Chapter 19
CHAPTER19
Emma could not remember the last time she had smiled so freely or laughed so hard, as she chased the wild little puppy around the giant, sentinel oak that stood in the middle of the Hudson Estate’s lawns.
Every few minutes, Snowy hid behind the same tuft of grass at the base of the tree, springing out as Emma approached on stealthy feet. And every time, she pretended to fall over and cackled with delight as Snowy leaped on her, lavishing her with kisses and tail wags galore.
“Will you not pause your game to eat something, Emma?” Marina called from the array of picnic blankets that had been laid out nearby, shaded by an awning.
Emma scooped the puppy up. “I fear Snowy might eat every piece of meat he can get his tiny jaws on.”
“There is plenty to go around,” Marina replied, waving a piece of ham.
Snowy jumped right out of Emma’s arms, running on wobbly legs toward the delicious treat. He was halfway to victory when someone else came hurtling down the sloping lawn and swept the unsuspecting pup into his arms. Diverted from his objective, Snowy wiggled excitedly in the arms of his chuckling captor, licking the smiling man’s face with renewed vigor.
“Shall we give you all of the cold meats, my sweet angel?” Luke cooed to the puppy. “How could anyone resist giving you anything your heart desires, when you look like that, hmm?”
Emma got up and dusted grass from her skirts, taking a moment to admire the charming sight. She was not the only one. Nora had gone starry-eyed, Eliza’s expression had glazed over, and even Marina had halted with a strawberry halfway to her mouth, though Jasper was not far away, deep in discussion with the estate’s gardener.
“He adores you,” Emma said, approaching Luke.
“I think he adores everyone,” Luke replied, grinning. “He as at that age where everything is new and wonderful, and every face is to be licked and kissed until the halting toll of treats and meats are given.”
Emma laughed, wondering how two brothers could be so entirely opposite. Appearance was one thing, and somewhat up to chance, but for them both to have been raised in this house, under the same conditions, it stood to reason that they would be similar in character. It baffled her.
What baffled her more, however, was why she did not feel the same thrill—like a taut string being plucked, that ran from the base of her throat to the depths of her stomach—when she was in Luke’s company as she did when she was in Silas’s.
“Truly, I believe I have solved the riddle of Lady Emma Bennet,” Luke said, with a mischievous wink.
“I am a riddle?”
He shook his head. “The riddle is why you would leave so many grooms at the altar, but I have figured it out.” He kissed Snowy between his floppy ears. “It is because neither of those gentlemen were marvelous hounds who would love you unconditionally. If they had, perhaps, possessed a tail and these beautiful ears, I think you might have made a husband out of at least one of them.”
Emma’s heart jolted, her eyes wide with a curious sort of panic. She did not know why it surprised her, when news of her marital aversion was splashed across every scandal sheet and fixed upon the tongue of every gossipmonger, but it was like an explosive had detonated right under her feet, knocking her completely sideways.
He seemed to realize her shock and horror, pulling an apologetic face. “I had heard of your plight in London, but my mother and your godmother informed me of the details. I am sorry—that was unkind. I meant nothing cruel by it.” He hesitated. “It is a bad habit of mine, using humor to ease a situation. Please, forgive me.”
The earnestness in his voice was almost as surprising as his jest. Had it been any random gentleman at a ball or gathering, she might have retorted with a scathing remark, but his nervous smile, the slight flinch upon his face, and the fact he had called it her “plight” made her soften toward him.
“I would be a hypocrite if I spurned you for your bad habits,” she said, smiling. “After all, you already know mine—it is running away from inappropriate grooms. Indeed, I think, perhaps, you have solved the riddle for I am quite certain I could love nothing more than I love this furry imp.”
Luke relaxed, breathing out a sigh of relief. “I am almost tempted to steal him for myself.”
“If I find ham in your pockets, I shall thwart your attempt by putting roast beef in mine,” she replied, chuckling.
“Oh no, sweet creature—she has foiled our plot!” Luke stroked Snowy’s ears, and the puppy fell asleep in his arms, though his tail did not stop wagging.
