by Gayle Callen
Alex presented them each with the latter, and Emmeline thanked him, then tied hers in a bow at her waist. She looked up to find Maxwell watching her despondently.
“Is something wrong?” she asked him.
He glanced after Blythe, who now walked between tables of cloth from exotic countries with Alex trailing behind her. “Why do I never think of things like this?”
“Maxwell, it doesn’t mean anything. Alex only does this to make women like him. It is not true generosity.”
“I think it is. He could make Blythe like him without purchasing anything at all. And he even bought some for you, whom he’s not pursuing.”
But she knew Alex had selfish reasons for plying her with gifts, and was not impressed.
“Just relax and enjoy the day, Maxwell. Blythe is here with you. You just have to talk to her.”
She looked up to find Blythe walking toward her swiftly, a worried frown on her face. Her sister looked back once over her shoulder, then drew Emmeline away from Maxwell and Alex and spoke in a low, hurried voice.
“Emmy, I wish I didn’t have to tell you this, but you need to know so that you’re not shocked.”
“Slow down, dearest. Whatever do you think could shock me?”
“Oh, I don’t know what he’s doing here!” Blythe said, twisting her fingers together. “Didn’t he used to live in London?”
“Who, Blythe? Just tell me who you’ve seen.”
She bit her lip, then gripped Emmeline’s hands in her own. “Oh, Emmy, ’tis Clifford Roswald.”
Even after all these years, she felt a shiver of regret for the life she once thought she’d have with Clifford. “It’s all right, dearest,” she said absently.
She hadn’t seen him in seven years, since she’d told him that her father wouldn’t allow her to marry him. Though the pain had dulled with time, she didn’t want to see the sadness in his eyes again. She wished she could go home, but it would be a cowardly thing to do. And how could she deny Maxwell and Blythe the opportunity to know one another better?
“Emmy, there’s something else I haven’t told you.”
She forced herself to smile. “Yes?”
“His wife is with him.”
“Oh.”
“And his children.”
“I see. What a kind father, to bring his family to the fair.” She didn’t want to see his wife or children—the children that could have been hers. She had known that someday she would face Clifford again—but perhaps this time she could avoid him.
Emmeline squared her shoulders and looked up to search the crowd. The first person she saw was Alex, watching her with narrowed eyes from only a few paces away. What had he overheard?
Chapter 15
Alex had heard everything. He kept his expression carefully blank, but inside, he pitied Emmeline. She had been denied what she obviously thought was her only chance at happiness. More than ever, she needed him to show her that she was a desirable woman, that she could someday find a good man.
But not Maxwell Willoughby. He was all wrong for her.
Alex turned to look where Blythe was pointing. A small family stood in the shade of a tree. The man, obviously Clifford Roswald, was plainly dressed and gentle of expression. He held a young child in his arms and talked to his wife. The woman was pregnant, and two more children spun a hoop in the dirt. Though they were wearing the simple garments of farmers, they seemed well fed and happy. Alex glanced at Emmeline, whose lips were pressed in a thin line. He saw the stiffness of her posture and knew she was trying her best to pretend it meant nothing to her. But if he allowed her to walk away from this, she’d never understand that Roswald was happy with his wife and family, that this was the life he’d been meant to live—that Roswald and Emmeline weren’t meant to be together.
He walked over to the Prescott sisters, swallowed a mouthful of beer, and asked, “Who’s that?”
Emmeline was visibly startled. “Who?”
“The family you two are whispering about.”
Blythe looked at them with the wide eyes of a wounded doe.
Emmeline smiled at her sister. “I’ll deal with Alex. Take Maxwell to the puppet show you’ve been eyeing.”
“Are you certain?”
“Just go, dearest.”
Alex stood at Emmeline’s side and watched Blythe walk away, Maxwell trailing hesitantly behind her. Alex shook his head. The boy was hopeless. Surely Emmeline couldn’t prefer someone like him.
