Chapter 8

CHAPTER8

“What did you say?” Emily blinked, certain that this had to be some sort of dream or wild imagining.

The Duke of Thorne looked away from her and brushed back his wild brown hair, haphazardly. He refused to look at her but turned frantically on the spot.

“Wait, are you jealous, Your Grace?” Emily said, an involuntary smile growing on her lips.

“I do not get jealous.” The words were snapped in a low breath as he turned back to face her again. “It is not an emotion I am party to.”

“No? Then explain what just took place.” She motioned to the short distance between them, suddenly aware that he had stepped toward her, and she had to tilt her head up to look at him.

Where did that heat come from? It certainly isn’t from the candles!

Yet the heat was growing up her neck and into her cheeks, so strongly that she adjusted her white gloves as they reached her elbows.

“I cannot.” He held her gaze, not once blinking.

“Then there is something here you are not telling me.” Her breath stuttered; her chest rising and falling. When his eyes flicked down to look at her chest, that heat merely grew worse. He groaned aloud and looked away from her, pressing his back to the wall nearby. “Your Grace?”

“It is nothing.” His voice was sharp once more. “Let us stick with the fact that a man like Sir Walter is not good enough for you.”

“What makes you say such a thing?”

“You have read the scandal sheets, have you not?” he asked, raising a single eyebrow. “Well, there are more scandals concerning that man than he wants people to be party to. He owes money to every gambling hall in town, even as far as Margate. I urge you, Emily, not to set your cap at a man like him.”

“You didn’t call me ‘Lady Emily’.”

“What?”

She simply raised her eyebrows, in emphasis. He didn’t answer her, but looked away once more, staring at the crowds.

Well, that is no good.

As much as Emily had been enjoying the company of Sir Walter, she had to agree that a man who owed money to every gambling hall in London must only be looking at her out of consideration of her dowry. That was not what she wanted.

“Was it the advice of a friend that urged you to come and intervene? Or… something more?” Emily waited with bated breath, remembering the moment at the ball a few days ago, when the Duke had denied there was anything between the pair of them at all. He’d hurried off, not glancing back at her. If he confessed there was something now, it would make up for it—at least then this jitteriness inside of her might stop.

“Merely advice from an acquaintance. That is all.” The cold words and the way he crossed his arms over his chest put her in her place.

I mean nothing to him at all.

The kiss meant naught, plainly, and despite all the heat, the attraction of their previous arguments, it had culminated in nothing. So much so that he’d simply called her an acquaintance.

She curtsied hurriedly.

“Where are you going?” he asked, darting his head toward her.

“I wish to spend the evening in the company of friends, not acquaintances.” She emphasized the word and turned away as quickly as she could, crossing the room to get away from him. He didn’t follow her, though she glanced back once out of curiosity to see what his response was. He watched her go, his eyes never blinking, but he did not move.

He is a baffling man.

Emily busied herself by the refreshments table, grasping at canapes she had no wish to eat just for something to do when a shadow passed over her. The older form of Lord Gilchrist stopped beside her, the smile on his sickeningly long face somehow more eager than it usually was.

“Lady Emily, may I request—”

“Forgive me, Lord Gilchrist.” She knew it was rude to interrupt him, but she couldn’t stand another conversation with him just now, not after everything that had just happened with the Duke. Her heart would not be still, and her hands were clammy. “I am afraid I have a headache and intend to take some air.”

“Then let me accompany you.”

“No, that will not be necessary. I thank you for your kindness.” She curtsied and dropped the canapes to the table, praying that she had adopted some of Rachel’s propriety in her tone, so she did not sound too rude.

Leaving the canapes and Lord Gilchrist behind, she hurried to the side of the ballroom and reached for a door. It led out into a hallway, frustratingly, for she was desperate for some air. Picking a direction at random, she hurried past more standing candelabras and down a corridor, looking desperately for another door.

She found one at last that led outside, the glass insets revealing the night sky beyond. Thrusting open the door, she stumbled out, barely looking where she was going. She only took a few steps then tilted her head up to the sky and took deep breaths. Her lungs filled with the clean and fresh air.

At once, she felt less jittery. Her hands were no longer clammy and as she stared up at the stars that blinked down at her, she was able to put into perspective what had just happened with the Duke of Thorne.

It does not matter. He means nothing to me, as I mean nothing to him. Our acquaintance is so fleeting that within days, I will have forgotten him.

Yet her heart denied her own words.

“Lady Emily?”

She froze. Her gloved hands balled into fists at her side as she prayed the voice was in her imagination, but it was not.

