by Julia Quinn
“Sophie,” she breathed reverently. “I can’t believe you actually grew up here. I feel like a princess just standing in front of it.”
Sophie smiled. “I suppose one gets used to the things one grows up around. But you must see the rest. The back courtyards are really quite lovely.”
“I had hoped Alex might show her the rest.” Sophie, Emma, and Belle turned around to see Eugenia walking up to them. Several yards away, Henry was helping his wife down from their carriage, and Alex was being mauled by Charlie.
“Oh, I would love to see more,” Emma exclaimed. “I do so love to get out into the country, and the weather is truly perfect.” Sure enough, the gods had been smiling on England that day. The sky was cerulean blue, lightly dotted with fluffy clouds, and the sun shone warmly on Emma’s face.
“Alex!” Eugenia called out. “If you can manage to unwrap Charlie from around your neck, I would like you to show Emma a bit of the area.”
Emma turned to Belle as Alex tried to loosen Charlie’s viselike grip. “Why don’t you join us, Belle?”
“Oh no,” Belle answered, a little too quickly. “I really couldn’t. I accidentally took two copies of King Henry IV, Part II from our library this morning.” She held up two volumes, both bound in crimson leather, which she had brought into the carriage in case Sophie and Emma had decided to take naps. “I really need to get a copy of King Henry IV, Part I right away, and Sophie has promised me that I may borrow it from the library here. I don’t know why we have two copies of the second part at home…” Her words trailed off.
“I can’t imagine,” Emma said, well aware that just about everybody had been planning for this moment.
“I can’t very well read Part II before Part I,” Belle added. “That would be like reading the last few pages of a novel before you started it.”
“Not to mention how disruptive that would be to your alphabetic order,” Emma put in, not without a small close of sarcasm.
“I hadn’t even thought of that,” Belle exclaimed. “Now it is even more imperative that I get my hands on that play.”
“Do not question providence,” Alex advised as he took Emma’s arm, Charlie loping along behind him. “Why don’t you get changed into your riding habit, and I’ll give you a tour. We’ll do the fields now while the sun is out, and I’ll show you ’round the house this evening.”
Charlie immediately wedged his way between the couple and started jumping up and down. “Can I come, too? Please, please may I come?” he chirped.
“Not this time, dear,” Sophie hastily interjected. “I think you should check on Cleopatra. Mrs. Goode tells me she’s due to have kittens very soon. Perhaps even this weekend.”
The possibility of kittens proved to be far more exciting than a ride through the nearby fields with Alex and Emma, and Charlie quickly yelped, “Brilliant!” and tore off toward the kitchens, where the black and gold cat made her home right next to one of the ovens.
Within twenty minutes, Emma had settled into her spacious room in the west wing, changed into a fashionable midnight-blue riding habit, and hurried back to the front of the house, where Alex was already waiting for her. He was standing on the front steps, staring at some far off grassy hill when Emma arrived. She silently studied his finely chiseled profile, thinking that she had never seen him look as handsome as he did right at that moment in his expertly cut bottle-green jacket and buff-colored breeches. Her emotions had been in a jumble since their passionate kiss a few nights earlier, and the mere sight of him staring so resolutely into the distance set them churning anew. Emma sighed softly, wondering if she would ever regain her internal balance around this complex man. At the sound of her sigh, Alex turned abruptly to face her, his expression still so serious that Emma suddenly felt terribly self-conscious. Smiling shyly, she smoothed down the blue skirts of her dress with her hands. She parted her lips to speak but couldn’t think of anything to say. For the past few months, she and Alex had settled into a comfortable, friendly relationship, constantly bantering with one another as if they had been friends since childhood. But Alex was right. The kiss in the Lindworthys’ garden had altered their friendship, and she felt almost as awkward as she had when they had first met.
“I trust your room is suitable?” Alex inquired suddenly.
