“I believe you’ve taken care of the problem. You’re making a habit of doing that.” She forced an awkward smile. “Oh, look, the sun is peeking through.” She took hold of the umbrella, nonetheless, and then handed him his hat.
He’d left the house feeling melancholy. She’d managed to cheer him up while he’d done a bang-up job of shaking her confidence—the very last thing she needed.
“You haven’t changed your mind about eloping with Miss Mossant, have you?”
Hell, he’d nearly forgotten all about the girl. From what Nottingham and Prescott had been discussing over billiards, she needed to marry desperately. Her reputation would never survive her current scandal. He only wished he could see his father’s face when he received the news.
“I gave you my word. I don’t imagine she’s interested in a long engagement?”
“She needs to marry right away. It’s just that…” Miss Goodnight gathered up the umbrella and stepped out from beneath the gazebo.
“Just that what?” Marcus prodded, stepping out behind her. He’d not be left in the dark if his intended had misgivings.
“She’s being… difficult.” At his questioning look, she continued hurriedly, “Oh, not because she is reluctant, mind you, but because, well, I suppose it’s rather because she’s such a good friend.”
The rain had stopped, and a small edge of the sun peeked through the clouds. “I’m afraid you’ll have to explain further. I’ve made attempts my entire life, but I’m afraid I fail spectacularly as a mind reader.” And he would know all the pertinent details surrounding his own engagement.
“She insists I secure an offer for myself before she’ll do anything.”
“Before she’ll elope?”
“Yes.” She twisted her mouth into something between a smile and a scowl. “So, you understand my plight. If I’m to be as faithful a friend as Rhoda, it’s rather urgent that I secure myself some sort of offer. And I suppose I’d prefer Lord Carlisle of the two.”
Marcus considered the situation as they strolled along the sponge-like trail. Women! Always manipulating. He wondered if his mother and sister were as meddlesome. It bothered him. The fact that he didn’t know. The fact that they’d become like strangers.
And then he dismissed the notion. His father wouldn’t allow them to manage such affairs on their own. The duke would always decide such matters for all of them.
Why wasn’t Miss Goodnight’s father watching out for her?
“I suppose I’d take the lieutenant if he were to ask. I’m running out of time.”
He stopped her. “What of your parents? Shouldn’t they have a say in all of this?”
“My mother has given up on me.” She handed him the umbrella and crouched down. “You tied my shoe too tight.” She proceeded to retie his knot. “And my father defers to my mother.” When she rose to her full height once again, she eyed him. “You’ve seen my mother, haven’t you? She’s been a beauty all her life. I’m quite the disappointment.”
He’d had it. Taking her chin in his gloved hand, he lifted her face so that she’d have no choice but to meet his gaze. “You, Miss Goodnight, are a beauty in your own right. You will capture whichever gentleman you wish.”
She went from looking surprised, to hopeful, to doubtful.
He swept the tip of his thumb across her lower lip and then leaned forward to replace it with his mouth.
“Whichever.”
He ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth coaxingly.
“Gentleman.”
He turned his face at an angle and sipped at the nectar of her mouth more searchingly.
“You wish.”
He then pulled at her tongue, wanting to engulf her more fully but also knowing this kiss wasn’t about him.
When he released her, he allowed but a few inches between them. “Do you understand?”
The doubt in her eyes had fled, and bewilderment replaced it. But she nodded nonetheless.
Marcus felt better for injecting some confidence into this serious-minded young lady. But in the back of his mind, a new unease took root. He enjoyed kissing her. These protective instincts were evolving into something more… complicated. He winged his arm. “Shall we join the others then?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Quarry captured
Emily knew that in order to stand any chance of extracting an offer from Lord Carlisle, she needed to spend some time alone with him. She needed to do so right away so that Lord Blakely would leave Eden’s Court with Rhoda and stop inciting all sorts of carnal imaginings in her own wayward brain!
He’d kissed her again!
