“Oh, James!” She turned to him, not knowing what to say. She loved that he’d been carrying her picture, and she hated herself for thinking so poorly of him for so long. He deserved much more from her.
“I’ve overwhelmed you with the suddenness of my declaration,” he continued, accepting the portraits back from her trembling fingers. “My feelings have been banked up for…well, for eternity, it seems. Forgive me. Having suffered one disastrous affair of the heart, I don’t want to suffer another through my lack of self-control.”
Her heart full, she looked up into his beautiful face, framed in moonlight, and wondered if another kiss would be out of the question. But how did one go about asking?
Before she could marshal the words, he took her hand and wrapped it over his arm as he gazed around him. “We’ve apparently escaped detection,” he said. “But for the sake of your reputation, I must return you to our party immediately.”
“Oh no,” she whispered. “Don’t apologize. Um…but there’s something you need to know.”
Never mind that kiss she craved—that could wait. She ought to tell him about Charles. Not that he should consider him a rival—for she could never think of Charles in that way—but because the men were friends, and if she didn’t tell James, she knew Charles would. She didn’t want any misunderstandings arising.
James pressed a finger to her lips, smiling down at her. “Come now—there’s no need to talk. If I’m forgiven, then I’m satisfied. Isn’t that the band striking up again? I demand you dance with no other man than myself. And in return, I promise to control my unruly feelings and display the gallantry you should expect from me. But before we join our party, I must tell you how happy you’ve made me in accepting my advances.”
She’d accepted his advances? Then, that must mean…
His swift pace had brought them level with the Rossburys’ supper box. She was running out of time to speak freely. “James—” she began in earnest.
“Not another word. Let’s keep our secret for the time being and show a nonchalant face to the rest of world.”
Too late. They were being welcomed back into their party, and James spent the next ten minutes in animated conversation with his mother, speaking too low for Emma to hear. But the countess looked pleased. If only she could fathom why—was James telling her he intended to court Emma? Or was she smiling because he was giving her his revised opinion of Miss Belinda Carslake?
Emma stifled a sigh of frustration. She mustn’t let her uncertainties spoil what was turning into a most splendid evening. Her heart missed a beat every time James looked at her, and she felt a thrill of anticipation when he stood up to claim her for a dance. As she moved about the floor with him, it felt like the music of the stars flowing through her, charging her body with a power that made her feel as though she were flying. The moonlight mingled with the warm glow of the hanging lanterns, casting his face into dramatic angles and hollows and adding mystery to the eyes that never wavered from her face.
Smiling up at him, she tried to recall all the reasons she’d once had for disliking him, but they refused to come to mind. He fit her perfectly, and his exultant mood continued to buoy hers throughout the rest of the enchanted evening.
It was a wrench to part from him at the end of the night, and she barely slept a wink, her mind full of wicked imaginings.
When a parcel arrived for her late the following morning, she immediately assumed it was from James, and tore off the wrapping excitedly.
It was a copy of that day’s Bath Chronicle. A notice on the front page had been circled several times in ink, and she stared at it, unable to comprehend.
Our social observer is pleased to announce that an engagement may shortly be announced between a certain Miss D—lately under the patronage of Lady R—and Mr. K of G—shire.
How was this possible? Could there be any doubt the writer was referring to herself, the countess, and…Charles Keane?
Our social observer…
Someone must have been in the gardens last night, someone who’d seen her being kissed by Charles. Of course there would be an expectation of marriage—the gentry didn’t usually behave like that in public if a union wasn’t in the cards.
If only that same observer had caught her in James’s arms instead. How different she would feel were that the case!
But she was given no time to consider what to do, for at that moment someone knocked loudly on the front door.
Shoving the paper hastily beneath a cushion, she peeked out the window down to the street below and saw a familiar figure gazing back up at her.
Her heartbeat doubled in an instant.
James.
Chapter Thirty-Two
James hadn’t managed a single minute of sleep. Which was infuriating, as he wanted to look his best today.
He needed to have a serious talk with Emma, as soon as humanly possible. That kiss last night, the way she’d become tongue-tied when she saw the portrait, gave him hope. She’d given away her feelings, and he was damn well going to take advantage of it.
He’d left it too late with Belinda. Which, as it turned out, was all to the good.
But he wasn’t going to leave it too late with Emma.
If she didn’t yet realize the strength of his feelings, he was going to enlighten her. And he needed to do it while he still had the upper hand, before she had time to doubt or question the fact that they were made to be together, that each completed the other.
He would behave like the perfect gentleman and give her no opportunity to find fault with him. Today he’d discover if he’d interpreted her behavior correctly. Today he hoped to become the happiest man alive.
Because any other outcome would simply crush him.
Having gained admittance to No. 12 Great Pulteney Street, James strode into the parlor where he’d been told Emma could be found.
Thank the gods neither Mama nor Jemima were with her—he was wound too tight for company. He stepped through the door, discovered the key was in the lock, and turned it.
Then fetched up short.