Emma quickly looked up into his face. The highly charged silence had been broken, and while she missed the sense of intimacy she’d found in his intense stare, she welcomed the return of her wits. “Of course. Your home is lovely. Although,” she said laughingly, “I swear I’ll never get used to the size of your foyer. I could fit my entire Boston townhouse in it. It would be a close fit in height, however. I might crush your chandeliers.” Emma looked up at the crystal chandeliers that dangled from the ceiling, some forty or fifty feet above her. “However does one clean those?”
Alex smiled as he took her arm. “Very carefully, I imagine.” He motioned toward the stables, and the two of them descended the steps and strolled in that direction. “I thought I might show you some of Westonbirt on horseback,” Alex said, “because it’s really a bit too large to do on foot.”
Emma smiled in anticipation. “I haven’t ridden in ages,” she breathed.
Alex looked down at her with disbelief. “Really, Emma, I see you in Hyde Park all the time on that cozy little white mare of your cousin’s.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Goodness, you cannot call that riding. One can barely trot in that congested park, much less gallop. Besides, even if I could gallop, people would be talking about my scandalous behavior for weeks.” Emma made a face. “One would think people would have something more interesting to talk about, wouldn’t one?”
Alex narrowed his eyes as he looked down at her. “Why do I get the feeling we’re no longer talking about a hypothetical situation?”
“It’s possible that I might have ridden my mare through the park at something that could have been described as ‘breakneck’ speed,” Emma conceded, her face a picture of innocence.
He chuckled. “And people talked about it for weeks?” At her nod, he mused, “I wonder why I didn’t hear about it.”
This time it was Emma’s turn to laugh. “I am afraid no one is brave enough to mention my name in your presence, much less malign me in any way.” She broke free of his grasp and skipped toward the stables, lifting her dark skirts up so that she could move quickly. Turning around to face him, she called out, “It’s marvelous, really. You’ll never find out about all the shocking things I do, and so I can enjoy a positively angelic reputation in your eyes!”
Alex increased his stride. “‘Angelic’ is not quite the word that comes to mind.”
“Oh?” She continued walking backwards, glancing behind her every few moments to make sure she didn’t trip over a tree root.
“‘Hellion’ is considerably more appropriate.”
“Ah, but ‘angelic’ is an adjective and ‘hellion’ is a noun, so you cannot use one in the place of the other.”
“God save me from educated females,” Alex muttered.
Emma paused for a second, wagging her finger at him. “I heard that, you louse.”
“I cannot believe you just called me a louse.”
“I’m the only one brave enough to do it.”
“I’ll say,” Alex replied, his expression petulant.
“Besides,” Emma said, continuing her backwards move toward the stables, “educated women are far more interesting than uneducated ones.”
“So the educated women keep telling me.”
Emma stuck out her tongue.
“I’d stop now,” Alex advised.
She smiled archly. “Do you think I’m not a worthy adversary?”
“Not at all,” he said with utmost composure. “I meant you should stop walking. You’re about to fall into a trough.”
Emma yelped and jumped forward. Turning quickly around, she saw that Alex had not been joking with her and, indeed, she’d just been saved from a soaking. “That w
ater doesn’t look terribly clean,” she commented, scrunching up her nose.
“Its odor also appears to be considerably less than pleasant.”
“Well,” she declared, “I suppose I ought to thank you.”
“That would be a delightful change,” he said, smiling.
She ignored him. “I imagine I’ll have to watch where I’m going from now on.”
“Perhaps you’ll accept my escort?”
She smiled sunnily. “But of course.”
Emma took Alex’s arm as they walked the rest of the short distance to the stables. When they arrived they were immediately met by a groom, who led out two horses.
“Mrs. Goode sent over a picnic lunch, yer grace. It’s waiting for you over there on the bench.” The groom handed the reins to Alex.
“Excellent,” Alex replied. “And thank you for getting the horses ready for me on such short notice.”
The groom beamed. “It were no trouble at all, yer grace, no trouble at all,” he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Alex led the horses out into the open. “Here you are, love,” he said, handing Emma the reins to a spirited chestnut mare.
