"Indeed."
"Quite handsome, too, I dare say."
"Dare you?" Emily laughed lightly. "I cannot say that I noticed, Papa. There's no need to worry about me."
She hated lying to her father. But, in this one circumstance, she could see no other option.
She was beginning to think that she'd rather look into James Marsden's sky-blue eyes than those of any other man.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The London Season comprised an endless array of balls, both public and private. Sometimes Emily felt as though she lived at the centre of a whirlwind of dresses, jewels, gentlemen, champagne, entry vouchers, dancing shoes, and quadrilles. In Derbyshire, she had risen at an early hour and spent the morning studying, practising the harp, and writing letters, before receiving guests in the afternoon. The morning had been her personal quiet time – the only time of day when she could be left alone to pursue her own interests. Now, in the city, she found herself returning home in the early hours night after night and sleeping her mornings away.
It would be churlish to complain, however. Her title, her youth and beauty, had made her one of the belles of the Season. She was in high demand as a dancing partner at every ball she attended. The ravenous gentlemen of the ton only permitted her to sit one out at the end of the evening when she could reasonably plead exhaustion.
For most girls, it would have been a dream come true. And Emily had to admit all the attention had its merits.
Perhaps, once she was married, she would once again be able to spend peaceful mornings sketching and reading. Until then, the duties of a single young lady called her to livelier pursuits.
She was not surprised, therefore, to find herself surrounded by a crowd of gentlemen the moment she entered Lady Helena Stewart's ballroom. Her mother was at her side, as ever, ready to firmly cut off the gentlemen who did not meet her family's stringent requirements.
Even the Earl of Corden was hovering nearby, though he said very little and, once again, did not ask her to dance. Emily had never met a less enthusiastic suitor in her life. And he was one of only two remaining!
Thank goodness, then, for Lord Jonathan Granger, who was nothing but charm and smiles.
"You've tempted me away from the card tables, my lady," he told her with a wink. "A thing I would not allow any other woman to do. I only intend to dance once this evening, and it must be with you, or no-one else. Please do me the honour."
"I am free for the third dance," Emily smiled. Lord Jonathan was not exactly handsome – he certainly did not have the dazzling smile of James Marsden – but he was easy enough on the eye. He never spoke except to be generally pleasant. Her feelings for him were only friendly, yes, but in time that might change to more.
Had she been foolish, thinking she might marry for love? It seemed so difficult to find.
"I can hardly wait," said Lord Jonathan, although he disproved his point by vanishing immediately in the direction of the gaming room.
At least, if she married him, he would be easily kept happy. Access to a card table seemed to be all he required. Emily wondered whether that really spoke well of him.
The Marquess of Chiltern was also at her side. Evidently, she had not made it clear enough that she'd seen the name on his handkerchief at the dinner party. She wondered briefly who Annabelle was and whether he was really thinking of her when he bowed and handed Emily a glass of champagne.
The last thing she wanted was to give him the impression she was still interested.
Instead, she focused all her attention on drawing the Earl of Corden out of his shell.
"How do you like the music tonight, my lord?" she asked, nodding towards the string quartet Lady Helena had engaged for the evening. "I must confess that, although I am fond of Mozart, it often seems as though it's all one ever hears."
"I cannot say I agree," said Corden. "It seems to me that some music is naturally superior, and therefore it is quite right that it is often heard." Emily was impressed. Although the Earl did not say much of his own accord, he did listen closely to what she had to say. He did not resort to the aimless flattery which she heard too often from Lord Jonathan.
Perhaps she ought to give him a chance.
"Of course, all music is improved by dancing," she said slyly, holding out her dance card to indicate that she was quite ready to accept an invitation. "Don't you agree?"
The Earl bowed. "I must allow you to have your own opinion on the matter, my lady."
"Oh." Emily felt a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. Had she misread him so badly? Why on earth would he not take the opportunity to ask her to dance – and so publicly, too! She was not used to having to chase after gentlemen. It left her in a state of some confusion.
Beside her, the Marquess of Chiltern coughed delicately. "I find we are in complete agreement, Lady Emily. I cannot think of anything more pleasant than dancing to lively music. Would you do me the honour of accepting me as a partner in the Scotch reel? I believe it's starting shortly."
He held out his arm to her invitingly.
Now Emily was in a fine position! Publicly rejected by one man, and publicly invited by one whom she especially did not want to dance with!
A lady, of course, had the right of refusal – but refusing a gentleman politely would mean announcing that she was done with dancing for the night, and the ball had barely begun!
Emily flung a hand up to her head as though she had felt something brush her neck. Hoping that she acted too fast for anyone to notice, she tugged out one of her silver hairpins. A lock of dark hair tumbled down to her shoulders.
"Oh! Please excuse me, my lords – how embarrassing! I must go and fix my hair."
The Marquess bowed politely. There was not a trace of suspicion in his eye. Perhaps her subterfuge had gone unnoticed. Although she did not want to accept his attentions, Emily did not wish to shame him.
