Gabriel found himself momentarily distracted by the sight of the delicious curve of her hips.
"Well, will you?" she demanded.
“I'm curious, Em? You're an enterprising young lady. Why haven't you taught yourself?"
“If you have no intention of instructing me, just say so." She was obviously avoiding the question.
“Give over, Emily. Before I put a gun in your hands, I want an answer to my question."
Her eyes studied him for a full minute before she conceded with a shrug of one shoulder. “If you must know, Tom ordered the guns locked up afterwards and forbade the staff to help me."
“And he won't help you now?"
He detected a mulish glint in her eyes, but she answered him anyway. “He claims the neighbors would lynch him if they found out he let me run loose with a weapon."
This admission forced Gabriel to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling. “I see. But, ah, how will teaching you to perfect your aim aid me?"
“I have been thinking that what you need is a bodyguard, and who better than someone no one would suspect?" she said with an artless smile.
“Yourself?" he added unnecessarily and with an obvious note of disbelief in his voice.
“Yes."
“I think Tom has the right of it," Gabriel said a little more kindly.
“If you do not help me, then I. . . I will ask the baron."
“Don't be ridiculous." Gabriel pushed off his desk and took a step closer to Emily. "Freddy's probably a worst shot than you." He gave her a long look before sighing resignedly. “I can see you're determined, so we might as well get this thing done. Besides," he added between her excited squeals, “it's better to learn the correct way than have Freddy fill your head with his bacon-brained theories."
Thirty minutes later with Emily at his side, Gabriel tramped across a field behind the stables, well beyond the house. Stopping some thirty paces from the woods, he pointed ahead.
“There's your target, Emily, that dead oak."
“Not very big, is it?" she observed, squinting at the dead tree trunk.
“It's as broad as any man." Gabriel had brought a hand gun and a rifle and, after placing the latter at his feet, went through the motions of showing her how to load the pistol.
“I know how to do this," Emily complained impatiently.
“Then you also know you can't be too careful with a firearm," he challenged. Unloading the gun, he handed it to her to reload. He was surprised at the proficiency she showed holding the pistol.
“Now let's see how you shoot. Aim at the oak." He stepped back to better observe her stance, one foot slightly in front of the other, back straight, arm out stretched and leveled at the target. He also noted the line of her firm bosom, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. His own breath caught in his throat as his pulse quickened. Inhaling deeply to gain control over his rising desire, he asked, "Got your target sighted?"
She nodded her head, and he said, “Fire."
The bullet went crashing into the woods, some five feet to the left of the target.
“Not even close." Gabriel shook his head. "Fire again.... Reload and fire again . . . again."
Each time Emily emptied the pistol, she never came close to the broad tree trunk. Gabriel watched her reload for the fourth time, then came up behind her and molded his stance to fit hers.
“Let's try it again." As he brought his hand up to help guide her aim, his gaze fell on her face. There was an indelible band of light freckles spanning her saucy nose. As he leaned his head closer to study them, a few honey colored curls brushed his face. He inhaled her scent, and his pulse raced.
“What now, Gab?"
Her voice, sweet and melodious, was an added aphrodisiac. Pressing still closer, he whispered in her ear, “Squeeze slowly, Em."
The report of the gun brought him back to his senses. He took a half step back, putting a few inches between them, and tried for a normal tone. “You're squeezing the trigger too hard. Pull back on it slowly, with your eye on the target."
This time she nicked the right side of the tree next to the oak. Delighted with actually having hit something within the vicinity of her target, she turned her face to his, gracing him with a brilliant smile. “How was that?" He was on the verge of kissing her when she dashed out of his arms to inspect her handiwork.
“Damn!" He'd better get control of himself, Gabriel thought, watching Emily examine the trees. He saw that something had caught her attention, and in the next instant, she was dodging from tree to tree, headed down a narrow path. "Emily!" Gabriel called after the impetuous chit. "Where are you going?"
