Why? Why? Why?
The questions had plagued him until he had at last determined that he could not allow her to walk away without one last attempt to prove she was making a terrible mistake.
And so he had sent a note to his aunt and attired himself in a ridiculous toga with laurel leaves in his dark hair before heading to Mayford.
Now he was eager to discover Emma so that he could speak with her alone.
Using his considerable height to scan the vast crowd, his search was abruptly interrupted as his aunt gave a cry of delight and hurried forward.
“Cedric, at last. How dashing you look.”
Cedric widened his smile as he glanced down at the silk toga. “Yes, I thought it rather dashing myself.”
Cassie leveled him a shrewd gaze. “Apollo, are you not?”
“How did you guess?” he demanded.
“I suspected your choice of costume when you sent me the note requesting that Emma come as Daphne. It was Apollo, was it not, who was struck by Eros’ bow and fell hopelessly in love with the wood nymph?”
Cedric was uncertain what had prompted his impulsive desire to see Emma dressed as Daphne. Perhaps simply because the tragic tale so accurately reflected his own futile emotions.
“Yes.”
Cassie’s brow furrowed as she struggled to recall the sad tale.
“But did not Daphne repulse his advances and flee into the forest?”
His mouth twisted with wry humor. “Not only that, but she cried out to her father, the river god, to save her from Apollo’s determined pursuit, and he promptly turned her into a laurel tree.”
“Goodness, that is not very romantic,” Cassie protested.
“But unfortunately quite appropriate.”
She searched his dark features a moment before a sly smile curved her mouth.
“Do you seek to pursue Emma?”
A brief, disturbing memory of their passionate kiss in the conservatory rose to mind. Gads, he had not meant to lose control in such a fashion. He had intended to reassure her, nothing more. But the moment he touched her, he knew he was lost. The softness of her slender body, the flare of innocent desire in the emerald eyes, the pungent scent of flowers, all combined to send a rush of hungry need surging through his body.
He wanted her. Wanted her with a force he had never before experienced.
And he was not entirely certain that if she had not halted him he would not have taken her there and then.
He gave a shake of his head. “I fear that any such effort would be as futile as Apollo’s quest.”
“Yes, she does seem to be a bit skittish,” Cassie agreed. “Perhaps it would be best to woo rather than pursue her.”
Cedric felt his heart clench with an awful pain. “Wise words, no doubt, but my attempts to woo have proven to be singularly ineffective. And I no longer have the luxury of time.”
“What shall you do?”
“I haven’t the faintest notion.”
An expression of sympathy settled on the birdlike features. “All will be well, my dear.”
Cedric wished he possessed the same blithe ability to trust in fickle Fate. He far preferred to trust in his own efforts.
“Where is the minx?”
“I have her guarding the Valentine box.” Cassie waved toward a distant corner. “And do not forget that you must draw a name and pin it to your sleeve. We shall remove them at midnight so that you can discover your true Valentine. Such fun, do you not think?”
Cedric barely heard his aunt’s chatter as his gaze at last caught sight of the woman who had haunted his thoughts for the past five days.
At first he did not even recognize her.
Gone was the spinster in her shapeless gray gown and tightly bound bun at the back of her head. In her place was a ... temptress.
The gown in a green gauze with silver thread floated and sparkled around her slender form. Her golden hair had been left loose to flow past her shoulders with a crown of silver leaves encircling her head. Not even the green mask managed to distract from her stunning beauty.
“Good Lord,” Cedric exclaimed, feeling as if the breath had been kicked from his body.
“Do you approve?” Cassie teased, easily reading his stunned expression.
“I am not sure.” His startled gaze moved to the amazing amount of white skin exposed by the low-cut neckline. A stirring beneath his toga made him sternly rein in his wayward thoughts. “She will no doubt have every lecher in the room after her,” he muttered.
“It is rather a charming costume.”
He flashed her a speaking glance before plunging into the crowd with a determined expression. The only lecher who was going to be allowed close to Emma tonight was himself.
It took several exasperating minutes to force his way through the crush, but at last, physically shoving aside a slender gentleman attired as Cupid, he managed to halt next to Emma.
Busy pinning a slip of paper on the sleeve of a very round Romeo, she did not notice his approach until he leaned close to her and softly whispered in her ear.
“ ‘All but the nymph that should redress his wrong, attend his passion and approve his song.’ ”
“Cedric.” She stepped back with an awkward motion, her expression wary.
Hardly surprising, he acknowledged, considering his ill humor during their last encounter.
“Apollo,” he corrected her. “And you make a beautiful Daphne.”
Her tongue peeked out to wet her lips, and Cedric once again was forced to still that stirring beneath his toga. Dash it all, he had been so very careful not to allow his gaze to stray to the temptation of that indecent neckline.
“I suppose you came over to draw a name?” she abruptly demanded, holding out the box until he reluctantly plucked a folded paper so she could pin it to the edge of his toga. “You cannot look at it until midnight.”
“Unlike my aunt, I have no belief in such foolish superstition.”
