“You will suffer my company at dinner, Miss Ainsley?” Mr. Pickering inquired.
“I shall not suffer, but enjoy it very much,” She answered, entirely aware that Lady Kingsley, or Prudence herself, had arranged for the earl to lead the Hindrance into dinner. “Are you, sir, a member of parliament?”
“I proudly represent Ockendon in Commons, Miss Ainsley. But surely, you must believe that my appearance at Lady Kingsley’s table is reliant more probably upon my clever wit and happy banter.”
Emma liked him, and the merry glint in his eye. “Quite so, I should imagine. I expect to be satisfyingly entertained, sir, throughout the meal.”
Inside the dining room, whose earlier closed doors had kept this room secreted from the guests as they’d arrived, Emma’s eyes widened at the sight of the luxurious table and settings. Mr. Pickering led her around to the far side and held a chair for her near the middle of the table, taking a seat next to her.
She’d set enough tables at the inn to have a fair amount of knowledge about the service set before her, but fair at best. With a growing sense of dread, she counted eleven pieces of cutlery, seven items of gold-rimmed china, and three different crystal glasses. Her eye found the earl’s, as he set Prudence in one spot and then—purposefully, Emma thought—made several remarks to another man, moving away from the Hindrance, and then almost absently taking a chair several seats down from the woman, directly across from Emma. Perhaps Emma’s expression gave away her concern in regard to the lavish settings, that he said in a low voice, across the width of the table, “It will be fine,” which seemed to go unheard by any other, as people settled into their seats.
“I say, Miss Ainsley,” said Mr. Pickering at her side, “I have daughters about your age who, all three, were headed out this evening to some public ball. I ask you, my dear, is it truly necessary that the dressing of three women should involve fourteen different persons in my household and more than seven hours of time?”
“Oh, dear,” said Emma with a sympathetic smile toward the possibly harried man.
“You seem put together rather remarkably,” he noted, politely keeping his eyes on hers. “I have a feeling you required no such nonsense as all that.”
“Every girl dreams to be the princess at the ball, I dare say,” she reasoned.
“Would that any one of them had been born with their mother’s looks, rather than my own.” He gave her a long-suffering sigh, and then advised her to try the stuffed sole when a footman stood between them with that platter.
Thus charmed, Emma was happily engaged by Mr. Pickering as each course, seven in all, were brought to the table, now crowded with twenty-four persons, Emma counted. She watched either the earl or Mr. Pickering and copied whatever action they made, choosing her utensil appropriately, she was sure, all evening.
Damn, but he hadn’t thought this through at all. Firstly, he’d been led to believe the dinner guests would be members of parliament and their spouses or partners. Lord Kingsley had pulled him aside just last week outside chambers, had insisted he must attend the dinner, had specifically said, “there’ll be much discussion about that bill of yours, Lindsey.” As it was, this formal gathering was more a husband hunting expedition, likely arranged by Kingsley’s wife, as there were—aside from the clinging and disenchanting oldest daughter, Prudence—two more daughters, equally in need of husbands and about as likely to land one as their older sister. Kingsley and his wife likely imagined they might as well throw all three into the mix, hope at least one beckoned some interest. Zachary peered across the table at the middle daughter, he couldn’t remember her name, who was making eyes at Simon Fenton beside her. Fenton, for his part, appeared about as interested as any other man present, giving his white soup a zealous amount of attention in an effort to remain oblivious.
The other part, which he absolutely should have expected but had failed to take into consideration, was the amount of attention Emma was drawing. Of a certain, he was not surprised, and honest to God, he knew a sense of pride that she was so well received, making him the envy of many a man here tonight. And just as he’d entertained this self-satisfied thought, Simon Fenton raised his face from the soup finally. He gave no heed to the Kingsley girl, but let his wistful gaze fall onto Emma, which in turn curled Zach’s lip. Neither unhappily nor by accident, Zach allowed the young man to notice his reaction when that man’s covetous eyes left Emma momentarily to land on Zach. Not surprisingly, the soup suddenly engaged Fenton’s regard once more.