After the magic of last night, he’d expected Emma to be more pleased to see him. Instead, she stood in the middle of the floor, chewing her lip, looking at him warily. Almost…guiltily.
Strange.
He took both her hands in his, saying, “I startled you. I’m sorry.”
She looked dazed. “Um…”
Concerned, he asked, “Dearest Emma, are you tired? But of course, you must be. I danced and promenaded you off your feet last night and dragged you around introducing you to all of my acquaintance. It was very selfish of me, and I apologize.”
At that, she rallied, tilted her chin, and quipped, “Two apologies coming so fast upon each other? You’re in a sorry state today, James.”
He tossed his head back and laughed. “Tired, but not lacking in wit.” He looked down into her sparkling hazel eyes as the laughter ebbed away—and lost himself in them.
“I—” he began.
“Shh. Don’t speak.” She freed one hand and placed it on his mouth, then rubbed her finger gently across the seam of his lips. The amused look in her eyes had given way to a troubled one.
Unacceptable.
He bared his teeth, took her finger in his mouth, and bit down gently on it.
She laughed nervously, but he retained her finger between his teeth, captured her gaze, and swept his tongue over and around her fingertip.
Her response was an expression halfway between shock and arousal, so he freed her finger, blew on it to dry it, and subjected her to a wicked grin. The shock vanished, and her eyes darkened with promise.
Excellent.
He drew her into his arms and pressed her against his chest. “If you don’t want me to speak,” he murmured, “you must find something else for my lips to do.” It was all the warning he was prepared to give her.
Her eyes fluttered shut as his mouth found hers. Remembering with regret that he’d sworn to be a gentleman, he pr
essed a brief kiss on her lips—and waited.
When she made no effort to push him away, he ran his tongue lightly over her mouth, giving her just a taste of what was to come, in hopes of stirring her into wanting more. But holding back the furnace of his desire was torture. She pressed her hands against his chest, and for a terrifying moment, he feared he’d taken too great a liberty, and drew back. But her hands just fisted in his jacket and drew him closer.
He needed no further encouragement. He’d hesitated once before—oh, how long ago it seemed now!—and he was never going to make that mistake again.
He brought his mouth down hard over hers and pressured her to open for him. Gloriously, she did, and he took full advantage, thrusting his tongue into her velvet heat.
When her head fell back, allowing him all the access he desired, elation suffused every pore of his body. He drank from her greedily, his tongue luxuriating in a slow, rhythmic exploration of her mouth. As if made for him, she kissed him back, shamelessly tangling her tongue with his, running one hand up into his hair and pulling his head closer, deepening their kiss.
He cupped her face with his hands, his fingers splayed across her cheeks, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones and temples with tender appreciation. He must keep a tight rein on his passion and not ask too much of her. He wanted to enjoy every last fragment of the sensations they were arousing in each other.
And he wanted her to enjoy it, too.
But right now he had something more important to do. It was an agony to pull away when she looked so rosy and tousled, but he mustn’t lose control.
He knelt down and sat on his heels at the same moment as she collapsed into the chair in front of him. He allowed himself a brief moment of masculine pride at the fact that his kiss had affected her so fundamentally.
He leaned toward her and rested his forehead on her knee to gather himself.
After a moment she reached out and touched his hair. It felt like a benediction. She began stroking him, making him want to kiss her all over again. What more encouragement did he need? She wasn’t going to reject him. She’d never caress him with such tenderness if she didn’t care for him.
Raising his head, he caught her hand, placed a kiss in her palm, and gazed up into her face, waiting until the dreamy look left her, and he held her full attention.
His breathing constricted, and a shard of genuine fear speared through him. What if—God forbid—he’d got it all horribly wrong?
But if he’d learned anything at all over the last few months, it was that he couldn’t afford to question everything. Sometimes he just needed to let instinct take over.
“Emma,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t notice the tremor in his voice. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Emma shut her eyes and sucked in a breath. It was so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat, and the ticking of the mantel clock sounded like rifle fire.
She sensed the tension stretching out between James and herself and forced her eyes open. Just one glance at his earnest, handsome face made her soul cry Yes, yes, yes! But her mind was sending out warnings. It wasn’t that simple. An alliance between them would affect so many people besides themselves. There were his parents to consider, her parents, her former employers, and, of course, Charles. She couldn’t predict how he’d react to the announcement of her engagement to Viscount Tidworth—especially when the newspaper had stated she would soon be engaged to Charles. He had it in his power to ruin everything.
She had to assume from James’s lack of comment that he knew nothing of the item in the paper. Dare she tell him?
Finally, she found her voice. “Thank you, dearest James. It is I who am honored by your proposal. But I need time before I give you my answer.” Time to contact the Bath Chronicle and demand a retraction. Or would that just attract even more attention to herself?
He looked confused, and the light in his eyes dimmed. Already she was hurting him, and she hated herself for it.
“What do you need time for?” he asked. “I thought we had an understanding, you and I. Have I made a complete idiot of myself…again?”