Oh, she knew it was only to prove some sort of point. He’d felt sorry for her again. But it hadn’t felt like pity at the time. It had felt like seduction, and romance, and something else… It had incited that heat blossoming in her core, an urge that had her clenching her thighs together.
She could not allow herself to have such thoughts for her best friend’s intended husband!
And so, all throughout the rest of the day, and dinner, she kept her sights firmly focused upon Carlisle. Such an angelically handsome gentleman would make for a fine husband indeed.
It wasn’t until after dinner, however, that the perfect occasion presented itself.
“Let’s play Sardines! Shall we?” Sophia and Rhoda had been conniving again, but this time, Emily quite approved. Interesting opportunities always arose while playing Sardines. She’d make sure one arose for her.
Even if it involved cheating. The thought curled inside, but Emily could not afford to put matters off. What if Carlisle left the party early? Or Blakely? She’d learned long ago not to depend upon luck.
Emily met Sophia’s gaze and nodded firmly. “Splendid idea, Soph.” Guilt found her again, but she silenced it with the affirmation that she was doing this for Rhoda. Well, partly for herself, but mostly for Rhoda.
But what about poor Lord Carlisle? That niggling voice persisted. Shouldn’t he be given the opportunity to choose his own wife? Should he not be awarded his own chance at love?
She argued back that he was nearly three decades old, at least. If he’d been searching for love, wouldn’t he have found it already? And it wasn’t as though Emily wouldn’t be a good wife to him. She supposed she’d eventually grow rather fond of him.
“Just so everyone knows the rules. One person hides. After the others count to one hundred, they seek the person out. When they discover him or her, they take cover as well. The last person to find the packed-in sardines is the loser.”
“Any rules about where a person can hide, Soph?” Rhoda piped in.
“Er…” Sophia looked adorably thoughtful. “Bedchambers are off limits. And the nursery, of course.”
“Of course,” Cecily agreed.
“Very well. Who shall be the first person to hide?” Coleus’ enthusiasm looked hardly containable.
“I’ll think of a number between one and twenty. Whoever comes the closest wins.” And then she winked at Emily.
Of course, Lord Carlisle’s number was closest to Sophia’s.
The earl smiled obligingly and rose. “No bedchambers and avoid the nursery, then.” At Sophia’s nod, he walked toward the door.
“Everybody close their eyes now.” Sophia hushed those who complained of this, in case the person who was “it” wanted to hide within the drawing room, and then she began slowly counting. When everybody’s eyes were closed, she waved Emily out of the room.
Emily crept out, guessing that the earl would remain downstairs. He wouldn’t truly wish to stay hidden for a very long time. He didn’t seem to be the competitive sort. Blakely would likely hide somewhere that would take forever…
But she wasn’t thinking about Blakely.
Carlisle. A former vicar…
He’d likely gone into one of the more public rooms. She heard a door close in that direction and followed the sound on tiptoes.
But he’d not gone into the library, she realized quickly.
He’d entered a closet. A thump and the sound of fabric scratching against the wall gave him away easily.
She sprinted back to the drawing room and entered quietly.
“Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred!” Everyone’s eyes opened.
Emily did her best to slow her breaths.
“Good Lord, Sophia,” Coleus complained. “You’re the slowest counter I’ve ever played with!”
But Emily didn’t wait around to listen. “I thought I heard him heading toward the attic,” she said, as though thinking out loud.
Most of the party took off toward the stairs. Rhoda smiled wickedly in her direction. “I imagine he’d head for the kitchens.” The other half followed Rhoda mindlessly.
Emily returned to the closet. She pinched her cheeks, tucked her spectacles into her skirt pocket, and checked her hair.
She then slipped inside.
As soon as she stepped in, she knew she’d been right. He wore a soothing cologne, or soap or whatnot. Bergamot. She sensed it immediately.
“Lord Carlisle?”
He groaned. “You found me in no time at all!”
But she knew what she must do. “Hush. We don’t wish to be discovered.” She sidled her way between some coats until one of her hands brushed up against him.
