‘Oh!’
‘Exactly.’ Ridley resumed his sketching. ‘It wouldn’t have been very sporting of me to spoil her surprise. Now, may we please move on to another topic?’
‘What did the two of you talk about?’
‘Emma!’
‘I’m just curious to know more about her. After all, she is going to be related to us through Linette’s marriage to Peter.’
Ridley’s face darkened. ‘Then you’ll have to ask her yourself. I don’t remember what we talked about.’
‘Did she mention Lord Stewart at all?’ Emma persisted.
‘No.’
‘Strange. You’d think she would have if the painting was to be a gift for him.’
‘Sometimes there’s just no accounting for the ways of the aristocracy.’
‘Was she pleased with her portrait?’
‘I believe so.’ He glanced from the wicker chair to his sketchpad, his hands constantly moving. ‘I painted her in the rose garden at Devonwood. She said she preferred that to a more traditional setting.’
‘How long did it take?’
‘A few weeks.’ Ridley deftly drew a few more lines so that, as Emma watched, not only the chair but the entire corner began to take shape. ‘She asked me to come at different times of the day so it was difficult to finish the painting without having to keep retouching the background. Mid-morning light is entirely different from afternoon light. It took me several days to get the warmth of her complexion and the variations of her hair colour just right.’
‘Yes, I’m sure it was,’ Emma murmured, watching his face. ‘You know she’s going to be at the ball.’
‘I suspected as much.’
‘Will you be all right with that?’
‘Of course. The lady engaged me to paint her portrait. I did. Nothing more to it.’
‘So when you see her again, there won’t be any feelings of awkwardness between you?’
‘Why should there be? I completed the commission and we parted. Most likely, she won’t even remember my name.’ Ridley closed the sketchpad and stood up. ‘People like that never do.’
He walked away, hands in his pockets, the sketchpad tucked under his arm, as though he hadn’t a care in the world—but Emma didn’t believe it for a moment. Ridley had always been good at making others believe what he wanted them to, but she had always been able to see through him because she knew where to look. The truth was there in his eyes. They were open and honest—sometimes in direct contrast to what came out of his mouth.
And the truth had been there just now, when he had talked about his feelings for Lady Glynnis. His mouth had said one thing, but his eyes had said something entirely different.
For once, Emma desperately wished that she could have believed the former.
* * *
The next afternoon, Emma sat with paintbrush in hand, staring at her own blank canvas. She wanted to believe that her inability to paint was the result of a lack of creative thought, but that was like trying to convince herself that the sky was purple and the clouds red.
How could she paint with everything that was going on around her? Her sister was about to enter into a marriage the groom’s parents didn’t approve of. She was unable to shake the feeling that Ridley hadn’t been honest with her about his previous encounters with Lady Glynnis Pettle. And, worst of all, she had to deal with the inappropriateness of her feelings for Alex.
If all that wasn’t enough to stifle creativity, she didn’t know what was!
Still, while there was nothing she could do about Linette’s or Ridley’s situations, there was definitely something she could do about hers—and that was to stop thinking about Alex. The man was all but engaged to another woman. A woman his family approved of and who was eminently more suited to being his wife than she ever would be.
She didn’t even know why she couldn’t stop thinking about him. It wasn’t as though she was lonely, or in need of male companionship. Emma was proud of her ability to find contentment without the presence of a man. Why, then, was his face the first thing she saw upon waking and the last thing she thought of at night?
It made absolutely no sense. Apart from that one afternoon when he had come to her rescue, Alex’s treatment of her had been utterly cordial and predictably correct. He had given her no encouragement, nor had she looked for any. And yet, the thought of seeing him at the Jacobs’s assembly tonight, and the knowledge that they would be dancing together, made her pulse race in a most alarming fashion. How silly that the thought of being held in his arms, that the anticipation of his hand closing around hers, should make it so difficult to breathe. Unfortunately as the carriage drew to a halt in front of the Jacobs’s sprawling house later that evening, Emma realised it was all she was able to think about.