“You overheard everything, didn’t you?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Then there’s nothing to discuss.”
He slung an arm about her shoulders and she stiffened. “There’s plenty to discuss. So this is the tutor? He looks like a farmer now.”
“A gentleman farmer.”
“Don’t be defensive, love. Farming is a noble profession, and after all, I’m almost a farmer myself.”
“Oh, that’s amusing,” she scoffed.
“’Tis true. I oversee my own farmland. I simply employ men to do the actual labor.”
“As if you’d ever do such physical work.”
Now it was Alex’s turn to feel defensive. He brushed his fingers down her cheek and she stiffened. “Do you doubt that I’ve worked my own fields? These are calluses you feel, my lady. If you touched other parts of me, you could feel my hard-earned strength.”
She blushed in that lovely way she had. “Alex, stop! You have no interest in farming. And it looks like Clifford had taken a very active interest, for his family looks healthy.”
“And happy,” he murmured near her ear.
She pushed him away.
“I’ve studied everything there is to know about farming, Em. If your poet’s farm is anything like my lands, by now he’s finished plowing his fields, and he’s taking a well-earned break today from putting in his barley and wheat. If he makes a good beer, he should be tending to his hops vines. Shall I go on?”
Her suspicion was still evident. “You read that in a book somewhere.”
He put a hand dramatically to his chest. “Are you admitting that I might be knowledgeable enough to read books?”
“I never said you were a fool, Alex.”
“No, but the implication is there,” he answered, leaning toward her until their foreheads almost touched. “Would I make you swoon if I admitted I studied agriculture the last few years? If I list all the books in my library, will you fall into my arms? Was that how Roswald won your affections?”
She shrugged out from under his arm, and Alex realized they’d attracted attention, two well-dressed members of the nobility entwined in public.
They’d attracted Clifford Roswald’s attention, too.
Alex looked down at Emmeline, who was straightening her gown and pulling her cloak about her to hide her magnificent curves. She was trembling.
Hellfire.
“Forgive me, Em, but your old suitor has noticed us.”
She couldn’t have stiffened any faster if she’d been whipped.
“Alex, this is all your fault!” she hissed.
“Perhaps, but maybe this is a good thing. You need to see him again after all these years, and I’m frankly curious.”
Roswald laid the sleeping child on a blanket, said something to his wife, and began to walk toward them.
“Alex!” Emmeline whispered frantically. “Go away!”
“No. Put your hand in mine, so we look like lovers.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Do you think that would actually make me feel better, to pretend there was someone in my life?”
“Em—”
“Be quiet, and don’t speak unless I ask you a question.”
He was hardly going to follow her orders, but he saw no reason to antagonize her sooner than he had to.
Clifford Roswald stopped before them, wearing a hesitant smile. “Lady Emmeline, ’tis good to see you.”
Alex watched the smile that transformed her face into obvious fondness, without a sign of th
e tension or sorrow she held inside.
“Clifford, what a surprise! Do you live here now?”
He nodded. “My farm is not far outside the village. My wife and I are expecting our fourth,” he said proudly.
Clod, Alex thought.
“Congratulations,” Emmeline said.
Roswald hesitated, then glanced at Alex. “Are you married now, my lady?”
Emmeline looked wide-eyed at Alex and shook her head. “No! This is Sir Alexander Thornton.”
Alex wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he took her hand and leaned closer to Roswald. “I’m sure we can trust your old friend, my love. Mr. Roswald, ’tis a secret, but we do hope to make our attachment…permanent.”
Emmeline stared at Alex. What in God’s name was he thinking?
“Now, love, don’t look at me like that. I know I promised to say nothing, but you’ve told me how trustworthy Mr. Roswald is.” He squeezed her hand tighter as he turned to Clifford. “Please don’t say anything to Blythe. She’s rather…talkative, and our news would be all about London before we had the chance to tell it. You understand.”
