Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

E mily hefted her satchel loaded with art supplies and with her pallet under her arm as she strolled the drive toward Brownstone Hall. Samuel had given her a ride to the bend in the road, but she insisted upon walking the rest of the way so he would not be late for a meeting.

The intimidating wrought-iron gate loomed before her, but few townsfolk drew close enough to admire the intricate beauty of its ebony swirls and scrolling patterns. Her palette board slid into an awkward position. She tucked it back under her arm and pushed the metal gate. It swung open, its old hinges groaning in protest.

The extra money will help Christian be able to attend Eton . She repeated the phrase as a mantra to motivate her not to turn around and go home. You've painted portraits before . There was no need to be nervous, but she'd still tossed in bed all last night, ruminating on the teasing smile that set her on edge, wishing for an impossible future.

The pounding of hammers and the grating peel of a saw grew loud as she approached the manor. A gaggle of workers hefted boards and tossed debris out of windows. Upon spying her, the workers paused, the swinging of hammers ceased, and the saw blades stilled.

With all those eyes upon her, Emily faltered, then sped her pace. She should have asked Samuel to escort her to the door. Coming to Brownstone Hall was a terrible mistake. She never should have agreed to paint Lord Warren's portrait. It didn't help that she dreamt about crafting the angle of his chin, the plane of his aristocratic nose, and the curve of his lips. She shouldn't have allowed herself to be swayed.

A stone stabbed her foot's arch through her slipper, and she stumbled, barely regaining her balance.

"Miss Thompson." Jacob called from the side yard, and Emily glanced that way. He shook hands with a bulky worker, perhaps the foreman, for his clothes were tidy and kempt.

Jacob jogged toward her, a broad smile spreading across his features.

"Here, let me carry that for you." He tugged on the shoulder strap of her satchel and grasped her pallet. The sun caught his hair, casting a halo. A light breeze ruffled the wavy tresses, reminding her of how Christian's hair fluttered when he ran around the yard.

Jacob glanced over his shoulder, and the workers resumed their noisy tasks. He offered his arm for her to hold, and they strolled toward the entranceway.

"You are early." One side of his mouth lifted into a crooked smile, emphasizing the crease in the center of his bottom lip and the full softness of it. Her fingertips tingled at the prospect of capturing his provocative mouth and the teasing spark in his eyes.

"Only by a few minutes. Samuel had an early-morning meeting." The spicy citrus scent of lemongrass encircled her like a tender breeze, along with his distinct male smell. Instead of the stuffy formal attire she'd seen him in previously, today he appeared casual in a flowy white linen shirt with the collar undone. A pair of buckskin breeches formed to his legs and led to a couple of tasseled Hessian boots. "How are the repairs going? The place certainly appears to be buzzing with activity."

"Rather well." He paused with one foot on the bottom step leading up to the entrance and placed his hand on an artichoke-shaped stone capping the newel post. "Funny thing, but I'm finding overseeing the daunting project quite agreeable." He scanned the fa?ade. "It's hard to explain, but there's something satisfying about restoring and creating beauty."

The artist in her understood perfectly.

"I know it's not done, and if found out, the upper classes would shun me, but I've enjoyed toiling alongside the workers, getting my hands dirty, working up a sweat." He examined one hand and said with a hint of sarcasm, "Who knew these things could be useful?"

She laughed at his expression of amazement as he studied his palm.

"No doubt"—he shrugged—"I'm shunned by the ton already."

The rumble of a carriage sounded from behind. Emily turned to see Phoebe's phaeton bouncing down the drive.

Phoebe waved, earning a reproachful glare from her chaperone. Her horse drew to a stop in front of the stairs. Dust kicked up about their feet, matting the polish on Jacob's boots.

He lowered Emily's satchel and rested it against the newel post to aid Phoebe and the elderly Miss Neves from their perch. Several groomsmen rushed to care for the horse and conveyance.

Phoebe's fashionable day dress, a white-on-white muslin weave, clung to her figure and scooped low into a square neckline. Her hair had been swept into an elaborate coiffure, and her usually straight locks framed her face with ringlets made from curling papers. She floated to Jacob's side, leaving Emily feeling gauche and dowdy in her sturdy walking dress. A silly thought. There was no point in dressing in something she could ruin with paint.