“No, not at all!” she rushed to say. “You’re so very precious to me, but it has all come about so suddenly, like a rock rolling down a hill that lets loose a landslide. I’m quite swept away by your proposal and need to find my feet again.”
“Don’t doubt me, Emma. I’d never hurt you. I’ll cherish you, be entirely faithful, and give you everything you could possibly want. Why do you hesitate? Why waste a minute of the time we could be spending together?”
He’d give her anything she wanted? Would he, perhaps, be prepared to change his plans for Tresham? But with the specter of that announcement in the paper still lurking, now was not the time to ask. She said, “It’s complicated—”
“No,” he interrupted, looking decidedly put out. “It’s simple. I’ve asked you to marry me. You can either accept me or decline my offer. Please don’t play games.”
He hadn’t moved, but his body wasn’t at rest. She could feel the tension emanating from him, though he was doing his best to appear calm. It tore her apart to have to tell him, to risk wounding him, but tell him she must. There could be no secrets between them if their marriage was to be a success.
Her voice shook as she said, “I think, before proceeding, you should know that there’s been some impropriety between myself and Charles Keane.”
He jerked back, shaking his head in disbelief. “Charles! I don’t believe it. You can’t be saying you’ve dallied with Charles? Then why, by all that’s holy, have you encouraged me?”
“No, you don’t understand. I didn’t set out to encourage you, James, it just…happened. You said yourself that you weren’t sure of your feelings until last night.”
Curse it! That wasn’t the right thing to say to him, at all.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said fiercely. “I’ve loved you much longer than you might imagine. But I wasn’t going to declare myself until you gave me hope.”
He loved her?
Dear lord. That only made things worse! Tears stung her eyes as she answered, “But when we first met, you did nothing but criticize me. You hated me, I know you did.”
“Maybe because I so desperately hoped you were better than you appeared to be. Criticism is not always a condemnation. It can signify a desire for change, for improvement. I felt you had it in you to be the very best of women. And ultimately, I was proved right. Or so I thought.”
His last words seared through her, like a knife to the heart. She must be wounding him badly for him to lash out in such a way. They’d argued before, but this was far worse, much bloodier, much deeper.
“I’m sorry. I know I’ve made silly mistakes in the past, but it’s too cruel of you to bring them up now. I’ve tried to be a more trusting person. I’ve tried to be less judgmental, I really have. It’s hard.”
It was becoming more difficult to breathe. If she couldn’t control herself, she’d be sobbing her heart out in no time.
“You’re right. Forgive me.” He dragged a hand across his eyes and got to his feet.
She did the same, her pulse racing. “I don’t want to hurt you, dearest James, I really don’t. But have you considered all the difficulties we might encounter? How can a future earl stoop so low as to offer himself to a former governess? It would be as scandalous as a duke marrying his housekeeper. You’d be snubbed by Society. I don’t want that for you. You need the approval of the ton for your charity, and you need to uphold the great name of the noble house of Rossbury.”
She needed to be sure of his love. She needed his reassurance that he was well aware of the sacrifices he’d be making if he married her. He was too important a man to retire in obscurity to his country estates and bleed out his years with no one but a wife and children to keep him company. Besides which, any children they had would bear the taint of the scandalous match he’d made. In time, he’d come to resen
t her.
Which would be unbearable.
He just stood there, looking at her as if she’d plunged a dagger into his heart. And twisted it.
“If I don’t care about those things,” he said, “you shouldn’t, either.” His eyes narrowed. “Tell me more about what happened between you and Charles.”
The words stuck in her throat, so she just went to the chair cushion, removed the folded newspaper, and put it in his hands.
She watched the color drain from his face as he read the words, then read them again. He frowned at her. “Is this true?” he asked, jabbing a finger at the word announcement in the paper.
“No! Of course not.”
He scanned the address on the wrapping. “This is Charles’s writing. Why did he send it to you?”
She hadn’t even thought to look at the handwriting. Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. “I…I’ve no idea. I have never had any intention of marrying him, nor have I ever wanted to. He’s joked about it, yes, but you know what he’s like. Let me speak to him. I’m sure I can get him to make the paper retract the piece.”
“No!” James spat out the word. “You’re not to talk to him.”
“But how can I give you an answer with this hanging over our heads? Please, James, let me speak to him. Tell me you understand.”
“Oh, I understand. Charles Keane. Yes, I understand very well.” His head darted forward like a snake about to strike, but then he took a deep breath and went very still. “So, you’ve been having an affair with Charles.”
She gasped in shock. “No, nothing like that!” How could he think so little of her? “He’s flirted with me, and he wrote to me at Tresham. He kissed me last night in the grotto—without my permission, let me assure you—and some interfering busybody must have seen us. “
“He kissed you?”
She’d never seen anyone look so utterly horrified. Fear crept up her spine.
“I hate to say it, because he’s your friend, but he forced it on me. I never invited his attentions, I swear.”
James stared at her, his eyes hard as marble. Surely he must believe her? Fear turned to terror, stealing all the air from her lungs.
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