She was nearly out of sight by the time he reached the edge of the wood. “Do be quiet," she threw back in a loud whisper over her shoulder, though not slowing one whit. “Caldwell is just ahead."
The path ran along the top of a high ridge, but she appeared sure footed and had little trouble negotiating the winding it except for the briars that kept pulling on her muslin skirt. When one particularly prickly bush snagged the fabric, Gabriel saw her reach back and yank the skirt of her gown. He heard the material rip and watched, horrified, as she lost her balance just as he reached her.
“Help," she called out, making one desperate lunge for him.
She managed to snare his sleeve, but there wasn't enough time for Gabriel to brace himself. Thus, they both slid down the steep, grassy knoll, gaining speed as they tumbled head over heels. Together, they came to rest in an ungainly heap at the bottom of a small ravine. For several moments, both laid still, breathing heavily.
“Emily."
Hearing Gabriel's gruff whisper, Emily flung a hand out to him, too breathless to respond otherwise. In the next moment, his face was inches from hers as he bent over her.
“Emily, are you hurt?" he asked anxiously, his eyes full of concern.
“No." Gulping in several deep breaths, she grinned and reached up to pull twigs and grass out of his hair. “Actually, that was rather exciting."
He sat back on his heels and shook his head. “I do believe your attic's to let."
Ignoring his insult, she giggled. “You should have seen your face when you lost your balance."
“Yours was a picture of fright, I can tell you that, my girl," he said seriously before a smile curved the corners of his mouth.
“And . . . and we tumbled over and over," she laughed, "and if anyone saw us . . ."
“Or could see us now." Copying her actions, he pulled a twig out of her hair, but the silky tendrils clung to it. He became quiet, playing with the curls.
Emily watched as the bright humor in his eyes dulled to a deep brown, smoldering with desire. In wonderment, she stared as his lips slowly descended to hers.
She offered no resistance. Instead, she brought one hand up to play with the hair at the nape of Gabriel's neck. A tingling warmth began to spread throughout her body, making her yearn for...what?
When his tongue invaded her mouth, he became more ardent, igniting a similar response in Emily, who, true to character, imprudently reacted by thrusting one hand against his chest, toppling him over on his back while she clung to him. He half lifted her, bringing her body on top of his. Then his hands massaged her back, working slowly down to her buttocks where his palms molded to their roundness.
Emily moaned. It was an expression of sheer pleasure, wanting the moment to go on forever. But suddenly he pulled back.
“Emily." He made her name sound like a caress. “The things you do to me," he said in wonderment before he shook his head. As his eyes began to focus, they lost some of their fire.
“What's going on here?" Cecil's angry growl echoed around Emily within the narrow ravine.
“Cecil!" Emily rolled off Gabriel onto her knees. She looked from Cecil's wrathful expression to Gabriel's. He seemed unconcerned, giving her an encouraging smile before he stood and offered his hand to help her up. Once she was on her feet, he maddeningly took his time, brushing leaves from his jac
ket before finally extending the same hand to his cousin.
“You must congratulate me, Cousin,” Gabriel said. “I'm to be married."
Cecil's black eyes looked from one to the other, his face turning a mottled red from anger. Grudgingly, he took Gabriel's hand, squeezing it while his jaw muscles worked back and forth, then viciously threw it aside. He turned to Emily and hissed through his clenched teeth, “Well, your may-go-mad antics have finally landed you in the suds. I hope you're bloody satisfied."
Stunned by Cecil's vehemence, Emily stared at him, then at Gabriel. At first, she didn't understand Cecil's meaning, but when at last the significance of Gabriel's words hit her, she turned scarlet with mortification. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Oh, you are horrible! If you had not come along--"
“Indeed, I dread to think what might have occurred," Cecil sneered lasciviously. “But as you say, if I had not come along, my dear cuz would not find himself betrothed.”
“Enough, Cecil." With steel in his voice, Gabriel stepped closer to Emily. “Insult Emily and you insult me. We are engaged, and that should suffice to answer any questions you may have." His eyes narrowed before he added, “That is all that is necessary to convey to the others."
