In the grand chamber at the palace of Whitehall, the light from thousands of candles glittered from the jewel-studded gowns of the nobility’s finest ladies. Even the men shone, as the queen wanted it. Course upon course of elaborate food, from roast peacocks decorated with their own feathers to venison pasties, waited to be served, while laughing crowds danced about.
He knew the queen wished him to dance with her, that she enjoyed partnering with him. But he avoided her, and watched the entrances for the sisters Prescott.
Earlier that day, Edmund Blackwell had laughed when he’d asked how Alex’s pursuit of Blythe’s sweet kiss was progressing. Somehow he’d known about Emmeline coming to the Rooster, and even that she’d visited Thornton Manor. And Edmund had boasted that his own kiss was surely at hand.
Alex leaned against a marble pillar and scowled, draining his second tankard of ale. He did not like to lose; he would have to concentrate more on kissing Lady Blythe.
Then the sisters entered the hall, and after a cursory glance at the lovely Blythe, he found himself studying Emmeline. Almost like a mother, she hung back and allowed Blythe the grand entrance. Where Blythe’s corset showed off a hint of breasts above her square neckline, Emmeline was once again swathed in dull red brocade up to her throat, with a lace ruff collar nestling her chin. Why was she trying to hide her voluptuous figure? And the color of the gown did absolutely nothing for the unique shade of her hair.
Unique shade of her hair? he thought in disgust, as he allowed a maidservant to refill his tankard. Hellfire. She was only a stubborn challenge to be overcome.
He watched Blythe search the crowd, and when their gazes met, he raised his tankard to her and bowed. He grinned as he saw Emmeline’s frown directed at him, and he strode toward them.
Old Bess herself sat on a golden throne beneath a canopy raised on a dais above the crowd. Perhaps she would not be too offended if he danced with Blythe. The queen loved to dance, and many a time he’d partnered her, showing her off to the crowd as if she were still a young woman. She certainly danced like one.
Before he could reach the sisters, another man approached Blythe, and she was gone, off in a wild dance before the queen’s amused regard. Emmeline smiled triumphantly at him.
Alex should have taken offense, since he hated to be bested. But…he’d never seen her smile, and it lit up a face she seemed to try to conceal from the world. She had lovely high cheekbones, and eyes that never seemed the same color twice. He stared at her lips, and imagined them against his. He could almost feel the slide of her innocent tongue.
Why did the mystery of her draw him?
Annoyed with himself, he was glad when Blythe returned from her dance, breathless and laughing. He slid his arm under hers. “Shall we dance, my lady?”
She nodded and waved to her sister as he pulled her away. Alex refused to turn back and look at Emmeline. Minutes later, when he drew a laughing Blythe out of the dance for a moment’s talk, Emmeline was nearby, the chaperone who kept a proper distance, guarding her sister’s virtue.
All he wanted was a kiss, by God, but he’d never win the wager with Emmeline watching over them so closely.
He sighed and turned back to Blythe, who suddenly seemed…so young.
“You dance beautifully,” he said in so soft a voice she was forced to lean nearer.
“You are too kind, Sir—Alex. My sister taught me.”
He wanted to groan aloud. There Emmeline was again, in conversation, if not in sight.
Blythe giggled, an unexpectedly annoying sound.
“I’ve never seen your sister dance,” he said.
“She is a lovely dancer, quite graceful. She just doesn’t dance in public anymore, not since—”
She stopped, and Alex was appalled to find himself the one leaning forward, hanging on the girl’s every word. “Not since…” he prodded.
But she shook her head. “’Tis a personal thing, Alex.”
“Are you sure you do not wish to tell me?” he murmured.
Blythe giggled again, and he found his gaze lifting until he saw Emmeline standing against the tapestry-covered wall not ten yards away. She wasn’t close enough to hear what they said, but he could swear she was blushing again. Then an older woman drew her away.
Blythe glanced over her shoulder. “When I was younger, a man wanted to marry her once,” she said in a rush, as if someone might stop her. “But he was only a poet, a tutor, and beneath her. Since then, no one has asked her to dance.”
Alex felt a coldness move through him. Why had he thought Emmeline was different from the others? She was just like every other woman he’d pursued when he’d been the viscount. Only a title and circumstance mattered.
For a moment, it seemed that he was once again at the queen’s celebration of the defeat of the Spanish armada. His brother was in attendance, and both of them were relieved to be alive, after having spent a few days in the Tower of London contemplating charges of treason.