“Oh, she’s gorgeous,” Emma sighed, stroking the mare’s shiny coat. “What do you call her?”
“Delilah.”
“That’s encouraging,” she muttered. “I suppose yours is called Samson.”
“Good God, no,” Alex responded. “That could prove to be far too dangerous.”
Emma looked at him suspiciously, wondered if he were talking about something other than horses, and then decided against saying anything.
Alex quickly grabbed the picnic lunch that his housekeeper had put into a sack for them, and they mounted their horses and were off.
They started out at a trot, moving fairly slowly since Emma was avidly interested in the scenery. Westonbirt was a fertile land of rolling green hills, liberally dotted with pale pink and white wildflowers. Although a great deal of the estate had been used for agriculture for several centuries, the wide fields that immediately bordered the house had been left unfarmed so that the family could enjoy all of the benefits of the countryside in relative privacy. The section through which they were riding was not heavily wooded, although it did possess several large, sturdy oaks that Emma was convinced would make excellent climbing trees. Smiling contentedly, she took a deep breath of the fresh, country air.
Alex smiled at her audible sigh. “It’s different out here, isn’t it?” he commented.
“Hmmm?” Emma was too content to formulate a complete sentence.
“The air. It’s cleaner. It almost tastes good to breathe.”
She nodded. “I feel as if I’m purifying myself with each breath, washing away the London grime from the inside out. I don’t think I had realized how much I’d missed the country until I got here.”
“I feel the same way every time I’m able to escape town,” Alex agreed with a wry smile. “But then after a few weeks I find I’m bored almost to the state of tears.”
“Perhaps,” Emma said boldly, “you haven’t had the right company.”
Alex turned his head to face her, slowing his horse to a halt as he looked at her closely. Emma stopped her horse as well, returning his direct gaze. After a few long moments, Alex finally broke the silence. “Perhaps,” he said, so softly Emma could barely hear him. He tore his eyes from her and looked straight ahead, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Do you see that tree ahead?” he asked. “Up on the ridge?”
“The one with the peach-colored blossoms?”
Alex nodded sharply. “Yes. I’ll race you to it. And I’ll even give you a head start, since you’re trapped on that monstrous invention they call a sidesaddle.”
Emma didn’t say a word. Nor did she wait for Alex to yell “go.” She simply took off at breakneck speed. When she arrived at the finish line (or rather, the finish tree), one length ahead of Alex, she was laughing with delight, both at her winning the race and at the glorious feeling of complete abandon. Her hair had almost completely broken free of its topknot, and she reached up to unfasten the rest, unselfconsciously shaking her head to let the fiery locks roll down her back.
Alex fought the urge to let himself become captivated by her seductive movement. “You might have waited for the race to begin,” he said with an indulgent smile.
“Yes, but then I probably wouldn’t have won.”
“The point of a horse race is that the best rider should win.”
“The point of this horse race,” Emma replied, “was that the most quick-witted rider won.”
“I can see I’m not going to win this argument.”
Emma smiled innocently. “Are we arguing?”
Alex cleared his throat. “I can see I’m not going to win this discussion.”
“Can one win a discussion?”
“If one can,” he said in a resigned tone, “I am certainly not doing so.”
“You’re very astute.”
“You’re very stubborn.”
“My father has been complaining about it for twenty years.”
“Then I suggest we break for sustenance,” Alex said with a sigh. He dismounted quickly, taking with him the satchel with the picnic lunch that the groom had handed him.
“By the way,” Emma said as Alex reached up and slid her out of the saddle. “You never did tell me what the name of your horse was.”
“Cicero.” Alex flashed her a smile as he spread a brightly colored blanket on the ground.
“Cicero?” Emma looked over at him with disbelief. “I had no idea you were so fond of Latin.”
“I hate it.” Alex grimaced as he remembered hellish Latin lessons at the hands of his boyhood tutors and then later at Eton and Oxford. He sat on the blanket and started to pull food out of the satchel. “I detest it.”
