Chapter 4

CHAPTER4

Jacob tipped the claret glass back to his lips, taking something of a rather large gulp, though fortunately no one seemed to be paying attention. Conversation at the dinner table was mostly taken up by Catarina and the Earl of Pratt. On more than one occasion they both attempted to persuade Lady Bridget to talk of herself, though she did very little.

Jacob was far too distracted to talk with any ease, for his eyes kept flicking toward the lady he had now been formally introduced to, Lady Emily.

He couldn’t doubt who she was as she sat at the dining table beside him, that exotic and sweet scent with a hint of spices wafting toward him.

This is very inconvenient!

He didn’t know what to be more frustrated about. Was it the fact that he had already kissed his betrothed’s sister, proving what an awful man, he was after all? Or perhaps it was the fact that Lady Emily was very beautiful, much more so than he anticipated from in that corridor? Or maybe it had something to do with how she plainly did not recognize him. She looked through him, rather than at him, and scarcely made conversation with him at all.

She does not recognize my voice.

He looked at her as the others talked, his eyes appraising her. The blonde hair was startling in its paleness, curled beautifully at the side of her cheeks and framing those classical features with the sloping nose and the bold green eyes. So often in the past he’d been attracted to women of different beauty. Her rather classical features had left him dumbstruck.

“Well, Jacob, what do you say?” Catarina called toward him, trying to ensnare him in conversation. He looked at her, blinked, and the blank expression on his face must have shown he had not been paying attention. She cleared her throat and went on, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “We were talking of Lady Bridget’s love of reading, dearest.”

“Ah, yes, an excellent hobby,” he forced a smile, uncertain what more he should say. “What reading do you like to do?”

As Lady Bridget discussed her reading habits, Lady Emily excused herself from the table. Jacob was so aware of her leaving he did not concentrate at all on what Lady Bridget had said and it left him feeling even more awful than before.

How am I supposed to marry someone when I am constantly thinking of their sister? This is unbearable!

After some minutes of smiling and forcing himself to make stilted conversation, Jacob made a plan. If he could just talk to Lady Emily about what had happened, then perhaps he could brush it under the carpet and forget that kiss.

He excused himself from the table as well and pretended to go in search of the privy. Instead, he found his way to the corridor and thrust a hand into his hair, pulling on the tendrils in stress, then he turned around on the spot, multiple times. He searched the alcoves, the doorways, and the stairs that led above, waiting for Lady Emily’s appearance.

She did eventually appear, hurrying down the steps with ease. She didn’t notice him, but seemed intent on returning to the dining room, practically hopping down the last of the steps. He moved into the center of the hallway and when she looked up, she walked straight into him.

“Oh, my goodness,” she leaped back from him, her hands momentarily finding his chest before she scurried away. That touch reminded him of how her hands had been planted on his chest during their kiss. “God’s wounds, you gave me a fright, Your Grace.”

“You and I seem to be making a habit of this,” he muttered wryly, crossing his arms in front of him as his eyes danced over her.

She is most inconveniently attractive. This was not the way things were supposed to be!

“A habit?” she murmured in surprise, and laid a hand to her stomach, as if trying to quell a feeling there. A fluttering sensation, perhaps? Butterflies? Her cheeks blushed. It was the very thing he had been missing in Lady Bridget’s face. When her eyes danced over him, he smiled, recognizing she was attracted at once. He quirked his eyebrows at her, and she returned to look him in the eye, clearing her throat and plainly intending to ignore how she had just looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I can see you do not recognize me.”

“Recognize you? That is because we have not met before, Your Grace.” She laughed and walked around him, evidently giving him a wide berth. She intended to return to the dining room, and from her pace, she wished to do it as fast as she could.

He let her take two steps past him before he said the very words that he knew would bring back that night.

“I suppose you are a lady of the ton then, after all.” He made his tone huskier as well.

Abruptly, she fell still in the middle of the hall rug. Facing away from him, she froze, as solid as one of the marble busts on the pedestals that lined each side of the hallway.

He chuckled, his humor escaping him as she staunchly refused to turn and look at him.

“Well, the allusion could only last for that night, I suppose,” he went on.

Now, she flung herself around, spinning on her heel. She looked in danger of tripping on the rug beneath her, but managed to stay standing, her lips parted as she stared.

“Ah, remember me now?” he said with some triumph, raising his eyebrows high as he walked toward her.

“You stalk like you’re a hunter, Your Grace.” She backed up an inch and he froze.

“No hunter,” he said, shaking his head. “You and I were something else to one another in that corridor.”

“Shh!” She waved her hands madly and looked around the corridor, clearly fearful of discovery. “Oh, my goodness, this is bad, bad indeed.”

