Chapter Ten

GLANCING AROUND THE sumptuous private parlor of Lady Marston's immense city home, Zach ignored the tea waiting for him upon a near table and waited his godmother's inimitable presence. Aside from happening upon her in Hyde Park yesterday, he hadn't seen her since his father's funeral.

Leticia Durham, nee Brent, and his own mother had been bosom confidantes since before they were married. Leticia was as hard and cynical as Barbara Benedict had been soft and comely, was icy compared to Barbara's warmth, but they had been inseparable. Zach recalled that his father had never much use for Lady Marston, not while his wife lived, though well he tolerated her friend to keep peace. Ironically, his mother's passing had seen a shift in the relationship of his father and his godmother. They'd become their own sort of bosom pals, finding each other often at events, and Lady Marston, a widow for many years, sometimes serving as hostess for his father at Benedict House and here in the city. He'd not ever thought there was anything to their relationship other than their need to hold on to each other as a means of hanging on to the memory of his mother.

"He was the best of men," Lady Marston had shocked him, having uttered these words to him at the grave of his father.

Lady Marston just now stepped into the well-appointed room, reserved strictly for family and close confidantes, her daughters-in-law excluded, Zach recalled with some hint of absurdity .

He stood, just as Lady Marston barked, "It's a damn good thing you didn't make me have to hunt you down inside this city, boy."

His lips quirked. Her private person was so much more amusing than her still hard public persona, though remained more bark than bite, he knew.

"I imagined you would have questions," he acknowledged, taking her hand, leading her to the blue damask wing chair. "Alas, I need your help as well."

She barked out a laugh. "I'm not sure you do, boy. I don't know that I've ever been witness to a pair going so far out of their way to make unseen eyes at each other."

Zach laughed and sat in the matching chair across a small table from her. He admitted, "I'm not entirely sure I care to know exactly what that might mean, ma'am."

She sighed and gave him a look riddled with exasperation. "I'll leave off commenting on that bit of nonsense and allow you to tell me where you came upon so dangerously pitiable an ingénue."

Zach cocked a brow. "Pitiable? Emma?"

"I don't care how remarkable you think she is, that girl is no match for you," barked the dowager, finally taking a moment to fix her tea, the set having sat untouched between them until now.

He debated this, considering the context of the lady's statement against what he knew of Emma Ainsley's stubbornness.

"My father left her a pretty sum in his will."

This raised the mighty woman's brow, until it lowered and her lips parted. "Pray do not tell me she is the imp from some inn down near Hertfordshire."

"He told you about her?" Zach was aghast .

But Lady Marston quickly shook her head. "I'd taken him to task for having defaulted on a dinner party I'd had. Said he'd been waylaid down there—but wait, he specifically said by a charming and dimpled blonde . Those were his words. Oh, I gave him hell, told him he was too old for things of that nature. But your Miss Ainsley, while admittedly alluring, is neither blonde nor dimpled." Her eyes skinnied with shrewdness.

Zach was rather pleased to be able to baffle his godmother with the news, "Ah, but her daughter is."

Lady Marston sat back in her overstuffed chair, while so many manifestations of emotions crossed her face: jaw gaping with disbelief; eyes narrowing with calculation; nose wrinkling with displeasure.

"Bloody Hades, what did he do?"

To save her further erroneous assumptions, Zach laid out the truth of Emma's tale, and his father's connection to her, or at least the truth as he understood it. His father had happened upon her while his carriage was stuck. He'd been perhaps initially taken with Emma's decency, and then more so by darling Bethany, that he'd visited often, regularly, and had benevolently thought to increase her circumstance by way of his final bequest.

Lady Marston rolled both her eyes and her head when the telling was done.

Another sigh preceded her assessment, "He was a fool. I say that with love, you know that. God's wounds, he was softhearted. But there is good news, in that the child is not his. Are we sure about this?"

Zach shrugged. "Relatively."

The blue eyes rolled again. She considered Zach for a long moment, giving him a good glare while she assessed the situation and her thoughts on it. Finally, she said, "So where are we now? You're aloof and brooding, boy, but you've not quite managed to hide your simmering—dare I say, longing?—glances at the poor thing." She sounded particularly displeased about this part. "Why bring her to London? Why not leave her tucked away down there in that cottage? You can't marry her. And I know you'd not stoop so low as to despoil that sweet thing. So what, then?"

