Chapter 3

Emma was so bored and listless that she felt close to tears. She closed her gloved fingers so tightly over the elegantly painted fan her fingers hurt. She'd only returned to town yesterday from Chatham, and her mother had bundled her away to another ball, excitedly chattering how much fun this one promised to be.

"Why do you appear so discomfited?" a soft voice asked at her elbow.

She tried to produce a smile and failed abysmally. "Oh, Phoebe, I am fit to scream. I believe I've had my fill of balls, and yet the season has just begun. There is nothing…new. I'm afraid it is the same as last year."

Phoebe wrinkled her nose in that charming manner of hers. "I commiserate, my dear sister. You've been out much longer than I have, and the season has already lost its allure for me. There are only so many balls and soirees one can enjoy. I find myself missing the idle days at Penporth. The old dragon squawked yesterday when I mentioned that I missed our pet hen. I do wonder how Hetty is doing."

They laughed and Emma's spirits enlivened.

"I find myself missing my sisters greatly," Phoebe whispered, taking a sip of her champagne. "It is so very odd they are no longer living with us, isn't it?"

"Yes," Emma murmured with a sigh. "It is rather…lonely."

Phoebe took another sip of her champagne, a faraway look entering her gaze. "I plan to travel down to Berkshire to visit Fanny and Lily. I miss them dreadfully, and Fanny is due to have her child soon. I am sure she will be happy with my company."

They sipped champagne and chatted for several minutes before a young gentleman and their hostess approached. Swift introductions were made, and the gentleman presented as Lord Anthony gallantly asked Phoebe to the dance floor, which she graciously allowed. Emma looked on, smiling at the charming picture they made, amused by Lord Anthony's already besotted appearance. Phoebe was stunningly garbed in a daring pink gown that flattered her curvaceous figure. Phoebe, Fanny, and Julia were the only sisters who did not own raven black hair like their other sisters. They took their strawberry blonde tresses from their father. A lump formed in Emma's throat as she thought about papa, whom she missed dreadfully. He would have been so delighted by their success in society thus far.

Oh, papa, I miss you.

Emma glanced about the ballroom and spied her mother standing with Lady Celdon and a few other matrons on the other side of the ballroom. Her mother stared fondly at Phoebe, and Emma was almost certain their mother was already plotting a marriage. She was about to slip outside for fresh air when a ripple of awareness coasted over her body. Somehow, she knew Viscount Barlow was nearby. In truth, Emma fancied she could still feel his heat surrounding hers and the imprint of his body as he'd clasped her to him to prevent her fall. It was quite odd she owned this shattering awareness of that gentleman. Scanning the crowd discreetly, her heart stuttered inside when she saw him near the base of the winding staircase, in deep conversation with an unfamiliar lady.

Emma discreetly watched him, admiring his brooding, handsome profile. The man's hair was perhaps darker than hers, inky like the night itself, and it was certainly in need of a trim. Yet she admired how it curled on the highbrow of his forehead and nape. He shifted, and before she could glance away, their gazes collided over the expanse of the ballroom.

His actions were almost…lazy as he swept his gaze over her body. He looked down at his lady friend and nodded, but a small quirk was at the corner of his mouth, and Emma knew that smile was for her. She allowed herself to appreciate his sheer male beauty. That hot, wild feeling swirled low in her belly once more, and suddenly Emma knew she wanted to kiss the viscount. That was exactly how she had felt pressed against him in the country. Such confusing wants had rushed through her, and Emma had seen a similar desire mirrored in his emerald gaze. She desperately wanted to feel and experience this secret thrill her sisters spoke about and bask in glorious feelings of desire.

She wanted to be kissed…to know what it was like to be held close in a lover's arms. Oh, God, what am I thinking? Yet the shocking revelation would not leave her alone, and she stared helplessly at the man she wanted to experience it with.

It was nonsensical and outrageous and—

Her protestations drifted away like smoke wisps when he tilted his head, and those piercing green eyes snagged her. The viscount appeared to listen to his partner, but Emma sensed his complete regard was on her. It took remarkable effort, but she looked away from his intense stare. She swallowed the contents of her glass in a single gulp and handed it to a passing footman.

The viscount's far-too-scandalous encounter in the park rose almost like a feverish dream in her thoughts. How had they been so free and so daring to just take what they wanted? The lady he had been intimate with; she'd recognized as a widowed baroness. Was it only permissible for widows to engage in such illicit encounters?

She hungered to know this secret to live and enjoy life without worrying about the constraint and judgment of others. It had been so much easier in Penporth when they were just a simple family with no ties to nobility. Emma bit into her lower lip until her flesh throbbed. She yearned to break free of the cage she had set around herself because of her family's expectations.

The passion and joy you'll find in your husband's arms will fairly take your breath away.

Those had been the earnest words from Ellie. Emma sighed. Why should she trap herself in domesticity to experience any sort of passion when gentlemen certainly did not confine themselves so? That rebelliousness and naughtiness stirred inside Emma, and something unfathomable bubbled inside her belly.

How far do I dare go?