“The devil, you say. You sorely try my patience."
“Why, Cousin, one would think you'd want to wish me happy along with a full nursery."
Cecil gave an ugly laugh, leering at Emily. “As you say. . . Cousin."
“Ohhh!" Emily cried, breaking in on their duel of words. “You are both horrible! Horrible! And you, my lord,” she said, turning on Gabriel, “may go to the very devil, for all I care.”
But like two feuding bulls, neither gentleman paid her any mind. Gabriel's gaze was fixed on his cousin, looking angry enough to issue Cecil a challenge.
Frustrated, Emily took a deep breath and began again in a more refined, lofty tone. “I hate to disappoint you, Lord Lindemann, but your nursery must remain empty for a while longer. I am, of course, most cognizant of the honor you do me. However, I cannot let you sacrifice yourself for something that, er,. . . amounts to making a mountain out of a mole hill."
“Stow it, Em," Gabriel replied. “Now is not the time."
“Not the time!" She took two steps closer to him, her hands clenched into fists by her sides.
“You verily compromised me," Gabriel said with a devilish grin.
She opened her mouth to deny the charge but remembered her wanton manners and how she'd pushed him over on his back. Heat from a rising blush singed her cheeks. Mustering false courage, she said, "That signifies nothing. You were the one who kissed me. Besides, everyone will feel sorry for you, stuck with a provincial hoyden like me. No doubt, you will take my dowry and gallivant about town while I am kept locked away in the country, filling your nursery." She stopped to take a breath and realized the import of her words. Tears began welling up in her eyes, and she ducked her head out of shame. “Therefore, I am compelled to refuse your offer."
Her little impassioned speech offered Gabriel insight concerning the cruel whispers and slights his wood sprite had endured from the tattlemongers. He regarded her thoughtfully, debating if he should he tell her of his love, that he wanted to give her the moon, the stars, anything and everything, including a Season in London, anything to make her happy. Would she believe that he had not merely resigned himself to be her husband but had come to want it, to desire it passionately. He didn't know when it had happened, though he’d recognized his interest in her stemmed from their very first encounter. He also knew he could no longer imagine a life without this hoydenish madcap beside him always. May the heavens take pity on him, for he loved her more than his own life.
Looking into her eyes, he saw her confusion and hurt. He took her fists in his own large hands. "Emily, come here," he said, trying to steer her away from where his cousin glowered at the two of them. When she refused to budge, he softly added, “Please, Em."
She relented, though not graciously, and allowed him to pull her several paces to the side, all the while tugging her hands to loosen his grip. He stopped and tightened his hold, staring down at their entwined fingers.
“Listen to me, Emily. This whole affair is as much my fault as yours, perhaps more mine, for I’m much wiser to the rules and have been playing far longer."
“You will forgive me, dear Cuz," Cecil interrupted with an affected drawl, “if I prefer not to watch your wooing."
At Cecil's caustic words, Emily yanked her hands free, and Gabriel was as close as he had ever been to issuing his cousin a challenge. But he knew that would not solve any problems. For now, it would be best to return Emily to the house and wait for a more opportune moment to declare his love.
###
Emily closeted herself in her bedroom for the remainder of the afternoon. She was ashamed of her behavior. But it seemed that the Viscount Lindemann welded an unnatural power over her. His mere touch set her pulses racing, his kisses ignited a fire within her, causing her to behave like a common trollop. As embarrassing as the situation had been, she could imagine nothing worse than for Cecil Caldwell to witness her indiscretion and force Gabriel to declare himself. For while she felt so alive and cherished in Gabriel's arms, Caldwell's prying eyes had made the whole episode tawdry. How could she possibly hold up her head in Gabriel's company again?
She contemplated skipping dinner, but she was hungry. Besides, sooner or later she’d have to face everyone.
Taking pains to appear her best, she chose a cream-colored muslin trimmed with gold braid. She instructed Grace to pull her curls back in a tight chignon, hoping the severe style would add sophistication to her toilette. More than a little apprehensive at facing Gabriel, she waited until the last minute before going down to dinner, knowing that everyone would already be in the drawing room. Her plan was to hide in her corner.
