside.
At the last moment Alex glanced at them, steered his boat suddenly sideways, then caught Emmeline about the hips as he passed. She cried out, finding herself dumped at his feet, the boat rocking precariously enough to splash her. Coming up on her knees, she gripped the edge and looked back at Blythe’s boat. Because it was larger and more stable, it merely swayed in the current. She heard the merry peal of Blythe’s laughter as the boats drifted apart.
Emmeline turned and found herself kneeling between Alex’s knees. All thoughts of a lecture on safety fled her mind as her gaze drifted up his thighs, past his powerful hands on the oars, to the width of his chest. His face loomed over her, dark and mesmerizing.
“My, what a lovely position you find yourself in, Em,” he murmured.
Though she tried to stop herself, her gaze fell back to his thighs, and she remembered being held tightly to his hips, feeling the powerful evidence of his desire for her.
He groaned. “Exactly what I was thinking.”
She quickly sat on the bench behind her and straightened her back. “If you really knew what I was thinking, you’d be apologizing profusely. You quite endangered us all.”
He heaved a dramatic sigh and began to row away from Kent Hall.
“Alex, what are you doing?”
“Your servants told me you were boating. It seemed a perfect time to tell you of my fantasy.”
Emmeline’s throat tightened and a sudden wicked feeling swirled through her belly. “What fantasy?”
Alex rested his elbows on the oars, allowing the current to guide them. “Do you remember when I found you drunk at the Paris Gardens?”
“I was not inebriated,” she sniffed.
He leaned closer and his voice lowered. “Then do you remember caressing me with your eyes and your hands?”
Emmeline was too stunned to move. That had been almost two months ago, before they’d even kissed. “I couldn’t…I didn’t—”
“You could and you did, love. In fact, you told me I was ‘sinfully handsome.’”
She should be embarrassed, for that day’s memories were vague at best. But since then, her actions had only proven the powerful emotions she felt in his presence. She watched his mouth, remembered his kiss.
“And why are you telling me this now?” she whispered.
He lifted one hand from the oar and reached for the hem of her skirt. She watched wide-eyed as he slowly revealed her slippers, then her ankles.
“Because while you were busy trying to seduce me with your eyes—”
“Alex!”
“—I was fantasizing about seducing you in that wherry.”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Goose flesh rose on every part of her body.
“Do you want me to tell you what I was thinking?”
He took her foot in his hand and slid off her slipper, never breaking their shared gaze. Gently he rubbed his thumbs into the arch, and she couldn’t stifle a moan.
“Tell me.” She watched with fascination as a breeze lifted his black hair away from his face.
“You wore a man’s shirt,” he said softly, “and when you leaned back I could see your breasts through the fabric.”
She could feel her nipples harden, and with each rapid breath, they brushed against her smock. Between her thighs, her muscles were tight and damp, and the ache was maddening. With half-closed eyes, she watched Alex pull her skirt back over her foot, then place her foot directly between his thighs, resting against the hard ridge of his erection. With a gasp, she gripped the bench beneath her.
His voice grew hoarse. “When I saw you like that under the sun, I could do nothing to appease my hunger, for not only were you drunk, you were dressed as a boy.”
She laughed, then experimentally wiggled her toes. It pleased her when she heard his breath suddenly leave his lungs.
“So I had to content myself with my imagination,” he continued after a moment.
“And is it as wicked as you are?”
He grinned. “Even more so.”
“And what did you imagine?” She felt his hands beneath her skirt, sliding from her ankle up to her calf. His fingers traced patterns across her skin and made her squirm.
“I imagined a tree like that one—”
He nodded toward the southern bank of the Thames, where a grove of trees grew at the water’s edge. One particularly large willow tree bent low over the river, with its branches dragging in the current.
“—And in my mind,” he continued, almost in a whisper now, “I rowed you beneath its branches, into our own private bower.”
When his hand left her leg, she almost gave voice to her disappointment until she watched him row toward his mysterious tree. Her heart picked up pace, and her trembling increased as the first branches swept over the bow of the boat. Alex reached over to guide the branches around her, then around him. The leaves silently slid back into the water, like a curtain over a bright window. The sunlight faded, and the current ceased its tugging in their little shallow pool by the roots of the willow tree.
For a moment they just stared at each other, connected only by her foot between his thighs.
“What happened next?” she asked softly.