Zach was convinced of the true agenda of this gathering when dinner had finished, and Lady Kingsley did not insist the ladies take themselves off to the drawing room that the men might enjoy their cigars and brandy and weightier discussions. Instead, their hostess pronounced with a cackle that much resembled a nervous hen, “You gentlemen get on with your smoke and your drink. We ladies won’t mind, the party being so small that it seems pointless to break it in two.”
A lazier, more obvious excuse, Zach was sure he had never heard. With a sigh, imagining he might as well shelve his plans for a private chat with Lord Kingsley, Zach rose from the table and thought to join two acquaintances in the corner of the room, where they were already availing themselves to the butler’s tray of half-filled snifters of what he was sure was a very fine brandy.
Emma was still in deep conversation with the gentleman, Mr. Sydney Pickering, next to her. He might at some point educate her on the proper form of showing equal attention to the persons on either side of you during dinner. But as he’d noted Lord Middleham’s absorption with the widow Stanhope and her cleverly displayed charms to his left, it seemed a worthless matter currently.
He joined Lords Wharton and Ryley around the brandy, waving off a footman’s offer of a tray of superb cigars and cheroots.
“I say, Lindsey,” said Ryley, a young viscount who always seemed to Zach to be on the verge of laughter, even while in chambers, “did you bring along the charming Miss Ainsley only to negate the schemes of Lady Kingsley?”
“Quite the impediment to the hopes of three certain ladies and their well-intentioned mama,” added Wharton. He held his head high and tilted to the right, a curious affectation that flaunted an air of haughtiness, though he was usually a congenial sort.
Zach sipped his brandy, his gaze following that of these two men, settling upon Emma once more. While she still sat and faced Pickering, Lord Shirley now stood behind and between the pair, bent attentively to her speech. Zach’s nostrils flared as he watched Shirley’s gaze dip to the provocative arrangement of Emma’s bosom in the pretty pale blue gown. Of course he wouldn’t comment, wouldn’t discuss Miss Ainsley with persons not worthy of the conversation.
He felt a growl of displeasure grow within him as Prudence Kingsley walked in his direction, being not so subtle as to leave any doubt of her intention, but rather bent upon the purpose of gaining his side and his attention. As it was unavoidable, he only pivoted to receive her company that he might have a clear view of Emma, just as the brash young woman stopped before him.
“Lord Lindsey,” she said, “father tells me you’ve taken a certain interest in the Irish Roman Catholic bill.”
Inwardly, Zach rolled his eyes. He had no intention of squandering his speech on the bill in which he’d invested so much time and energy on this gushing woman.
She went on, “He declares that the loyalty those people had manifested throughout the war should avail them to any and all benefit to them. Do you, my lord, feel as if they have been deprived too long of essential constitutional privileges?”
This was her gambit, one she’d used previously and with about as much effect. She pretended an interest in politics, thought herself clever and well-versed, and hoped to convey as much. The truth was, however, that she was capable only of parroting her father, hadn’t a sincere fascination in what she spoke, but only hoped to garner attention for what she projected as her keen mind.
His gaze stretched just beyond the top of her head, fixed on
Emma still. That bounder Shirley yet danced attendance, smiling benevolently at Emma as if it were he who graced her with his notice. Emma was smiling, all but ignoring Shirley—good for her—speaking earnestly to Pickering, with whom Zach could find no fault. The fact that he was more than twice Zach’s age aided in his charitable assessment.
He lifted a brow at Emma, delighted by the widening of her smile when her eye met his, even as he replied to Lady Prudence with a deliberately astute, “Miss Kingsley, pray do not trouble your gentle mind with political affairs, certainly not when your dear mama has other, more pressing ambitions for this evening.”
Ryley choked back a bark of laughter.
Wharton had just taken a drag of his cigar and coughed and sputtered on the interrupted exhale.
