“Well, that’s why I kissed you in the carriage.”
She leaned back slightly in order to see his face. He was grinning down at her, his eyes light with amusement. If they hadn’t been in the middle of the dance floor, she would have pummeled him. Well, perhaps not, but she liked to think that she would have, as she lowered her gaze to hide her smile.
“You know perfectly well that that’s not what I was asking,” she muttered.
The music faded and Francis turned toward her with a bow while she made a slight curtsey. She then placed her hand lightly on the arm he offered her. “Well?” she insisted as they walked away from the next set. He waved over a waiter with a tray filled with champagne flutes. They each took one, continuing toward the perimeter of the room where the heat was less stifling.
She watched him closely as he sipped his drink, a thoughtful expression lurking behind his dark eyes. “I told you already. It was meant as a distraction, to help take your mind off more upsetting matters. When you find yourself confronted by Adrian and his bride-to-be—as you shall, for there they are right now, coming our way—I want you to look unaffected and to carry yourself like a queen.”
Emily looked out over the crowd, spotting Adrian and Kate immediately, steering straight toward them, just as Francis had said. Her pulse quickened and she felt suddenly out of sorts.
“That’s all it was?” she asked Francis quickly, her eyes darting between him and the approaching couple, gauging the time it would take for the pair to reach them.
“It was a simple kiss, Emily, not the works of Shakespeare,” he told her coolly. “There’s no reason for you to analyze it to death.”
The bluntness of his words shocked her, but really, what had she expected him to say? This was after all, Francis, the man who hid away from everyone behind his harsh, glowering façade. Then why did she feel so thoroughly disappointed? She knew why. Of course she did. She thought she’d managed to penetrate his wall of steel, as if he’d given her a glimpse of who he’d once been and of who she hoped he would one day be again.
And then Kate and Adrian were upon them, banishing all other thoughts from her mind.
“Emily—it’s so good of you to have come,” Adrian told her smoothly as he came to a stop right next to her. He took her hand in his and gently brushed his lips against it. Biting down on her lower lip, Emily tried to focus on the pain, rather than on Adrian’s touch.
There was no denying it. She felt as though she was the center of a monstrous joke. After all, the man she’d always loved and her closest friend—to whom she had confided everything—had fallen for each other. As if that wasn’t enough to send her head spinning, she was now finding herself drawn irrefutably toward the last person in the world with whom she ever would have thought to get involved—the glum and brooding Lord Dunhurst. Forget Adrian. Her mind was now filled to the brim with Francis—his face, his words, his kiss. They might as well be standing in the middle of Bedlam instead of in the Carroway ballroom, as far as she was concerned.
And when she looked up and caught Francis rolling his eyes at Adrian’s greeting, Emily knew that she was in for another case of the giggles. She quickly snatched her hand away and covered her mouth with it to feign a cough, concealing all evidence of her impending laughter, or so she hoped. But her eyes had betrayed her, and having seen her in the same predicament once recently, Francis raised a knowing eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“Francis,” Adrian continued with an acknowledging nod, unaware of anything unusual.
“Mr. Fairchild,” Francis replied, the formality of his greeting highlighting their now strained relationship. “Lady Kate.” He made no attempt to kiss her hand, his own clasped firmly behind his back.
“You look well,” Kate said, her comment directed at Emily. There was concern in her voice, but Emily ignored it. She had lost Adrian, but she would not give up her dignity. Everyone expected her to collapse in a puddle of tears. She was now more determined than ever not to let that happen.
In spite of what Francis had just said, she needed him now to help her through this. She clenched and unclenched her fingers, considering whether or not to grab hold of him somehow. But before she was able to decide, his hand found hers, squeezing it ever so gently in reassurance. Her eyes darted upward to be met by the most supportive of gazes. Giving her an almost imperceptible nod, he nudged her onward.
“As do you,” Emily replied, relief flooding her. There was something to be gained from confronting her fear—a sense of finality. “I trust that the wedding preparations are coming along well.”
“Emily, I . . .” A pained look tore at Kate’s beautiful features. She was without a shadow of a doubt filled with guilt.
Emily waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Everything is forgotten, and besides . . . this is your engagement party. I forbid you from not enjoying every moment of it.”
“That’s very kind of you, Emily,” Kate told her warily, as if she feared Emily’s calmness more than she would a nervous breakdown. She probably thinks I’m plotting my revenge as we speak. Emily stifled yet another laugh. Francis squeezed her hand and she wondered then if perhaps he was able to read her mind.
As it happened, he thought that she was handling it quite well thus far, in spite of her apparent urge to giggle at each and every word that was spoken. He watched her fondly as she addressed the friends that had so deeply wounded her.
Then, before his very eyes, she suddenly transformed. Her back straightened even further, she lifted her chin slightly, and then she looked both of them squarely in the eye without flinching. “I will say this, however. You were my closest and my dearest friends. I loved you more than you shall ever know. Quite foolish, really, since neither of you cared for me at all.”
