7

Emmie suffered agonies throughout the speeches. Despite the fact that both the groom’s and Lord Atherton’s groomsman’s speeches were nothing but highly complimentary toward her, she felt on tenterhooks the whole time, as though waiting for the axe to fall.

If their tone should turn mocking, she felt with increasing dread, it would destroy her. And then what should she do? She could hardly flee from the reception room, a stumbling, incoherent mess. She had not even done that ten years ago.

No, she had stood there, frozen with humiliation, her lips still swollen from his kisses as Jeremy Vance had announced his engagement to another woman. God, she could still remember now how utterly shattered she had felt. For a moment, it had been a close thing that she would not faint at the foot of Lady Hawford’s staircase. Her head had certainly swum, and her ears had rung. Wouldn’t that just have been the crowning indignity? Thank heaven she had managed to keep her head.

She would just have to do the same today, she told herself. Keep breathing and keep sane, even while he lifted his glass to her and pronounced himself proud to call her his wife . Proud. As if she could ever believe such a thing. How could she have put herself in such a situation again? she wondered with mounting panic as the toast was echoed by all and sundry. “ To Emmeline .”

What a joke. Even the name. No one called her that. No one had ever called her that. Yet her father had been insistent that for her coming out, she would be known by her christened name “among all the fine folk.” He had not anticipated all the tittering behind fans that her rhyming name would cause. Emmeline Ballentine .

Sounds rather like a nursery rhyme character was what Lord Atherton had announced once at a garden party in his well-bred, bored voice. Everyone had laughed and Emmeline had pretended not to hear him. Like someone who lives in a shoe or rolls down hills or something equally absurd.

Then Emmie had been subjected to a lot of very silly comments for weeks, like Have you any wool? or Sitting in the corner again, Miss Ballentine? I vow your name should be Jack Horner! Of course, it had not been Lord Atherton who had carried on the jest. In his aloof way, he most likely had been barely aware of it. He had certainly thought her beneath his notice for the most part.

He had spawned such comments though, and she blamed him for the whole debacle. Remembering how heartily she detested his supercilious manner and unspeakable hauteur, she felt rather sick. Would she be expected to mingle with him on a regular basis now she was Lady Faris? Horrible thought!

Stupid of her not to anticipate such social obligations as part of her new role. Lord Atherton had always been thick as thieves with her new husband. Somehow, though, the way Jeremy had spoken of his tarnished reputation, she had imagined him quite estranged from his former circle of elites.

No doubt his former wife was the one ostracized, she reflected darkly. She had not received a good impression of Amanda Liversedge during their debut. The glittering beauty had seemed cold and standoffish, and Emmie did not think she had bothered to exchange a single word with the daughter of a city trader.

Still, she had not gone out of her way to persecute Emmie, which was something she could not say of her former husband. Emmie’s husband now. Oh God, what had she done? It had been bad enough all those years ago, but at least she had youth then to excuse her arrant stupidity. This time around she did not even have that! She felt like the worst kind of fraud sat among all this company decked in satin, diamonds, and pearls.

She was a fraud! Half the people here thought her a cossetted bride. God only knew what the other half thought. Perhaps they thought her father’s brass had finally bought her a title? Or would they be only too aware of the sad demise of Ballentine’s Trading Company?

Lily Skellern certainly knew, or whatever she was called nowadays. Emmie had seen her about the streets of Bath many times and been summarily snubbed by her at any time these past two years. Lily would certainly not keep any secrets for her sake. She would glory in telling anyone who asked.

Then again, the likes of Fulsham’s sisters might find that heightened the romance, with her being swept off her feet and rescued from poverty. So perhaps Lily would not tell people after all. They would likely not find it romantic how she had been engaged for years to a married man though, she thought with a sudden clarity.

What if the likes of Lily Skellern ever found out about Humphrey? a nasty, cold little voice whispered in her head. What if people found out that Emmie had been strung along for years by a man who had never harbored the smallest intention of marrying her? A cold shiver passed down her spine. That certainly would be humiliating.

Then again, it was unlikely that Jeremy would have told even Atherton about that. At least, she hoped to God he had not. The fewer people who knew about that the better. A smattering of applause broke out, and Emmie realized she had not been attending to the close of Atherton’s speech.

Her eyes sought out Pinky, who was still smiling and nodding, so it could not have been anything to her detriment. In fact, it seemed the speeches were finally at an end, thank goodness. The murmur of conversation started up and the quartet started to play once more. She jumped when Jeremy’s hand slid over hers to cut the first slice of the wedding cake.