Her gaze tentatively lifted to his own. “No?”
“No,” he said huskily. “I have no need to pin a lady’s name to my sleeve to know that she has found a place in my heart.”
The emerald eyes widened at the unmistakable meaning in his words, but with her usual perverse manner she hastily attempted to divert him.
“Your aunt must be pleased with such a turnout. I believe that everyone who received an invitation must be here.”
“Cassie is a great favorite among the neighborhood.”
“Yes.”
Not about to waste the evening with banal chatter, Cedric stepped closer.
“Dance with me, Emma.”
She gave an anxious shake of her head. “I do not care much for dancing, I fear.”
“Perhaps because you have not had the proper partner.” Reaching out to firmly grasp her hand, he placed it on his arm and tugged her toward the couples preparing for the next dance.
Within moments they were moving in the familiar patterns. “This is not so horrid, is it?” he demanded as they came together.
“I feel as if everyone is staring at me,” she muttered.
His lips twisted, well aware that at least every male was staring. How could they not?
“Of course they are, my dear,” he forced himself to say in light tones. “You are very beautiful.”
She gave a sudden frown. “I am not beautiful.”
“I will agree that you try to hide your beauty behind those hideous gray gowns,” he admitted. “But tonight you are ... breathtaking.”
A hint of color stained her cheeks as she hastily glanced toward the nearby dancers.
“You should not say such things. What if someone were to overhear you?”
Cedric merely smiled as he edged her toward the mingling crowd, then suddenly tugged her toward a nearby alcove.
“You are perfectly correct, my dear. We need to be somewhere that we can be alone.”
Startled by his unexpected maneuver, Emma allowed herself to be led unresisting
past the guests and even through the darkness of the alcove to the door that led to the garden.
It was not until they were actually upon the terrace that she belatedly dug in her heels.
“What are you doing?”
Glancing down at her delicate face, Cedric felt his heart lurch. With a smooth motion he tore off his mask and reached out to remove Emma’s from her lovely countenance. He dropped them to the terrace without concern for their safety.
“This is where you belong, my Daphne,” he whispered. “Among the shadows and silver moonlight.”
She shivered, although he did not think it was entirely due to the crisp air.
“Lady Hartshore will wonder where we have gone.”
With commendable restraint Cedric resisted the urge to trace the fine lines of her countenance. Her beauty was astonishingly luminous in the silver light.
“She is far too occupied to notice we are missing.”
“Still, I should be at hand in case she is in need of me.”
He strategically moved to block her path to the ballroom. This might be his last opportunity to speak with her alone. He was determined to have his say.
“My aunt will have to accustom herself to being without your services,” he pointed out in low tones.
She flinched, her gaze abruptly lowering. “Yes, I suppose.”
“Have you packed your bags?”
“Yes.”
He drew in a steadying breath, wanting nothing more than to toss her over his shoulder and lock her in the nearest dungeon.
“And you received my bank draft?”
“Yes,” she breathed so low, he could barely hear the word.
“So there is nothing left to keep you in Kent.”
Her hands fluttered to press to her stomach. “I wish you would not make this more difficult.”
Difficult? She thought he was making the situation difficult? Bloody hell. She was the one who was keeping barriers between them. Who refused to admit the attraction between them. Who was more determined to keep her secrets than open her heart to those who wished to love her.
“Unlike you, Emma, I cannot hide from my emotions. I cannot pretend that it does not matter if you stay or leave.”
She held out her hand. “No, please.”
“Stay, Emma,” he ground out, moving to grasp her shoulders in a tight grip. “Stay with me.”
Her gaze flew upward, wide with distress. “I cannot.”
“Cannot or will not?”
“Surely it amounts to the same thing?”
It did, of course, but the knowledge did nothing to ease the pain lancing through his body.
“At least tell me why, Emma. I deserve an explanation.”
Just for a moment her lips parted, as if half of her wished to confess the truth. Then she was giving a sharp shake of her head.
“I cannot.”
“Emma . . . if you are in trouble, you have only to tell me. Together we can face anything.”
Her body trembled beneath his hands. “Not this.”
A sharp flare of anger raced through his body. “Dammit, Emma, I cannot help if you will not trust me,” he growled. “Tell me.”
“No.” She gave a wild shake of her head. “I cannot.”
“Emma.”
He was uncertain what he intended to say, but in the end it did not matter as she abruptly jerked from his grasp, and before he could halt her, she had raced across the terrace and disappeared into the shadows of the garden.
Closing his eyes, Cedric cursed his clumsy handling of the situation, the proprieties that insisted he did not chase after her into the dark garden, and most of all the vexing minx who was threatening to drive him to Bedlam.
Dammit all.
* * *
Emma knew she was behaving like a frightened child. Mature, sensible ladies did not bolt into dark gardens in the midst of a Valentine ball.
But at the moment she did not feel mature or particularly sensible.
She felt as if her heart were being slowly crushed by some brutal force.
Dear Lord, how tempted she had been to confess the truth. To reveal that she was the daughter of the Devilish Dandy and that her father was currently pretending to be Mr. Winchell.