And then Zach read Emma’s lips, from the span of the twenty or so feet that separated them as she began to rise and said to the gentlemen in her company, “Excuse me, sirs,” all the while keeping eye contact with Zach. He found it exhilarating, watching her stand and detach herself from those men and walk around the table and toward him, her gaze never leaving him.
“I say,” Wharton murmured, facing the same direction as Zach, possibly having observed exactly what Zach did, what caught his breath.
She reached his side, at which Zach stepped left to allow her space between himself and the sulking and thwarted Prudence Kingsley. Excepting the fact that he nearly failed to remember that Emma merely played a role, and at his invitation, Zach was otherwise captivated beyond measure when she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow and smiled up at him as if he hung the moon.
“I feel I’ve monopolized poor Mr. Pickering’s time longer than I should,” she said, her fabulous blue eyes still holding Zach’s very appreciative gaze, “so I’ve come to collect some of yours, my lord. Lady Kingsley had suggested Mr. Pickering take me strolling through the gardens just outside those doors—”
Zach just bet she had, the cunning old goat!
“—but poor Mr. Pickering deferred, with some complaint of allergies, that I thought to beg a tour of you.”
God’s blood, but weren’t these words, uttered so charmingly from this woman, just about the most bedeviling thing he’d ever heard?
Save that it was all a ruse, he knew, and of his own making.
With a quick glance and tip of his head to those around him—which showed both Ryley and Wharton beset by some exposed sense of envy, while the unfortunate Lady Prudence, as of yet unrecovered from Zach’s most recent indifference, revealed skinny eyes and a pinched mouth—Zach pulled Emma away from the group and toward the French doors to the terrace.
She pulled her fingers from his arm as he opened the door and steered her through with his hand lightly upon the small of her back. Leaving the doors ajar, Zach directed her to the far side of the terrace, where the Kingsley gardens might best be viewed.
But Emma gave no heed to the abundance of colorful blooms vying for attention within the undeniably vast and excellent garden but turned on Zach, her eyes shining.
And the smile—the one that bedeviled and teased him into a dastardly hunger only moments ago—disappeared, replaced by a conspirator’s grin.
“Did I manage that successfully, do you think? Truth be told, I was enjoying tremendously Mr. Pickering’s company—he is an avid outdoorsman and tells the most remarkably entertaining tales—but thankfully recalled my purpose and came to your rescue.” And then she teased, “You’re welcome.”
Jesus, but he wanted to kiss her right now. Kiss her thoroughly, have that be the reason behind so delighted a face and smile.
Instead, he said, “You’re very good at this. Surprisingly good.”
“I begin to believe I fretted needlessly. Everyone is so very kind and so long as I listen attentively and comment appropriately, this is all very...agreeable. And it’s no inconvenience to attend and remark to Mr. Pickering; surely he was quite a charmer in his prime.”
Everyone was so kind because she was a fresh-faced beauty whose smile might bring men to their knees. She imagined she played a role, but Zach was quite sure she was just being herself, being considerate and engaging and so very disarming.
“And Lord Shirley?” He wondered if her good opinion extended to that man as well.
She shrugged and acknowledged, “That one requires a bit more playacting, if you will. But I think I pulled it off.”
“I’m certain you did.”
Her smile faded. “But you have not talked privately with Lord Kingsley,” she lamented. “Rather defeats the whole purpose.”
He considered her fallen expression, that his goal was not yet met.
“Generally frustrated by Lady Kingsley’s attempts to find husbands for her daughters.”
“The youngest, Lady Margaret, is very sweet,” she allowed. “Seems to get rather lost in the shuffle of two older sisters and an overbearing mother. Mayhap you should be speaking to Lady Kingsley about your bill. I daresay she wears pants under her gown. Lady Prudence as well.”
Zach stared at her. Christ, but she might have the right of it. A slow grin evolved, while ideas formed in his head. He’d gone so far out of his way to avoid Prudence Kingsley, he hadn’t considered that she might actually be useful.
Emma’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, but your mind is whirring. Are we changing tactics then?”