But all was for naught, for Gabriel stood at the head of the stairs.
“I've been waiting for you, Emily," he said, taking her hand and threading it through the crook of his arm. “I was beginning to fear you were not going to show.” When she didn’t answer, he pressed her hand tight against his side. She felt a tingling warmth begin to spread though her veins and flushed at the memories this conjured up.
Gabriel leaned his head closer to hers. “I've decided to announce our engagement after dinner."
Her steps faltered in the middle of the stairs, bringing him up short on the step below her. Meeting him on eye level, she shook her head. “No."
He sighed wearily. "I fear Cecil can't be trusted to keep quiet--"
“I do not care--"
“And I will not have you made the brunt of my cousin's vile tongue."
“You do not want to marry me, Gab."
“Emily--"
“Hey, Gab!"
Looking over his shoulder, Gabriel saw Freddy, hailing him from the bottom of the stairs.
“Been looking for you," the baron said. “Chesterfield said there's a cock fight in Cheltenham, two days hence. Plan to go?"
Gabriel gave Emily an apologetic look and whispered, “We'll continue this discussion later."
As the trio made for the drawing room, Pickering was on hand to open the door and, after a nod from Gabriel, announced that dinner was served.
Throughout dinner, Emily endured Cecil's dark stare, seemingly piercing through her. Why Gabriel's cousin so disliked her was beyond her ken. Admittedly, she detested the sharp bite to his drawling sarcasm and suspected he possessed the best motive for seeking Gabriel's demise. Cecil, after all, was next in the line of succession. But why should he look daggers at her?
Of course! If she married Gabriel, that meant sons--making Cecil's chances of inheriting nil. It was as plain as the freckles across the nose on her very warm face, as she contemplated that idea for a moment. That was why Cecil was so furious when he came upon Gabriel and her. And it explained why Cecil was so livid when Gabriel announced their engagement.
Cecil had
also been at Cleeve Hill. He could easily have slipped that barbed piece of wood under Ajax's blanket. And she saw him sneak out of the house the first night she was here, no doubt to meet up with his accomplice. All along she’d suspected it was Cecil whom she’d overheard that fateful day plotting to take the Viscount’s life.
Then it hit her. When Cecil had let loose his vitriol today, she had heard that same note of vile that she’d heard from the gentleman plotting Gabriel’s murder in the woods.
Fidgeting, Emily realized they’d only completed the first course of mushroom soup, mutton, beef, and pheasant. They still had the second course to go, along with desert. Even after the meal ended, she would have to retire to the drawing room with the other ladies while the gentlemen drank their Port.
The evening seemed interminable. But she had to talk with Gabriel. She knew he also suspected his cousin was his enemy. But now she had proof!
*** Chapter 8 ***
Emily was on pins and needles. Time stretched from the interminable supper to her lonely vigil after dinner, waiting for the men to join the ladies in the drawing room. At last she saw Gabriel appear in the doorway and was assailed with second thoughts. Would he believe his cousin capable of plotting such a despicable crime, murder to obtain the title and inheritance?
When his eyes came to rest on her, these thoughts flew from her mind as she suddenly recalled his intention to tell the house guests of the engagement. Rising from her chair as he came over to her, she knew she first had to prevent the announcement. After that, she’d reveal her discovery.
As he took her hand and she met his velvety brown gaze, her pulse began to race.
“My lord, I must talk with you," she urgently whispered.
“Yes, my love," he said, bringing her hand to his lips, “in just a few moments, you may have all the time you want."
“But you do not understand. I mean, you must listen to me. You are doing this because of Cecil--"
“Trust me, Emily," he interrupted her, giving her hand a comforting squeeze. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, quieting everyone in the room while Emily desperately struggled to free her hand. But Gabriel must have suspected she'd bolt to forestall the announcement. His grasp was like a vice.
The Hopeless Hoyden Page 10
