Emily's Beau

by Allison Lane

  She kept her eyes on his as they circled the room. He seemed so happy. So confident. So proud. She must keep him that way forever. So noble a goal must surely make up for her deception.

  “Relax, darling,” he murmured, caressing her back as he twirled her down the ballroom. “The gossips won’t bite. We’ll allow one set for people to fawn over us, then dance again.”

  “Good.” She started to say more, but Jacob’s face flashed past, every detail clear though she’d barely glimpsed it. Her heart leaped into her throat, preventing speech. She swallowed, trying to force it down. Already the dance was drawing to a close. She must be ready…

  * * * *

  Jacob might have been drowning. Shock muffled sound, slowed movement, and relentlessly drew him into a blackness no light could penetrate. Voices echoed hollowly, scraping his nerves raw.

  How could he have erred so badly? Only a fool ignored his own needs. He should have known that he could never tolerate Emily wed to another. Why else had he condemned everyone who had displayed interest in her? Controlling his temper to protect her would have been easier than controlling his need to claim her despite that she belonged to another. Denying the truth had plunged him into the same predicament his father’s cousin had faced.

  His heart cracked, draining enough blood that he swayed. By the time he controlled himself, the waltz was over, with Charles only a yard away. Duty called. Hiding pain and fury, he stepped forward.

  “Congratulations.” He clapped Charles firmly on the shoulder with as much bonhomie as he could muster.

  It wasn’t much. His hands were numb. Touching Charles felt like touching fog. Brushing the feeling aside, he continued, “Who would have thought you would be the first to settle? You’ve depths even the Beaux didn’t recognize.”

  * * * *

  Emily struggled to compose herself before Jacob finished bantering with Charles and turned his delight on her. Her jaw was already cramping from her forced smile. Spots danced before her eyes.

  You will never manage! snapped a new voice suspiciously like Harriet’s. You’re hopeless! Look at you! Your knees are shaking. You can barely speak. How will you face him again and again and again without breaking? You know—

  She slammed a door on the intruder, but panic clawed up her spine.

  “Emily! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

  She pulled herself together to accept Sophie’s exuberant hug.

  “Just what I wanted,” Sophie exclaimed. “A sister!”

  “I thought you already had one.” Emily grinned. “Or did George wed a monkey?”

  “You know what I mean. I rarely see Elizabeth, so we’ve never been close. But you are my dearest friend. And now you will be my sister. I’m so excited, I may swoon.”

  “You would never do anything so gauche,” chided Emily. “Your mother would die of embarrassment.”

  “I know.” She rapidly fanned her face, then leaned closer. “Guess what!”

  “You are also betrothed.”

  “Not yet, but I’m closer. Ashington is driving me in the park tomorrow. He never escorts ladies during the fashionable hour.”

  “Wonderful!” Emily suddenly remembered that Charles stood next to her, so she lowered her voice to a whisper. “What about Charles? He quivered every time he glanced your way last night.”

  “I’m counting on you to control him. He and Papa had words two days ago – I complained after Charles threatened to lock me up if I spoke to Ashington again. But I doubt a parental injunction will hold him for long.”

  “I’ll do what I can.” She would have said more, but people were crowding around, with Jacob in the lead.

  “May I have the next set, Miss Hughes?” he asked, holding out his arm.

  How could she refuse? Her infatuation aside, she needed more time before facing the gossips. They were far too adept at reading faces. Charles was already waving her away. If she balked, both men might wonder why.

  “Of course.” Effort kept her voice light.

  It was another waltz.

  Every curse she’d ever heard paraded through her head. But she could do nothing but wrestle her face into submission and pray.

  His first touch demolished her excuses for accepting this dance. She needed this last contact.

  His hand burned into her back, imparting all the heat and sizzle Charles’s touch lacked. Electricity shot from his other hand to hers, despite their gloves. It was the first time they’d waltzed – and the last. She was in heaven. Or was it hell? Agony. Ecstasy. Was there no end to the emotions rampaging through her heart?

