Chapter 5

Miss Emma Fairbanks was once again in Hyde Park. David had sensed she would come tonight. How could she resist staying away, considering the storm brewing within her life was becoming a tempest? That storm would break, and she would chase her desire with reckless impetuosity, and he'd had the most extraordinary realization that he wanted to catch her should she stumble in her bid to fill her emptiness. That awareness had shaken David. Instead of making his way home after the ball, he'd come to the park and waited along the pathways beside the Serpentine River. After two hours of convincing himself that he truly had not waited for a mere glimpse of her, she emerged along the path like a goddess on a large, black stallion, her coat flying behind her as they raced like the wind, her riding gown hiked scandalously to her knees for she rode astride.

A joyous laugh pulsed from her, and he found himself smiling at the delight echoing in her tone. David urged his horse from under the cusps of trees into a run, careful to keep a steady pace and not overtake her as they headed toward Rotten Row. Somehow Miss Fairbanks sensed his presence, for she glanced over her shoulder, the brightness of the moon painting her lovely face in vivid shades of moonbeam. Her gaze widened, and a smile bloomed on her lush lips. David swore he saw the glittering of her blue eyes across the distance. She whipped around and urged her horse into a faster gallop.

It was a clear invitation and challenge, and something hot and unexpected surged within David. A chuckle escaped him as he pushed his faithful steed into a powerful gallop. He caught up to her within seconds, and they rode side by side at a terrifying speed, the legs of the horses eating up the ground in powerful strides. She slowed her speed, and he responded to her pace until their horses trotted lazily.

"Are you alone, my lord," she said a trifle breathlessly, "or does your…lover await your return nearby?"

Despite her vigorous ride, her raven-dark hair remained in its artful chignon with curls coiled perfectly about her elegant face. "I am here alone, Miss Fairbanks."

He sensed the relief as it eased from her.

"I read the park is over four hundred acres. It is rather remarkable at this hour with no one else about that we've encountered each other." She gripped her reins tighter, a subtle tension flowing through her slim body. "Did you wait for me here…hoping that I would return to this section of the park, or is this another chance meeting, my lord?"

The soft question almost robbed the breath from David. He hadn't expected her to be so…forthright. A denial hovered on his tongue, but he did not voice it, for he did not believe in lying, not even when the truth revealed vulnerabilities and insecurities he would prefer to hide from friends and the damn world.

"I was waiting in hopes you might once again sneak from your bed."

Her breath hitched audibly, and he saw the flush of color bloom on her cheeks because he watched her keenly. She stopped riding and turned her horse to stare directly at him. In her eyes, he saw a yearning that tugged at a cord deep inside him. Emma Fairbanks hungered to be taken from her monotonous life, and David found himself…responding to that soft hunger painted on her features.

I want to dare…that expression said. Urging his horse closer to her, he held out his hand. "Come with me."

Those cobalt blue eyes widened, and wariness flickered in their beautiful depths. She looked innocent…fragile…inexplicably beautiful. "Where do we go, Lord Barlow?"

"Wherever I wish," he said, deliberately enigmatic.

"Should I trust my person to such a vague answer?"

Thump. That jerk of his heart was a warning. David did not allow close, emotional attachment, finding no reason to trust it. He had always stepped away from a woman once he found any sense of softening…any sense of needing her beyond brief passion. Yet a warning shivered through him, and he ignored it, for he was not truly feeling anything but a sense of anticipation. For now, that was enough. He would step away before sliding too deep. He had ruthless willpower when it came to shutting down feelings he did not trust, and that willpower had never let David down.

"The devil you know," he murmured. "Who is better to trust?"

"You are admitting that you are a right devil," she said archly, a twinkle in her eyes.

"Once, when I was young, I enjoyed the unflattering sobriquet of Satan."

"I suppose now you are awfully old and have given up your wicked shenanigans?" she asked pertly.

David chuckled. "I believe it is time you called me David…Emma."

As expected, excitement sparked in her gaze, and her mouth curved into a smile at once sweet, mysterious, and alluring. "Ride beside me. Tonight, we will start our daring."

"You are awfully accommodating," she said in a teasing tone.

No…he was protective, unable to bear the idea of her taking any sort of risk with the wrong libertine. David would likely gut anyone who hurt her, but she would have still shed copious tears. She deserved to dare safely, and he knew none of her brothers would give her that freedom. Even if they were the damn ‘bad Fairbanks.' He was furious that only a footman hovered nearby when she had sneaked out to ride in the park. Ruffians and thieves were known to linger in the park for their nefarious reasons. He went to the footman who discreetly hovered, flipped him half a guinea, and told him he would escort Miss Fairbanks safely home.

She followed him as they cantered toward the exit of the park. "I have only about two hours before I must return home."