She hurried away from the gentlemen and cut through the crowd in the direction of Lady Helena's hallway, where she knew there was a large mirror. She would be able to repair the damage there and, with any luck, hide out until the Marquess gave up his pursuit.
"Annabelle," she muttered to herself as she dodged a slow-moving Baron and his wife. It was such a pity! The Marquess, otherwise, was the picture of the perfect gentleman.
The hallway was cool and quiet; a blessing after the bustle of the ballroom. Emily stood close to the mirror, unable to quite make out her reflection in the sudden dimness, and twisted the errant lock of hair around her finger. It would never look quite as neat as her maid managed, but she refused to believe she was incapable of fixing her own hair!
The shape of a man silhouetted against the light from the ballroom startled her into dropping her hairpin. Emily whirled around, embarrassed to be caught struggling with her appearance.
It was James Marsden. He bent to pick up the hairpin and passed it to her with a look of concern. When she took it from him, to her surprise, he clasped his hand over hers and held it. "I saw you run from the ballroom. You had a face like thunder. Is everything alright?"
"There's nothing the matter." Emily glanced down at their intertwined hands. She could feel the warmth of his skin through her glove. His fingers were almost twice the size of hers, yet they touched her so gently.
James followed her gaze and dropped her hand immediately, as though he had only just realised what he was doing. Emily felt a twinge of regret. "I nearly got myself into the most awful scrape," she said, trying to distract them both.
James smiled. "Another disaster?"
She nodded emphatically. "I was trying to persuade the Earl of Corden to dance with me, and when he refused I very nearly had to accept the Marquess of Chiltern instead!"
The smile vanished from James's face. "Ah. You are not inclined to compete with Miss Annabelle?"
"Whoever she might be." Emily shrugged. She noticed, with some satisfaction, that James's eyes followed the movement of her shoulders with intimate attention. "Call me proud if
you like, but I will be no man's second choice."
"How could you be?" asked James. In the half-light from the ballroom, his eyes were dark as the sea at midnight. The way he looked at her – Emily had never been looked at that way before. It was pure, undisguised longing, that stilled her heart for a moment in her chest.
Breathlessly, she wondered whether this was all part of James's routine. He was known as a flirt. But this – this seemed serious. It seemed real.
A woman could fall in love when a man looked at her that way. It wasn't fair.
She held up the hairpin. Candlelight glinted from its shiny surface.
She had to do something to break the tension in the air. It was either that or kiss him. What a strange thought! She had never wanted to kiss anyone before. Dreamed of it, yes, but never with a particular partner in mind.
Now, she was finding herself so distracted by the arch at the top of James's lips that she could hardly think about anything else.
It wouldn't do at all.
"I mussed my hair on purpose to give me a chance to escape," she said, remembering why she was holding the pin in the first place.
It did not have the desired effect. James took a step towards her. Now he was so close that she could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
"Let me help you," he said, folding his hand over hers again. Emily closed her eyes.
She expected nothing less than the bliss of her first kiss.
Instead, she felt him take the hairpin from her hand and twist the lock of hair through his fingers. They brushed lightly against her neck, sending a delicious shiver through her whole body.
Then, smoothly and securely, he pinned her hair up and backed away.
Only then did Emily open her eyes.
"Thank you," she whispered. She felt as though a great deal more than a hairpin had passed between them.
James was staring at her. Had she misread his look before? What she had thought was longing had now turned to pain.
"It was my pleasure," he said, through a throat which sounded dry.
He turned to go.
"Please, don't!" called Emily. She didn't want that moment to end.
James turned around, and it was as if nothing untoward had happened at all. He was looking at her curiously, with his customary arched brow and faintly comical expression. "Is there anything else I can help you with, my lady?"
"There certainly is." Emily took out her dance card. "You have promised to advise me, Mr Marsden. Now seems an excellent moment."
She was behaving like a silly child whose favourite toy had been taken away. It embarrassed her how obvious it was that she simply wanted him to stay. But James made no pointed remarks. He simply took the card from her hand – this time taking extreme care not to touch her – and gave it a thorough inspection.
"You are not pleased?" Emily guessed, seeing him wince. James shook his head.
"It's a personal preference, my lady. I have no right to impose it upon you. And yet..."
There it was again – the flash of feeling behind the mask. He looked, for the briefest moment, as though he were in pain.
"What is it?" Emily asked. "Please, I want you to be completely honest with me. This is the most important choice I'll ever make, after all."
"It is that," he agreed. Somewhat reluctantly, he began his explanation. "I'm afraid I cannot approve Lord Jonathan Granger."
"Lord Jonathan? But he's perfectly charming."
"He spends too much time at card tables. You must have noticed that he is overly fond of gambling."
"Well?" Emily's brow furrowed. Was that all which concerned him? "So is half of London. It seems cruel to reject a man because he partakes in a common hobby."
James handed her card back. She had hoped that his hand might caress hers again, but once more, he was too careful. "I fear that in Lord Jonathan's case, it is more than a hobby. Unchecked gambling can become an obsession. Lives have been ruined because of it."
Emily laughed. "It would take quite some card game to make a dent in my fortune, Mr Marsden."