“Miss Goodnight?” It was very dark.
She squeezed her eyes tightly and pressed herself into the corner of the tiny room with him. Since some sort of box blocked her way, she simply stepped up and stood on top of it.
Definitely Lord Carlisle. Although not unpleasant, he didn’t evoke the same sensations she would have experienced if this had been a very different lord.
Stop it, Emily! Stop thinking like that this very second!
What would she do, though, if it were?
She could do this. She could.
Whichever. She could still remember the feel of him as he spoke against her lips.
Gentleman. He’d nipped so softly at the corner of her mouth.
You wish. Enough!
The words played out in her mind. Just the thought of him, of the rumbling feel of his mouth upon hers while he spoke, sent bolts of want coursing through her.
Emily raised her hands and rested them on Lord Carlisle’s chest. As he was pressed back against the wall, he couldn’t escape her touch, lest he shove her away from him.
“Miss Mossant?”
He thought she was Rhoda now? And then she realized, although the dress she wore belonged to Sophia, her perfume was one of Rhoda’s.
Firm hands settled upon her waist and pulled her closer.
“Tell me you aren’t engaged.” His voice sounded husky and demanding. Oh, my! She wouldn’t have thought a former vicar could sound so… domineering… so exciting. He thinks I’m Rhoda!
Rhoda had told Lord Carlisle of her plans to marry Blakely?
Emily shook her head.
“You aren’t, or you won’t tell me?” Now he sounded tender, cajoling… and… hurt?
The sound of footsteps vaguely penetrated Emily’s whirling thoughts.
She slid her arms up around Lord Carlisle’s neck and pressed herself into him. At the same time his lips met hers, the door burst open and light illuminated the tiny room.
“Miss Goodnight!” Rhoda’s mother cried.
“Lord Carlisle?” Rhoda whispered.
“Good God, Justin!” Of course, the duke.
And just behind the duke, even without her spectacles, Emily managed to make out Lord Blakely. Would he be proud of her, for taking matters into her own hands? Or disappointed in the manner she’d gone to achieve it.
She turned her head back to look up at Lord Carlisle. He was shaking his head, as though in something of a daze. “But I thought…” His voice trailed off. And then the horror of his situation dawned on him.
At that moment, Emily wondered if she hadn’t actually just made a very huge mistake.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Arrangements
All hell, most assuredly, broke loose.
Before anyone could say another word, Mrs. Mossant swooped into the closet and dragged Emily out into the foyer. With one arm in the matron’s vice-like grip, Emily used her other to don her spectacles so as not to miss anything going on around her. She did so just in time to see Prescott and Blakely scowling at Carlisle.
“What is the meaning of this? Miss Goodnight! And my dear Lord Carlisle! I had thought better of both of you!” Always a stickler, Rhoda’s mother was clearly unhappy at what she’d discovered.
Emily glanced into the closet and winced to see Lord Carlisle bent over, his hands resting upon his knees as though he’d just taken a blow to the gut.
“Your grace.” The older woman turned to Prescott now. “I expect you’ll have a word with the earl. Meanwhile, Rhoda, take Miss Goodnight to her room. Oh! This is horrible! Something’s going to have to be done to remedy this! Otherwise, it will reflect upon all of my girls!”
At this, Rhoda rolled her eyes.
Sophia and Cecily appeared, questions and concern clearly written on their faces. “Two of your guests have been caught acting scandalously, your grace.” Rhoda’s mother would never let this rest. While she went on to explain, in exaggerated detail, to her hostess what she’d discovered, Rhoda pulled Emily along toward their chambers.
Emily expected congratulations. She expected excitement and a cheer of victory once they closed her bedchamber door behind them.
Instead, Rhoda covered her face and moaned. “I can’t believe you did it! I can’t believe he did it! I’d thought he wasn’t the type. Why are all men destined to turn out to be disappointments?” Rhoda dropped into a chair in resignation.