Adrian opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him with her hand. “You, Adrian, led me to believe that we had an agreement—perhaps I was too eager and hasty to draw that conclusion. But it is impossible that you never noticed how I felt about you when everyone else did. If you had cared, Adrian—if you had cared at all—you would have known that kissing me meant more than the world to me. It saddens me to think that it meant so little to you.
“And, Kate. I poured out my heart to you. It was a long time ago, I’ll grant you that, but for you to spring something like this on me without a single word of warning . . .
“You were my dearest friends, both of you, but you broke my heart, truly you did. The worst of it is that I know—I think even you know—that I would never have treated your hearts so carelessly.
“You are marrying for love, and for that I cannot be anything but happy—grateful even—for at least the loss of your friendship has not been for nothing.”
Kate looked at her in bewilderment. “Surely you don’t mean to tell us . . .”
“That is exactly what I mean to tell you,” her voice slicing through the air like steel. “I will remember our friendship fondly, but such a friendship is based on trust and respect. You have failed me in both. I’m afraid that it is over.”
Without another word, Emily turned her back on them forever and walked away, her dress swooshing about her ankles. Francis followed in her wake, his heart swelling with pride—she was most assuredly not the same Emily that he had known as a youth, the giddy little thing that always shied away from any conflict. Instead, she was a woman of unbelievable strength, courage, and resolve.
A woman that he now wanted entirely for himself.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I believe that I am presently overstaying my welcome,” Emily told Beatrice as she sidled up next to her sister and drew her slightly away from Ladies Carroway and Giddington. “I ought to leave.”
“Did you have a quarrel?” Beatrice asked, her eyes big and round with worry.
“No. I merely told Kate and Adrian exactly how I feel.” Emily looked out over the throng of people. “Where’s Claire?”
Doing her best to hide her concern, Beatrice nodded her head i
n the direction of the dance floor. “Lord Camden asked her to dance.”
“How wonderful!” Emily exclaimed. “And you? Do you not wish to dance?”
“Nobody has asked, as of yet,” Beatrice told her with a brave attempt at hiding her embarrassment—Francis was after all within earshot.
Realizing her blunder, Emily gave her sister an apologetic smile.
“I was actually hoping that you might dance the next set with me.” Francis’s eyes shone with a sincerity that made Emily want to throw her arms around him in a grateful hug.
Beatrice smiled at him thankfully. “That is indeed most kind of you,” she said. “However, I believe that I am quite happy here in conversation with your aunt and Lady Giddington. However, if we must leave, then by all means, let me bid our hosts a good night.”
“I’m sorry to see you leave on my account,” Emily told her.
“Claire will be most disappointed. I believe she has taken a liking to the young lord,” Beatrice said.
“Emily,” Francis cut in. “There’s really no need for your sisters to leave. I can escort you home and then send the carriage back to wait for them.”
Beatrice beamed with delight, so pleased that she entirely forgot how inappropriate it would be for Francis and Emily to share a carriage together without a chaperone. Unwilling to complicate things any further, Emily decided to ignore the issue. Instead, she moved over to where Lady Carroway was standing. “I fear I must take my leave of your company, my lady. I wish to thank you for your hospitality. You have always been kind to me. For that I am grateful.”
Lady Carroway eyed her thoughtfully as if trying to determine what had brought about such an early departure. “I have always valued our friendship and I always shall.” Her words spoke volumes and were indeed a comfort to Emily.
“Lady Giddington, I shall see you on Friday?”
Veronica smiled at Emily and gave her a short nod. “Indeed you shall.”
“Very well, then, enjoy the rest of the evening, ladies.
“Beatrice, I believe that I will turn in early, but I will see you in the morning.” She gave her sister a cheeky look. “I expect you to tell me everything about Claire and Lord Camden.”
Beatrice grinned, shaking her head at her sister’s lust for gossip. Then, taking Francis’s arm, Emily glided away toward the stairs. With a final backward glance, she just managed to see Jonathan ask Beatrice to dance, and she couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief.
Emily and Francis sat in silence as the carriage rocked from side to side, the whispering wind streaming in through the open window, caressing their faces and playing with their hair. Recognizing Emily’s need for fresh air, Francis had asked the driver to take a longer route home.
Emily leaned forward to look out of the window as they drove up Duke Street, turning right onto Oxford. She loved the clippity-clop of the horses’ hooves against the cobblestones in the hushed night air, coupled with the dim, yellow glow of the gaslights. Both created a dreamlike atmosphere that swept all worries from her mind.
The touch of Francis’s hand upon her knee startled her. “Emily?” she heard him say.
“What is it?” she asked, surprised by the level of annoyance in her voice. Turning away from the window, she looked over at him, her heart almost skidding to a halt as she did so.
She had been so caught up in her own thoughts, mesmerized by the lights and buildings that they had passed along the way, that she had forgotten all about Francis.
How was it possible for anyone to be so disarmingly handsome? Even now, with his typically serious expression, she could feel the blood rushing to her face. Her heart fluttered and her stomach flip-flopped while he remained seemingly unperturbed. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t like him, she reminded herself. She hadn’t liked him in years, yet here he was turning her insides to mush. What in God’s name was going on?