‘Oh, look, Emma,’ Linette whispered as they made their way into the ballroom after greeting their host and hostess. ‘There’s Mr Taylor. And Lord Stewart is with him.’
As her sister raised her hand to wave at her fiancé, Emma smiled and glanced in the other direction. Linette could wear her heart on her sleeve if she wished, but she didn’t have that luxury when it came to Alex. She had to clamp down on these ridiculous urges and get them under control. She couldn’t risk making a fool of herself in front of everyone she knew.
Worse, she couldn’t make a fool of herself in front of him.
For that reason, she was exceedingly grateful when relief presented itself in the form of Mr John Tufton.
‘Good evening, Miss Darling,’ he said, coming up to them. ‘Miss Linette. How lovely you both look this evening.’
‘Thank you, Mr Tufton,’ Emma said. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’
‘I enjoy gatherings of this sort,’ the vicar said. ‘And though I don’t usually dance, it is very pleasant to watch others do so.’
‘Mr Tufton,’ Linette said, ‘I hope you won’t think me rude, but I would like to go and speak to Mr Taylor.’ She glanced at her sister. ‘Emma, do you mind?’
‘Of course not. I shall catch up with you later.’
Linette smiled and left them, all but skipping across the room in her eagerness to join her fiancé.
‘Your sister seems very happy,’ Mr Tufton remarked.
‘I have never seen her happier,’ Emma said softly. ‘I suppose that is a true indication of love.’ She watched them and was suddenly reminded of what Linette had said about the way people in love act. She saw Peter smile down at her, saw them briefly lean towards one another and touch hands, and then both blush and pull away again. Oh, yes, there was a very strong connection there. And to think Alex had asked her to try to break them up—
‘… excited about the wedding.’
Emma turned her head, aware that Mr Tufton must think her abominably rude. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Tufton. What were you saying about the wedding?’
‘Only that your sister must be very excited about it.’
‘You would think so, but in fact, she is dreading it.’
The vicar looked shocked. ‘She is?’
‘The ceremony,’ Emma said quickly. ‘Linette wants nothing more than to be Mr Taylor’s wife, but she is terribly shy and would much rather it be done without a great deal of fuss. However, she is marrying into the Earl of Widdicombe’s family and that calls for a certain amount of formality.’
‘Yes, I see what you mean,’ Mr Tufton said. ‘I should think it would be daunting for anyone, let alone someone as shy as Linette, to face the challenges that lie ahead. Especially given the dissension that I hear exists within the family over the marriage.’
Emma turned to look at him. ‘Dissension?’
‘There are those who say the earl is not pleased with his son’s choice of bride and that he is not going to attend the wedding. There has even been speculation that he isn’t here because of his refusal to meet her.’
‘The reason my father is not here,’ said a cold voice behind them, ‘is as a result of his ill health. It has nothing to do with his re
luctance to see my brother and Miss Linette celebrate their engagement.’
Emma blushed hotly. It was impossible to miss the note of irritation in Alex’s voice and Mr Tufton clearly had not. ‘Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Lord Stewart,’ he said quickly. ‘I was only repeating what I had heard.’
‘Then I suggest you verify your facts before passing along gossip. It does no one any good for lies to be taken as fact, Mr Tufton. You of all people should know that.’
Chastised, the vicar inclined his head. ‘Indeed I do, my lord. And I shall be more mindful of what I say in the future.’ With that, he bowed and walked away.
Emma, feeling decidedly sorry for the man, said, ‘You could have been more tactful.’
‘And he could have been more circumspect,’ Alex snapped. ‘I don’t care for a clergyman who gossips. Why my father isn’t here is no one’s business but his own.’
‘On the contrary, your brother is about to marry a woman your father hasn’t even met and on the two occasions where he might have done so, he was noticeably absent,’ Emma said boldly. ‘Questions are bound to be raised in other people’s minds.’
‘I repeat, my father is not well.’