“You feel cold, Ballentine,” he murmured as they cut into the firm plum cake. For some reason, the fact he still called her that was strangely comforting. Everyone clapped, and attendants stepped forward to take over the distribution of the cake. “Hopefully the dancing will warm you up.”

“Dancing?”

“I have requested a couple of waltzes to start. I don’t know why you look like that, you were always a good dancer,” he had the nerve to say.

Emmie did not see how that could be true when she had been so oblivious the whole time to her own footwork. She had a nasty suspicion she had spent the whole time staring at his face filled with equal parts terror and happiness. Lord, how she wished she could just forget her former folly.

“I have not had much occasion for dancing these past few years,” she admitted as he led her into the middle of the room. Their guests were all drifting now in that direction to watch them.

“Well, if you permit yourself to be led by me, I will be content,” he answered with a smile. Emmie felt all of a jitter. It was like the years had fallen away. All day she had had one foot in the past and one in the present. Dancing with him again seemed to really compound the sensation. She steeled herself as he passed his arm about her.

“Well, this takes me back,” he said with a decided glint in his eye. Emmie did not respond; her eyes were darting about the circle of people forming around them. “Forget them,” he said softly. “Ready?” She gave a terse nod, and they began to glide around the floor. “You see?” he encouraged her. “You are still as light on your feet as ever.”

“Well, I have not yet trampled on yours if that’s what you mean,” she said dampeningly.

His smile broadened. “It’s been too long since I held you in my arms, Ballentine.”

“Now you sound very like Count Stefano,” Emmie told him. “Next you will tell me you like a woman with spirit.”

He laughed. “Why not? For all his failings, I daresay you preferred the wicked count to that milksop Fernando.”

Emmeline almost missed her step. “You have not—? No, you could not have…” She faltered.

“Read it? But of course I have. I went straight to the bookshop and secured a copy. I read it avidly every night during my London sojourn. I made notes to discuss it at great length with you.”

“You did not!” Emmie protested. “How could you even have deduced the title?”

“Are you impressed? It was not so very hard once I had the villain’s name.”

“Well…I suppose I am a little taken aback that you would go to such trouble.”

“It was no trouble at all. I would go to much greater lengths, I assure you. Besides, we must have something I can discuss amicably with Miss Pinson during our four-day journey to Penarth. I can see she still distrusts me, and I need to win her over.”

“I don’t know about that,” Emmie answered without thinking. “She told me the other day that she now considers you more in the light of a Fernando.”

Jeremy gave a choked laugh. “Me? The tortured artist?”

“I think it was more that she now considers Humphrey a villain,” she confessed in low tones.

“Ah, I see. ” He nodded. “Yes, that makes more sense. So, I am redeemed by comparison alone.”

“I told her she had it all quite wrong,” she said dismissively.

His eyebrows rose. “So Humphrey, then, is not a villain in your book?” he asked.

Emmie shot a quick look about them. “My lord!” she protested, though mercifully, other couples were now taking to the floor and diverting attention away from them.

He did not take his eyes from her face. “Answer the question, if you please.”

“Neither of you are remotely Fernando-like, as far as I am concerned,” she said, pressing her lips firmly together.

“I suppose that is fair,” he said. “In any case, you are quite right, this is not a fit topic for our wedding day.” He glanced across the floor. “Just a warning, you will need to prepare yourself. Your next dance is with Atherton.”

Emmie managed to keep her expression a careful blank. “Yes, so I supposed,” she lied. She had not even considered the possibility.

He gave a short laugh. “Careful, Ballentine, you will make me jealous. I’m starting to think you dislike him more than you do me.”

She struggled a moment to answer, and then gave up altogether, staring instead at his cravat until the number ended.

“I believe we must swap partners now,” Atherton interrupted them, and Emmie was surprised to see he had been dancing with Pinky. She scanned her friend’s face but was relieved to find no signs of discomfort in her expression.

“Of course,” Jeremy responded, standing aside, and offering his hand to Pinky. “Miss Pinson.”

“Lord Faris,” Pinky responded, curtseying.

“Lady Faris,” Atherton said. Emmie accepted Lord Atherton’s gloved hand and the next number began. “Well, well,” he said at last, perhaps realizing she was not going to break the silence. “Here we are again.” His lips twisted. “Another waltz. Another dance floor.”

“I do not believe we have ever danced together before, my lord,” Emmie answered truthfully.

“You can hardly be surprised at that.”