"My lord, how lovely to see you." Phoebe's lyrical voice sang the words.

"Miss Dorsham." Jacob took her gloved hand and bowed. "You look charming."

Her fingers splayed across her bosom, and she giggled. "Three days in a row of being graced by your presence. I daresay I shall never grow tired of your company." She laced her arm through Jacob's and turned to stroll into Brownstone Hall.

Mrs. Neves shot Emily a downcast glare before falling into step behind them.

Although she didn't blame Phoebe for her mother's decree that Emily was no longer acceptable company, it stung to be treated shabbily.

Jacob halted after a step and pivoted to Emily as he extended his hand. "Shall we?"

"Come along, Emily, it's time to paint," Phoebe said over her shoulder without glancing back.

Emily reached for her supplies.

"Don't worry about your things." He beckoned her forward with an open palm. "A footman shall see to them."

His gaze held hers, pleading. She appreciated that he hadn't treated her like a paid employee, but she had the oddest impression the opportunity he was offering was more than to paint his portrait. She'd had a lovely time during their carriage ride with Christian—too lovely. Could she keep her heart and reputation intact around a notorious rogue, or was she in over her head?

His smile was kind, almost playful. And why shouldn't she be allowed an afternoon doing what she loved and delighting in the company of someone she found enjoyable?

She slid her fingers into his hand. His grip enfolded hers, and his smile skittered her pulse.

The door swung open, and the butler, Mr. Maslow, bowed at his lordship. Jacob nodded in the direction of her satchel, and Mr. Maslow shouted, "I shall see to it immediately."

Phoebe ignored the man as she glided into the great hall.

Emily paused. "Good day to you, Mr. Maslow."

"And good day to you, Miss Thompson."

Jacob strode down the few steps and into the parlor. The clap of his boots against the marble floors echoed in the large room. "I defer to the artist's better judgment. Where is the best location to paint?"

Emily glanced at the windows. "The room with the best natural light would be preferred."

"Ah." He gestured toward the left down the hall. "This way, then."

He stepped aside to let her pass and motioned for Phoebe to do likewise, but Phoebe clung to his arm, leaning so their shoulders touched.

"I haven't seen this wing. I'm certain it's as richly done as the rest."

"It is still a work in progress." Jacob scanned the hall, his gaze lingering on a brown stain on the ceiling alongside a missing piece of crown molding.

Phoebe frowned. "Oh, I was hoping the renovations were finished, for the noise becomes tiresome to my delicate ears."

"I'm afraid I shall have to disappoint you. The hammering has been a constant and shall remain so for another month at the very least. If you must take a break, I can show you to a quieter part of the house."

"How kind." She leaned against his arm with a coy smile. "I'm certain I will grow accustomed to it."

"Here." Jacob nodded toward a door that led to a garden-like conservatory with one wall of windows and stepped aside to allow them to enter before him.

Emily strolled into the morning sunlight spilling in and basked in the warmth. The view showed a stone patio with potted topiaries, withered after years of neglect, and a long man-made pond, its water green with algae and laced with lily pads. At the end of the pond, a solid oak tree stretched out its branches.

She smiled at the beauty waiting to be unleashed. Jacob had confessed earlier his love for restoration. If only she could witness the pride in his eyes when this garden bloomed into a spectacular view. After a little love and care, the landscape could be brought back to life.

"Will it do?" he asked.

"Brilliantly." Emily turned and met his broad smile. Their gazes held. The remembrance of his vulnerability yesterday in sharing his reaction to seeing blood and his ability to laugh at himself created a longing for more of those moments.

"Splendid."

A shiver passed through Emily, yet she was not cold.

"The footman will bring the canvas shortly."

"Is there a piano nearby?" Phoebe placed a possessive hand on his arm. "I was thinking I could play. I also brought the works of Lord Bryon, for I didn't know what books your library might hold."

"How thoughtful of you." He graced Phoebe with a charming smile, and she basked in his attention.

A sour taste filled Emily's mouth.

Jacob and Phoebe were ideal for each other. They came from the same social class. They would make a perfect match. She should be pleased that Jacob was showing her friend interest.

Lady Athol appeared in the hall outside the open door.

"Good morning, dear Aunt. I'm glad you could join us." Jacob waved her inside.