“He’ll make an offer, won’t he?” Emily suddenly felt far less certain than she had while standing in the dark. But then a question occurred. “Why didn’t you tell me that you’d told Lord Carlisle about your engagement to Blakely?”
“He told you?” Rhoda’s eyes flared in anger. “Quite the little tete-e-tete the two of you shared.”
Was Rhoda… jealous?
She couldn’t be! “Lord Carlisle thought I was you.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Rhoda waved a hand away. “I’m at least six inches taller—”
“I was standing on a box. And I’m wearing your perfume, remember?’” Rhoda stilled at her words. “Rhoda, do you, are you—”
“No!” Rhoda responded vehemently. “I mean, he’s been a friend to me. But I… I’m not at all…” She smiled weakly. “You did it. You actually did it.”
“Well, you said you wouldn’t leave with Blakely until I did. Figured I’d best get it over with.” A pang shot through her at the thought of Blakely leaving Eden’s Court.
A tap at the door and Cecily slipped in.
“You two deserve to be thrashed!” Red faced and shrouded in disappointment, Cecily appeared angrier than Emily had ever seen her. “Did you plan this together? I’ve no doubt this was your idea.” She glared in Rhoda’s direction. But then she turned toward Emily. “But you cheated, I’d venture to guess, at the game. And now! Now there is a very kind, very innocent gentleman sitting in the duke’s study who’s going to have to offer for you. He’s going to have to make an offer due to no fault of his own. What you’ve done is utterly reprehensible!” A few red curls had escaped her coiffure and now hung in front of her face and down her back as she paced across the room. “How could you? How could you?”
Emily winced but Rhoda glared defiantly. “You don’t understand, Cecily.” She turned her face toward the window. “And you never will.”
“Why don’t you explain it to me then?” Cecily sat in the chair beside her. “You’ve been secretive for months now. We’re your friends, aren’t we? Tell us what’s wrong. I mean, besides the obvious. Besides the fact that St. John took advantage of you and then died. What else is bothering you? None of us are perfect. You know this! I made a horrible decision when I married Flavion, but all of you stood besi
de me. And then I committed adultery. Adultery, Rhoda. Whether it fit the legal definition or not, I lay with a man who was not the man I thought was my husband. What can you have possibly done that is any worse than that?”
Emily felt it happening again. “Why are you blaming Rhoda?” she demanded, surprising both the other women in the room at her outburst. “She had nothing to do with it. I compromised Lord Carlisle. I am the person responsible for that poor dear man sitting with Prescott now. And I’m glad.” She burst out of her seat and paced across to Rhoda. “Now Rhoda is free to marry Blakely without worrying about me. And she won’t have to worry about any stupid bets, or insincere praise… or worse! Now, if both of you will excuse me, I have some business to attend to.” She spun on her heels and opened the door.
“What business?” Rhoda asked.
“I’ve an elopement to plan.” And with that parting shot, she closed the door.
Where would he be? She stormed down the corridor toward the stairs, thinking she’d begin by looking in the billiard room. It was dark outside but not even midnight. Perhaps she could arrange for them to leave early in the morning.
She turned the corner and her heart sank when she came face to face with Prescott. Even in the shadows cast by the few candles lining the foyer, she knew it was him immediately.
She’d never spoken alone with this large, imposing man, who’d spent ten years in the army before inheriting one of the most powerful titles in all of England. But she’d requested his help. And oh, but hell, she’d just trapped one of his cousins into a betrothal.
“Miss Goodnight.” He nodded. “Sophia has gone in search of you. Perhaps you and I might have a word?
Emily straightened her spine. She would not be afraid of him. And she would follow up on her request. “Of course.”
He led her past a few large doors and then opened one before gesturing for her to precede him. When she entered, she understood the power of tradition, of legacy, of history. This room encompassed all of these things. Spicy wooden smells blended with the unmistakable scent of leather. She imagined most people who entered this room felt intimidated at one time or another.
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