  Somehow, she kept her face calm and managed an inane remark about the crowd.

  * * * *

  Jacob hadn’t realized that the second set would also be a waltz. The moment he took her in his arms, his eyes stung. Touching her was more painful than he could have imagined, recalling their kiss of two days ago.

  Two days! How could she kiss him boneless, then accept another man only hours later?

  Fool! he castigated himself as they circled the ballroom. Yes, he’d kissed her. Yes, he’d crushed her close. But he’d also pulled away, withholding any hint that he truly cared. She must have thought he was a cad.

  It took determination to keep from ravaging her mouth to prove that conclusion wrong. She was all he wanted, now and forever. But he was too late. Obsession had driven others to dishonor, but not him. Since honor was all he had left, he must cling to it. He would not become the subject of gossip.

  Custom kept his gaze on her face, but he blinded his sight so he needn’t see her glow. Heat built wherever she touched, playing havoc with his control and increasing his grief with each new note.

  He ought to talk lightly, discussing on-dits and exchanging comments on the weather like every other couple. But his throat was too tight. Even if he could prod his brain to work, his tongue could never spit out words. All he could do was hold her the prescribed twelve inches away and die a slow and exceedingly painful death.

  They made a complete circuit of the room before he managed, “Congratulations, Em. I wish you the best. Charles is a good man.”

  * * * *

  Emily’s struggle to stay calm muffled her ears, making his voice sound odd, almost strained.

  “Thank you,” she managed coolly. She nearly congratulated him on his own betrothal, but remembered that he had yet to announce it. Agitation might drive her to say something gauche if she again spoke, so she kept her mouth closed, indulging instead in sensation.

  The set stretched interminably, yet was over in the blink of an eye. And when it was, she did as she had vowed, locking Jacob away so she could concentrate on her future with Charles. That was all that mattered now.

  * * * *

  Jacob heaved a sigh of relief when the set finally ended. His control hung by a thread. Bidding Emily farewell, he escaped the ballroom, forgetting that he’d agreed to watch Harriet after supper.

  “Sorry to leave so quickly,” he told Lady Inslip, who had returned to the receiving line. “I had to put in an appearance in support of Charles, but I received an urgent summons from the Oakhaven steward.”

  “Of course,” she said. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

  “We will see.” Unable to utter another word, he fled.

  Leaving town had not occurred to him until the words tumbled from his lips, but it was the best solution. He had to avoid Charles until he suppressed the need to throttle him. And pride demanded he remain away until he could meet Emily as a friend. Which might take forever.

  Returning to Hawthorne Park had never sounded better.

  Chapter Eleven

  After supper, Harriet led Miss Beaumont to the Inslip House morning room and solicitously helped her lie on the couch.

  “I’m sure your head will be fine shortly,” she murmured, tucking a cushion in place. Not that she cared, but Miss Beaumont’s sudden headache gave her a chance to escape the interfering busybody. She needed time alone so she could think.


  She hadn’t had a moment to herself since arriving at Inslip House. Miss Beaumont played shadow every waking moment. Even last night’s outing to the opera had allowed her no chance to speak with Jacob alone. After years of lax supervision, constant surveillance was intolerable. And tonight had been the final straw.

  Lady Inslip’s invitation to this ball had been so condescending that Harriet had nearly refused. Only her need to attach Jacob had stayed her tongue. But Lady Inslip had made it clear that Harriet lacked even the cachet of an invited guest at Inslip House. She would be Miss Beaumont’s charge, with no connection to the family.

  Fury burned hotter every time she recalled those words. It had to be Emily’s fault. Emily and Sophie often whispered together, excluding her from their confidences. Emily feared competition from so blazing a diamond, so she and Sophie conspired to keep Harriet out of society. Sophie had convinced Lady Inslip to cut her.

  Harriet scowled. They needed a stern lesson, and wedding Jacob would give her the power to teach it. They would pay, then pay again until every slight was avenged several times over.

