Henry clicked his tongue. “I have crumbs all over my fingers.”
Crumbs? He was talking of crumbs?
He held the fingers in question up to her mouth and pushed gently. “Will you get them off for me?”
Her heart pounded. Any moment someone could come by the open door, or her mother could return from the kitchen. Still, she drew the tip of his finger into her mouth with a gentle suck.
He moaned. “Emma.”
She moved on to the next finger and the next, only pulling back when she’d cleaned all five. “Is that better, your grace?”
His eyes were dark and hooded. “I believe I told you what would happen if you kept calling me that.”
“And yet I’m still here and you’re still there and the only thing your lips have done thus far today is speak.” She took a sandwich from the tray. “Perhaps you hunger for more than words?”
Repeating what he’d done to her, she put the food up to his mouth, letting out a gasp when he both slipped the sandwich into his mouth and licked the tip of her finger.
“Give me the rest,” he said when he finished chewing.
“The sandwiches?” she managed to croak out.
“Your fingers.”
She had barely lifted her hand before he took it and brought it to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm. She watched in awe as he continued, kissing his way to her pinkie. Her belly tightened at the feel of his lips on her skin.
“Please,” she whispered, but wasn’t sure if she was pleading for him to stop or to never cease.
His lips pressed softly against the inside of her wrist and then, grinding his teeth, he lowered her hand to her lap.
“We best stop. Your mother.”
He didn’t need to say anything further. Though he had already proposed, and though she had accepted, it wouldn’t do for anyone to see them acting in such a manner.
Still, she could have sobbed for the loss of his touch.
“Soon,” he said. “I promise.”
She could not fathom the wait, but he was right. She straightened her skirts, patted her hair, and moved a bit so as not to be found pressed against him when her mother returned.
Not a moment too soon, either. Henry had just picked his teacup back up when her mother scurried into the room. Her eyes traveled over them and, with a sigh of satisfaction or relief, she took her seat at the door and picked her sewing back up.
“Trouble in the kitchen, Mother?”
“Nothing much, dear. Just a little scuffle.” Her mother looked to Henry. “How is tea, your grace?”
He took a sandwich from the tray and popped it into his mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. “Excellent, Lady Gallent. Indeed, the refreshment is so tasty I would lick my fingers if not in polite company.”
Emma choked on her tea.
“Thank you, your grace. Goodness, Emma, are you quite all right?”
The tea nearly came out of her nose. She dabbed her face with her napkin and glared at Henry. How dare he appear so unruffled! “Yes, quite.”
He looked at Emma with a knowing look. She raised an eyebrow.
“Soon,” he mouthed.
Promise or threat, she couldn’t tell. The shiver ran up her spine again, knowing she would take either.
****
The difference with the Whitcombs’ ball, Emma decided that night, was that she wasn’t wearing a mask. She walked into the ballroom behind her parents, expecting the worst. The worst, however, never came. A few people glanced her way and a whisper or two was murmured behind a fan, but no one was openly hostile.
It was more than she expected. Was it because she had been seen in Henry’s presence lately, or had Laura spoken the truth when she said much of Emma’s problem was Emma herself? She didn’t want to think too much about it, fearful of what she might discover.
A young gentleman she recalled as being one of Henry’s friends approached her. “Lady Emmaline. How lovely you were able to come.”
“Thank you…” she stammered, drawing a complete blank trying to recall his name.
“Lord Clarkton. I haven’t seen you out in ages. Perhaps you’ll be so kind as to save me a dance?”
“Back off, Paul,” said a stern voice behind her.
The young man chuckled. “Salle, you injure me. I only asked for a dance.”
“Her dance card is filled.”
Emma couldn’t make sense of the scene playing out before her. There was no reason she could think of for Henry not wanting her to dance with his friend. To be wanted was one thing, to have to suffer someone’s jealous delusions quite another.
“Your grace,” she said, hoping to defuse the situation. “I didn’t see you come in.”
Henry didn’t say anything, he simply nodded.
The two friends stared at each other in an apparent silent conversation.
Paul eventually broke the stalemate. “I see Blakemore’s daughter. I’ll go see if she has room for a dance.”
“Excellent proposition.”
“What was that about?” Emma asked once Paul had left.
“I don’t feel like sharing,” he said with a smile.
They joined in the first dance, and he kept her on the floor for the second as well. Likely he would have insisted on a third, but she informed him quite insistently that she would be ever so beholden if he would get her something to drink.
She watched him disappear into the crowd and wiggled her toes in her shoes. She really wasn’t used to dancing anymore.
“Oh my,” a female voice said from her side. “I hadn’t realized they let just anyone into the ball.”
She cut her eyes to see Lady Elizabeth, daughter of the Earl of Blakemore, standing beside her. The girl — she could not in good conscience consider her a woman — looked innocent enough, but there was a gleam in her eyes that spoke of something dark inside. Then the young girl blinked and fluttered her fan, and the gleam was gone.
Emma knew she had only a moment to set her course for the foreseeable future. She also knew she was tired of hiding.
