by Diana Bold
Heated embarrassment flooded Michael’s whole body. “Of course. You’re absolutely right.” Still, he hated having to tell her, hated that she wanted to know. No other woman of his acquaintance would have demanded such knowledge.
“I’m waiting,” she urged, squeezing his hand a little tighter.
“You probably wouldn’t understand,” he said, hoping to dissuade her. “It has to do with economics and politics.”
“Try me.” Steel laced her soft words, and he reminded himself that she was no fool. Crafty intelligence shone in her dark eyes. With a father like Blackjack Marks, the infamous gold and railroad tycoon, she probably knew more about economics than he did.
“The Blake holdings are extensive,” he began. “My father owns a dozen estates, which require tremendous upkeep. Our agriculture profits and shipping ventures should cover those costs, but prices have fallen, thanks to you Americans. Each year, we go further into debt. Without a large influx of capital, it’s inevitable that our creditors will start calling in their markers. When they do, this fragile house of cards I’ve built will come tumbling down.”
“Can’t you sell a few of the smaller estates to raise the funds you need?”
He shook his head. “They’re entailed. But even if they weren’t, my father would never hear of it.” A note of bitterness crept into his voice.
“Thank you for telling me. I know how difficult it must’ve been.” She hugged him then, a swift, soft embrace that was over before he could truly enjoy it. He’d never known anyone so physically demonstrative.
“Don’t worry, Michael. If we marry, I’m confident in your ability to put my dowry to good use. I’m sure our children will never have to face such uncertainty.”
To his surprise, the thought of Emma bearing his children no longer bothered him. Before he’d met her, he’d worried she’d impose her flighty behavior upon his heirs. Now he wondered if that would be such a bad thing.
His own mother had been a bit like Emma. Wild, free, and flamboyant. He’d always longed for just a little of the love and laughter the countess had showered upon Dylan, but his father hated his artistic Scottish wife and had done his best to keep Michael away from her.
After all, Michael was the future Earl of Warren. Such plebian emotions as love and tenderness were supposed to be beneath him. Troubled, he looked away and gazed into the sparkling leaping water.
“Why so sad?” Emma asked softly. “You look a million miles away.”
He lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “You remind me of my mother. She died when I was very young.”
She’d killed herself, actually. Unable to cope with her husband’s cruelty, Fiona Blake had flung herself from a cliff in Scotland, crashing upon the rocks several hundred feet below.
“I’m so sorry.” Emma’s dark eyes welled with sudden sympathetic tears. “I recently lost my own mother.”
Michael cleared his throat, uncomfortable, and awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Do you have any other questions?” he asked, in a blatant attempt to change the subject. He had no experience with crying females.
She laughed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Not at the moment. Do you?”
There was, in fact, one other thing he wanted to know. He needed an answer to the question that had haunted him since their last meeting.
Given his pressing need to secure her dowry, her answer shouldn’t matter. But it did. It mattered more than he cared to admit.
He cleared his throat and looked away. “I’d very much like to know if you’re still innocent.” He cast her a quick glance then cursed himself for the hurt that flashed in her expressive eyes. “Mind you, my proposal still stands, whatever your answer.”
For a long moment, he feared he’d gone too far, but then she squeezed his hand. “I suppose I deserve that. I’ve behaved quite badly since we met.” Lifting her head, she met his chagrined gaze with unwavering honesty. “I’ve never taken a lover, Michael. You’ll be the first.”
“Thank you.” Relief washed over him, and he glanced away for a moment, lest she see how much her answer meant to him. In truth, he didn’t think he could have borne it if she’d told him differently—dowry be damned. “I think we’ve covered the most important things. The rest will come in time.”
“Good.” Releasing his hand, Emma slowly removed her glove, then touched his cheek with her bare fingertips. His breath caught as she traced his features, her dark eyes alight with tender amusement. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about the test.”
“Oh, yes. The test.” If it involved more touching, he couldn’t find it within himself to protest.
Her thumb brushed his lips and learned their shape and texture. She held his gaze as though daring him to look away. “Kiss me, Michael. I need to assure myself that there’s some warmth in that cold heart of yours.”
For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t do anything but stare at this beautiful infuriating woman. How had this happened? He wasn’t supposed to want her this much.
Already, he sensed that this thing between them would cross all his boundaries, make him doubt himself, and her, time and again. Above all, it would never be easy, and he’d had enough difficult relationships to last a lifetime.
“Warmth?” He cupped her face in his hands and pressed his lips against hers with lingering promise. “I burn for you, Emma. God help us both.”
Emma. Her name rolled easily off his tongue. All his life, he’d been so careful not to speak his mind, but Emma’s frank manner seemed to be contagious. With her, he felt the strange, narcotic freedom to be more himself.
Her mouth opened eagerly beneath his, and all reason and sanity fled. She tasted of summer, of sensual indulgence amid silken sheets, of everything he’d ever secretly wanted and been denied.
Such pleasure was surely sinful. He didn’t trust himself not to become lost in the pursuit of it.
He’d seen the devastating results of such passion in his parents’ marriage, and he feared being caught in the same trap. Was this what had driven Dylan to break his promises, to risk everything for a few breathless moments in Natalia’s arms?