  Especially Emily’s. Despite accepting Charles, she kept Jacob dancing attendance on her. He’d waltzed with her tonight, then left, forgetting the set Harriet had given him. So Emily must be punished.

  And Jacob owed her an apology. She looked forward to accepting it. His guilt offered a new opportunity to bind him. Men were most vulnerable when begging forgiveness. She’d mastered enough of the seductive arts to bind him if given half a chance. He—

  Miss Beaumont’s fingers plucked at her arm. “If you could fetch me a glass of ratafia, dear. A small one will cure my head in a trice.”

  “You don’t want your tonic?”

  “No. Ratafia works better. I should have taken some earlier. Violins always bother me.”

  “Of course.”

  She hid her glee as she slipped out the door. This was her chance to make Emily suffer.

  Miss Beaumont’s cupboard held several bottles. Harriet poured a glass of ratafia, then added a generous dollop of laudanum. The ratafia’s sweetness would cover any bitterness.

  Half an hour later, laudanum and a boring monologue about India put Miss Beaumont to sleep. Harriet turned her mind to planning.

  All her life, she’d been an unwanted burden shoved ruthlessly into the background. Even her mother had heeded her only when it didn’t interfere with her own plans. Everything Harriet had ever achieved had come through her own efforts. Jacob would learn the same truth others had discovered too late. She allowed nothing to stand between her and her destiny.

  So far, every step had succeeded. She had refused each offer in India in such a way that no one considered renewing his proposal no matter what inducements Wentworth tried. She had reached England and chosen the best husband for her purposes – better even than the previous Hawthorne, whom she’d planned to attach. It was his title and fortune she needed.

  Society was stricter than she’d expected, but she could use that. A lifetime with the military had taught her much about strategy.

  It was time to change her approach, though. Unlike most men, Jacob seemed immune to her charms. So instead of flirtation, she would try guile. Tonight’s insult proved that he would never offer for her on his own.

  The memory again heated her blood. By the time she’d discovered him gone, it had been too late to give the set to someone else. Several girls had gloated over her predicament. Others took the opportunity to snub her more blatantly than usual.

  She fought her temper into submission lest it cloud her thinking.

  Society’s rules dictated her next step. Only a week ago, Lady Horseley had discovered Lord Sedgewick Wiley alone with a disheveled Miss Patterson. Despite their very different stations and the credit that should have allowed Lord Sedgewick to avoid a distasteful marriage, they had wed immediately.

  So Harriet must get caught in Jacob’s arms. He could not refuse her hand. Gentlemen prized honor above all else.

  As for Emily, the best retribution would be to turn Lord Charles’s head the way she’d turned Jacob’s – an easy chore. His reputation revealed proclivities she could exploit.

  With a nod of satisfaction, she checked her hair, made sure Miss Beaumont was sleeping soundly, then returned to the ballroom. Charles had promised his mother he would remain until the bitter end, so she could pick the best time to approach him.

  * * * *

  Charles downed another glass of wine, wishing he could leave. He’d already danced three sets with Emily, most recently the supper dance. Even a newly betrothed couple could not claim more, and there was no one else he wanted to partner. But not dancing left him open to an exhausting torrent of congratulations, risqué suggestions, and questions.

  He marveled at how fast his life was changing. He’d offered for Emily with none of the consideration he usually accorded decisions. Now their respective families were rushing ahead with wedding plans, suggestions on houses, hints that he would soon be a father …

  He quelled his rising panic.

  Sophie’s laugh raised new fury. She was again talking to Ashington. His fingers longed to squeeze the life from the cad. But his father had forbidden any confrontation under his mother’s roof.

  Turning his back so he needn’t see them, he accepted a new glass of wine from a passing footman, parried another lewd comment by a fellow rake, and tried to figure out why kissing Emily froze his soul. He loved her. He’d known her most of his life and had long considered her a friend. Nothing about marriage could make him nervous.

