Unleashed Desires 0f A Noble Lady (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Scarlett Osborne

  “Are you one of his fans as well?” Donald asked, joking with the older gentleman.

  “Like you, he is a business associate. We must be aware of our competition, mustn’t we?” Westfolk said. The Lord always seemed slyer to Donald than he let on, and he still found it a little surprising when Westfolk could almost instantly guess what was on his mind.

  Lord Westfolk is likely in the same position as I.

  Donald knew that the location of the Westfolk Estate on hilly lands meant that his tenants primarily made their income through the raising of sheep. So anyone in the wool business was in direct competition with Emma’s father.

  The Duke and Duchess’ dance ended and more couples filtered onto the dance floor. Donald used this as an excuse to turn and face away so he might speak with Lord Westfolk more frankly.

  “I have become more acquainted with the gentleman in the last week than I would like. What have you seen of the Viscount’s business practices?” Donald hoped that the Lord might have more experience dealing with the Viscount’s questionable methods.

  “Somewhat, but I am afraid we cannot discuss that at the moment, as it would appear the gentleman in question is headed right this way,” Lord Westfolk remarked, while intentionally averting his gaze.

  “What?” Donald whispered harshly and looked over to see Lord Gallanville headed right for them.

  Chapter 8

  Emma stood in the ballroom, quite put off.

  When she had first seen Donald on the floor, all her worry had melted away with his shining, shy smile.

  Now it had come back to sit like a cold lump, right in the center of her chest.

  After Donald had greeted them she had basked happily in Donald’s attention, but then her father and Donald began to have a private conversation. Once the dancing had begun she had approached Donald from the side, hoping he would ask her to dance once the conversation was over.

  She had discovered that Donald was talking to her father about business, filling her with the familiar sense of dread. She had considered retreating with Henrietta and her grandmother but when she had turned to rejoin them, she had found they had already migrated elsewhere in the ballroom.

  Emma turned back to try and reintegrate herself into the conversation, perhaps with the vain hope that she would be able to change the topic. Suddenly, a new gentleman had joined them. He spoke to her father first. “Lord Westfolk! What a pleasure to see you here. I heard an absolutely dreadful rumor that you would not be building any railways on your estate.”

  Emma’s father nodded astutely. “That was no rumor, Lord Gallanville. I spoke to my tenants and they prefer to keep things the way they are.”

  “The way they are? Think about how fast you would be able to move goods with a railroad right on your property. The profits you could bring in.” Lord Gallanville laughed incredulously at the Earl of Westfolk.

  “The tenants believe the large machinery would spook the livestock,” the Earl said with a definitive air.

  “Tenants, bah, what do they know?” The Viscount was roguish, rough stubble graced his face despite it being clear that he had freshly shaved. His clothes rode the line between garish and fine. In Emma’s eyes, he certainly had the ability to draw attention to himself in social situations, even if it wasn’t necessarily good attention. “But where are my manners,” he said, almost as if to cap Emma’s thoughts. “Here I am talking business and I haven’t even given you the opportunity to introduce your company.”

  “A transgression we will work hard to forgive,” Lord Westfolk chuckled halfheartedly as he turned to gesture. “This is Lord Stapleton,” Lord Westfolk turned again, “and this is my lovely daughter, Lady Emma. I would like you both to meet Lord Gallanville.”

  Emma saw that Donald finally realized that she had been there so near to him. He looked like he was about to say something when Lord Gallanville interrupted. “Lovely indeed. Where have you been hiding such beauty, Lord Westfolk? I don’t believe I have seen her at your estate in any of my recent visits,” he said, taking a step into the group in order to move closer to Emma, talking to her father but looking at her.

  “She stays here in London, finding the social climate much more to her liking than the rolling hills of Westfolk,” her father informed him.

  “A habit I obviously need to get into. My lady, I was wondering—”

  When Lord Gallanville extended his hand, Emma tensed. That was when she heard Donald do something astonishingly out of character. He interrupted Lord Gallanville.

  “My Lady, I owe you an apology,” Donald almost stuttered and the two other lords turned to look at Donald in a mixture of curiosity and confusion. “There has been dancing for more than a quarter-hour now, and I haven’t even asked you. Perhaps you will allow me make it up to you?”

  Emma’s breath caught in her throat for just a moment. She turned and nodded apologetically to the Viscount. “My apologies, My Lord.”

  Lord Gallanville appeared to take the rejection in stride, but Emma watched his lip twitch in annoyance. In direct opposition to that, her father flashed a beaming smile as she let Donald lead her out to the dance floor.

  * * *

  Donald was not what anyone would refer to as a harsh gentleman.

  He rarely got angry or acted rashly. When emotions became heated at social gatherings, with such occasions often accompanied by a healthy dose of spirits, people would often find him acting as the mediator, the dove of peace.