The woman stepped into the room like a deer entering a clearing, the fringe on her shawl dangling to the floor.

"You've met Miss Dorsham and Miss Thompson."

The ladies curtsied, and the tension in Lady Athol's frame relaxed.

"And this is Miss Neves, Miss Dorsham's chaperone."

The elderly chaperone curtsied so low she would have toppled if Jacob hadn't caught her elbow.

Lady Athol swallowed and cleared her throat. "It is wonderful to see you, and I cannot wait to watch you paint my nephew, Miss Thompson. I've heard you have an abundance of talent."

Warmth filled Emily at the compliment. "Thank you."

"Please excuse me, for I have a few things to attend to first."

Jacob's brows lowered, and his voice rang in a warning tone. "Aunt Louisa."

"I shall return for tea and biscuits at eleven." She backed from the room and disappeared down the hall like a phantom vision.

A footman carried Emily's satchel inside. Another hefted a large floor easel, and a third lugged in the blank canvas almost as tall as Jacob himself. At least she wouldn't have to shrink his proportions to fit.

The footman glanced at her for placement. She stepped closer to the wall adjacent to the windows. "Right here shall do nicely."

The servants set everything into place as Emily opened her satchel and pulled out her brushes and paints. She donned her full-length apron and tied it about the waist.

Phoebe settled onto the settee and Miss Neves into a low back chair in a shaded area and pulled out her embroidery.

"Where would you like me to stand?" Jacob asked.

Emily peered about the space, tapping her index finger to her lips. "I believe over in the corner." She nodded toward a sunny spot next to the windows.

Jacob shifted nearer the corner.

"You don't have to pose yet. I must first prime the canvas. You may relax." She removed a large brush and earthenware jar from her bag and lifted the lid, dipping her brush into the paint jar. With large strokes, she swept her brush up and down over the canvas.

"Do you plan to change into something more formal?" Phoebe asked. "Perhaps the nice superfine jacket you wore to dinner the other evening?"

"I plan to stay as I am. Robert always dresses bang-up-to-the-knocker. Seeing me painted without a cravat and jacket shall send him into a dudgeon."

Emily crouched to cover the lower sections of canvas. "You seem intent on vexing him."

Jacob grinned. "Do not fear. It is how we express our love for each other."

"Then you must love him dearly." Emily glanced his way before finishing priming the bottom corner.

His grin widened with a mischievous glint. "I do, indeed."

"Tell us about the marquis," Phoebe said. "What is he like?"

Admiration laced Jacob's tone while he spoke of his elder brother's accomplishments, and his voice struck a note of awe when he mentioned the duke and duchess's love for one another.

Emily finished priming. She set her brush down and stepped back. "The canvas is suited better for a standing position, but that can grow tiresome." Emily's gaze settled on a nearby chair. "Would you prefer to sit?"

His shoulders straightened. "Most definitely not." He stood near the window and posed.

Emily examined the lighting, lines, and angles, moving toward him. His nearness warmed her skin. She cleared her throat and willed the heat from her cheeks before she placed her hands on his shoulders and positioned him to illuminate the right side of his face. When she had him situated just right, she stepped back. Yes, that was it, the halo effect she'd witnessed at the creek and during their carriage ride.

She refused to meet his gaze which lazily roved over her. "Find a relaxed stance you can remain comfortable in for at least an hour."

He shifted his weight and settled upon a pose with one arm resting on the back of a chair, the other hand in his pocket. That suited Emily fine because an hour could be spent painting the hands alone. Only painting one would save her time. The faster she finished, the sooner she'd be paid and away from his unnerving presence. How could she be drawn to a man yet fear those same feelings? Mr. Mathis never made her pulse flutter nor did he set her on edge.

Phoebe fanned her face. "I daresay. Never has a man looked so virile."

Emily grabbed a piece of charcoal and knelt at his feet. Phoebe had always been outspoken, but her flirtatious comments caused Emily to cringe. Need she be so forward? Emily marked a light outline of his boots and assumed a professional tone. "Please tell the servants not to scrub away the markings, or we shall not remember the exact positioning."

"I haven't posed for a painting in an age," he said.

Emily returned to her canvas, picked a thinner brush, dipped it in a light sienna, and faintly outlined his figure.