“An understatement,” he muttered, returning to folding his arms. “Imagine my alarm walking into this house tonight. I have come to meet my betrothed and her sister—”

“I know, you do not need to spell it out.” She stepped toward him, waving her arms for him to be quiet again. She came so near that the exotic scent wafted nearer. He couldn’t help smirking at that proximity.

There is that heat again.

“You needed reminding a few minutes ago,” he said simply. “Part of me thought perhaps you had not only forgotten meeting me but what passed between us.”

“Heavens! Where are your manners? We should not be talking about that.” She blushed bright red and then hid her face in her hands.

“My manners? There were two people there that night in that corridor, My Lady. You and me. Two people, two people flirting, and two people who ki—”

“That’s enough.” She looked up sharply from her hands, hissing in her whispered tone. “I do not need you repeating exactly what we did. What if someone hears?”

“I cannot believe you didn’t recognize me.” He shook his head, laughing, though there was no real humor in it, more frustration and anger. She was equally irked, glaring at him.

“Well, that’s what happens in dark corridors.”

“I knew your voice. I knew it at once,” he reminded her. She jerked her head back a little, a trace of humor in her expression though it did not last long. “Yet you did not recognize mine.”

“It wasn’t as deep as you’re now making it.”

“Maybe it becomes deeper when flirting.”

“This is not flirting.” She stepped toward him again. Despite her insistence, she came very close. He pointedly looked down at the little gap there was now between them. “This is arguing!”

“Then do not come so close, My Lady. You remind me of things I should not be thinking about.”

“Oh, no wonder you are a known rake.” She backed up from him, waving a hand in the air once more, but she did not return to the dining room, not yet, clearly too flustered. She turned in a circle, her hands over her cheeks. “Is that what you do with all ladies?”

“Kiss in dark corridors? Sometimes.”

“You dance with them too?” she said sardonically and lifted her head.

“It’s been known.” He didn’t deny it, for what would be the point? She was a woman who knew things, that were plain; certainly no complete innocent from the way she had kissed him that night.

Why does that thrill me?

He longed to kiss her again, to push the boundaries and know more of what she had done before, perhaps introduce her to things she did not know.

What is wrong with me?

“That does not matter, none of it.” He shook his head sharply. “I am betrothed to your sister now.”

“Some betrothal! When you were supposed to be meeting her, you escaped her and you…” She gestured to herself, blushed, then tipped her head to the heavens. “Oh, good Lord, what I have done. It is inexcusable.”

“You were simply mischievous, My Lady. Rebellious.”

“With my sister’s betrothed!”

“Neither of us knew it at the time.”

“Then you should have found a way to warn me sooner.”

“I did not know.” He was the one to close the distance between them this time. This argument was getting increasingly out of hand, and they ran the risk of someone overhearing the two of them. He stopped in front of her, noting the way her eyes raked over him again. “And do not keep looking at me like that if you wish me to desist thinking of what passed in that corridor.”

“You see things in my eyes that are not there. I am looking at you with disdain.”

“Disdain? Pah!” he scoffed. “I know what the expression was. It was far from disdain.”

“One kiss does not mean you know everything about me,” she said hurriedly, sizing up to him. She was smaller than him, curvaceous and alluring but the way she challenged him, her hands on her hips and standing tall as if trying to challenge his height made her even more alluring still. “This is pure disdain.” She nodded at him. “My poor sister, betrothed to a rake that was kissing another when he should have been meeting her and praising the ground she walks on.”

“Yes, yes, I know. I’m a cad, an awful human being, everything.” Then he smiled, remembering all that had passed that night. “Yet I am not the only one who has made an error here. You kissed me back, Lady Emily. Do not forget that.”

Her eyes flicked down to look at his lips. The moment she made the movement, his stomach tightened. He wanted that kiss again, but he wished to be bolder now, to reach for her gown, those curves, to tip back that chin and explore the perfectly angled neck.

What is wrong with me!?

She must have realized at the same time that they were staring at one another, breathing heavily.

“Oh! This is awful.” She backed up, hurrying away. “We shall never speak of this again, Your Grace. Never. You understand? It did not happen!”

“Watch for the…” He was too slow, and she tripped on the edge of the rug. He reached for her to steady her, his hand gripping her arm. She brushed him off, nearly falling flat on her face in the movement, though she plainly hardly cared, then she stalked off, heading back to the dining room. “It never happened, eh?” he murmured into the emptiness after she left. “I’m not sure I can pretend that.”

* * *

Emily stared through the window, watching the Duke of Thorne’s carriage leave. Repeatedly, she wrung her hands together, fidgeting, not knowing what to do with herself. All evening a heat had overtaken her body, one she could not quell.