She leaned back toward the window again. It had suddenly gotten ridiculously hot in the carriage. She needed the breeze to cool her down. “I’m sorry.” She was relieved that her voice at least sounded normal. “I was caught up in my own thoughts. I didn’t mean to balk at you. You startled me, that’s all.”
He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes seemingly boring into her. She shifted on the bench, uncomfortable by the way in which her skin prickled at the nape of her neck.
“I was just trying to tell you how well you did back there.” His voice was low and husky.
As her eyes roamed across his face, taking in each and every detail, her face heated once again as her mouth went dry. She licked her lips and moved her eyes skittishly to the corner of the carriage.
Don’t look at him, don’t look at him.
She had become all too painfully aware of the effect that he’d begun to have on her. This was the last thing she wanted—getting emotionally involved with Francis Riley. He would never be capable of returning any feelings she might develop toward him. How could he? It required a soft heart to love, and his was as solid as a lump of lead.
Yes, he had surprised her on more than one occasion recently, but that wasn’t enough to wipe away ten years of . . . of what? She couldn’t claim that he had ever been unkind, but he lacked something that was vital to her very existence: joy.
Why was she even worrying about this? She had no intention of falling in love with the man. There was no denying that she found him attractive, but so would any other level-headed female. But love? She almost laughed at herself for even thinking it.
Throwing an imaginary bucket of ice water over her head, she straightened her back and moved her eyes to meet his squarely. “It had to be done. I’m just happy that I came away with my head held high.”
“You did indeed. It can’t have been easy.”
She let out a deep sigh. “You’re right,” she smiled. “I wasn’t sure that I would make it out of there without collapsing in a fit of tears.”
“Emily . . .”
“They were my friends, Francis!” Her voice was fierce with emotion. “Had they just treated me with a bit more care, they could have had it all: each other and my friendship. Why did they have to make a mess of it?”
“Love does the strangest things to people’s minds,” he muttered.
Letting out another sigh, she paused before continuing. “I’m sorry to burden you with all of this, but . . . Beatrice worries too much about me as it is, and Claire . . . well, Claire’s Claire. She’ll just say something inappropriate in an attempt to take my mind off of it.”
“Do you not like it when people try to help you by making you think of something else?” he asked, a smoldering heat suddenly very much present in his dark brown eyes.
Emily sucked in her breath, her heart fluttering uncontrollably as her mind went straight back to the kiss they’d shared earlier that evening. “That depends.” Why did she say that? She should have said “no.” Why hadn’t she?
“Oh?” he asked with sudden interest “On what? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“On who that person is and on their efforts,” she replied. Good Lord, was she actually sitting in a carriage, flirting with Francis? Her skin prickled as heat surged through her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She needed more air.
Francis was enjoying himself immensely. Toying with Emily and making her squirm was quite possibly the most amusing thing he’d done in years. Apparently she wasn’t as immune to him as she liked to appear. Yet she seemed oblivious to his own growing desire, his urge to pull her onto his lap and smother her in kisses. To feel her slim thighs rubbing against his legs, her breasts pressing against his chest. . . . He wanted her in his bed, yet he willed himself to push that thought aside. He needed to wait. After all, she had nothing but reservations toward him. And rightly so. Seducing her would take time and lots and lots of patience. He wondered if he was up to the challenge, but then again, what other diversions did he have?
Willing himself not to take the bait, he smiled at her casual
ly. “Emily, I realize we’ve had our differences, you and I, but if you ever need to talk, I really don’t mind listening. In fact, I hope that you consider me your friend, and in so doing, realize that I will do what I can in order to help.”
She swallowed hard and thanked him, turning her gaze back toward the street. They had just turned onto Piccadilly and would be arriving at Berkeley Square within the next five minutes. But even that would not be enough time for her to get her feelings under control.
Francis had somehow managed to bring something that had been deeply hidden within her to the surface. She couldn’t have found the words to describe it if she had tried, but it was something new—a primitive urge to do things she never would have had the courage to think of doing before.
Her knowledge of what went on between a man and a woman was not entirely lacking. She understood the basics, and the more Francis continued to look at her with those fiery eyes of his, the more she found herself wishing that he would be the one to show her.
She silently admonished herself for her indecent thoughts, though that was of no avail whatsoever—it only made them more prominent.
Looking up, she saw Francis’s back disappearing through the door. They were home again and he was holding out his hand to her in order to help her down.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Would you care for a drink?” he asked as he handed his cloak over to Parker. As had become the custom, they’d each entered by their own door before rejoining in the hallway at number five.
Emily paused in the process of removing her satin gloves, pondering the idea. “I think I would,” she told him with a decisive nod as she pulled her hand free from the second glove and handed the pair over to Parker.
She didn’t quite catch the look of surprise on Francis’s face. He thought she might have refused his company—she clearly had a lot of thoughts and emotions that needed resolving, but he was glad to find that she didn’t mind being alone with him. He was making progress after all.
How Miss Rutherford Got Her Groove Back Page 10