  He had been prepared to encounter Lord Gallanville with the benefit of the doubt. Many gentlemen made mistakes and affronts without realizing there was anyone to offend, even if all the choices seemed intentional from the outside. Donald wasn’t naturally inclined to assume the worst of anyone.

  He was prepared, even still, to have a civil discussion with the Lord about what decisions they could make moving forward, despite disliking Lord Gallanville on first impression. They certainly could be business rivals, after all what was good business about but healthy competition, but that didn’t mean they needed to antagonize one another.

  Any shred of good intent absolutely disappeared when Lord Gallanville set his eyes upon Emma. At that moment Donald felt himself turn cold, and then hot. Not the pleasant burning internal warmth that came when he thought of Emma, but a white-hot anger that burned his skin and caused his fist to clench. He could not stand idly by and let this absolute excuse of a gentleman look at the most beautiful lady he had ever known, let alone attempt to ask her to dance.

  He thought, at first, that his anger was fixated on his rival, but then he felt his thoughts began to shift. He thought of Emma accepting his offer to dance. Lord Gallanville getting to hold Emma close. Getting to feel Emma and talk to her and delight in her company. The thought of any man getting to do that but him, made his blood run hot and cold and his heart race.

  He stepped up alongside the Viscount and interrupted him, apologizing to Emma for not asking sooner. He did not turn to apologize to Lord Gallanville for interjecting, as would have been proper. He would get away with it, given his status, and knew that if he had looked at Gallanville at that moment he wouldn’t have been able to hide his disgust. So instead he simply led Emma to the dance floor.

  As they started to step in time to the music, and with one another, Donald felt his anger melt away. The anger was replaced with an unpleasant mixture of shame and power. He was ashamed that he had acted that way in front of Emma and that asking her to dance had been fueled by anger and not by desire. The power came from the feeling of the beautiful young lady held close in his arms. Feeling this way about his dear friend began to stoke his shame, but he pushed it down.

  She’s so soft, so warm, I just want to pull her as close as I can. Hold her against me and never let go.

  “I want to apologize again. I should have been less forward about stepping in front of Lord Gallanville. Admittedly I was put off by his own forwardness, but two wrongs don’t make a right.”

  “That is perfectly al
l right, I would much rather dance with you anyway,” she confirmed in a soft voice.

  “I am also sorry I spoke so flippantly of Matthew’s absence. I know it must be difficult for you to have a friend so far away.”

  A pained look crossed Emma’s face, confirming the truth to Donald. “Let’s not worry about all that tonight. Let’s just enjoy this wonderful ball with one another. We get so little time to socialize nowadays. Let’s make this night worthwhile.”

  He felt good with Emma in his arms and he wanted to revel in that feeling. Bask in it.

  I want to feel her warmth all over me. Tight against me.

  He never wanted this night to end, and it had only just begun.

  * * *

  Emma had never felt happier in her entire life.

  Being held there, in Donald’s arms, felt right. She didn’t belong anywhere else in the world except for right there. In his tight embrace. The strong arms of Donald Stafney, the gentleman she loved.

  It was at that moment that Emma’s head caught up with her heart and she was forced to admit to herself that, yes, it was true.

  I have fallen in love with my best friend.

  She knew that it was no small amount of trouble, that there would be consequences, but each time her mind tried to bring her back to the reality of the situation, the gentle warmth and sway of Donald’s body would bring her back to bliss.

  She looked up at him, wanting to see him. Needing to see his strong, charming face with its small gentle smile. When she looked up, she saw that he was looking down at her. And then she ached.

  Then their eyes met and she stared into those beautiful honey-caramel eyes of his and her heart beat harder against her chest.

  She had never been in love before. She had love described to her, told what it would be like by school friends, maids, and her mother. But none of them had even come close to how good it felt. And how much it made you want to proclaim it. Emma wanted to shout it in the middle of the ball, tell everyone she knew, but mostly whisper it to Donald over and over again until he could never doubt it.

  Love was all encompassing, love was energizing, and love had come for Emma and claimed her.

  She was so engrossed in her own mind and the motions on the dance floor she was almost startled when Donald spoke. “You look like you are having fun, Emma,” he said it quietly.

  Emma thrilled at his words and she opened her mouth, planning on telling him every single thing she was feeling at that moment, but words failed her. Instead she simply smiled, averted her gaze, and continued to dance.

  I can’t tell you the truth.

  How could she? What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if it didn’t work out? In a swirl of all the passion and elation felt on the dance floor, she could destroy fifteen years of friendship.

  Am I really that selfish? To risk everything for what could be love? Love with someone I can never be fully honest with, for if I were, could he ever love me?

  So they danced and Emma resigned herself to enjoying the heat of their bodies and the touch of his hand on hers. That was what she could enjoy without jeopardizing anything so that became her guilty pleasure. That would be the most decadent thing she allowed herself that night.