"Afraid?"

She tossed her head and jutted her chin forward. "No."

"It is barely after midnight. We have hours yet before dawn. Do you trust me?"

"Perhaps I would be foolish to, but I…I do trust you, my lord."

David hid his smile and said nothing as he led her through the empty streets of London toward his townhouse. Her lips parted with surprise when she noted where he had taken her.

"David?"

Hearing his name on her lips sent a ripple of pleasure along his spine.

"Do not fear. I do not take you to your ravishment."

"I would not fear that," she said cheekily, almost causing him to pitch flat on his face in his dismount.

He laughed, quickly assisted her from her horse, and ushered her into his townhouse. A servant discreetly led the horses away, his employees were used to their lord bringing ladies home. They were paid well and would not gossip. David led her to his intimate parlor and bid her to grant him a few minutes. He arranged for their horses to be stabled and the carriage to be brought around. Retrieving a few items from one of his guest rooms, he made his way to her and held out the dark red-haired wig and a golden face mask.

She stared at them for several moments before holding out her hand. "I am to wear these?"

"We must protect your identity."

"Who do they belong to?"

"An actress I once knew…"

She leveled him with an inquisitive stare. "A past lover?"

Emma did not appear out of sorts at the thought, more intrigued.

"Yes, a past lover."

"What of your current lover, my lord?"

There was a mysterious anticipation in her eyes. He stared at her, wondering what the devil was happening. Though he had no wish to control it, for he had not fully understood his actions, the words were shoved from his throat. "I amicably ended our liaison after I returned from your brother's garden party."

She bit into her lower lip, her nervous habit, yet she also radiated excitement. "Please assist me, my lord."

David went to her and deftly affixed the red wig over her raven tresses and the golden mask to her face. "On the second floor, the third door to your left. If it pleases you, go there, and you will find an emerald gown on the bed. Put it on."

Her gaze snapped to his, and she faltered into such stillness that it was as if she did not breath.

"I will send a maid to assist you," he said, touching the corner of her mouth with his thumb. "I wanted you to put these on first to conceal every aspect of your identity."

"I am perfectly capable of dressing alone," she said, then stepped back from him and hurried from the room.

What the hell am I doing?He silently hissed, thinking Nicholas might gut him with a rapier if he knew he cavorted with his beloved sister.

David's lips twisted. He had never been the type to allow another to order his actions, and he would not start now. Though he respected his friend and admired him, Emma Fairbanks was not a lady who seemed determined to dance to the tune of others. He liked that she did not easily yield to the persuasion of others and accept the role and life they wanted for her.

What about her dreams and wants? That he was curious about her in every aspect did not alarm David much; many other things had been a curious fascination in his life. Just none like Emma Fairbanks. He poured himself a glass of brandy, slowly sipping until a sound informed him that she was in the room.

"I am ready, David."

He looked away from the flickering flames of the fireplace, and his heart slammed inside his chest when he saw the vision of scandalous carnality she presented. She was…she was bloody exquisite. The emerald dress draped her lush body with mouth-watering sensuality. The red wig was a perfect complement to her skin tone, and she strolled further into the room with innate confidence and physicality.

"Who is Lord Peter?" The demand snapped from him and settled into the space between them.

Her gaze gleamed with mischief. "My very precious dog."

Hell. Relief scythed through him with stunning force. David wanted to be the one to introduce her to pleasure. Damn hypocritical of him, but he could not defeat the possessive urge thumping through his body. "I see."

She smiled, and her gaze flickered to a spot above him and widened. "Oh, what a beautiful portrait."

David stilled as a brow pinched her forehead.

"Is…is this your family?"

"Yes."

She stared at the picture her brother had painted for him last year, of a lady and a gentleman with a little boy between their bodies. They were on a lawn, enjoying a picnic, a palatial country manor in the background—a picture of perfect love and domesticity, except it was fake. He had no recollection of such a time with his family, yet that was how he had asked Nicholas, a painter of immeasurable talent, to paint it.

"They are lovely."

"They are dead," he said flatly and almost cursed himself when she jerked at his tone.

Her expression softened. "I am so very sorry for your loss, David."

"It was years ago," he said, clearing his throat. "I…" Damn. What the hell was this harsh feeling prickling at his chest?

"They look like they loved each other…loved you."

That assessment surprised him, and he glanced over his shoulder at the portrait. He supposed the expression on their faces could be that of love. They had certainly loved each other enough that his mother could only live for his father and nothing else. "Love breaks and wounds and disappoints."

When he faced her, Emma stared at him with an expression he could not decipher. David did not dwell upon it but held out his hand to her. She took it, and the tightness inside his gut immediately eased. He took her outside into the carriage that waited and ordered the coachman to take them away.