She sent a rather cool look up at him. “Because I was such a wallflower, you mean?” It was true, her dance card had been far from crowded in those days. Still, it was pretty rude of him to bring that up now.

“Because I did not wish to get my neck wrung,” he answered laconically. “Perhaps you are unaware of Charlie Symond’s fate.”

Emmie considered this. “I do vaguely remember a Mr. Symonds,” she admitted. “He had very curly hair did he not? And perhaps an older sister married to a sir someone or other…?”

Atherton gave a short laugh. “Ask your husband to refresh your memory about him sometime.”

Emmie narrowed her gaze at him suspiciously. “You are annoyingly tall, my lord,” she said at last. “I am going to get a crick in my neck trying to converse with you and maintain eye contact at the same time.”

He smirked. “You clearly prefer a partner of only middling height,” he commented. “Fortunate considering your choice of husband.”

What choice? thought Emmie. Mind you, Humphrey was not a tall man either, so maybe he did have a point. “You are Teddy’s godfather, I understand?” she asked, casting about for something to say.

“I am, for my sins.”

“Do you often visit Vance Park?” she asked, gazing over his left shoulder. Please say no. Please say no. Please say…

“Not as often as I should,” he admitted. “Jeremy’s last viscountess made the prospect a chore. Perhaps you will make the occasion a less onerous one.”

“How did she…?” Emmie bit her lip. Good manners dictated that she should not ask.

“Oh, tantrums, mostly,” Atherton replied vaguely. “And the occasional indecent proposition. She quite put me to the blush at times.” Emmie beheld him speechlessly. “Quite so,” he said with a faint smile, as though she had voiced her astonishment aloud. “I must confess your union after all this time seems almost too good to be true.”

“Does it really seem that way to you?” she asked in surprise.

“Of course. And to Faris it must seem providential that you have landed in his lap this way.” Emmie stiffened with suspicion; she could not help it. “Let us face it, his partiality for you was always decidedly indecent.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my lord!” Emmie spluttered.

“Don’t you?” He sounded faintly surprised. “Do you mean to tell me you thought his conduct in those days was in any way permissible in polite society? Pursuing you in that marked manner, I mean.”

Emmie had to take a steadying breath before answering. “Honestly?” she enquired calmly. “I thought he was dallying with me. Gentlemen do sometimes, as I understand it.”

“Dallying?” Atherton gave a short laugh. “I suppose it might have counted as dalliance the first or second time he sought you out,” he said judiciously, “but by the fourth or fifth occasion? I think not.”

“Mrs. Laverdale always maintained he was toying with me,” Emmie said with unaccustomed frankness.

“Laverdale? Was that your chaperone?” he asked with a faint frown. “I must say, I vastly prefer the one you have these days.”

“Mrs. Laverdale was my sponsor during my season only.”

“Well, whoever she was, she was most remiss in her duties,” Atherton said damningly.

“Perhaps she thought I deserved a little excitement to get me through the ordeal of it all,” Emmie said with a brittle smile.

“If she thought anything, it was that putting Jeremy in his place was above her pay grade,” he answered dryly.

“Well,” Emmie said briskly. “It is all in the past now in any event.”

“Is it?” He gave her a keen look.

“We are married now,” she pointed out doggedly. “So, his past intentions hardly seem to matter.”

“If that were the case then you would not be holding him at arm’s length, now, would you?”

Emmie pressed her lips together. She ought not to answer him. The whole conversation was most improper. Instead, she heard herself ask quietly, “Do you blame me?”

“No,” he admitted. “Not for that.”

“So, then you do lay some fault at my door?” she said accusingly.

He paused. “Perhaps. Do you think me unfair?”

“I do!” she said forthrightly. He gave a short laugh. “But then, you are his friend, are you not? So, I suppose it is perfectly natural that you would take his part.”

He did not answer immediately, but when he did, he surprised her. “I believe I should like to stand your friend, too, someday, if you would ever allow it,” he said, sounding a little surprised about the fact himself.

“Really?” She was startled. “Why?”

“At the end of the day, I find I quite like you,” he answered with a shrug. “Despite my initial feelings on the matter.”

“And by that, I suppose you mean that ten years ago you thought me a vulgar upstart?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “I cannot deny it. I was a detestable youth. Besides, I was alarmed by my friend’s reaction to you. He completely lost his head over you. I see now that it was wrong of me to blame you for that, but at the time…” He shrugged.

“At the time you did not hesitate to lay the blame at my door.”