"It is more than that. You are a woman who deserves to be treasured – admired, respected, desired. Lord Jonathan is on the brink of an obsession which will take away his desire for anything else."
"You are too morbid!"
"I am not. I speak from experience." A shadow crossed James's face. "I grew up in the bitterest poverty thanks to a parent who loved to play cards more than he loved his own sons. My brother, Harry, was forced into an unhappy marriage because of it. I thank heaven he has found true happiness now."
"I did not know." Emily felt thoroughly scolded. She had assumed James was speaking hypothetically. He did not have the demeanour of a man scarred from past experiences. "I am sorry."
He waved the apology away. "I only wish to be sure that you will not suffer the same fate my mother did. True, you may never suffer from lack of money. But lack of consideration? Lack of love?" He clenched his fist. "The man who marries you ought to put you at the very centre of his life!"
"You do not think Lord Jonathan is the man to do it."
James shrugged. "I could never honestly advise you to accept a man who is in such danger of losing himself."
"Very well. I trust your opinion." Impulsively, Emily stepped forwards and kissed him on the cheek.
It was a gesture she often used to comfort her father and brother. This was nothing like that. The warmth of him, the shockingly masculine scent of him, the hint of stubble on his cheek, the delicious, forbidden closeness of him – it overwhelmed her senses with a flood of unanticipated desire.
Did he feel it too? The answering glimmer in his eyes told her he did, but she did not know whether or not to believe it. For her, this was all new. It was different to anything she had ever known before, and she did not know how much to trust in it. Was this what all women felt when they came up close to a handsome man, or was this really what she thought it was – a true and undeniable passion?
Emily knew she was in dangerous territory. She did not want to mistake friendship for love. She did not want to ruin her prospects for the sake of a man who had never hidden the lightness of his affections.
"Forgive me," she said, though she didn't know exactly what she was asking him to forgive.
James touched the place where her lips had met his cheek. "You are too much, Lady Emily. Altogether too much."
"I only wanted to thank you –" No, she had wanted to kiss him. But how could she explain such a scandalous thought?
"No need to explain." He swallowed. "I hear a country dance beginning. I think you have promised this one to your brother? Don't keep him waiting."
"Of course." He was so cold with her! Had she offended him? "Well...thank you for your advice."
James held up his hands in mock-horror. "You have thanked me quite enough! No more, I beg you!"
That stung. Emily tried not to show it. She gave him a brittle smile and swept back into the ballroom, stopping only to check the state of her hair where he'd repinned it earlier.
It was perfect.
Of course it was.
CHAPTER TWELVE
So, of the six suitors her father had approved for her, only one remained! Poor Digby had fallen victim to his own duplicity. The Marchese had been outed as a disreputable rake. The Marquess had another woman in his heart. Tilbury wanted only one thing from her, and marriage was neither here nor there. Lord Jonathan was an obsessive gambler.
The last man standing was the Earl of Corden. He would not have been her first choice... truth be told, he was not even her third. But there he was, standing in his usual silence at the edge of the ballroom, and Emily was determined now more than ever to persuade him to dance.
Dancing with her future husband might be the only way to banish thoughts of James Marsden from her mind. That tempting, teasing, infuriating man!
She could not believe she had nearly been as silly as Cynthia Collins, and fallen for him. Her heart would not mend
as easily as flighty young Cynthia's.
"You seem distracted, my lady," said the Earl. Emily was grateful for his concern. At least it proved he had noticed her. And what was she doing, standing in silence beside him with her head full of another man?
"I am quite well, thank you, my lord. Only a little fatigued after my dance with Lord Jonathan." And he had been swiftly dismissed towards the gaming room once their dance was over – not that he seemed to care. James was right. Oh, why did he have to be right? "Which brings me to a rather delicate subject." There was nothing for it: she would have to take matters into her own hands. "You have not yet asked me to dance."
The Earl blinked. "Should I have done?"
"I must admit I am rather offended that you have not."
Still, he hesitated! "You must know that it does not indicate a lack of regard for you, my lady."
"But if such regard exists, the proper way to show it is by dancing. Surely you see my point, my lord?" Emily raised her eyebrow and waited. "Or am I to assume that you have no special consideration for me?"
The Earl was astonished by her bluntness. For a long moment, he appeared to have lost the power of speech. "My lady –"
"Do you intend to dance with me, or not?" Emily demanded. She thanked her lucky stars that her mother was not in the vicinity. This boldness would have earned her the most awful scolding.
The Earl hung his head. "Please forgive me. I did not realise that I had offended. I... I would be very happy to dance with you."
The man spoke as though she were leading him to the gallows! "Good," said Emily, choosing to ignore his tone. At least he seemed to be genuinely sorry. "I am free at present, in fact. Why don't you lead me onto the dance floor?"
The Earl offered her his arm. He did not look at her as he led her forward. His face was set in a grim mask of determination.
As the music started and they took their places, Emily wondered whether she had really offended him past all forgiveness. She could think of no other explanation for his grey-faced demeanour.
Let the Lady Decide Page 9