"My intention was twofold," he said, and added sheepishly, "but only part of it was not entirely selfish."

"Not surprising."

Zach briefly sketched his purpose in bringing Emma to London. He focused more on the assistance her very presence might give to his hopes of avoiding the hindrance of Lady Prudence Kingsley while still garnering her father's support. Stubbornly, he put less emphasis on his plan to briefly expose Emma to the beau monde , that she might not so much forfeit any part of herself but rather gain a bit of an understanding about people outside her own little sphere of life.

"So you've said all that and I'm telling you right now that's the grandest load of twaddle I've ever heard. I'm supposed to believe your stated altruistic intent, when I personally witnessed how you absolutely chewed her up with your eyes. Don't you dare insult me, Zachary Benedict. You've brought her here for my approval. You want me to somehow change the laws of polite society, or give you leave to ignore them, so that you can...what? Marry her?" She scoffed. "You are the Earl of Lindsey. You may not marry a commoner. A country cousin, maybe, and even that I would advise against. But a chambermaid? You've a fine future in politics, boy, that shouldn't be driven off by some trifle, who are—let's be honest—ten a penny."

"Are they, though? Ten a penny?"

Lady Marston gasped. "Dear Lord, you're in love with her."

Zach said nothing. His jaw tightened. Something inside would not allow him to refute her supposition, even as that precise idea had never so much as entered the periphery of his mind.

He could literally see his godmother composing herself, forcing slow breaths, straightening her shoulders. Levelly, she pronounced, "No, they are not, I suppose, not ten a penny. They are rare, and wasn't I and your parents lucky enough to know it? But Zachary, dear, this is different. She is worthy only in your eyes. They'll eat her up. She would never rise above it—they wouldn't allow it. Is that what you want to do to her? It wouldn't end well."

He sat silent, frustrated.

"I know it's not what you wanted to hear. But you are to be a great statesman. You need a partner of strength and wiliness, someone willing to play the game at your side. She's not it. It would wipe out everything you love about her now."

Zachary gave in to his own thoughtful perusal of his godmother, chewing the inside of his cheek as he did. "All that, gathered in so short a meeting? Quite remarkable, even for you, my lady."

When the dowager only smacked him with a withering glare, he waved a negligent hand. "Be that as it may, I need an invitation for her for Kingsley's dinner this evening," he said. His godmother was no great fan of Lady Kingsley, but she was a society matron few would dare to refuse. "Additionally, I need you to sponsor her tomorrow night at Clarendon's ball. "

A slow, calming blink of her eyes preceded her nod. "Very well. I will collect her at eight. And you will not arrive until nine. At least give some show of insouciance." As an afterthought, her forefinger raised swiftly from her cane, she added, "And you may dance only once with her! In that regard, I will not be budged."

Zach grinned at his godmother. "Honestly, my lady, I haven't any idea if she even knows how to dance."

Thin, arched brows rose nearly into her hairline. "You are going to be the death of me, boy," was issued in a slow and seething tone.

Zach left shortly thereafter, having amused himself greatly at the woman's expense. But once seated inside his carriage and driving away, his grin faded.

In love with Emma Ainsley?

SHE TRIED VERY HARD not to let the earl see exactly how nervous she was, how close to begging him to release her from her promise to help him.

As ever, he seemed to read her so well, though she'd not said a word within the confines of the carriage as of yet.

"Miss Ainsley, please do not trouble yourself," he said into the darkness. "It is simply a dinner. Perhaps only twenty people or so."

Emma attempted a smile and was glad for the shadows and the probability that he actually could not see what she was sure emerged as a pained grimace .

He added, a bit consolingly, "Think of it as similar to being in the midst of the crowded dining room or taproom at the King's Arms Inn. Filled to the brim with persons infused with an appreciation for their own importance, who will want to talk about themselves, who will no doubt not give any regard to any answers you might make to the indifferent questions they may or may not put forth. You should expect to be bored to tears for all the talk of politics, and I apologize in advance for that."

Only a few minutes later, they stood just inside the terraced house of Lord and Lady Kingsley. The foyer was a study of classic English design; black and white tiled floor, pilasters of rich marble, and wall coverings of muted gold silk.