"I believe the last time was when I was ten." Jacob grunted. "My father commissioned an artist to paint all four of us together, himself and his three heirs. Never did the time go so slowly or the fine weather call so relentlessly."

"Which is why I offered to come and entertain you." Phoebe picked a bit of lint from her gown and folded her skirts about her. "Mama commissioned Emily to paint my portrait on four occasions. I had to sit still as Emily painted for hours several days on end, so I understand how tedious the time can be."

Emily's jaw tightened. She'd enjoyed her sessions with Phoebe, and if Phoebe had found them tedious, then she certainly hadn't acted it. Phoebe had laughed so hard, her mama scolded her on how proper ladies did not display such emotional abandon.

Emily opened her paints and squeezed good-sized quantities onto her pallet.

"A generous offer." Unable to move, Jacob shifted his eyes to peer at Phoebe. "Thank you."

Emily bent to shape the form of his legs, refusing to admire the snug fit of his buckskin breeches, and lowered to the positioning of his boots from toe to heel.

"Before I begin to read…" Phoebe laid the works of Lord Byron on the settee next to her. "I was hoping you could tell me about London. What shall I expect?"

"Certainly."

Emily could feel the warmth of his stare as she sketched his outline.

"London is a jolly good place to enjoy one's self. There is plenty of entertainment. No one suffers from boredom in the city. The circles in which we run teem with drama." He sniffed, and a faint smile drifted the corners of his lips upward. "Truthfully, I'm growing quite fond of Sylvanwood. The people are friendly, and life seems…simple." He frowned. "Please, do not take offense. I mean that in a good way."

"No, you are correct," Phoebe said. "We are a tolerably dull town, but we are delighted to have your lordship in residence. You have already brought us much excitement, saving us from boredom, which makes you a hero of sorts." Her voice lowered to a purr. "At least to me."

Emily glanced at her friend.

Phoebe's expression seemed to say, There is nothing wrong with innocent flirtation .

"You have it reversed. The good people of Sylvanwood tolerate me." A wry smile curved his lips. " They are the true heroes."

"Enough about Sylvanwood. I want to hear about London."

"There is much ado about London. Where would you have me focus?"

"On the parties and balls, of course. Whom should I meet? Where should I go?"

Emily grabbed a flat brush and developed the skin tones. Thank heaven she'd bought extra paint. She rarely worked on such a large piece.

"You should start with Almack's, assuming your mother has already secured a voucher."

"Mama has written Lady Jersey," Phoebe said. "We expect it to arrive any day now."

Emily lost herself in the swish of her brush as their banter about Londoners' exploits continued. She could picture Phoebe and Jacob strolling through Hyde Park and dancing together at Almack's. They would make a beautiful couple and have perfect little towheaded children. She should be happy for them.

Lord, why then does my heart ache?

She laid a base coat of skin color before starting on the contours of Jacob's face. His hairline emerged as she dragged the brush over the swell of his cheekbone. It curved like a lover's caress over his jawline and strong chin. When she'd pulled him from the stream and he coughed out the creek water, she'd never seen such a beautiful sight as breath heaving through those firmly molded lips. So much so that tears had stung her eyes, but then he'd asked, "Are you my guardian angel?" At that moment, she'd wanted to be.

Now she knew his reputation. So why did she still long to fill that role? To mean something to him?

She dabbed the bristles in more paint and blended in white highlights. His aristocratic nose took shape. She played with the lowlights of his face but wouldn't be able to create his eyes or lips until the next session, after the base coat dried.

Phoebe rambled on about parties as Emily switched brushes to create the billowing white of his shirt, followed by the tan of his breeches.

She frowned when he shifted his weight. "Do you need a break?"

"Certainly not. I'm enjoying the tingling numbness of my limbs." He flashed her a crooked smile.

"Oh my." Phoebe gestured to the clock in the hall. "It's half past the hour. You've been painting for two hours and must let us stretch our legs." She rose from lounging on the settee and addressed Jacob. "Would you be so good as to give me a tour of the rest of Brownstone Hall?"

"I would be delighted." Jacob smiled. "Miss Thompson?"

Emily waved her hand for them to go on. "I must continue working before the paint dries. Please, do not dally, for the lighting will change."

"We'll be back in a pinch." Jacob raised his elbow, and Phoebe snaked her hand around the crook of his arm. He paused before the doorway. "Should we wake Mrs. Neves?" His head inclined toward Phoebe's chaperone, who'd nodded off in the corner.