“Indeed?” Emma asked. “Pray tell, please point out the unwanted party so I can be certain to avoid that person.”
Elizabeth gave a slight nod of her head, perhaps in respect of her reply, perhaps not. “You do have a quick wit. I suppose that would keep him occupied for a time, but it’s not enough for a lasting alliance.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll be so kind as to enlighten me as to what you’re talking about?”
“Why, his grace, of course. Everyone knows he’s dragging you back out to help his reputation. Though why he thinks he needs to do so is beyond my understanding.”
“I have the distinct impression there is much beyond your understanding.”
Lady Elizabeth’s nostrils widened and her fan fluttered faster. “I know this — I know he would rather have the company of just about anyone over a rejected, passed-over spinster.”
The remark hurt more than Emma would let anyone know. She wiggled her fingers at Elizabeth. “Be gone, child. I grow weary of this conversation.”
“Certainly, Lady Emmaline. I do believe I’ll go speak with my father. I see his grace is talking with him.”
Emma followed Elizabeth’s line of sight and, indeed, Henry was talking with Lord Blakemore. She also noted that he was holding two drinks.
“He came over just yesterday to speak with Father,” Elizabeth said. “I expect he’ll return tomorrow as well. Must hurry up and finalize the contract.”
Surely, she wasn’t talking about a marriage contract, but Emma could think of no other contract the two men would be finalizing. She wanted nothing more than to tell the little chit that Henry had already offered for her, but she bit her tongue. It had been her idea to keep their agreement a secret, to go back on it now… she couldn’t do that to him.
“I wish you every happiness,” Emma said through clenched teeth.
“Thank you. You’re such a dear. But, goodness, how utterly rude of me. What with you
without any prospects whatsoever.”
“Think nothing of it.”
The angelic nose lifted up a notch or two. “You’ll understand if I don’t invite you to the wedding. What with your… history and all.”
For just a second, no matter how improbable her head told her it was, Emma imagined a church with Henry and Elizabeth at the altar, and her heart ached. There was no way Henry could possibly be interested in Elizabeth. No way he would even consider offering for her. Not after the Christmas tree hunt. Not after tea. But the heart was such an unreasonable organ, it never listened to common sense.
Emma glared at her. “You sound very confident in your position.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Indeed. Why would she not? Emma wondered if she’d ever been that confident. She couldn’t fathom it.
Elizabeth didn’t wait for a reply, but instead took off with one last flutter of her fan and a toss of her head. Emma watched in horror as the young woman walked to her father’s side, smiled sweetly at Henry, and proceeded to take one of the two drinks he held.
To give Henry credit, it appeared as if he tried to stop her; he even looked over his shoulder to Emma. Emma waved him on, finding she wasn’t thirsty anymore and that she really wished she’d allowed him a third dance.
Telling herself to trust him, she turned her attention to other things: the couples dancing before her, the gossiping married ladies to the side of the dance floor, and the shy debutants who looked wistfully at any passing male. When she turned back, Henry was gone.
She purposed not to dwell on it and even joined in a conversation with other ladies about recent fashion trends. Yet, some part of her still searched the room for him. Where had he gone?
So intently was her time divided between morning gowns and glancing about to see if Henry was around, it took her longer than most people to notice the noise coming from a far salon.
“Heavens,” one of the women she had been talking to said. “Whatever is going on?”
The sounds of angry masculine voices and a sobbing female were joined by breaking glass.
“A fight, do you think?” another asked.
“Either that or someone’s been called out.”
The answer finally came by way of a flushed debutant as she rushed by the small group.
“It’s the Duke of Salle,” she said. “He’s compromised Lady Elizabeth.”
Chapter Six
By the time the room stopped spinning, Emma’s companions had moved closer to the salon. Around her, she saw people’s mouths moving, but all she heard was the internal chanting in her head.
This can’t be happening.
This can’t be happening.
This can’t be happening.
Her worst fears were confirmed when Henry was shoved into the ballroom by Lord Blakemore. Henry’s hair was tousled, and it looked like there was a rip in his jacket. His eyes searched the crowd, stopping only when they rested on her. He seemed to plead with her.
Then Lady Elizabeth stepped behind him, a handkerchief replacing the fan that had been in her hand. Though she was dabbing her eyes, she didn’t look to be overly sad. In fact, there seemed to be a look of almost self-satisfaction about her.
Emma’s feet carried her forward unbidden. If she could just talk to him. Just touch him. He would laugh and look at her the way he did, and she would know everything would be fine.
People crowded around her and, though Henry was tall, she had to stand on her toes just to catch a glimpse of his head. She pushed forward, scarcely mindful of the jabbing elbows and jostling shoulders. Eventually, she drew close enough to hear and see.
Henry jerked his arm from the gentleman holding it. “Let go of me.”
“Not until you agree to make this right.”
“I’ll do no such thing.”
“Then pick your second and I’ll see you at dawn.”
“Gentlemen, please.”
Her gaze shot behind Henry to the person who had spoken. Her father.