He had approached Spencer, who was the center of a group of admirers. Good old Spencer had pulled him into the circle, claiming he could not have spied for the Crown without Alex’s help.
But Alex remembered the vivid feeling of being dismissed. One after another, Spencer’s friends tried to insist they’d known all along something wasn’t right, that Alex had behaved too scandalously to be Spencer. When Alex had had enough, he’d tried to draw away Lady Margaret, the woman he’d been most enamored of, only to have her look back at Spencer longingly. She’d pulled away, claiming their being together wasn’t seemly. Yet she hadn’t minded when he’d taken her out into the dark garden for stolen kisses only a week before.
He’d still been the viscount then.
But he’d been too stubborn to see the truth all around him. When women weren’t pretending to be away from home when he visited, they literally discussed marriageable noblemen in front of him—because he was no longer in consideration. He was the younger son, not the heir, and they had been quick to forget their association with him.
And Emmeline was the same.
Yet there was still something about her that drew him—surely only the mystery of her, why she hadn’t found another man to marry. With Blythe, he thought only of a stolen kiss; with Emmeline he thought of stolen passion, hot flesh against hot flesh in the night. He wanted to peel away each garment and reveal everything about her, to prove she was no better—nor worse—than any other woman.
Emmeline finally managed to disengage herself from the baroness and her elderly friends, careful not to hurt their feelings. They had lost husbands, and she would never have one, so she might soon be sitting in their circles regularly.
But she could not leave Blythe alone too long with Sir Alexander. She found them dancing again, and breathed deeply with relief. He lifted her sister high in the air several times, and each time she laughed gaily. Then another man swept Blythe away, and she seemed just as happy.
Emmeline’s gaze followed Sir Alexander as he danced with another woman. He was richly dressed in a black satin doublet embroidered with tiny diamonds. His short black hair brushed his high collar, and another diamond dangled from one ear. Beneath the doublet he wore striped, padded breeches loose about his thighs. He seemed every bit the nobleman beneath the rakish tilt to his hat, and every bit dangerous. She could not blame Blythe for her flirtation, although she didn’t understand her own strange reaction to him.
Though he was gifted with words, he was not a poet. He did not speak of education or politics, as she so enjoyed. He obviously cajoled women with his eyes and his voice—and she grudgingly admitted that he was very good at what he did. Even she felt distracted and dazed every time he turned those dark eyes solely on her.
When Blythe returned to her side, Emmeline smiled at her sister’s out-of-breath laughter.
“Oh, Emmy, I am so happy that I am old enough to attend the queen’s court!” She gave Emmeline a hug and pulled her onto a padded bench.
“You are doing Father proud,” Emmeline murmured.
“He’s not here, is he?” Blythe asked quickly.
“No, dear, he went to Nottingham on business.” Their father seldom attended any party or court function, leaving Blythe’s care in Emmeline’s hands.
“I am greatly relieved, since I was dancing with far too many men than must be good for me. And I don’t want his anger to ruin this magical night.” She heaved a melodramatic sigh. “I could not believe Lord Seabrook noticed me! And we danced!”
Good, her first words were not of Sir Alexander. “Lord Seabrook will someday inherit his father’s dukedom,” Emmeline said reasonably. “His interest can only be flattering to you. And he is close to your own age,” she added.
The girl grinned. “I can’t even hold that against him.”
Emmeline should have known that the following sennight passed too smoothly. She spent each day with the servants, organizing a massive cleaning for her father’s expected return. Extra bakers were hired for the many special desserts he needed when he entertained. Blythe visited with friends or agreed to Emmeline’s occasional tutoring, but never once did she mention suitors.
Emmeline should have asked.
The day their father returned began as any other. Without even sending a messenger home, he and his entourage arrived in many coaches. Emmeline ordered the servants to begin unpacking, and then she met him in his withdrawing chamber to present him with the correspondence that had accumulated in his absence.
Her father was a big man, like her older brothers, although he’d grown stout as he aged. He was balding on top, and seemed to make up for it with a well-trimmed gray beard. His eyes, too, were a piercing gray, as if he could see right through to whatever she was hiding. Emmeline had long since come to terms with her ambivalence toward her father. He fed her, clothed her, allowed her to be tutored—but he did not love her.
While her father looked through his papers, she waited, looking out the windows toward the gardens and thinking of the approach of summer.