"The poor dear needs her rest. Leave her be."

Phoebe sashayed as they exited and laughed at something he said before disappearing around a corner.

Why hadn't Emily joined them? Her heart clenched. She couldn't compete with Phoebe's looks, wealth, and status. Besides, Jacob had a life in London—a place she could never set foot. Her feelings for Jacob were counterproductive. A relationship with him could never be. She must set her unexplainable feelings aside, paint his portrait, and put the money toward Christian's education.

Her brush swept over the canvas, her mind locked in a spectrum of color until she no longer heard Phoebe's chaperone snoring in the corner.

" Y ou've seen the foyer and the dining room." Jacob paused in the hallway, unable to resist the opportunity to show off the renovations and his plans. "The library remained in decent condition, just needing a good dusting and wood polish. On the left, we have a drawing room." He pushed the door open wider and leaned against the doorframe for Miss Dorsham to peek inside. "The walls need to be re-papered, and we're having the furniture reupholstered in cream."

Instead of looking, Miss Dorsham squeezed through the doorway. Hooking his arm, she pulled him into the room and rounded on him with puckered lips and closed eyes.

He bit back a chuckle, disentangled his arm from hers, and walked around her to peek out the window, checking on the workmen's progress.

Hinges creaked. He glanced back to find the door closed behind them. Had she nudged it shut with her slippered foot?

"Perhaps we can sit for a moment." She flashed a come-hither smile and sashayed to the sofa. "You must be tired after overseeing all this work and standing for your portrait."

Miss Dorsham's minor flirtations seemed comical, but he didn't want to hurt her feelings. She lacked Lady Benton's finesse, but he'd rather not have a repeat of that incident. One duel was enough.

"For propriety's sake, let's leave the door open." He stepped toward the exit.

Miss Dorsham ran gloved fingers along the sofa's backrest before she positioned herself between him and the door. "You have such splendid plans and fabulous taste." She toyed with her right glove, exposing her thumb. "I cannot wait to see the manor finished."

Jacob had never been one for the game of cat and mouse, especially when he played the part of the mouse. These games held dire consequences, and he'd had enough. He desired a simpler life.

An image of Emily beside the creek hovered in his mind. Her shy smile as she tucked her hair behind her ear after one of his witty quips.

Once again, Jacob stepped around Miss Dorsham. "There are other rooms to see, and Miss Thompson awaits." He reached for the doorknob, but she yanked on his arm. If he hadn't been off kilter, he could have held his balance. Instead, he stumbled onto a nearby settee. Or had he been pushed?

"Oh, Jacob, I have been longing to do this since we first laid eyes on each other." She sprung on him like a cat. Her hands pressed his shoulders, pinning him to the armrest. Her lips crushed his in a demanding kiss.

He gripped her upper arms, pushing her away.

Miss Dorsham's bottom lip pouted before her face crumpled and tears fell. Her voice raised a couple octaves into a whine. "You don't think I'm pretty."

Heaven help him. He'd never made a lady burst into tears. How did one handle this sort of situation? "You are a lovely woman."

"I am?" She peered at him with teary eyes and sniffed. "You think so?"

"Remarkably so."

She hugged him, pressing her face into his neck.

"There, there." He awkwardly patted her head, wishing he'd had a sister and not just brothers to have better prepared him on how to react. Women had caused him nothing but problems. Chasing pleasure left him empty. He wanted to settle down and be a father to his son, not a libertine. But if he was caught alone with Miss Dorsham, the vicar would never consider him a suitable father for Christian. "Miss Thompson is waiting for us. She will notice our prolonged absence."

Miss Dorsham nuzzled his neck.

He jerked away.

Miss Dorsham's hands worked the knot of his cravat. "Emily becomes engrossed in her artwork. I daresay she'll hardly realize we're gone."

He grasped her fingers to still their movement. "I'm sorry if I've given you the wrong impression."

One thing grew abundantly clear. Miss Dorsham was not an innocent. Her experience was evident in her forwardness and her calculations to get him to this point. Jacob pushed her aside and rolled from under her grasp.

A man passed outside the window. Mr. Welsh. Thank God!

"My steward is searching for me." He pointed at the window. "I must see what he needs." Jacob bounded for the door and fled the room.