“I did not,” he admitted. “In my youthful arrogance, I felt entirely justified. Of course, now I see you were just as much a victim as he.” Emmie huffed incredulously but before she could speak, he carried on smoothly. “It was hardly your fault that you embodied his every physical ideal. It was just an unfortunate circumstance.”

“His every—?” Emmie stared at him.

“Of course. Do not tell me you still stand in ignorance of this fact because I will not believe you. He was attracted to you, like a moth to the flame, and I believe you were in much the same condition.” When she looked as though to deny this, he gave her a dry look. “You always lit up like a beacon whenever you clapped eyes on him.”

Emmie closed her eyes briefly. “Well, I was young and…”

“In love?” he suggested.

“Unaccustomed to hiding my feelings,” she corrected him primly.

He nodded, “To one such as Jeremy, it must have been a heady combination. I never suspected it as a callow youth, but I think he has always been…” His mouth twisted as he searched for the word.

“What?” Emmie asked, unable to resist.

“Left out in the cold, as it were,” Atherton concluded whimsically.

Emmie found this hard to believe. “By whom?”

“Oh…everyone. You never met his father, did you?”

“No.”

“No, he buried himself in Cornwall most of the time. He was the taciturn type. Always glowering and snarling at everyone. Jeremy took after his departed mother in looks and his father never quite forgave him for it.”

She did not know how to respond to this. Her own father had always been disappointed Emmie had not been a dainty beauty like her mama. She had taken after her father’s side of the family, but he had not liked her any better for it.

“Well, in any case, things have worked out for the best, much the same as if the natural conclusion had been drawn all those years ago.”

“Natural conclusion?” Emmie’s mouth was dry. Her voice sounded like a croak at this point. He could not be saying what she thought he was saying. That Jeremy had been just as taken by her as she had been with him? Her head whirled. This could not be true. She was misconstruing his words, surely?

“Why, that you would have been married ten years ago, of course.”

Emmie was just reflecting that Lord Atherton was as alarming nowadays as he had ever been when Jeremy reclaimed her. After ascertaining she did not wish to join the quadrille, he led her back to the table where Teddy was sat rubbing his eyes. “You are tired, my son,” Jeremy said, peering into his face.

“No, I’m not,” Teddy responded, trying to smother a yawn.

“He has been taking early nights since his illness,” he explained as an aside.

“Very sensible,” Emmie responded promptly.

“I think we shall have to get him back to his bed.”

“I’m not tired,” Teddy insisted irritably.

Jeremy shot a level look at her. “You would not object to us cutting our celebrations short?”

“Of course not. We cannot have Teddy suffering a setback in his recovery.” It suddenly occurred to her that she had no idea what the plan was for their wedding night. Would she sleep at her own lodgings or accompany him to his? And what of Pinky? Was she to return to Winkworth Street alone?

“Give me one moment,” Jeremy said, and Emmie saw that Atherton and Pinky were also exiting the dance floor. He and Atherton had a quick discussion as Pinky took a seat next to Emmie.

“The child looks very flushed,” she whispered in concern.

“Yes, his father is just arranging to take him home.”

Pinky nodded with approval as Jeremy returned to Emmie’s side. “You and Miss Pinson are to take my carriage back to Winkworth Street and I will join you later. First, I mean to take Teddy back and see him settled. Come, we will walk down together.”

Emmie and Pinky both rose and followed behind as Jeremy lifted his still-protesting son and carried him across the room. Emmie noticed that Teddy’s protestations did not last long, and by the time they had navigated the corridors and stares, his head lolled against his father’s shoulder.

Emmie was profoundly grateful that no great leave-taking was expected of the bride and groom and that slipping away early was considered perfectly natural newlywed behavior.

“Emmie, you have no cloak,” Pinky whispered as they retrieved her coat from the attendants below.

“This veil is just as voluminous as a cloak,” Emmie responded. “Don’t worry.” Still, there was a decided nip in the air when they emerged into the street outside.

They soon spotted the carriage, and made for it, Colfax climbing down from beside the driver to open the door for them.

“Get a rug from under the seat for Lady Faris,” Jeremy instructed. Teddy was now fast asleep in his arms. Colfax retrieved a blanket and set it on the seat before handing first Emmie and then Pinky into the carriage. “Wrap it around your shoulders,” Jeremy advised, looking in. He watched Pinky help swath her in the blanket before turning back to Colfax. “Make sure you see them both inside,” he said and then stepped back.

The carriage pulled away and Emmie turned her head to watch her new husband walk toward a second carriage with Lord Atherton. “He said he will join me later,” Emmie said into the darkness of the carriage.