She had no doubt that he would have pulled her into his arms and assured her that it made no difference to him. His heart was too noble, too true to be altered by whatever she might confess.
And that was precisely the problem, she acknowledged with a choked sob.
How could she possibly allow him to shoulder the scandal of the Devilish Dandy?
It was one thing to have an aunt who chatted with ghosts and an uncle who paraded around like a pirate. It was quite another to take on a notorious thief who might even now be clearing Hartshore Park of its finer works of art.
No. He was too good a man to taint with such shame. And more important she cared too deeply to allow him to make such a sacrifice.
She shivered as the icy breeze swirled around her. As much as she might long to remain hidden in the silent garden, she knew she would swiftly freeze.
Besides, whatever Cedric’s words to the contrary, she was well aware Lady Hartshore would be expecting her to be at her side.
Moving back toward the terrace, she caught the faint whiff of a cheroot, then, as she neared the steps, she realized that two gentlemen were leaning against the stone railing.
She paused, debating whether to slip to a side door or risk the suspicion of arriving unescorted from the garden, when the sound of their voices floated downward.
“Are you certain?” a flamboyantly attired Casanova demanded.
“Of course I am certain,” a heavyset Caesar retorted. “I heard it from the magistrate only a few moments ago.”
“Well, if he believes the man to be the Devilish Dandy, then why the deuce does he not simply capture him?”
Emma clamped a hand over her mouth to keep herself from crying out in dismay. Dear heavens, it was what she had feared above all else. Somehow her father had been recognized.
“Because he cannot be certain,” Caesar was continuing, thankfully unaware of the slender woman shivering in the shadows. “He has only the word of Lady Mosley, who swears he is the same gentleman who visited twenty years ago and made off with her rubies.”
“That old tabbie?” Casanova gave a loud snort. “Fah, she would claim that her chef was Napoleon if she thought it would gain her a bit of notoriety.”
“True enough, which is why Malton has sent to London for a Runner who has actually seen the Dandy. If it is a bust, then no harm done and the poor sod will never know he was fingered as a thief. If it is him, then he shall soon be receiving his just rewards.”
Emma’s thoughts were racing as she wrapped her arms around her frozen form.
They were not yet certain, she acknowledged numbly. They had only the vague memories of a woman prone to exaggerate the most trifling incident. Which meant that her father had until the Runner arrived to disappear from Kent.
“I’ll wager it’s a bust,” Casanova scoffed. “What would a gent like the Devilish Dandy be doing in Kent?”
“Lady Hartshore possesses some fine jewels, and you won’t find a better collection of art than at Hartshore Park.”
“Mayhap, but hardly to the taste of the Devilish Dandy. It was said he returned a diamond tiara he had stolen from Lady Dunwell with a note that claimed the stones were of such an inferior quality that he feared Lord Dunwell must be a wretched skinflint and he could not possibly in good conscience steal her paltry baubles. She was so humiliated, she fled to the country until Lord Dunwell agreed to provide her with a decent set of jewels.”
“Still, it would make a rousing good story if it were him,” Caesar mused, clearly hoping the famous thief was lurking among them. “Just think of strolling into White’s with the information we brushed elbows with the Devilish Dandy.”
Emma felt a sick distaste roll through her stomach at the man’s vain desire to see a man ha
ng so he could impress the members of his club.
Casanova, however, was clearly struck by the notion of creating such a dash among his peers.
“That would make them blighters sit up and take notice. Can’t abide their manner of staring down their London noses as if we smell of the country.”
“Remember Wilford? He was practically mobbed when it was learned he had been standing next to the Dandy when he was arrested.”
Emma had endured enough of their preening delight in the thought of using her father’s capture to better their standing among the London snobs. Besides, she had no notion when the magistrate had sent for the Runner. For all she knew, he might even now be racing his way to Kent. She had to act swiftly if she were to save her father from certain death.
Moving as silently as her stiff limbs would allow, she backed away from the terrace, then skirting the house, she hurried to a side door that would allow her to enter unnoted.
She had not seen her father arrive at the ball, but she knew beyond a doubt that the ambitious vicar would never miss the social event of the year. He would also insist Mr. Winchell be close at hand to view his privileged status among the fashionable families.
Entering the house, she took a moment to allow the welcome warmth to unthaw her trembling body before hurrying down the long corridor toward the ballroom.
The sound of music and laughter echoed through the air long before she reached the doors of the ballroom. But even as her steps picked up speed, a large, decidedly male form abruptly detached itself from the shadows along the wall.
Unprepared for the sudden obstruction in her path, Emma was unable to halt in time to avoid crashing into the solid body.
She reeled backward, but before she could fall, a pair of strong arms encircled her waist and pulled her upright.
“Emma,” a familiar male voice muttered in exasperation.
Glancing into Cedric’s dark features, Emma forgot she was deeply dreading encountering this gentleman after their earlier argument. For the moment she could think of nothing beyond the danger to her father.
When You Wish Page 33