News? she thought wildly. She couldn’t believe Alex would be so cruel as to imply to Clifford that she had replaced him so easily.
But Clifford gave her an enormous smile, almost as if he were…relieved.
“Lady Emmeline, I am so happy for you!”
She stared at him, feeling confused.
“May your life be as blessed as mine has been. Come, I want you to take the noon meal with my family. And that was your sister, Blythe, then? My, how she’s matured into a lovely young woman. You must be very proud.”
Through a frozen smile, she said, “I am, thank you.”
Emmeline barely remembered meeting Clifford’s wife, Henrietta, and his children’s names escaped her altogether. She was too busy imagining what she’d say if she had Alex alone at that moment. Blythe and Maxwell rejoined them, and Clifford led the way to what he called his favorite tavern. Alex strode along at her side, smiling at everyone, especially her, while she gave him murderous glares whenever she could get away with it.
As they moved through the crowd, she deliberately hung back and Alex stayed at her side.
In a low voice, she said, “What did you mean to accomplish with such a lie?”
“I can’t hear you, my love,” he answered, sliding his arm into hers and leaning toward her. “Go ahead, whisper your loving thoughts in my ear.”
“Loving thoughts? Right now I’d be content to bite your earlobe!”
His eyes took on that wicked gleam that she was beginning to know so well. “Mmm, what a tempting thought. Can I bite you anywhere I want in return?”
She tried to yank her arm away, but he didn’t let go. He waved and smiled at Blythe, who was looking back at them curiously.
“You’re causing a distraction, Em.”
“I’m causing a distraction? You practically said we were betrothed! What did you wish to accomplish with such a lie?”
He shrugged as he pulled her along. “I’m not sure. It just seemed amusing. You looked sad, and I’d rather you be anything else, even angry with me.”
Emmeline opened her mouth, but could think of nothing to say to such a peculiar thought. Why would he care if she were sad? “But don’t you realize that now he thinks I’m getting married?”
“Do you want him to feel guilty, thinking you’re a miserable spinster?”
“I—” She stopped in astonishment. “I’m not miserable! And ’tis hardly his fault that I could not marry him.”
“Good.” He patted her hand. “Then allow him to think that your father hasn’t defeated you. After all, I am a good catch.”
“You, a good catch?” she scoffed.
Again, something unknown flickered in his eyes and was gone.
“And no one has defeated me!” she continued.
“Then let us enjoy the day. Your pig farmer seems like a decent sort.”
“How do you know he’s a pig farmer?” she demanded.
“I don’t. But I like pigs; they’re good to raise and sell—and eat. Maybe he likes them, too.”
Before she could respond, he led her through the doors into a dimly lit tavern, where people pushed and shoved good-naturedly as they moved between the tables. Clifford had commandeered a long table, and was busy pulling up extra benches. He pulled one out for Emmeline, then with a wink made sure Alex sat beside her. His wife was already seated, holding the youngest child asleep in her lap.
It was a strange meal. Blythe chatted amiably with Henrietta, while Maxwell ate and watched them. Clifford and Alex talked about farming, even discussing a disease that had swept the pig population the previous year. She could have easily gaped at both of them, but she found herself mostly watching Alex.
There was no gambling to keep him interested, there were no young ladies to seduce. Yet he seemed to be enjoying himself, discussing farming of all things.
He constantly leaned his arm against hers, asking her opinion, making her appear foolish as she stammered. She knew Clifford must think her flustered with love, for he beamed at them as if he’d made the match himself.
Beneath the table, Alex’s hand kept wandering to her thigh. She pushed it away more times than she could count. But always it returned, and he watched her with obvious amusement. She didn’t know how many times the barmaid happily refilled his tankard. But as his mood mellowed, his gestures grew expansive, and he constantly bumped against her. She felt like Blythe was staring at her, and she could only imagine what her sister was thinking. Was she hurt? Did Alex mean more to her than she’d admitted?