“Oh! At Winkworth Street?” Pinky sounded a little startled but then, quickly added, “After all, well, it is your wedding night, dear.”

“Yes,” Emmie agreed.

“And am I right in thinking we embark on the journey to Cornwall tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow?” Emmie agreed hollowly. “Everything is moving so fast. I hope we have not overlooked anything too important.”

“I said the same to Lord Atherton,” Pinky admitted. “But he said we must not worry for—”

“ He is not coming with us, is he?” Emmie asked in dismay, interrupting her.

Pinky blinked. “I do not think so,” she said. “At least, I did not form that impression. Is everything alright, dear?”

“Oh yes, of course,” Emmie hastened to assure her. “It’s just been such a busy day. I daresay I did not take everything in.”

“That is perfectly understandable, under the circumstances,” Pinky replied. “I am sure my head is all of a whirl, so I cannot even begin to imagine how yours must spin! But it was such a lovely reception,” she carried on wistfully. “So elegant and refined, and his lordship really thought of everything, did he not?”

“He did,” Emmie agreed weakly.

Pinky gazed down at her new umbrella and gloves. “And he seems a very conscientious parent,” she continued thoughtfully.

“Oh yes.” Emmie was more confident in that reply.

“It is very touching to see such a bond exist between father and son.”

Emmie agreed and before long they were pulling up at Winkworth Street. It was a little after nine, so they had to use Pinky’s latch key to open the door. “Oh,” she said, turning to Colfax. “I had better give you this for his lordship, as Florrie will have retired for the night.”

Pinky turned rather red as she said this, but Colfax took the key from her wordlessly standing to one side as they entered the building. “Good night,” Pinky called after him as the door closed. She still looked rather flustered. “Oh dear, I hope I did not make him feel awkward.”

Emmie did not reply, for as they were climbing the stairs, she was starting to wonder if she had misheard her new husband’s intention. Perhaps he had not said he would come tonight? After all, he had not repeated any such intention as the carriage had pulled away.

If they were leaving for Cornwall tomorrow, would it not make more sense for them all to have an early night? And why on earth would he want to spend a night at her lodgings, which were now barer and less welcoming than ever. Most of the furniture had been shipped and a good deal of her possessions were packed away into trunks and cases.

“Will you help me out of this gown?” she asked her friend once they were inside their rooms.

Pinky hesitated. “Will you not keep it on for your groom?”

Emmie blinked. The thought had not even occurred to her. “Do you think I should? I must own I would much rather get comfortable.”

“I’m sure you know best, dear,” Pinky said brightly. “I just thought, as he had so clear a vision of the dress that he might, well…” Her words trailed off.

“Want to remove it himself?” Emmie asked, realizing her friend’s meaning.

Pinky coughed. “Well, I don’t know that I would put it quite that way, dear,” she said delicately.

Emmie pulled a face. “This is not his first wedding,” she reminded Pinky. “He has done all this before, so I do not think he will be too disappointed. Who knows, once he reaches his lodgings, he may find himself too tired to drag himself back across town.”

Pinky looked doubtful but held her tongue, and together they managed to unfasten and remove Emmie’s layers of finery until she stood, freshly scrubbed and barefoot in her worn cotton nightdress, her fancy hair arrangement undone and any vestiges of glamor long gone.

“Go and ready yourself for bed now, Pinky dear. We have so much to do tomorrow and I can see you are trying not to yawn.”

Pinky kissed her cheek good night and, picking up one of the candles, made for her own room. Emmie pulled on a wrapper that was a little shabby now around the cuffs and walked over to her dresser to apply some face cream. Fortunately, they had left their bedroom furniture to be sent on last, so she was not sleeping on a mattress or living out of a packing case in this room at least.

Should she have left her hair up? Emmie wondered, gazing at her reflection. She was sure she had never dressed it half so well herself. She had always had very abundant hair, though it was sadly wayward and seldom did as it was told.

Marie, the hairdresser Madame had hired, had used a slick of pomade on her flyaway hairs and given her hair, which had a sad tendency to frizz, a semblance at least of silkiness, while the many glass hair pins had managed to keep the arrangement in place.

Now she and Pinky had removed them all, her hair was returning to its habitual cloud of reddish gold. The strong wave meant it had always grown outward rather than downward. She patted it and wondered if she should try sprinkling some water on it or plaiting it into a braid.

Then she heard it, the sound of a key turning. Picking up her candlestick, she opened her bedroom door and peered out into the corridor. Her heart thudded . It was him. He spotted her at once, a smile breaking out on his face as he approached her. She took a step back to admit him into her bedchamber.