Emma’s sense of ease returned, and as Luke made his way toward the picnic blankets and gestured for her to follow him, she did just that. There, Nora, Eliza, and Marina pretended they had not been gawping, stuffing their mouths with whatever they had been trying to eat when Luke had arrived.
“Some cheese, Lady Emma?” Luke asked, settling the puppy in the well of his lap. Snowy did not stir; he was sleeping soundly.
Emma offered her plate. “A slice or two would not go amiss. Some strawberries too, if you can reach them.”
“Savory and sweet.” Luke nodded in approval, placing the items on her plate.
As she withdrew the plate, she watched as he licked his thumb and forefinger, where some red strawberry juice had trickled down. A moment later, an almighty clatter snatched her attention toward the opposite side of the picnic blankets. Nora had dropped her spoon, her cheeks raspberry red as she fumbled to pick it up. Evidently, she had been watching, too.
“I am such a butterfingers,” she mumbled.
Eliza winked sympathetically. “As are we all, my dear. I very nearly just dropped a boiled egg.”
Marina looked as if she was about to scold her mother, knowing why the older woman had almost dropped her egg, but she closed her mouth again and said nothing. A generous act to spare Nora further embarrassment.
“I hope you do not mind me mentioning it again, Lady Emma, but I heard that your first betrothed never truly recovered from your departure from the church,” Luke said amiably, drawing her attention back to him. “I encountered the fellow in a gentlemen’s club; he was lamenting rather loudly and rather drunkenly about the ordeal. I do believe he had to be kicked out in the end, quite literally.”
Satisfaction swelled in Emma’s chest. “I am pleased to hear it. Did you do the kicking? If so, I would applaud you fiercely.”
Marina’s eyes flared in warning, but Luke did not seem to mind that Emma harbored no shame whatsoever when it came to that wretched beast.
“Alas not.” He grinned. “I do not like the man. I do not know of anyone who does. Clearly, you are in agreement.”
Emma bit into her strawberry, swallowing it before she said, “if he is claiming he never recovered, it is likely because the ladies of the ton trusted my judgment, and are also in agreement that he is a wicked creature. I know that must be so, because he has yet to find anyone who will agree to marry him.”
“He used much more vulgar language, as befitting a man of his diminished status, but the lament was the same. Truly, I cannot feel a morsel of sorrow for the man. Well done to you, I say, for refusing to be miserable with such an oaf!”
Luke laughed heartily, placing more delicacies onto Emma’s plate: slices of apple, cuts of roast beef, a chunk of bread, cubes of cucumber, and, rather oddly, a blackberry tart.
It was the most validated Emma had felt since the carriage ride away from the second church with Nora. Perhaps, more so, because Luke did not know her, Luke did not need to say such things, and yet she felt the sincerity in his words and demeanor.
Is that why Augusta is trying to coax us together? Maybe, Luke was the sort of person who refused to settle for something that was not right, too. And trying to force a man to marry was far harder than trying to force a woman.
“Now, tell me, what is the name of this darling boy?” Luke asked, tenderly stroking the puppy.
Emma grinned. “Snowy.”
“Perfection!” Luke crowed and, for just a moment, the afternoon seemed even brighter.
* * *
“Must they laugh so loudly?” Silas spat, downing a mouthful of whiskey.
He had lost count of how many he had poured, but he knew he would feel each one if he stood up.
“Och, is that jealousy I hear?” Duncan taunted, as he sifted through the names and addresses that Silas had spent the morning writing down.
All from before. Women that Silas barely remembered. Women he wished to forget. He was under no illusion that his incarcerated time had been a punishment, not just for whatever reason the kidnapper had seen fit to capture him, but for the marks tallied upon his immortal soul. No one could say he had not returned a changed man, even if the ton liked to gossip that he was the same old scoundrel.
“Jealous? Hardly. It is… grating, that is all,” Silas scoffed, as another peal of Emma’s musical laughter rang out.
