Chapter 1

The early morning chill wrapped its arm around Miss Emma Regina Fairbanks as she daringly rode her dappled mare over the grounds of Hyde Park. It was deplorably early, perhaps not even four in the morning, but to ride at this time was the only opportunity to enjoy herself astride in breeches and without the possibility of the ton looking on with their priggish judgment.

Her eldest brother, Colin, knew of her adventures and grudgingly looked the other way. Emma knew he had instructed one of their footmen to discreetly follow her whenever she sneaked out to ride, but she also took some precautions and traveled with a dagger in her riding boot. Her older brothers had taught her how to plant a mean facer, push a bounder from her body if one dared, and wield the dagger with deadly precision.

She gently tugged on the reins, slowing the horse, and urging the mare into a canter. Emma lifted her face to the sky, admiring the dazzling stars in the velveted heavens above, wishing she could still be in the park to witness the rising sun. She would have to return home before the fashionable ton descended on the park to promenade and be seen.

Dipping her hand into the stylish riding jacket pocket, she withdrew a letter from her dearest sister Ester, who had been living in the glittering world of New York's bon ton with her husband, Edmond Glendevon. There was barely any light from the moon to read the letter; however, Emma still stared at the paper she'd unfolded, already having committed the words to her memory and heart.

Dearest Emma,

How I've missed the family, especially you and Ellie! I was so happy to hear about your sojourn abroad with Aunt Cecily, Cousin Samuel and Caroline, and the grand time you had. I wish I had been there with you! I was even more pleased to receive the recent portraits of our sweet little nephew George. Your drawings and Nicholas's paintings captured his likeness and growth most remarkably; he is the picture of Colin. I was not at all surprised that Lizzy and Rannulf dote on their twin girls or that His Grace already spoils them rotten. I agree that Ellie and Lucien's little darling is a perfect replica of us, and I can already see the mischief in her sweet little smile! The portraits you've sent me of the family are my most treasured tokens, and I cannot thank you enough for them, Emma. I am delighted to tell you that Edmond and I will return to London only a year after leaving. The doctor confirmed yesterday that I am with child, not yet two months increasing. Edmond and I would like to welcome the birth of our blessing on England's shore, surrounded by our family. I've received another letter from Phoebe complaining of the old dragon's incessant wishes for her to marry Baron Heybridge because he flatters her with his regard. I trust that you are guiding Phoebe well, and I have assured her that unless she loves the baron, she is not to accept his suit. I dearly wish you would find a similar happiness and adventure in marriage as Ellie and myself, Emma. Now do not roll your eyes or be dismissive. I assure you marriage has proven to be the greatest adventure I've ever embraced. I anticipate seeing you and everyone with the greatest of happiness.

Your sister,

Mrs. Ester Glendevon

Emma smiled, that lump of emotion swelling inside her throat once more. Last year it had been very painful watching her beloved sister sail away with Edmond Glendevon for a new adventure. As triplets, they had always been close and never suffered being apart for any length of time. First, Eleanor had found love and married, and then Ester. Those nights, they had snuggled into bed at their brother's townhouse and giggled and chatted under the covers until dawn was no more. Emma hadn't dreamed she would miss her sisters so fiercely or that some nights she would lie in the dark, and tears would leak from her eyes as if they had a will of their own.

Her love for her family ran piercingly deep. However, despite still being surrounded by her family, Emma had felt adrift without Ellie and Ester as her constant companions. She hadn't expected to feel this bleak and bereft without her sisters' presence. Emma had fallen into a melancholy state, and to cheer her, Colin suggested she travel to Rome, Malta, and Greece, then Egypt with her aunt and cousins for a few months. The trip abroad restored her spirits within days, and she had a great time.

She'd returned to town after five months abroad, and after a few more months, another ton season was upon them, and the blistering discontent had returned. She was not able to endure such boredom and loneliness with any sort of forbearance. Her mother swore what Emma needed was a gentleman of her own.

"Simply rubbish," she whispered, inhaling deeply of the brisk air, urging her mare to trot faster.

It was indeed frustrating that her mama thought the solution to all her daughters' problems was marriage. Perhaps her mama simply relished someone else dealing with their obstinacy. She slightly chuckled at the notion. Though a few of her siblings teased her for being the romantic sort, Emma did not hunger for a similar grand match, finding no anticipation in her heart of the idea of marrying. She could see and admire the beauty of love without being moved or caged by it. She'd always owned that antipathy to marriage to her mother's frustration; however, Emma merely thought there were far more interesting things about life, and there was no need to toss her entire heart and concentration into securing a suitor.

The awareness that had pushed her from her bed only an hour ago as she tossed about restlessly was that she was frightfully bored and lonely. There was simply no escaping the truth. Life felt as if it were coated in shades of gray, not the bright, vivid flash of colors she had long been accustomed to. She wanted something new…something powerful enough to pierce her boredom and fill her with a sense of awe. Only yesterday, her brother Richard had asked Emma what she longed for. In her frustration, she had snapped ‘more.' Yet that ‘more' was an intangible force she did not understand. Emma knew something was distressingly missing, but she did not understand what it was. If she had, she would have reached out her two hands and grabbed it to her chest with great enthusiasm.

Another little laugh escaped her because of her whimsical musings. Emma dismounted from the horse and lightly held the reins. She tied it on a low branch on a tree. Dipping under some foliage, she stopped as if she had run into a wall, blinking at the lascivious sight before her. She stared helplessly as if the devil had lured her to this side of the park. Closing her eyes tightly and then snapping them open revealed the lovers clasped and straining toward each other was not conjured from her wicked musings. Emma's lips parted, she rapidly blinked, and the lady seated astride a gentleman's lap, her back arched and his mouth covering an exposed breast, did not vanish.