Lord Barlow was unquestionably the perfect gentleman to assist Emma in her far-too-scandalous musings. He was not a stranger…and was enough of a scoundrel to accommodate her desires should she be brave enough to act upon them. It was almost amusing that her grandaunt considered the viscount a scoundrel of the first order that no lady of quality would dare associate. Emma, amusingly, despite all her past and current shenanigans, was that lady of quality. Considering all the mischief she had got up to over the last two years since coming to London, it was laughable that Lady Celdon still believed Emma owned those simpering perfect ladylike qualities.

If the old dragon could even glean an inkling of her thoughts this night, surely, she would persuade her eldest brother, Colin, who was head of the family, to banish Emma back to their idyllic village in Cornwall and for her to again never be summoned to town.

"I am simply petrified of the expression on my dear sister's face," Richard said as he approached her, a decidedly imperious brow arched in question. "And that you are staring at a gentleman while owning to it is even more frightening."

Emma grinned at her youngest brother in their fun-loving, rowdy family. "I merely think Lord Barlow is an interesting gentleman for my plans."

Her brother lifted a brow. "Viscount Barlow?"

"Yes."

He narrowed his gaze in thoughtful contemplation. "Dare I ask about those plans?"

"You may not, my dear brother."

Richard muttered something indiscernible. "Is he not the gentleman you once dropped your fan before, and the old dragon almost died?"

Emma groaned. "That was last season, and my action was not deliberate, I assure you. I am still astonished that our grandaunt believes a gentleman out there is more improper than my brothers."

Richard's cobalt blue eyes gleamed. "Well, Barlow is friends with Nicholas. Scoundrels and rakes do tend to keep each other company."

"Nicholas is your twin, Richard, so what does that make you," she said drily, thinking he was far too handsome and arrogant. "The old dragon says once a gentleman of fortune and rank is not looking for a bride, he is a rake, or a rogue might have some truth."

"I admit I am an unrepentant libertine who has no wish to change and who sees a tempting morsel I just might get a chance to bite this evening," he drawled, a shocking amount of sensuality settling on his handsome face. "Behave yourself, Emma dearest. Do remember our poor hearts. Now I have something…interesting to attend to."

The carnality laced in his emphasis brought a flush to her cheeks. Richard strolled away, heading from the ball. Outrageous, she thought with fond amusement. Emma glanced toward the viscount, noting he was no longer by the staircase. A quick perusal of the ballroom showed that he had seemingly disappeared into the crush. Another scan revealed that Phoebe danced the quadrille with a young gentleman, and their mother observed with a keen air of satisfaction. The old dragon was engaged in conversation, and still needing that breath of fresh air, Emma slipped from the ballroom through the terraced door leading out to the back gardens.

There were a few ladies about laughing and chatting, and she avoided their presence, turning left onto a more secluded path that led to the side gardens. A powerful hand slipped around her waist and snagged her into a secluded spot. Her heart thumped painfully as shock tore through her. She was released before she had the presence of mind to scream. Whirling around, she gasped, staring up at the coolly amused expression of the viscount. Her heart raced too rapidly. It was as if he had suddenly given life to it. A nervous thrill coursed through her, and she pressed her gloved palm over her chest, for she was never the sort to be nervous. "My lord!"

"Miss Fairbanks?"

Emma swallowed. "What are you doing?"

"Given your bold invitation, was I not to meet you here?"

"What invitation?" she demanded, taking a step back and searching for his expression in the shadowed gardens.

"The one extended by your rousing stare."

Emma was disposed of any vestige of rational thought at the moment, piercingly aware that an unspeakable thrill was pounding its own beat inside her body. She dazedly recalled that her family tended to tease her about her expressive face. Had he seen the want and curiosity in her stare? Oh, God.

She forced a light tone. "I didn't expect you to steal me away into the shadows." Emma was truly at a loss at what else to say.

"Indulge my curiosity, Miss Fairbanks. Tell me about these expectations you clearly hope from me."

His voice was a carnal purr of danger in the dark, and Emma gathered many debutantes would have swooned in fright by now or feared for their virtue. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, hoping he could not hear the wild beating of her heart. Somehow his beautiful eyes made her burn. But wasn't this the reason he had titillated her heart which had grown bored and empty? He was a dangerous temptation in a world that had been reshaped into propriety and denying the desires in one's heart because of an inheritance no one had anticipated.

I want to explore kisses with you, she silently thought, still unable to let the words spill from her mouth. Do you feel the same way, my lord? Is that why you stare at me so?

It was impossible to know, of course.

Those ridiculous lessons about decorum imparted from her sister-in-law held her in place, along with the expectations from her mother and grandaunt. They warred fiercely within, clashing against the need she had to live for herself, to indulge in what she wanted. Emma's heart squeezed, and she felt the dual desires would rip her apart. Why did it suddenly feel so hard to drag air into her lungs? She pressed her hand to her belly, biting her lower lip to control her reaction to the tide of emotions sweeping over her.

The dark green eyes searching her face softened, and a frown plucked at his winged-shaped brows. "I can see that you are scared, Miss Fairbanks. Why?"