‘But he has not even sent her a letter saying how sorry he is that he has had to miss both occasions. So naturally, Linette is imagining all manner of reasons as to why he hasn’t come. She believes he has taken her in dislike.’
‘Does that surprise you?’ Alex replied. ‘Have I not already told you that neither he nor my mother are happy about the marriage?’
‘But if your mother can set aside her feelings, why can your father not do the same? You said yourself the marriage is going to take place.’
‘Only because Peter will consider nothing else.’
‘Then does it not behove both of your parents to come to terms with the arrangement as quickly as possible? For the benefit of all concerned?’
Emma hated arguing with him, but she simply could not let his father’s continued absence at these gatherings go unchallenged. Surely he could see that other people must find it questionable in the extreme.
‘Good Lord, Emma, what are you and my future brother-in-law talking about?’ Ridley said, suddenly appearing on the scene. ‘If looks could kill, I swear you’d both be lying dead on the floor.’
Emma felt her cheeks burn, but Alex rose to the occasion masterfully. ‘It is nothing to be concerned about, Mr Darling. Your sister and I were simply discussing the painting she has agreed to do for me.’
Emma glanced at Alex in horror, but Ridley was even more shocked. ‘Emma is doing a painting for you? Good Lord, and here I thought I was the only artist in the family.’
‘You are the only artist!’ Emma said, blushing furiously. ‘Lord Stewart happened upon me one day as I was painting a dragonfly and said he wanted one of my paintings—’
‘Of a dragonfly?’
‘No, silly! Of something of his own choosing.’
‘And you agreed?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘But he just said you were discussing the painting you agreed to do for him. How is it you were going to sell him a painting when you’re not even willing to show me anything you’ve done?’
‘Lord Stewart isn’t buying the painting, Ridley!’ Emma said, cursing Alex for having brought it up. ‘He mistakenly believed I insulted him and that I owe him a painting as a forfeit.’
Ridley’s surprise quickly turned to incredulity. ‘You insulted our future brother-in-law?’
‘Of course not! I said he thought I’d insulted him, when in fact I did nothing of the kind—’
‘I think,’ Alex cut in smoothly, ‘it would be best if we were to continue this discussion at a later date, Miss Darling. I do believe this is our waltz.’
Sure enough, the orchestra had begun to play and the opening strains of the waltz could be heard drifting throughout the room. With Ridley looking on, Alex extended his hand.
Emma stared at it, furious at having been backed into a corner. She hated having to explain herself and she didn’t like having to defend her actions to Ridley. He was already watching them with far more interest than was called for and the last thing she needed was to give him more ammunition with which to tease her. But neither could she refuse to dance with Alex. She had given him her promise and if she reneged on that now, he would likely only end up demanding another forfeit. And God only knew what that might be!
And so, keeping her smile firmly in place—while wishing them both a long and lingering malady—she placed her hand in his, raised her chin and in chilly silence let him lead her on to the floor.
* * *
Alex did not regret his decision to attend the Jacobs’s assembly. While lacking in the number of titled guests, it could not be said to be lacking in any other way. The refreshments were far superior to those served in many of the best London houses and the warmth of his host and hostess was undeniable. Now he was on the dance floor with Emma Darling, a woman who aroused more conflicting emotions in him than any woman he’d ever met. She was a baffling mixture of innocence and independence—a woman who could freeze with a glance or charm with a word. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so fascinated by a woman. Or so aware of one. ‘You dance very well, Emma,’ he said, hoping to break the tense silence between them. Since they had stepped on to the floor, she had scarcely spoken a word.
‘Did you think I would not know how?’ she shot back.
For some reason, her anger amused him. ‘Not at all. I had no reason to believe you would not be as accomplished in feminine undertakings as any other lady of my acquaintance. But while the waltz is accepted in London, I thought it might not have received widespread approval in places like Little Moreton. A fact borne out by the expression on that lady’s face.’