They were fully clothed, surrounded mostly by shadows and trees, but in the hints of light, strong hands cupped a lush derriere and urged the lady up and down with provocative strength. The gentleman was silent, his expression obscured in the shadows, yet whimpers and moans came from the lady.

The lady's back arched even more, and the man released her breast, and the moonlight caressed almost lovingly over his sensual features. Emma bit back her gasp, curling her hands into fists at her side. The lady cried out wildly. Emma could not tell if the lady was in pain or not, but somehow the erotic sounds kindled a peculiar sensation low in her belly. It was a baffling spark…only that spark enchanted her and rooted her to the spot. Or perhaps it was because she recognized the scoundrel who so wickedly ravished the lady in his arms—David Maitland, Viscount Barlow, one of her brother Nicholas's friends.

Somehow the viscount sensed her presence, for he looked right at her, the trembling lady in his arms forgotten. For a wild moment, Emma was rendered breathless. His eyes were so vivid; a shocking green captured hers in a hold that felt tangible and inescapable. A sharp hiss left the viscount before he stilled as if turned into a statue. The lady hardly seemed aware that he was no longer an engaged partner, for she moved on top of the viscount with greater enthusiasm. Yet he did not break his stare from Emma's nor hasten to cover or stop whatever they were doing.

How scandalous!

The provocative shock of it almost sent Emma into a swoon. She could tell the viscount recognized her. Knowledge and awareness and something far more dangerous that she did not understand gleamed in his gaze. The lady seemed to reach some sort of crescendo, for she slumped against him and murmured in the crook of his neck for him to hold her. He complied, and Emma flushed, distressed that he still had not looked away from her…and that she was still just standing there.

It was as if he was daring her to act. Lord Barlow narrowed his gaze and raked his eyes over her. Oh, God. Heart hammering, Emma whirled around and rushed as silently as possible from the intimate scene.

"You did not attain your pleasure," the lady said.

Emma froze, pressing her palm tighter over her chest. She did not understand why she awaited his answer.

"I am satisfied," he drawled, yet his voice echoed remarkably flat.

Emma glanced behind her; grateful she could no longer see him. Somehow, she sensed he still stared in her direction, and she wondered if that flash of hunger in his eyes had been her imagination.

"How can you be!" the lady cried, sounding piqued. "Let me—"

"No."

His rejection was flat and brooked no refusal. Emma did not await the lady's reply but hurried to her grazing horse, loosened the reins, and remounted. She cantered home, at odds about why she felt so unsettled. It was not the scene of seeing the coupling act, even though she had not seen any graphic details. Her sisters had told her enough of intimacy for her to supply her imagination.

Ellie had claimed there was nothing more glorious than intimacy between a man and a woman. Emma had been skeptical, for ladies about the ton did not stroll about appearing as if they had just engaged in any sort of glorious wantonness with a gentleman. Only a few ladies, like her siblings, still stared at their husbands and flushed, their eyes sparkling with a gleam she'd always found curious. Perhaps the wildness in the Fairbanks was why they even believed intimate relations were indeed glorious…earth-shattering…thrilling.

Those annoying descriptions had been from Ester, who had purred them with that mysterious sparkle in her eyes and a rosy flush upon her cheeks. Reaching home, Emma handed her mare over to a groom who led the horse away to the mews. She entered her brother's townhouse, grateful her family still slept, and only the servants were up and about. Emma hurried to her bedchamber, removed her riding habit without the assistance of a maid, and tumbled onto the bed with a soft sigh.

The impatient energy that had kept her awake was not quieted today. In truth, she felt morerestless.

David Maitland, Viscount Barlow.

Emma groaned and rolled over onto her stomach, pressing her face into the softness of the bedsheets. How would she ever face this gentleman again? They did not socialize in the same circles often; however, the viscount was a good friend of Nicholas and his wife, Cressida. The viscount had been invited to their last family picnic and Christmas gathering in the country. Lord Barlow had hardly deigned to speak with her, but an uncomfortable awareness had always simmered under Emma's skin whenever they walked too close to each other. She had always wondered if it was the very absorbed manner he portrayed as he went about…well…simply not engaging with her directly. As if he needed to avoid her. She'd given him a wide berth, innately wary of his brooding intensity and the fact she could never read his expression whenever his gaze landed on her.

She shifted on the sheets, jolting at the sweet sensation that stabbed at her breasts. Unexpectedly the memory of the viscount licking along the lady's breast seared through her, and Emma gasped at that odd spark once again rushing through her veins. The memory was no longer shadowed in the dark of her room, with no distractions around. It became exquisitely vivid. She hadn't seen the sensual beauty of his face before, but now Emma did, and her breath hitched and tangled inside her chest. She hadn't recalled the swipe of his tongue, like a feline over the soft globes of breasts…now she saw it.

Oh, God. Something unknown came alive inside of her, and she swallowed tightly.

"Oh, this is ridiculous," she groaned, wrapping herself into the bedsheet, determined to sleep for at least two hours before she joined her family to break her fast. It did not matter that she had happened upon a tryst. It certainly had nothing to do with her. When she encountered the viscount again, Emma would simply pretend the matter was inconsequential and not worth mentioning, nor worth blushing over, nor should it provoke her heart to pitter-patter and longing to slide hotly in her veins.