E mily finished cleaning her brush and was about to change colors when Phoebe entered the salon, cheeks flushed and mouth curled into a secretive smile. She strolled the perimeter, humming a tune. When she drew closer, Emily noticed her swollen lips and mused hair.

Phoebe caught her staring, and her hands moved to her coiffure. "Goodness. Is it out of place?"

Emily dropped her gaze to her palette. It appeared as if their tour of the house had turned into something else. How could Jacob who'd been so considerate to her and Christian toy with Phoebe? Her flirtatious friend was acting like a harlot, but didn't a gent know better than to play with an innocent?

Phoebe scooped Emily's hand up and held it between hers. She bit back a smile, but it erupted past her teeth. "Emily. I must tell you the loveliest secret." Phoebe glanced at the sleeping form of Miss Neves and whispered, "His lordship stole a kiss while we were in the drawing room." She sighed heavily. "He is so romantic and charming."

And a rogue.

Emily rounded on her friend. "If your mother found out, banns would be announced tomorrow. Think of the scandal."

"It was a mere kiss, and I don't care a wit if Mama knows." She shrugged. "I know he has a reputation as a rake. It's part of his allure, but you should have seen how he admired me as though I were the only woman in the world."

Emily remembered how his eyes held hers by the creek and on Sunday's carriage ride. She, too, had felt special, but the man was a cad, and Emily was the worst kind of fool. She turned back to her work, picking up a clean brush and adding black to her pallet, deepening the manganese blue color.

"A kiss encourages a man and leads to other things."

"Indeed, marriage. I believed he would have professed his affection for me, but his steward required his presence." Phoebe flounced onto the settee. "Imagine me…part of the ton . Lady Phoebe Warren."

Emily lowered her voice in case servants lingered within hearing distance. "My birth mother learned a different result."

"Em. Please trust me." Phoebe's eyes softened with a pleading look. "I understand you're looking out for me, but Lord Warren's lived in a different world than our small town of Sylvanwood. I have my reasons for being so bold."

Phoebe trod a dangerous path, but Emily knew when her friend would no longer listen. She dipped the end of her brush in the blue and painted the sky on the canvas. Her hand shook, but thankfully, this required broad strokes. The sweeping motion looked like a strong wind on the canvas, and she added a touch of gray. A storm formed in the far background, barreling in on the unsuspecting outline of Lord Jacob Warren.

A man's throat cleared from behind. She turned to see the libertine in the doorway, tugging the cuffs of his sleeves.

"Ladies, I beg your pardon. There has been an unexpected complication, and duty calls. Today's session must come to an end. We will have to enjoy our tea and sandwiches another time." He glanced at Emily but couldn't quite meet her eyes. "I do hope I haven't inconvenienced you, Miss Thompson."

"It's quite?—"

"How dreadful." Phoebe rose from her seat with a pout. "I had hoped we could continue our earlier conversation."

"I'm afraid not."

"Perhaps another time, then." Phoebe flashed him a coy smile.

Emily's stomach twisted.

Jacob shifted his feet. "Miss Thompson, if you need more time to?—"

"I am quite finished." She capped the paint tube with a nail and dropped it into her earthenware container.

"It only takes a few days for the paint to dry." Phoebe's eyes locked on her. "Shall we plan to return Thursday at the same hour? You know"—she grinned at Jacob—"because of the similar lighting." She tilted her chin in Emily's direction. "Right, Emily?"

"If his lordship wills it."

He rubbed his forehead.

Emily pinched her lips and glared at him, but he stared at the unshapen form of himself on the canvas.

"So be it."

W hile Jacob escorted Phoebe and the sleepy Miss Neves to their phaeton, Emily hurriedly washed her brushes out back with mineral spirits. She allowed the footman to clean her pallet but was particular about her brushes, not wanting them ruined. In her hurried state, she hoped she wouldn't damage her supplies. They would need to be cleaned again at home, but the sooner she left Brownstone Hall, the better.

Emily collected her things and slung her satchel over her shoulder. She strode into the house and rounded the back hall corner, slamming into Jacob's chest. He caught her shoulders, but Emily jumped back, dropping her satchel.

"My apologies." He reached for her bag. "Here, let me help with that."

She clutched the strap. "I've got it."