Emma turned her head to glance at the woman in question, and struggled not to smile. ‘Mrs Proctor is not as forward thinking as some, my lord. She doesn’t approve of single ladies and gentlemen…touching.’
‘Then I dare say she would be shocked by some of the dances I saw during my travels in Spain.’
‘Why? How do they dance in Spain?’ Emma asked.
‘Provocatively,’ he whispered against her ear. ‘They dance as though they were lovers.’
He wasn’t surprised when she gasped, but when she tried to pull away he merely tightened his grip. ‘You asked me a question, I answered it.’
‘But surely there was no need to be so descriptive,’ she threw back at him.
He laughed, a fact which only angered Emma more. ‘Stop it, Alex! Mrs Proctor is staring at us.’
‘Let her stare. I don’t care about Mrs Proctor, Emma,’ he murmured. ‘We’re not doing anything wrong. Our bodies aren’t touching, only our hands.’ But as if to make matters worse, he curled his fingers around hers, pressing his thumb into the centre of her palm, gently caressing the creamy-smooth skin. And when he saw her swallow, he knew she wasn’t immune to his touch.
‘Did you…dance any of those dances?’ she asked. ‘The ones you saw in Spain.’
‘No, but I enjoyed watching them. The Spanish are a passionate people. They are not afraid to demonstrate that passion when they dance.’ He glanced at the stiffly erect bodies moving around them. ‘We English have a long way to go.’
Emma said nothing more for the rest of the dance, but Alex knew she was aware of him, and in a way she hadn’t been before. Her breath was coming faster, her colour was high, and when they were bumped by an overly-enthusiastic pair, he heard her gasp as she was pushed up against him, the softness of her breasts crushing into his chest. It made him think of those sultry nights in Spain and the whispers in the darkness of the night.
It would have been worth it, he thought, to take her there. If for no other reason than to watch the expression on her face when the Spaniards danced.
At the conclusion of the waltz he escorted her back to the sidelines, aware that a number of people were still watching them. Emma must
have noticed it too. ‘Thank you, Lord Stewart.’
‘My pleasure, Miss Darling. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed it.’ He would have said more had the vicar not suddenly appeared and extended his hand to Emma.
‘I believe this is our dance, Miss Darling.’
Uncharacteristically annoyed, Alex said, ‘I thought clergymen didn’t dance.’
Mr Tufton’s handsome face creased in a smile. ‘I don’t as a rule, but Mrs Jacobs has been most persistent, given the number of single ladies in attendance. I thought it would not hurt to make an exception this one time.’
Alex watched the blush rise in Emma’s cheeks and silently cursed the vicar’s charming manners. He watched them take their positions on the floor and while he knew he should have asked one of the other single ladies to dance, he suddenly wasn’t feeling that charitable. Instead, he signalled the waiter for a drink and then stormed out into the garden.
* * *
His brother found him there some time later. ‘Ah, so this is where you ran off to,’ Peter said. ‘Are you not having a good time?’
Alex took a mouthful of wine. ‘No. Are you?’
‘I am enjoying myself immensely.’
Of course he was, Alex thought darkly. His brother had danced as many dances as was polite with Linette, and had then turned his attention to the other ladies. He had even danced with Emma, allowing Alex the opportunity of observing her as she moved gracefully through the steps, her beautiful smile frequently appearing, without the restrictions she so often placed on those she offered him.
‘Emma seems to be having a good time,’ Peter said innocently. ‘I saw her dancing with Mr Tufton.’
‘Yes. The vicar is a man who enjoys getting to know his parishioners. Especially the pretty ones.’
‘What’s this?’ Peter said in amusement. ‘Is that jealousy I hear in my brother’s voice?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Alex snapped. ‘She can dance with whomever she likes.’
‘Yes, she can. And Tufton’s a good man. She could do worse than to marry him.’
‘Marry a village clergyman?’ Alex said derisively. ‘Surely she could set her sights a bit higher than that? Her sister set her cap at an earl’s son and got him.’
Improper Miss Darling Page 10