The earl assisted her in the removal of her cape, which had arrived today with the gown she now wore. When her shoulders were freed of the luxurious sky blue cape of soft and light velvet, Emma turned to the earl but gave her gown a swift perusal, brushing away what she thought might be wrinkles in a certain spot in the skirt. Never in her life had she owned or worn silk, and here she was surrounded by it tonight. The sweet silk of the dress was of a summer blue, the skirt and bodice generously adorned with embroidered fleur de lis, fashioned with shiny gold threads. The peasant bodice was trimmed with a gold cord and the hem of the skirts, touching just at her ankle, showed a single layer of gold fleur de lis lace. Beneath her gown, her legs were caressed by sumptuous silk hose and her feet were tucked into low-heeled slippers of gold satin.

She felt like a princess and had delighted at the earl's initial response when she'd joined him in the foyer of his Mayfair home earlier. His gaze had raked her with fascination, the smile that had lifted his gorgeous lips had come slowly and had thrilled her so much more than it should have.

He offered her the crook of his arm now, tucking his other hand over the fingers she placed on his sleeve and they moved as one to be received by their hosts.

Emma almost forgot to be nervous then, as the earl ducked his head and whispered at her ear, his breath teasing the curls there, "You are ravishing, Miss Ainsley," which Emma personally thought entirely more exhilarating than his earlier generic, albeit appreciative statement of, "Well done, Miss Ainsley."

"Lindsey," said their host, a portly man not much taller than Emma herself. Lord Kingsley was easily twice the age of the earl, with thinning hair and a face that seemed to be folding in around its features, compressing his eyes and lips inside his puffy skin.

"Lord Kingsley, may I present Miss Emma Ainsley," said the earl.

The elderly man arched a thick and untamed brow, throwing the earl a look of quickly tamped down displeasure before he flashed a thin smile to Emma. Taking his slowly proffered hand, she sank into a respectable curtsy.

Next to her squat husband, Lady Kingsley appeared quite long, though was stuffed so harshly into her silk gown of tangerine, Emma feared any sharp exhale might send buttons or flounces or trim scattering away from the ensemble. Likely, the gown had fit the lady perfectly a decade ago, but tonight it appeared its purpose was not so very different than that of the butcher's sausage casing. She looked about as pleased as her husband with Emma's introduction, casting a narrowed glance all over Emma's fine gown .

The lady recovered quickly, however, and accepted Emma's greeting and curtsy with a pinched and painted-lip smile. Inclining her head, she said to the earl, "I was pleased to be able to accommodate Lady Marston's request for the addition of one guest to my table." Her next words, and the lofty tone in which they were delivered, shriveled Emma's excitement fairly quickly. "Even as it befuddled my numbers, as it would have any hostess with such short notice." She tittered then, as if that additional sound would have eased the severity of her statement.

The earl responded smoothly, "Lady Marston did not misspeak about you, Lady Kingsley, having assured me of your generous charm and hospitable spirit."

Emma glanced sharply up at the earl, never having heard such a pretentious and servile voice from him. However, this seemed to effectively mollify the woman, if only for the time being. Emma began to imagine that Lord Kingsley and his daughter, the Hindrance, were not the only ones eager to entice the earl into their family.

They were directed to the upstairs drawing room, where other guests gathered and milled about, awaiting dinner. This room had not the tall ceilings or classic design of the immense foyer but was charming, nonetheless, with its pretty Queen Anne furniture and soft hues of blue and ivory.

Emma thought she detected a slight and brief hush to the room as the earl, with his hand at the small of her back, guided her within. There were perhaps a dozen people already assembled. Several heads turned their way, several gazes abandoned the newly arrived couple when Emma moved her eyes over these persons .

A lively, nervous laugh reached her, and a young woman stepped before her.

"You look as if you were made—or dressed—specifically for this room," said the young lady. She indicated Emma's blue and gold dress and then the room in general, showing similar shades, before pointing specifically to a settee of a gold striped pattern, enlivened with soft blue fleur de lis .

Emma laughed at this happenstance, meeting the pretty green eyes of the young woman.

"I am Lady Margaret," said the girl, her smile seeming both genuine and friendly.

"Emma Ainsley," she introduced herself, as a young man had pounced upon the earl and had his ear to her right.

"And that's Lindsey?" Asked Lady Margaret, whom Emma decided might be several years younger than herself.

Emma lowered her voice as Lady Margaret had, ducking toward her a bit. "It is."

"My sister will be happy for his coming," she said. "Good heavens, but that's all she's talked about today. Oh my, and apologies to you, but she will not appreciate the challenge you represent."