"I see." He straightened, surprised concern lining his brow. "I'll see you out."

"It is unnecessary. I know the way." She slipped by him, but he stayed at her side.

He cupped her elbow. "I believe it is quite necessary."

"Unhand me."

He pivoted to block her path before letting go. "I fear Miss Dorsham has maligned my character."

"There was no need for her to do so. Your reputation precedes you, and I'm not blind to the misdeeds done today."

His eyes flashed. "You do not know the truth of it."

"I know all that I need to know." She tried to step around him, but he moved with her.

"She kissed me. It was not my intent. I had to fabricate an excuse to escape her advances."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"You're the vicar's daughter." His brows drew together. "Doesn't the Bible say things about grace, forgiveness, and not being quick to judge?"

The cerulean blue of his eyes cut into her like the cold steel of a blade. What she knew and what she felt warred within her.

"I will not be gulled by flummery nor lured by flattery and a handsome face. Phoebe is a na?ve, trusting soul, and you are a rake of the worst kind."

His nostrils flared. "So only a woman can be the victim? Is that it?"

"Ha!" Her chest heaved as her breathing swelled. "Are you saying Phoebe—Miss Dorsham—overpowered you and took advantage?"

"Yes!" He shook his head. "No…well, somewhat."

She brushed past him and strode the hall with as brisk of a pace as her skirts would allow.

"Emily, wait." He matched her long strides.

She whirled around. "I don't recall giving you permission to use my given name."

The soles of his shoes slid on the polished floor, and he nearly collided with her. "I merely…" He ran a hand over the back of his head and blew air through his cheeks. "I thought we might be friends."

Had similar words lulled her mother into a man's bed? Emily steeled her resolve against those haunting eyes and tempting lips. "I have my brothers and my family. I don't need friends."

A pained expression flashed in his eyes, and he recoiled as if bitten. A shuttered expression followed, cool and removed. "Very well." He bowed his head. "My butler will have my curricle brought around. I shall see you home."

"It's unnecessary."

"Nevertheless, I will not allow you to walk when I can offer you a ride for, despite your disbelief, I am a gentleman."

Emily survived the return trip to the parsonage in stony silence. Despite the buffer of her satchel between them, she could feel the tension in his frame like a winch cranked too far. He pulled in front of the house, jumping down before the horses slowed to a stop. He walked around and reached up to assist her from the carriage. She hesitated, wishing he had let her walk.

"We made it this far." He spit his words like venom. "Do you truly believe I'd maul you on your doorstep?"

Emily accepted his hand and aid. But when he echoed her aloof, "Good day," tears welled in her eyes. She couldn't escape his presence fast enough. She scurried through the front door and up the stairs to her room, where she crumpled onto her bed.

"Are you crying?" Christian's voice sounded from the open doorway.

Emily's head jerked up. She turned and scooted into a seated position, wiping the evidence of her tears away with the back of her hands. "It's nothing."

"Was he mean to you?"

"No, it's not like that. I'm merely…disappointed."

"If he comes here again, I'll pull out my saber and challenge him." He lunged an attack on his pretend foe. " En garde !"

Christian's loyalty drew a weak grin, but she would have much to explain if Christian confronted his lordship. She frowned as Jacob's words echoed. Don't you believe in grace, forgiveness, and not judging? She stilled Christian's fencing moves with a hand, remembering Jacob's hurt expression. Phoebe had been flirting with him the entire morning. She had always been the one who went after what she wanted, and she'd seemed pleased about having been kissed. Had Emily been too hasty in blaming Jacob? A gentleman should know better, but Jacob's reputation preceded him, and Phoebe still chose to tempt him with all the wiles in her arsenal. "I'm afraid I've handled myself rather poorly. Papa would be disappointed in my unchristian-like behavior."

"Whaddya mean?" Christian blinked at her.

"It's nothing. You are a wonderful protector, and I know I can count on you." She rose and ruffled his blond curls. "But truly, I'm fine. Nothing God can't fix right here." She tapped her index finger to her heart.

Christian shrugged. "Jolly good. I like Lord Warren. I'd hate to have to run him through." He saluted with his invisible sword. "But I will keep my eye on him."

Emily smiled and shook her head at his retreating form. He certainly hadn't learned such bravado from her. She sighed. Men.