“Lady Emily.” Lord Gilchrist had followed her. He tried to take her hand, but she snatched it out of his grasp and backed up, now concerned at the predicament she was in.

She’d stumbled out onto a side path from the house, narrowed, and bordered by curved yew bushes. Lord Gilchrist had closed the side door in his pursuit of her and reached out to her again, the heavy lines and growing wrinkles on his face noticeable in the moonlight. When his eyes raked over her, it was nothing like the heated and exciting look of the Duke of Thorne. This look made bile rise in her throat.

“If you would excuse me, My Lord. We should not be out here without a chaperone. I shall return to the ball.” She attempted to step past him, but he blocked her path, forcing her to back up from him a little down the path, with her hands clinging to the skirts of her gown.

“Now, Lady Emily,” Lord Gilchrist smiled, something quite wicked in that look. “What fool would miss out on a chance like this?”

“A chance of what? To be caught unchaperoned?”

When his smile grew worse, Emily backed up.

“I will not be trapped into a marriage.” She hurried away. Turning on her heel, she tried to run across the garden, further down the path, but her shoes were slippery and threatened to come off, forcing her to satisfy herself with a quick walk instead.

“My Lady, all I want is a minute alone, is that so much to ask?” Lord Gilchrist followed her constantly. “You are a tease.”

“A tease?” she spluttered, glancing back at him as he pursued her. “Pah! I have never sought your admiration.”

“Oh, but you have.” He cut in front of her. Out of fear of walking into him, she halted, her shoes skidding on the gravel path beneath her. “You constantly have.” He tilted his head to the side, smiling so much that his teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “Beautiful Lady Emily, the one who dances just out of reach.” He stretched a hand out toward her, and she struck it away.

The sharp smack of her palm across his made his expression change. He no longer smiled but glowered.

“Well, you shall have to be punished for that.”

“Punished!?” She backed up as he advanced toward her, but there was a yew bush in the way. “Do not you dare, my Lord. I… I shall scream.”

“And call witnesses to us? I thought you did not want to be trapped into marriage, Lady Emily.” He reached for her, just as she pressed her body into the yew bush, desperate for an escape.

* * *

“What the hell is going on now?” Jacob muttered as he strode through the side door of the house and marched down the path. He was certain he’d seen Lady Emily come this way, but so had Lord Gilchrist. That man was so odious, Jacob knew she would not have come out here to ensnare such a man.

Something else is afoot.

“No. No!” It was Emily’s voice. She was tussling with someone, her frightened cry so sudden that Jacob froze on the path, listening for which direction it came from. “Leave me at once, or I swear…”

“You’ll what?”

“No!”

There was a fumble, sounds of gravel being trodden underfoot and twigs snapping.

Jacob ran down the path, heading into the depths of the garden, heading toward those voices. In front of him, lit by the moonlight, were Emily and Lord Gilchrist. She was practically caged in against a yew bush, though her hands grappled with Lord Gilchrist as she tried to force him back from her. With a heavy tread, she stamped down on his toe. He yelped, but it only made him release her for a second.

She tried to push past him, to escape deeper into the garden, but he caught her by the back of her skirt and flung her back. Such a frightened shout escaped her, Jacob could not contain himself.

It was no longer just jealousy he felt, but anger, pure and simple rage. How dare someone try to touch Emily in this way? How dare a man like Lord Gilchrist try to force her into this?

Jacob ran toward the pair of them. When he caught up to Lord Gilchrist, he took the back of the man’s jacket and heaved him away.

“What the…” Lord Gilchrist spun around, just as Jacob raised his fist. In the white light, Lord Gilchrist’s eyes widened in fear, but he wasn’t quick enough to dodge the blow.

Jacob struck the man straight in the nose. Bone cracked audibly and Lord Gilchrist swayed backward on his heels, his eyes closing.

Emily yelped and jumped out of the way, a hand to her lips as Lord Gilchrist fell to the ground. He struck the gravel, scattering the dust, completely unconscious.

“Emily?” Jacob scarcely spared a glance for the man. He looked down, seeing Lord Gilchrist was alive and truly just knocked out, then he stepped over the unconscious form and stretched out a hand toward Emily.

“I…” she lowered her hand, anger flashing in her eyes. “I didn’t need your help.” She spun away, so swiftly that Jacob blinked, startled at the sudden vigor in her tone. She marched further down the path.

“No?” He said in bemusement, following her deeper into the garden. “From what I saw, you were very much in need of help.”

“I could have handled it myself.” She took two turns in the path, ending up on an open lawn completely bordered by lime trees. She strode out across the lawn, her gown shimmering in the moonlight and Jacob followed her.