  * * *

  Emma looked up at him and Donald looked into those big, honest, honey-brown eyes of hers and everything he had been feeling over the last few weeks suddenly became clear.

  Donald leaned his head down and whispered to Emma as they danced “You look like you are having fun, Emma.” She smiled the most beautiful smile he had ever seen and bowed her head down to hide herself. He wasn’t worried about embarrassing her. Not now.

  He had gone and done the most foolish thing he could have done. He had gone and fallen in love with his best friend. He loved her voice and smile. He loved sitting with her and talking with her. He loved being close to her and thinking of her when she was away.

  It was at that moment that Donald realized he had not fallen into love. Not here and not all at once. His love for Emma had started growing many years ago and was growing still. It just became clearer now, that was all. Like fog wiped from a window pane.

  All those little moments he had felt attracted to her lifted off his shoulders. He wasn’t the type to wantonly lust after a lady, but he hadn’t been doing that at all. He had been lusting after the lady he loved. Knowing that made the feeling all the more difficult to resist now. He wanted nothing more but to run his fingers under her chin, gaze at her, admire every little detail of her face and, in agonizing finality, kiss her.

  How can I, though? She means the world to me.

  What if that world for her was something only platonic? Could he possibly risk what they had shared for so long for the chance at something else?

  Donald could not bring himself to dwell on it. He simply wanted to, at least for tonight, enjoy being at this ball with the lady he loved.

  He was grateful for the small amount of distance between them as they danced. He could feel the heat coming off her body and was forced to wonder if she had always been this warm or had the realization of his love make him extra conscientious. He wanted to pull her close, feel her body curve against his. He wanted to know her closeness more than he had ever wanted to know anything in his whole life. The only thing he knew more was how much he loved Emma.

  They danced the night away, laughed and joked. The hours whiled away until it was time for the guests to depart and Donald felt drunk with Emma. Her warmth and her smell washed over him. So much so that he wasn’t even sad when they were forced to part ways. He was simply happy, content.

  Donald grew comfortable with the idea that this may have been the best night of his life. He also knew that he couldn’t live a life where he didn’t tell her how he felt about her. He would have to do it, or dwell with the knowledge living in his chest, weighing on him every day and every time he saw her. He could not endure that torture.

  He would tell her, maybe. Just not tonight. Soon, but not tonight.

  Tonight I simply bask in her beauty and her warmth.

  * * *

  Emma sat in the carriage on the way home, the night of the ball behind her as if it were some swirling dream. The after effects of which still made her feel sleepy and dizzy.

  “Did you have a good time at the ball, dear one? I had more fun than I thought I would, I must admit.”

  Emma turned to look at her father.

  Has he been riding in this carriage with me the whole time?

  “Where is Grandmother? Mother?” Emma asked sleepily, “and Henrietta?”

  “I asked that they ride in the front carriage. I wanted to have a conversation with you, Emma.” Her father’s tone was serious but he seemed in good spirits.

  “What is it, Father? Is everything all right?” she asked with a small note of concern piercing through the sleepy contentment.

  “I believe so. In fact, that is what I wish to convey to you. I noticed you spent a lot of time with dear Donald tonight,” he said with a knowing look.

  Emma, in her embarrassment, tried to deflect. “He is a good friend.”

  Her father nodded. “He is. I also noticed you didn’t meet with any of the other eligible gentlemen there tonight. I want to say that this is a match that I condone. If you feel so inclined.”

  “Feel so inclined, Father?” Emma questioned, she was playing a bit naive, wanting to make sure she understood her father’s intent.

  “Donald is a fine young gentleman. I like him personally,” the Earl of Westfolk elaborated. “And he is from a good family, on his way to becoming a Duke. He is a gentleman I’d be happy to call my son-in-law.”

  Emma’s face was beet red now and for one of the few moments of her life she couldn’t bring herself to turn and meet her father’s gaze. “I don’t know… I mean...” she stuttered.

  “I am not saying this is something you have to do if you are unsure, simply that you have my blessing,” her father had said softly. He had always been a kind and
gentle person.

  “I don’t know how to tell him,” she admitted. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way? I would be crushed. I would have lost a friend and the love of my life all at once. How can I risk that, Father?” Her voice cracked with emotion. She had desperately wished to confess to someone and now it all came out.

  “Ah I see,” her father said, thinking. “That seems quite the difficult decision. Though, if I am being perfectly honest with you, Emma, it won’t really matter in the end.”

  “What do you mean, Father?” she asked, more confused than ever.

  “Matters of the heart sort themselves out whether we like it or not, and secrets seek out the light. Lucky for you, this happens to be a good burden to bear. I understand your fear, but you will see soon enough why there is nothing to be afraid of.” Emma was a little surprised at her father’s comments, as he wasn’t a gentleman of much practicing depth. His words now sat on her heavily and the night’s activities felt as though they had taken their toll.