“I changed into my nightgown,” she blurted out a little defensively as she shut the door behind them.

“Very sensible of you,” he answered at once. “I like this,” he said, gesturing to his own shoulders.

“My hair?” she guessed after a moment’s hesitation.

He nodded, his eyes wandering over her head and shoulders. “It’s very luxuriant.”

Luxuriant? “Oh, thank you.”

“I almost wish I had not bothered to buy you all those diamond hair pins now.”

“Diamond—?” Emmie shot an alarmed glance at the pile of pins she had carelessly heaped on her chest of drawers. They were diamonds?

“I always wondered what it would look like out of its confines,” he murmured, coming closer. “May I?”

Emmie regarded him wide-eyed. “Of course,” she said, though she had no idea what he was asking.

He reached out to hesitantly touch her springy mass of curls, a fascinated look in his eye. “How do you maintain it?”

“Maintain it?” She gave a short laugh. He stood practically toe-to-toe with her and was only a head taller than she. “It grows this way,” she admitted.

“I suppose this effect would take hours to achieve with a curling tong and papers,” he mused, running his hand lightly over her head.

“I would not know. Pinky achieves her ringlets with rags, but I’ve never needed to encourage mine to curl.”

His hand slid around to cup her cheek. “Have you completed your toilette?” he asked, glancing toward her dresser.

“Yes,” she said, if by that he meant had she cleaned her teeth and applied some cream on her face. She had bought some new lotion now her purse was plumper, but she did not have half the ladies’ preparations she used to own in more affluent times. “Do you need me to give you some space to undress?” He was probably used to having his own dressing room and valet.

“No,” he said, immediately divesting himself of his frock coat.

“You did not bring anything to change into?” she asked, glancing around for a bag.

“No,” he repeated, tugging at his cravat. “I was far too keen to attend to such trivialities.”

Emmie blinked but as he seemed unconcerned at the prospect of wearing his formal clothes again on the morrow, why should she fret? She should be more concerned about what he would wear to bed, she realized as he stripped off his shirt.

“Can I fetch you anything? Something to drink? Water?” she suggested, hovering near the door.

He glanced at the pretty glass bedside carafe filled with water. “You already have water,” he pointed out.

“Well, yes, but there is only one glass.”

“I don’t mind sharing with you.”

Bereft of anything else to do, Emmie retreated to the far side of the room to unfasten her wrapper. Jeremy had commandeered the only chair for his clothes, so she hung it up before turning around clad just in her nightgown. She sucked in a breath, finding Jeremy already sitting in her bed, covers drawn up to his waist.

“Don’t run away, I’m entirely harmless, I swear it.” He lifted his hands to show her his palms. Instead of answering, she approached the bed and drew back the covers, climbing in beside him, cheeks aflame. “Your bed isn’t very wide,” he commented, shifting even closer.

“I’ve always found it sufficiently roomy,” she answered. “Though I suppose I never had a man in it before.” She cleared her throat as his thigh came to rest against her own.

“Haven’t you, Ballentine?” he asked quietly, but something about his tone made her turn her head and look at him. When she did not speak, he added, “After all, ten years is a long time to be engaged to someone. I won’t judge if you—”

“I haven’t. We didn’t,” she interrupted him, facing forward again. “Humphrey was not—” Keen , she thought. Humphrey was not keen. He had never asked to touch her hair, let alone climb into her bed. She had never really admitted this to herself, let alone anyone else. “Well,” she continued lightly. “I suppose he was not such a villain as all that.” Jeremy’s expression hardened but he did not reply. “I was starting to wonder if I had misheard you,” she said, suddenly desiring a change of subject. “And that I would not see you until morning after all.”

“What?” He looked stunned.

“Well, we have a long journey ahead of us. You said it would take four days in a carriage at least. I would not have been surprised if—”

“Emmeline,” he said heavily, “wild horses could not drag me from your bed tonight.”

Emmie stared at him. “Oh,” she said, but suddenly it was Lord Atherton’s words about her embodying Jeremy’s every physical ideal that echoed in her brain. He could not possibly have been telling the truth, could he?

Jeremy turned fully toward her, his movements slow and careful as the mattress shifted. “Do you remember that night at the Har—?”

Oh God no . Not Lady Hawford’s ball again! “I don’t want to remember!” she blurted. “Not tonight. I would much rather we made some new memories between us.” Seeing his surprised expression, she decided to be reckless and press her advantage.