He nodded, and thus enlivened, he pounced on her, kissing her firmly, his hands on either side of her face. He stopped, pulled his mouth away, and was completely still while only inches separated their lips. He hadn’t meant to do that, was only so thankful for her reasoning it through better than he had.
Bloody hell. Lady Marston’s word screamed inside his head.
Dear Lord, you’re in love with her.
They remained motionless, his fingers still threaded over her ears, into her hair. She’d gasped at his kiss, stared now only at his chin, even as her own hand lifted and covered one of his. Her fingers sat not softly, but rather dug into the skin of his hand.
Zach breathed heavily, and then released her with excruciating slowness. His hands slid away from her while her fingernails lifted from the back of his hand and she dropped her arms.
“I am...sorry,” he murmured. She swallowed. He saw the very hard and strained motion of it travel from her jaw and down her slim neck.
She lifted her eyes, gave him a weak smile, and shook her head, in some attempt to relieve him of his guilt. Sadly, guilt was not at all the dominant emotion right now. Need. Want. Hunger. All of these raged through him.
Voices came to them, dispelling the breathless moment, pushing them further away. The young Lady Margaret stood just inside the open doors with a clearly displeased Lord Shirley, suggesting Lady Kingsley was hard at work even now.
Straightening, gnashing his teeth, Zach touched his hand to Emma’s elbow and led her back inside.
They spent the next few hours in dedicated discussion with first, Lady Prudence and then Lady Kingsley. Emma was aware that initially, her presence was noted with something akin to disdain, and thus disregarded. The ladies themselves did not include her in conversation. She only participated when one of the gentlemen, sometimes the earl, invited her opinion. She was happy to remain on the sidelines initially, intent on learning about the earl’s bill before she opened her mouth on the subject. For his part, he laid out a persuasive case, she thought, though found herself more engaged by his demeanor, yet not any less so his argument; he was charming and practical, garnering support for the truth and the facts, only sparingly using emotion.
This Earl Lindsey, the one seeking backing for something he was clearly passionate about, presented the first occasion when she felt, he is very much like his father. And then she thought it odd, that she felt particularly proud of him, and to be with him, however tenuously.
And at the end of the evening, when they’d returned to the earl’s townhouse, and he had solicitously relieved her of the pretty velvet cape, he showed some annoyance again, one to which s
he’d been a witness previously. His brow crunched over his dark eyes, his cheeks twitching in such a way as to suggest clenched teeth while he only stared at her. His butler, who now held both their cloaks slung over his arm, stood at attention, keeping his eyes away from the pair, while Emma questioned once more what she might have done to have wrought such displeasure from him. Or, had something untoward happened or been said to have taken away that fierce but mesmerizing look he’d bestowed upon her when he’d kissed her? The same look she’d caught upon him several times throughout the remainder of the evening, the one that indeed made her want to be in his arms. Or, had she misread what she’d perceived to be desire? She had only the earl’s countenance by which to judge.
Emma found herself presently wondering if he were once again thinking about their kiss, which all but begged the question, was he angry at himself for having kissed her, or upset that he’d not pursued it more thoroughly?
She knew her own answer to this quandary, but dared not speak it, even inside her own mind.
Chapter Eleven
Emma dashed down the stairs, her feet light in her luxurious silk slippers. Her smile was bright while her hand held out the skirt of her gown to better display it to dramatic effect. While last night she’d found humor when Mr. Pickering had lamented how long and arduous his own daughter’s preparations for a ball had been, Emma herself had just spent three hours being readied. Secretly, she’d found it exhausting and overdone, but would never have said that to the earl, as he’d made arrangements that her ensemble for this evening had been delivered with two maids to dress her, and her hair. Having withstood their ministrations for the past three hours—to beauteous effect, she was happy to admit—and knowing she would likely never again be dressed so fine, Emma stubbornly planned to milk every ounce of fun and frivolity out of this circumstance. And she hadn’t any intention of allowing the earl’s sometimes mercurial moods to rain on her proverbial parade.
If I Loved You (Regency Rogues: Redemption Book 2) Page 14