"Challenge?" Emma wondered.

Lady Margaret took Emma's hand and pulled her away from the earl, still engaged by the other man. "Challenge for the earl's affections. Are you in love with him as well?"

Startled, and slightly unprepared for having to respond to questions about her relationship with the earl so soon into the evening, Emma gulped and said, "Well, he and I are—"

Lady Margaret giggled and interrupted. "Oh, it will be so much fun to see Prudence thwarted. Ever has she talked as if he loved her already when anyone with even half a brain inside their head might tell you that he has yet to notice her existence."

"I'm sure that the earl—"

"Prudence makes excuses for all the opportunities he has had to call upon her, or make a date with her, failing to embrace the truth that he is not interested." Lady Margaret snickered again. "Tonight is going to be very entertaining after all!" Still holding Emma's hand, she pulled her along, moving further into the room. "Come, I'll introduce you to the people who matter."

As she was led away, Emma threw a glance back at the earl, not quite sure if she wanted to be separated from him so soon. Now surrounded by two gentlemen, he watched her yet, inclining his head just enough to let Emma know he would offer no objection to her being so hastily whisked away and paraded around by the Lady Margaret.

Lady Margaret proved to be her own little whirlwind, interrupting her introduction of Emma to a statuesque woman named Lady Stanhope with the query, "Is it your own maid who so cleverly arranged your hair, Miss Ainsley?" And when Emma was presented to an oily middle-aged man titled Lord Shirley, Lady Margaret followed the introduction with, "You should limit your conversation to only the hello, my lord, as she has come on the arm of Lindsey."

Emma was sure she had never met anyone quite like Lady Margaret. And when ten minutes had passed, and Emma had thankfully been saved from having to answer any questions about herself, or her arrival with the earl—Margaret having answered many queries herself—she stood in front of the Hindrance , Lady Prudence, Margaret's older sister, and the reason Emma had been brought to London .

Lady Prudence was taller than Emma, with shiny blonde hair and a rosebud mouth. Emma's initial impression was, very handsome even as she wished she were beautiful; deliberate; outwardly confident .

And then she opened her mouth.

In a tone laced with reprimand, she first chastised her sister to kindly use her polite indoor voice, and then turned an inhospitable smirk onto Emma when her sister introduced her.

"Was it your aim, then, Miss Ainsley, to upstage your hostess with your choice of dress, or was it your intent to remain unnoticed?"

Emma recalculated. Angry, insecure, and similar to Alice, in the sense that she'd likely put a person down if she thought it would increase her own significance. But Emma had dealt with enough of her type over the years at the inn, Alice included, that she needed only a moment to collect herself and reply with, "I do rather blend in, do I not?" And then, pointedly, "I shall take Lindsey to task for the frightful fact that I might well be mistaken as only the draperies."

Lady Margaret giggled uproariously at this quip.

Lady Prudence minced no words. "And what, pray tell, is your relationship with Zachary?"

Emma smiled at the lady's very transparent attempt to presume a more intimate relationship with the earl than was real.

"The earl and I are cousins—"

"Barely, I would imagine," the imperious woman charged in, "as the Benedicts are quite a small—"

"On his mother's side," Emma finished evenly and then lifted a polite and curious brow to Lady Prudence. "Are you acquainted with any of the Morrissey relations? Oh, but you must be, as we are such a prolific family." And she laughed, as charmingly and as innocently as Lady Margaret had. This only saved her further verbal condemnation, but not so much from the lady's scornful scowl.

Lady Kingsley, having joined her guests in the drawing room with her husband, strode with some purpose toward her daughters and Emma just as a low gong of a bell was sounded. Two footmen pushed open the double doors, insinuating that the party would now be going down to dinner.

"Oh, Mr. Pickering," called Lady Kingsley, her eyes on Emma even as she said to the man who strode toward her, "Won't you be so kind as to see Miss Ainsley down to dinner?"

Emma's gaze was suspended upon the straining bodice of Lady Kingsley, wondering if the seams might survive the meal. When Mr. Pickering stood before her with a pleased smile and proffered arm, Emma met his warm gaze and gave him a gracious smile.

"Thank you, sir." She set her hand atop his and not through his elbow, as she'd noticed Lady Stanhope had done in front of her, and they followed the other pairs out of the drawing room.

"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 she'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.