“Yes, yes, of course you could have done it,” Jacob said in a wry tone. “That’s why, when I came upon the pair of you, you were yelping in need of help, was it not?”

She glanced back, that anger still making her eyes bright.

“Stop following me,” she ordered.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You think I am going to leave you out here alone after what has just happened? Completely isolated? What if he comes after you again, hmm? Then what?” he demanded to know, needing her to acknowledge the danger of the situation she had just been in.

She stumbled beside one of the lime trees, reaching out for the twisted bark, she clung to it, her palms flat to the bark. Jacob stopped beside her, resting his hand on the bark too, just to be near her. His fingers were mere inches from hers, as she faced away, refusing to look back at him. He looked at her golden hair, watching it quiver as she took heavy breaths.

“I didn’t need you,” she managed eventually.

“It’s not about needing,” he muttered, his hand moving closer to hers.

Why am I here? Why don’t I move back?

Yet Jacob couldn’t. All that had happened between him, and Emily felt like it was leading to this moment. He couldn’t turn away from her now.

“Please, Emily,” he whispered, “just look at me.”

Her head jerked up, but she didn’t turn to face him, not yet.

“It’s not about whether you needed me or could take care of yourself,” he said hurriedly. “I’m just glad I was there to help.”

This time, she turned to face him. Slowly, her hand left the bark of the lime tree, and she faced him, her lips parted. When he saw her eyes were wet with unshed tears, glistening, he reached for her, unable to hold himself back. One of his hands took her cheek and he tilted her head up a little, looking into those eyes.

“That snake of a man,” he muttered hurriedly as his other hand reached for her waist, holding her to him.

She is not pulling back.

“You were there,” she murmured. “Why were you there?”

“I saw you leave, then I saw him follow you,” he whispered, angling his head toward her. It was as if something pulled him to her, something he could not resist.

“You knocked him unconscious, Your Grace! Good lord!”

“I’ll do it again if he ever dares lay a finger on you.” His voice deepened as his lips hovered over hers. They were so near to another one of those kisses now. It felt so long since that first kiss. He was desperate for another kiss; something to sustain him in his desire for her. “I’ll make it worse next time if he comes near you.”

“Your Grace…” Her voice turned breathy as she raised her hands between them and reached for his waistcoat, clinging to the opening. “I am not your responsibility.”

“No, but you are something to me,” he muttered.

It seemed to remove a wall between them. Something in what he said had her raising on her toes. Seeing her come toward him, he couldn’t resist and pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was sudden and fast, with fierce passion. His lips moved against hers, claiming her kiss as his own. When she nibbled playfully at his bottom lip, he could have sworn he was on the verge of madness.

With his hand that was still on her waist, he angled her around, so that her back was pressed to the lime tree, and he was in front of her. Molding his body to hers, he kissed her against that tree, wanting more and more. The deeper he delved with his tongue, exploring her, the more her hands clung to him. They went from his waistcoat to reaching beneath, pressing his shirt across his body.

Such heat traveled through him that he didn’t want it to stop. It couldn’t stop. He needed more of her, to indulge in this attraction to her at last without restraint, and without fear of what would happen next.

“Whoa! There’s a man down out here!” a voice called at a distance.

They broke apart. Jacob’s hands moved to either side of Emily on the tree as she released him too. They both stood there, panting as they caught their breath, their eyes connected and not once looking away.

“Lord Gilchrist…” he began.

“He’s been found.” She nodded.

“He won’t say what’s happened. He wouldn’t dare, for fear of his attack on you being made public by me.”

“What if we’re found?” She glanced over his shoulder, looking across the lawn.

The mere idea of this moment being over already was unbearable. He needed to indulge a little more, to have this moment, uninterrupted.

“There is somewhere we could go,” he whispered, speaking slowly, out of fear of what she would say next. Her eyes flitted toward him.

“Speak quickly you fool, or we’ll be found!” Her urgency had him smiling, attracted to her bold ways.

“There’s an orangery in these gardens.” He nodded in the direction, beyond the lime trees and toward the corner of the estate. “If you didn’t want to return to the ball just yet, Emily, we could hide there for a while.”

“Hide?” she whispered, her gaze flitting down to his lips again.

“Hide or do something more.” He moved his lips to hers, finding it impossible to resist. That kiss was just growing passionate again, with her hands reaching beneath his tailcoat to his shoulders when they heard footsteps nearby. “We have to go, now,” he muttered, pulling back from her as he looked around, fearful of discovery.

“Then lead the way,” she waved her hand impatiently, urging him to go.

He grasped that hand and pulled her behind the lime tree, just as others passed at the edge of the lawn. They remained unseen.