For the first time, Michael understood his brother’s actions all too well. The realization that he was just as susceptible, just as weak, terrified him.
He pulled away and stared at her with deep foreboding. Because despite his fears, despite everything, he desperately wanted to kiss her again.
She smiled and brought her fingertips to her lips, as though to capture the imprint of his kiss for all time. “You’ll do, Michael,” she whispered softly. “You’ll do.”
* * *
Later that night, Emma laid wide awake, staring up at the coffered ceiling of her rented bedroom suite as she tried to assimilate the sudden change in her circumstances.
She was engaged to a peer of the realm. Though she’d worked for this most of her life, it still seemed too impossible to believe.
Oh, she wished her mother were here to share this with her! This amazing victory seemed hollow somehow without the woman who had envisioned it. After all, Alice Marks had been the driving force behind Emma’s bid to make a spectacular marriage.
Alice had reluctantly accepted the fact that all her husband’s wealth could never buy her the social cache she desired for herself, but she’d refused to allow her daughter to face the same fate. Both of Emma’s parents had been born into poverty and pulled themselves out with grit and determination, but their daughter had been born a princess. Nothing in the world could convince them she didn’t deserve a prince.
All through Emma’s childhood, Alice bemoaned the possibility that her daughter’s beauty and talent would never be enough to charm one of New York’s self-proclaimed aristocrats. Then came the War Between the States.
Concerned for their safety, Jack had sent his wife and daughter to Paris to wait out the hostilities. Alice had quickly realized it was easier to finesse a marriage proposal from European nobility than to gain a dinner invita
tion from New York’s Old Guard.
Rolling onto her stomach, Emma buried her face in her pillow and remembered how hard her mother had pushed her during the last six years. She’d taken dance lessons, voice lessons, and advanced academics at the most exclusive finishing schools in Europe. All in an effort to make sure she was so accomplished and graceful the impoverished nobles of England would find it impossible to resist her. Unfortunately, Alice had come down with pneumonia last winter and died without ever knowing Emma had succeeded.
Now it was up to Emma to ensure her marriage to Lord Sherbourne was everything her mother had hoped. Thankfully, she had Jane to aid her in her task.
Emma smiled at the thought of her secret weapon and rearranged her pillow in a more comfortable position. So far, Jane had earned every penny of the exorbitant sum Jack Marks had paid her for the use of her social connections and her London home.
Jane had known the best way to guarantee Emma’s social success was to introduce her to the prince, who had a fondness for beautiful, well-dressed women. And as Jane had predicted, Bertie had been enchanted by the young American. After he’d given Emma his approval, the invitations had poured in. Tonight, he’d even danced with her, an amazing social feat, which would have made her night, even if she hadn’t secured Michael’s proposal.
But Michael was not part of the prince’s fast set, a fact Emma had noted with considerable relief. Though the London social scene left her breathless with excitement, she’d been aghast at the loose morals and overindulgence with which the jaded titled crowd pursued their pleasures. At heart, she supposed she was still enough of a commoner to expect her husband to remain faithful.
Thankfully, Michael seemed honorable and steady. Yet he was also marvelously complicated and intelligent. When he gave his heart, he would give it completely. He would never take a mistress, nor gamble with their fortunes.
Although she’d immediately sensed there was more to Michael than met the eye, he’d stunned her when he’d let his guard down this evening and gave her those few small glimpses into his soul. And his scorching kiss had assured her she’d made the right choice.
The thought comforted her and banished any lingering doubts. She snuggled deeper into the blankets, finally beset with drowsiness. Michael would suit her very well. Perhaps they’d even grow to love each other in time. All in all, things were working out far better than expected.
As she drifted off to sleep, she finally felt like the princess her parents had claimed her to be.
Chapter Four
Early the next morning, Emma enlisted Jane’s help in penning a missive to her father. In it, she extolled Michael’s virtues and lineage, then pleaded with Blackjack Marks to travel to London as quickly as possible.
She couldn’t wait for her father to meet her handsome young viscount and give his blessing to the match. Once she and Jane agreed on the precise wording, she summoned a footman and entrusted him with making sure the letter went out with the next post.
Emma, in a pensive mood, stood at the window and watched the footman stroll leisurely down the street.
“Don’t look so worried,” Jane said. “Sherbourne is one of the best catches in England. Your father will be thrilled.”
“It’s not my father I’m worried about.” Emma shrugged. “What if I’m making a terrible mistake? Michael can be such a terrible snob.”
“You didn’t seem to mind when the two of you disappeared from the ball last night. You were practically glowing when you returned.”
“Honestly, Jane. Sometimes you take your role as chaperone just a little too far.” Emma’s words held no real heat because in truth she enjoyed Jane’s company very much.
For the first time ever, she had a female friend to confide in. Jane accepted Emma’s unconventional behavior and made only tacit attempts to change her.
“You don’t need a chaperone, Emma,” Jane teased. “You need a keeper.”
Emma laughed and slanted an arch look at Jane. “Lord Basingstoke will be at dinner tonight. Perhaps I’ll be the one who will need to chaperon you.”