Without glancing up, he finally said, “Blythe has been introduced to all the important families?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Are suitable young men paying court to her?”
“Yes, Father.” In her mind she saw Alexander Thornton, and knew he was not the kind of man her father meant.
“Any serious suitors?”
“It is early yet.”
He looked up and studied her intently, and Emmeline forced herself not to fidget.
“Very well. Let us go over your estate accounts.”
She smothered a groan and seated herself across from his desk. Hours passed before she could escape. Once she had, she only wanted to retreat to her bedchamber and lie down with a cold cloth to soothe her aching head.
But when she reached the second floor, Blythe stuck her tousled head out into the corridor and looked both ways.
“Did I hear Father arrive?” she asked in a frantic whisper.
“He’s here,” Emmeline said. “Wear your newest gown today. He likes to see you looking your best.”
But Blythe grabbed her arm and dragged her into her own bedchamber. “Emmy!” she wailed and fell back on the bed.
Emmeline folded her arms over her chest and watched her sister disapprovingly. The girl was still so young. “That is not the best reaction to this news.”
She lifted her head up. “But I don’t know what I shall do!”
“About what?”
“I have made…plans tonight.”
Emmeline’s head began to pound harder and she steadied herself by gripping the bedpost. “What do you mean? You’d best explain everything, because I shall only find out in the end.”
The girl sat up with a long-suffering sigh. “Twice this week I have exchanged letters with Alex, and he’s coming to meet me tonight, to walk in the gardens.”
“Blythe! Have I taught you no better than this? You cannot go wandering off with any man who takes your fancy; it could be dangerous.”
Blythe smiled and shook her head. “He’s not dangerous, Emmy. Our mothers knew each other; our fathers respected each other. Alex would never hurt me.”
“Then why do you think he wants to be alone with you?”
“But it was my idea! How else will I learn to be alone with a man if I don’t try it?”
Emmeline threw up her hands and began to pace. “Maybe he just made you think it was your idea. Regardless, you can’t go out there tonight; Father will expect you to sing for him after supper. If he has guests, it will be an even longer evening.”
“I know, I know,” Blythe said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.
“Can you send Sir Alexander a message?”
“’Tis too late! He already said he’d meet me at the stables at nine of the clock, but that he would be about town during the day.”
“Calm yourself, dearest.” Emmeline sighed, leaning forward to take her sister’s hands. “I will intercept Sir Alexander.”
“But I could not ask that of you! Father will wonder where you are.”
Knowing she would not be missed after supper, Emmeline smiled at her sister’s naïveté.
“I will claim illness after eating,” she said, putting a hand to her head. “And it will not be far from the truth. I will lie down now, while you prepare yourself for Father and his guests. Everything will be all right.”
Blythe stood up to hug her, and Emmeline felt how fragile her sister was. After a slight hesitation, she whispered, “Does this man mean so much to you, then?”
Blythe laughed. “No more than any other. But I do enjoy flirting with him.”
Supper that evening was formal, with many courses of pheasant and lamb and trout, as well as several types of wine. Emmeline did not have to lie when she said she felt unwell. She left Blythe with their father and his guests, Lord Seabrook and his father, the Duke of Stokesford. How her father had known just the right suitor to invite, Emmeline would never know.
As she returned to her chamber for her cloak, she told herself not to dwell on the fact that her father had never invited men home to meet her. She knew it would be far easier for him to marry off Blythe, with her radiant beauty and agreeable disposition.
The mansion was so large that Emmeline had no difficulty eluding servants on her way outside, and the light of the half-moon guided her down the gravel paths to the stables. The familiar evening sounds of her home made her spirit ease. She could hear the boats on the Thames, their owners calling to one another across the water. Insects buzzed and chirped within the garden. Though a cold breeze ruffled her cloak and slid beneath her hood, she was thankful for the coolness on her flushed face.
She did not like lying to her father, liked even less how disappointed Sir Alexander would be to see her instead of Blythe. What had their correspondance this week said?
When she reached the stables, she avoided the warm room at the front used by the grooms, horse trainers and stable boys. As she passed close to the wall, she could hear their laughter, and knew there would be cards and dice aplenty.
She slipped in between the stalls, reaching out to pet one horse after another, shushing their neighs and murmuring to them.
Suddenly, she bumped into what she had thought was a shadow. She gave a startled cry, and the “shadow” reached out to grab her, putting a hand over her mouth.