  Last night’s disappointment had been understandable. He’d rushed his offer because Jacob’s precipitate removal of Harriet had raised speculation about Emily, something he could not counter until she was his – no one would dare criticize a Beaumont. But their hurry had made it impossible to fully enjoy their kiss.

  He bit back a sigh. Love changed so many things. One of them was the excitement he always found in flirting with danger. Stealing a kiss from an innocent was dangerous. Doing so in a public place was worse. But this time, discovery would have changed nothing. They were already betrothed and planning an early marriage. At most they would have drawn an indulgent smile and a quip about young love. There would have been no irate fathers pounding on desks, no insulted husbands to demand satisfaction…

  He shivered at the reminder of last year’s narrow escape.

  Tonight’s kiss should have been better. He’d deliberately led her outside to show her what the future held. He’d accomplished his goal, but his own reaction had been even more insipid than before. What the devil was wrong with him?

  He meant to settle down after marriage, but that was a decision he’d made many years ago and actually anticipated. His family had a long history of fidelity. Even his uncle, whose notoriety had once bordered on contemptible, remained faithful to his wife. And it wasn’t as if he was giving up anything valuable. A life of endless conquests had long since grown stale.

  It was the suddenness of his betrothal that was confusing him, he decided as he moved through the dwindling crowd – it was late enough that many of the guests were gone. He’d not had time to contemplate the idea, so his body had not yet switched focus. For years he’d allowed lascivious thoughts only about courtesans or matrons interested in dalliance. Since Emily wasn’t a courtesan, his libido did not yet consider her delectable. But that would change.

  Satisfied, he relaxed, and promptly tripped over his foot. His head whirled. He’d drunk more than he’d thought.

  “Are you all right, my lord?” asked Harriet, grabbing his arm to steady him.

  He was grateful. It would not have done to fall in his mother’s ballroom, especially on the night he announced his betrothal. People might question his devotion.

  “Quite fine.” But he swayed, leaning more heavily than he’d intended. He had to grab her shoulder to keep her from toppling.

  “You need to sit down for a moment. This room is so warm it quite remi
nds me of India. You can’t be accustomed to it.”

  “No. Too hot tonight.” His words echoed oddly. She was right. He needed to sit until his head cleared and his stomach stopped churning. He usually kept closer track of his intake, but an evening of constant interruptions and congratulatory toasts had distracted him. He’d best leave before he cast up his accounts like a cub who couldn’t hold his wine.

  “This way, my lord.” Her hand closed over his wrist. “Let’s find someplace quiet. You are looking rather green.”

  “Shounds like a good idea,” he slurred, letting her lead him away.

  When he again stumbled over his feet, she shook her head. “Lady Inslip will not be pleased to find you in your cups.” She smiled as if sharing a joke with him.

  That smile did something odd to his insides, but at least she wasn’t chiding him. His mother would be furious. He still recalled her scold when he’d stumbled into her drawing room after a long night of drinking. Even at eighteen, he’d been expected to conduct himself in accordance with his position – or her view of his position. Public drunkenness wasn’t on her list. Or his. How had he lost control so thoroughly? He must have consumed three bottles to be this foxed.

  “Right again,” he managed, turning for the stairs. “My old room will do.” The butler would keep his presence quiet. No point in telling his parents that he’d spent the night. They would want to know why. He could hardly admit that he’d drunk too deeply while contemplating his lack of response to Emily’s kisses.

  “Lean on my shoulder, Charles. I doubt you’ll make it otherwise.” Again her eyes laughed up at him, sending his spirits soaring. Her tone turned his condition into a joke. He hadn’t been on a lark since moving into his own rooms had made surreptitious returns unnecessary – though it had been perfume as often as wine he’d been hiding. His mother demanded discretion in all things.

  “You’re good shport, Harriet – I can call you Harriet, can’t I? Good shport.” His knees wobbled. Only draping his arm over her shoulder kept him upright. His next stumble skidded his hand down to cover her breast.