Earlier, the beautifully handwritten invitation had arrived, asking Emma and Jane to a celebratory dinner at Michael’s father’s house. Emma’s heart drummed with anticipation. Would she find another opportunity to kiss her new fiancé?
Jane flushed with embarrassment. “Lord Basingstoke meant nothing by his little display at the theater. He’s always been a bit of a showoff.”
“Lord Basingstoke?” Emma raised a brow. “Just a few nights ago, he was Julian.”
If possible, Jane grew even redder. “A mere slip of the tongue. We knew each other as children and his immature antics made me regress.”
“Oh, I see.” Emma fought a smile.
Jane sank into the chair across from her and poured the tea from the breakfast tray, her practiced movements far less graceful than usual. “Are you nervous about dining with Lord Warren?”
“Yes, I am a little nervous,” Emma admitted, amused by Jane’s obvious attempt to change the subject. “He’s quite intimidating. I’m not sure how he’ll react to the thought of an American daughter-in-law.”
“He’ll hate it,” Jane replied. “But don’t take it personally. He’d manage to find fault with anybody Sherbourne chose.”
A flurry of butterflies took flight in Emma’s stomach.
She could handle Michael’s snobbishness just fine. In fact, his icy reserve was one of the most intriguing things about him, given the heat and passion that lay beneath.
Lord Warren was another matter altogether. She could easily imagine his aristocratic contempt. His condescension was sure to rouse all the ugly insecurities she tried so hard to hide.
“Well, I’ll just have to do my best to charm him, won’t I?” Emma gave Jane a brief smile. “Help me find something to wear, Jane. Something very conservative.”
Jane shook her head. “I don’t think you own anything conservative enough for dinner with the Earl of Warren. You’ll have to borrow something of mine.”
* * *
Emma had long since thought herself immune to the lavish opulence true wealth could buy. Nevertheless, the Earl of Warren’s London residence impressed her. The huge Palladian manor stood in prestigious Saint James Square. Tall wrought iron gates surrounded the entire compound to keep the commoners at bay.
As the forbidding butler led Emma and Jane upstairs, she gazed at the portraits of Michael’s illustrious ancestors with a sinking heart. Michael could probably trace his lineage to William the Conqueror. Emma’s father was the bastard son of a prostitute, and her mother had been both Catholic and Irish.
Her nervousness increased with each step. She imagined the portraits frowned at her in disapproval. What a fool she’d been to believe any amount of money could buy the acceptance she craved.
She didn’t belong here.
Perhaps the women of New York were right. Her fancy clothing and manners couldn’t conceal her lack of breeding.
At the threshold of an elegant white and gold sitting room, the butler paused and cleared his throat. “Lady Jane Bennett. Miss Emma Marks.”
Seeming to sense her unease, Jane reached over and gave Emma’s hand a quick squeeze. “It will be fine. Just smile and be yourself.”
Emma managed a small grin. The conservative pale pink gown she wore gave her a little more confidence. Thank goodness for Jane. Emma would have hated to go through this alone.
Lord Sherbourne appeared deep in conversation with his friend Lord Basingstoke, but he looked up at the butler’s introduction and met her gaze. Her worries fell away as he strode toward her and lifted her gloved hand to his beautiful lips.
“Miss Marks.” His rain-washed eyes brimmed with secrets and the promise of new discoveries. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
She smiled like an idiot, words escaping her. Dressed in austere black with a flawless white cravat, Michael appeared the very picture of masculine elegance. His golden hair gleamed in the candle
light as he lowered her hand and turned toward his handsome dark-haired friend. “You remember Lord Basingstoke, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Emma replied. She graced Lord Basingstoke with a smile. He was a rogue, but his charming humor made him impossible to resist.
Basingstoke turned his attention to Jane. “Good evening, Lady Jane. You’re looking lovely tonight.”
In truth, Emma had never seen her friend look better. Jane’s honey-blond hair was arranged in a much looser style than usual. Several tendrils framed her face and made her appear far younger than her years. Her teal gown was cut lower than Emma’s—a definite reversal of their roles—a sight Basingstoke seemed to appreciate very much.
Jane blushed. “Thank you, Lord Basingstoke. You’re looking very well yourself.”
The obvious tension and history between Julian and Jane fascinated Emma. She intended to make Jane tell her the entire story the moment they were alone.
Michael distracted her from the quiet drama taking place between their friends when he took out his gold pocket watch, consulted it, then snapped it shot with an irritated click.
“I don’t know what’s keeping my father.” Grim lines etched his handsome face. “He should’ve been here by now.”
Emma’s foreboding grew, but she squeezed Michael’s hand. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”
“Undoubtedly.” A touch of well-concealed anger tinged Michael’s voice. A sense of overwhelming loss stole over Emma when he pulled away, distancing himself both physically and emotionally.
Emma tried to regain her usual confidence and optimism. This was not New York. She’d had incredible social success in London, and there was no reason why Lord Warren shouldn’t like her.
But as more time passed and Lord Warren remained absent, even Jane and Julian fell silent.
Michael checked the time once more, then cleared his throat. “Well, perhaps I’ll just go and see what’s keeping him.”