Her father?
She could come up with no reason why her father would be involved in anything regarding Henry and Lady Elizabeth.
But whatever reason he had seemed to be working. The angry voices around Henry lowered to rough whispers. No one pulled at his clothing. Henry’s expression didn’t change, though; he looked pained. Grievous.
Realizing she wouldn’t have the opportunity to speak to him any time soon, Emma took herself to a far wall and sat down. Already the gossip flowed easily around her about what had transpired.
“I heard he ravished her.”
“No!”
“Yes. Found her alone in the salon and… well… it isn’t decent to say out loud.”
Emma contemplated moving, but knew the conversation would be the same no matter where she went.
It could have been minutes or hours before someone came to stand before her. By then she had heard every imagined, supposed, or assumed scenario of what had occurred in the salon.
“Emma.”
Henry.
She peeked up at him. He looked eighty years old.
“I don’t have much time,” he said. “But I will find a way out of this. This is my vow to you.”
She shook her head. It was her worst nightmare come true. “I cannot fathom how.”
“Don’t believe them.”
The truth was she didn’t. She knew Henry better than to think he would possibly force himself on any woman. Unfortunately, society had rules and in their minds, Henry had broken them.
“I don’t,” she said. “But I’d like to hear what happened.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “We can’t talk here for obvious reasons, and I’ve been summoned to the Blakemore’s tomorrow.”
“Tonight. I’ll meet you in the gardens.”
“I can’t ask that of you. If we’re caught…”
“I shall be cautious.”
He smiled. The first genuine grin she’d seen from him in hours. “Tonight then. The gardens.”
“Salle,” her father said, appearing behind Henry.
“Lord Gallent,” Henry said, though it sounded as if he spoke through clenched teeth. “Thank you for your assistance earlier.”
“I believe you’ve ruined enough women for one night. Leave my daughter be.”
“Father.”
He didn’t even look at her. “Go wait in the carriage, Emmaline.”
“His grace and I —”
“Now.” Her father’s voice was so stern, she didn’t contemplate disobeying.
She curtsied to Henry and left.
****
Henry paced in the darkened garden, waiting for Emma, and replaying the night’s events in his head. He still couldn’t put his finger on exactly what went wrong.
A tree branch snapped behind him and he spun around.
Emma stood waiting in her blue pelisse, her nightdress peeking out from below. Any other night, he would have made a sarcastic remark about being scandalized, but at the moment he didn’t feel up to it.
“Have you thought of a way out?” she asked.
“No.” He sighed and kicked a clod of dirt. “I fear I shall have to go along with being betrothed to the chit until she admits to what happened or someone else comes forward.”
“Little chance of her admitting anything.” She told him briefly about her conversation with Elizabeth.
“It’s worse than I imagined.”
“Tell me what happened.”
He took her hand and led her to a nearby bench. Once she sat down, he joined her.
“I was trying to get away from Blakemore and his daughter when Paul came up and told me there was a card game starting. He pointed to the far salon, but when I got there, the room was empty.”
“So Paul’s to blame?”
He didn’t think so. He’d spoken to Paul after, and his friend said he must have gotten the rooms mixed up. Henry believed him.
“I doubt it. For what reason would he wan
t me wed to Lady Elizabeth?”
“I can think of five right off the top of my head.” She lifted her hand and counted them off. “Someone is blackmailing him. Someone is paying him nicely. He’s trying to get back at you for some imagined wrong. He made a large wager at White’s either against you and me getting wed or for you and Elizabeth getting wed. Or he’s hopelessly and maddeningly in love with me, and this is the only way he knew of to get you away from me.”
He gaped at her in stunned silence.
“What?” she asked.
“You are amazing, did you know that?”
She ducked her head. “Yes, but it’s rather nice to hear.”
“Shall I continue with what happened?” At her nod, he went on. “The room was empty, so I turned to leave, but before I could step outside, Elizabeth came in and closed the door. I didn’t know what to do. She threw herself at me. Then I stared in horror as she ripped her bodice.”
“Conniving chit.”
“Based on what you said, she had this planned all night.”
“And everyone played right along,” Emma mused.
She looked lovely in the moonlight. The only mar he saw was the faint worry line on her forehead, but even that looked lovely to him, for it meant she was troubled.
It humbled him.
“Who was the first to discover you?” she asked.
He hesitated. “Lord Blakemore’s son. Your father appeared shortly thereafter.”
“Father?”
“Yes,” he said, then sighed. “I don’t know how to get out of this other than for us to run away.”
He saw the excitement pass through her expression before reality took its place.
“We can’t,” she said. “You’re a duke. You have responsibilities.”
“One of those might be marrying Lady Elizabeth.” It pained him to say it, but he had to admit the truth.
She turned and threw her arms around him. “I can’t think that. How can I lose you when I just found you?”
He had no words to calm her, so he simply held her. He closed his eyes and tried to commit the moment to memory. Her smell. Her feel. Her touch. He lowered his head and ran his nose along her cheek. Her face was wet.
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