As the afternoon wore on, the laughing crowd swelled, Clifford’s children grew worse behaved, and Alex’s wandering hand crept higher up her thigh. Emmeline felt as if she’d reached a limit.
She stood up and smiled at Clifford and his sleepy-eyed wife. “Please excuse me; I’m feeling a little light-headed. I just need some cooler air.”
As she skirted benches and tables, she heard Clifford say, “Why don’t you go with her, Sir Alexander? Islington can be dangerous at festival time.”
Emmeline glanced over her shoulder and saw Blythe and Maxwell giving her curious stares, and Alex, so tall and imposing, following her. She wanted to run.
Behind the tavern, a small garden was laid out around a well. A welcoming bench sat in the sunshine, but she couldn’t stop; Alex was bearing down on her, a determined, amused look on his face.
“Emmeline, stop!”
“No!”
He was gaining on her.
“Just talk to me.”
She skirted a pair of apple trees. “You have no hold on me, Alex Thornton!”
She gasped as he caught her arm and tugged. She found her back against one of the trees and Alex looming over her. Oh, how he made her weak and sent her thoughts in treacherous directions.
“Stop this foolishness!” she demanded. “Blythe will see.”
“The tree is shielding you, love. And I can see who approaches.”
Something inside her gave a painful wrench. “Why are you calling me that! Don’t you know how much you hurt me—how much this whole day has been a humiliating farce?”
He put his hands on her shoulders, holding her still. “There’s nothing humiliating here, Em.”
“Don’t call me that either!”
He lowered his voice, leaning over her. “You looked so sad when you first saw Roswald that I wanted to give you something else to think about. This was the first idea that occurred to me.”
“Well, it was foolish!”
She tried to push against his chest, but he didn’t budge. Instead, he trapped her hands with his own. She could feel the rapid beating of his heart beneath her palm.
“I don’t think so.”
He was so close, she could see that his dark eyes were depthless, like a pool at the base of a waterfall. Her breathing was labored, and suddenly she was too warm.
“I was able to
spend the day at your side, talking to you—” He slid his hands up to cup her face, tilting her head back until her mouth was only inches from his. “—touching you, and now maybe—” His thumbs brushed her trembling lower lip. “—kissing you.”
As his mouth covered hers, Emmeline surrendered to every sensation she’d been fighting and closed her eyes. He tasted of ale and wickedness. Her hands slid up his back, feeling the heat of him along every curve of muscle, shamelessly pulling him against her body because she couldn’t get close enough. She wanted to lose herself in him, to forget what she was, what she’d become. When her tongue entered his mouth, she felt his knees almost give way and he pressed her hard against the tree trunk.
Chapter 16
“Emmeline.”
Alex breathed into her mouth, his teeth nipping at her lower lip, his hand spreading across her ribs. The tips of his fingers brushed the underside of her breast, making her shudder. She wanted him to touch her higher, to ease the ache he’d caused.
“Let us find some place more private,” he murmured. “I want to see my ribbon adorn your nakedness.”
She was stunned at her own behavior. She was nothing to him but an afternoon’s enjoyment, and she was only using him to forget.
Emmeline tore her mouth away from his hypnotic kiss and turned her head. “Alex, stop!”
He pressed his mouth against her cheek, his breathing harsh in her ear. “Why is it so easy to forget myself when I’m holding you, Em? Surely ’tis magic you weave about me.”
She pushed him away and covered her hot cheeks with her hands. “No magic, but lust, pure and simple. My sister is ignoring you, so I’m convenient, aren’t I?”
“That’s not true. And I don’t care if Blythe ignores me.”
His palm flattened against her neck, sliding lower, burning wherever it touched. With the last of her strength, she ducked beneath the tree branch and headed back for the tavern. How could she keep him away from her sister, when she couldn’t even stop herself from seeing him?
“Well you won’t have her, Alex! Playing your games on me will get you nothing.”