“Then why did you name your horse after a Latin orator?” Emma laughed softly as she lifted her skirts slightly above her ankles, daintily settling onto the blanket across from Alex.
He smiled boyishly and tossed her an apple. “Don’t know, really. Just liked the sound of it.”
“Oh. Well, that’s as good a reason as any, I suppose. I was never terribly fond of Latin myself. It’s not as if you could actually talk to anyone with it— besides a few clergymen, I suppose.”
As Emma rolled the apple between her palms, Alex reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of wine and two elegant glasses that had been wrapped in a piece of flannel to keep them from breaking. When he looked back up, Emma was leaning down away from him, studying a small pink wildflower. He gazed down at her and sighed, thinking that he couldn’t imagine a more pleasant way to spend an afternoon than riding aimlessly around Westonbirt with Emma. That disturbed him. He didn’t like the fact that his happiness and peace of mind were slowly growing dependent on the bewitching, auburn-haired woman seated across from him. When she had come down the stairs earlier that afternoon, she’d looked so heartbreakingly beautiful he had thought he’d been paralyzed. And he knew that she felt the same attraction. He could see it in her eyes. Emma didn’t know how to hide her emotions.
But he had to admit to himself—it wasn’t just that he was attracted to Emma. Put simply, he liked her. Her wit was razor-sharp, she was as well educated—if not better—than most of the men he knew, and unlike most of the ton, she knew how to make a joke without insulting someone in the process. His friends and family kept telling him that he ought to snatch her up, marry her before someone else did or she went back to Boston.
But he absolutely, positively, did not want to be married.
But then again, he was going to go insane if he didn’t make love to her soon.
He looked over at her again. She was still examining the wildflower, pursing her lips in thought as she turned it over to look at its underside. Was she really worth the price of his freedom? Was anyone?
He ran his fingers through his thick hair. Lately he’d been getting kind of depressed when he didn’
t see her at least once a day.
Emma suddenly looked up, her violet eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Alex?” she inquired, holding out the blossom she’d been examining.
Alex sighed as he met her gaze. He wondered if she’d mind if he threw her down on the blanket and tore off her clothing.
“Have you ever looked at one of these flowers?” she asked. “I mean really looked at it? It’s quite fascinating.”
She looked heartbreakingly innocent. Even more so than usual. Alex sighed again. She’d probably mind.
Chapter 11
Emma immediately noticed the predatory gleam in Alex’s eye and braced herself for his attack.
Well, “braced” was perhaps not the most accurate word, she soon decided, recognizing the telltale fluttering of her stomach and quickening of her breath. With a barely audible sigh, Emma cursed herself for her weakness around this man. She gazed up at the handsome face that had become so achingly familiar to her. Alex’s green eyes glowed with the promise of something she didn’t quite understand but somehow yearned for all the same. Emma swallowed convulsively and wet her lips, lost in his emerald stare. Nervously, she caught her lower lip between her teeth and lowered her violet eyes. If she was going to be honest with herself— and she was desperately trying to do so, regardless of how difficult that task was proving to be—she really had to admit that the truth of the matter was that she wasn’t “bracing” herself for anything. In fact, she was eagerly awaiting Alex’s next move.
It was all no matter anyway, because Alex didn’t “attack,” and it was soon apparent that he had no plans in that direction. When Emma turned away, he did not reach over and touch her chin to raise her eyes back to his. Nor did he make any attempt to pull her into his arms. Rather, he turned back to the forgotten bottle of wine in his right hand and busied himself uncorking it.
Emma pushed an errant strand of fiery hair behind her ear and sighed again, wondering how long she and Alex were going to continue in this state of nearly constant tension. She hadn’t the least idea how the situation could be resolved, nor could she guess what the outcome would be, but she felt that somebody was going to have to do something, and soon. She looked up at Alex, who was pulling the cork out of the wine bottle with a flourish. “Do you need any help with anything?” she inquired politely, mentally scolding herself for not having the courage to say something bold.