It rankled him that Luke was the one who could coax that sound from her plump, tempting lips, and with such ease, too. She never laughed like that when Silas was in her presence.
Eyes on me, he longed to say, shouting it from the study window if he had to, but he still had enough sense left to refrain.
“I said ye should’ve fawned over that puppy,” Duncan said, tutting. “Everyone kens that’s the way to a lass’s heart, showin’ affection to furry little things.”
Silas glared at him. “Why are you still here? Are you not supposed to be striking a few names off that list?”
Duncan just laughed. “Och, she’s clawed her way under yer skin, well and truly. I thought ye were just undertakin’ this betrothal thing to fool yer maither and her faither, but I’d say ye’re caught on her hook and there’s nay way ye can wriggle yerself free.” He paused, flashing a sly smile. “Or is it just ‘cause it’s yer brother who has her captivated? Is that what ye cannae abide—his hands on what ye deem to be yers, even if it’s just ‘pretend’?”
“His hands are where?” Silas jumped up and walked to the window, glowering out of it.
He saw the quaint scene on the picnic blankets, watched in irritation as Luke placed tarts and a slice of cake on Emma’s plate, seethed as he licked some kind of cream from his fingers and Emma had the audacity to giggle. The other ladies were entranced, too, but he could not even see them through the haze of frustration that misted his eyes.
Before he could stop himself, he slammed the glass down on the desk with so much force that it shattered and marched out of the study with an ill-wind at his back.
The picnickers fell silent as he stalked toward their cheery little gathering, bringing all manner of dark clouds with him. Luke had the gall to grin up at him, no doubt knowing full well what had brought his grumpy older brother out onto the lawns. Eliza and Marina exchanged an awkward glance. But Emma—Emma kept her back to him, refusing to acknowledge his presence.
“A moment, my darling,” he growled. “It pertains to the correspondence I received from your father.”
At that, Emma finally looked up at him, worry glimmering in her eyes. “Is something the matter?”
“That is what I intend to discuss with you,” Silas replied.
He turned and walked toward the giant oak tree, knowing she would follow him.
With the enormous breadth of the oak’s mighty trunk between him and the picnic blankets, blocking the others from view, Silas paused to catch his breath, listening out for Emma’s soft footfalls.
She came around to his side of the tree, at last. “What has happened? Has another letter arrived? Are you going to meet with him? How far are we planning to take our ruse? I suppose it would work in our favor if our betrothal was official, but—”
He whirled around and pulled her out of sight of the picnic blankets, before pinning her against the tree, a thousand images of her body arching and yearning for him against the willow bursting into his head. He panted, lungs on fire, as he gazed fiercely down into her eyes.
“You should not smile and laugh like that with other men when you are mine,” he rasped, his hand sliding up from her shoulder to cradle her slender neck. Meanwhile, his other hand slid downward, caressing her arm until he reached the spot where her fingertips touched her skirts. He bridged the divide, curving his palm over her hip, so overcome with need that he wondered if the whiskey had driven him mad.
She grabbed that seeking hand and wrenched it away from her, though she did not move to pull away the hand on her neck. “You forget something, Your Grace,” she retorted, those two formal words like a punch to his innards. “I am not yours.”
He hissed a breath through clamped teeth, leaning closer. She could have struck him, could have screamed for help, could have ducked under his arm and fled—he left room for that—but she stayed against the tree trunk as he dipped his head, his hot breath skimming up the curve of her neck, the angle of her jaw, the apple of her cheek. Her back arched ever so slightly, her lips parting as if to silently say, Kiss me. I dare you.
Bringing his face closer, he brushed his nose against her temple, grazed his lips against that pulsing point below her ear, traced his thumb down the column of her throat, and whispered, “Come to me tonight. We shall see if you are mine, then.”
He pushed away from the oak and turned before he really cast caution to the wind and kissed her with all the desire that burned within him, not caring who saw or who gasped in outrage. It took all the willpower he possessed to keep walking toward the house without looking back, not even once.