Through the window, she watched as the Duke of Thorne paused by the door of his carriage, offering a hand to his mother who he helped inside, then he looked back, his eyes finding Emily’s through the window.

Do not look at me like that. Better yet never look at me again!

He was an attractive man indeed. That fact meant everything made sense—why he was such a rake, and why he had been so adept at flirting with her in that dark corridor.

The rich dark brown hair that curled around his ears, effortlessly defying the fashion of the day yet suited his features. He was tall, well-built with strong shoulders and shockingly bright blue eyes that had the habit of pinning Emily to the spot. The strong jawline was a contrast to the slightness of his nose and the fairness of his other features. All in all, he was as well made as a painted face, adoringly created by an artist.

He continued to look at her through that glass, reminding Emily of the awkwardness throughout dinner. Sat beside one another, they had refused to make conversation with each other, managing only to talk to Bridget.

“Emily?”

“Oh.” Emily swung round with her hand on her heart, feeling it jolt in her chest as Bridget reached her side. There was a smile of humor in Bridget’s features as she stopped beside her. “You made me jump.”

“Almost out of your skin, it seems.” Bridget stopped and looked through the window too, just as the Duke of Thorne stepped into the carriage and left.

As the coach pulled down the driveway, a huge sigh of relief escaped Emily. She leaned on the window frame, keeping herself standing straight.

Goodness, Rachel was right. One of these days, my rebellious nature was bound to get me in trouble. No more so than now!

“What did you think of the Duke’s company?” Emily asked, clearing her throat and trying to sound a little more like her normal self.

“Well enough. He was pleasant, but I do not know him, so I do not feel able to judge his character, not yet.” She shook her head.

“Hmm.” Emily could have happily told her sister why the Duke of Thorne was not a man to be trusted, but she feared what Bridget would say. Would she be furious? Surely! Would she demand that Emily marry the Duke instead? God, Emily hoped not. The safest thing seemed to be to say nothing for the present time.

“You were unusually quiet through dinner,” Bridget said, looking away from the drive and the retreating carriage, turning her focus on Emily.

“A stomachache,” Emily lied, rubbing her stomach. “That is all.”

“I see.” Bridget looked between Emily and the coach, for Emily hadn’t yet taken her eyes off it.

This could not be worse!

When she’d realized who the Duke of Thorne was, she hadn’t known whether to feel heat, recalling that kiss, or fury.

Fury. I should definitely be feeling fury!

“So, you do not know if you like him yet or not?” Emily asked, turning her back on the coach and fixing her gaze on Bridget. “I would urge caution.”

“You keep doing so.”

“I just wish you to be happy.”

“I know,” Bridget smiled softly. “I will be glad to be led by your advice. So, tell me, sister, what did you think of the Duke of Thorne?”

“Oh, I…” Emily trailed off and turned, looking out to the drive again. She caught a glimmer of the carriage turning at the end of the drive in the moonlight, then it was gone, disappearing into the darkness. “I didn’t like him; not at all, I’m afraid.”

“Really?” Bridget seemed most surprised. She perched on the edge of the windowsill, smiling.

“Why do you smile?” Emily asked tightly.

“I just thought that perhaps you did like the Duke. Come, Emily, you and I both know you are one for a handsome face, and I am hardly made of stone.” Bridget laughed at the idea. “He is indeed handsome.”

“Handsome? You play it down,” Emily laughed, then realized what she had done. “Looks are not all that beguiles in a man, and yes, though he may be fair of face, my objections to him as your suitor are not because of his looks. I do not think he deserves you.”

Now more than ever before.

It didn’t seem to matter that Emily had loved that kiss with him, and the argument they had shared that evening had certainly had a thrill to it. Any man who would be kissing her when he should have been meeting Bridget did not deserve her.

She deserves someone so much better.

“I think you should be wary, sister, that is all,” Emily whispered, softening her voice.

“Strange.” Bridget stood off the windowsill, that knowing smile returning. “For a minute or two tonight, I was certain that you did in fact like him.”

“What do you mean?” Emily asked, her body flinching.

“There was a moment as the dessert wine was poured tonight where you and the Duke stared at one another. It was almost as if no one else was in the room.” Bridget raised an eyebrow.

“Pa!” Emily laughed loudly. “What nonsense, you are seeing things, sister.” She laughed even louder, until it sounded completely ridiculous, even to her own ears. “No indeed, I was merely looking at him and trying to judge if he was good enough for you. In conclusion, he is not.”

Emily turned and walked away; her body still heated as she thought of that look.

Good Lord, Bridget saw that look.

She had noticed it too, and the Duke of Thorne had stared at her over the rim of his wine glass, without blinking, those intense blue eyes.

What did that look even mean?