Chapter 22

CHAPTER22

“Yes, little beastie!” Silas cheered, as Snowy walked forward and backward between his legs. “Now, sit!”

The puppy obeyed immediately, tongue hanging out.

“Yes, good boy! And… lie down!”

Snowy flopped forward, all four legs splayed out.

Silas erupted into laughter, plucking a small piece of roast beef from the pouch that hung from his belt. It was supposed to hold oats for the horses, but he had fashioned it for the purpose of training Snowy into being the most loyal, most intelligent, most obedient hound possible.

“That is good enough, little beastie,” he told the puppy, as he held out the roast beef.

Snowy gobbled it up as if he had not already had breakfast, lunch, and at least two slices of beef as part of his training.

“You really are a good boy, huh?” Silas knelt on the grass and Snowy rolled over onto his back, showing his belly. With a grin, Silas rubbed that full stomach and remarked upon it, while Snowy wagged his tail and curved a paw around Silas’s wrist, to keep him scratching.

I am not sure that Emma would say the same thing about me, though. He had not seen her since she had left his bedchamber the previous night, and it was nearing one o’clock in the afternoon. He had even gone down to breakfast at a reasonable hour, which he almost never did, but she had not been there.

“She complained of a headache, and as we are to journey to London today, I thought it best to let her sleep awhile longer,” Eliza had said, when Silas had asked where she was.

Meanwhile, his mother had looked at him strangely. He kept trying to convince himself that it was because he had been holding the puppy, but there had been something else in her expression: unease. As if she did not like the thought of something actually blossoming between him and Emma. As if she did not believe in the proposed betrothal ever coming to fruition, though she was the one who had ceaselessly pestered him to get married.

He had been outside with Snowy ever since, playing and training in the summer sunshine. Despite his initial doubts, the puppy had turned out to be the ideal distraction. Most surprising of all, the little creature had not made a mess of his bedchamber, as if Snowy knew he had to be on his best behavior.

“I never thought I would see the day that you not only invited a dog into the manor, but came to adore it,” a voice said from the terrace.

Silas looked up, blocking the sun with his hand. “He is easier to train than a brother.”

“I do not doubt that.” Luke laughed, stepping down from the terrace. “Has Lady Emma grown tired of the puppy, or is this some manner of challenge, to test your devotion to her?”

Silas concentrated on Snowy, scratching the tufty white star on his chest. “I do not know where Lady Emma is. I expect she is preparing for our journey to London. You know what ladies are like—they take an eternity to ready themselves, though why they go to such effort is beyond me. Who are they trying to impress?”

“I would say “gentlemen,” but as you are on the brink of a betrothal, I do not know who she would be trying to impress.” There was a glimmer of mischief in Luke’s eyes as he wandered closer. “You are on the brink of a betrothal, are you not?”

Silas raised an eyebrow. “What concern is it of yours? You should concentrate on finding your own bride. Then, Mother would be apoplectic with joy.”

“It is a pity you discovered Lady Emma before me,” Luke said with a sigh. “She is a rare bird.”

Irritation bristled along Silas’s spine. “If you are trying to vex me, do not. I know you find it endlessly amusing, but I am having a pleasant afternoon with this little beast, and I should hate for my mood to be soured. I already despise the opera, and I have that to endure later.”

“I am not trying to vex you,” Luke replied. “I merely meant… do not toy with her. Do not lead her on a merry dance if you do not intend to marry her. I heard what people were saying about her in London, Silas. She will not survive a third scandal, and I doubt that you would emerge unscathed, either.”

Silas put on a saccharine smile. “I thank you for your concern.”

“Do you think she would run from you, too, or do you think you are different?” Luke asked, sitting down upon an ornamental dragon head, carved from stone. “Has she told you why she ran from the others?”

Silas narrowed his eyes. “Why are you so interested?”

“I know we have not always been close, Silas, but I am as worried for you as I am for her,” Luke said, after a moment. “I encountered one of her former betrotheds and… I am afraid to say that you are rather similar. You were, anyway. I understand that you have changed since you returned, but… does she know that? Be certain of her and have her be certain of you before you announce anything.”

Silas sat back on his haunches and picked Snowy up, inhaling the sweet scent of his fur as he stroked the puppy’s back. With each brush of his hand, he dwelled upon his brother’s words. He would have been lying if he had said they were questions he had not considered since she left his chambers last night. Earlier than that, perhaps.

It is a ruse! Just a ruse! It did not matter what she thought of him, because they would never reach the point of marriage. That was what they had decided, together. That was the arrangement.

Yet, last night had changed something. He had meant to prove a point. Instead, he had lain awake, cradling Snowy, unable to stop thinking about Emma. And though he hated to admit it, he would beg if it meant he could touch her, taste her, hold her again. She had snuck under his skin while he was not paying attention, and he doubted he could pry her out without ripping himself apart too.

“She has a sister,” Silas said, feigning nonchalance.

Luke sighed, the exhale rattling into a chuckle. “Is that so?”

“I am sure she is just as much of a “rare bird” as Lady Emma.”

Luke’s laughter died. “Am I not allowed to be worried for you?”

“You can worry for me all you like, but only when there is something to worry over,” Silas replied firmly. “In this situation, there is not. Do not become too much like Mother, eh? She was already staring at me like I had two heads this morning.”

Luke opened his mouth to respond, but the loud clearing of someone’s throat interrupted him. Both brothers turned toward the terrace, where Duncan had emerged in a grander version of his usual attire. Someone was ready for the opera, but it was not Silas.

“It is me pleasure to present the ladies of the household,” Duncan said, dipping into a bow.

The women trickled out onto the terrace, laughing among themselves, but Silas had eyes for just one: a vision in blood red. The gown was a daring choice, and no doubt deliberately done, considering she was about to face the lashing tongues of society that night.

Her raven black hair had been curled and piled on top of her head in an almost casual fashion, with loose tendrils framing her alabaster face; her cheeks dusted with pink, her lips a tempting shade of scarlet, her bosom ripe and impossible to look away from. At least for Silas, who had seen and savored that secret flesh.

The gown was cut in the fashion of the day, yet there was more shape to Emma’s waist than might have been appropriate, aided by a gold ribbon tied beneath her bust.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Indeed, she could only have been more beautiful if she had worn nothing at all, her hair loose and tumbling down, her eyes alight with desire for him, as she walked toward him across a candlelit bedchamber. But that would have had her kicked out of society for good.

“I think the opera might not be so awful tonight, after all,” Silas said, more to himself than anyone else.

* * *

If someone had pointed a pistol at Silas’s heart and asked him what the opera had been about, he would not have been able to tell them; it had nothing to do with his rusty knowledge of Italian.

He, and every other gentleman present at the opera house, had not been able to concentrate on anything but her. Emma in that gown. Emma sitting proud and defiant, unperturbed by gossip, with rubies glinting at her throat. Emma with her alabaster skin, and pouting lips ripe for kissing.

The opera was always a cruel torment for him, but it had been especially true that night.

“That was the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced,” Emma declared, dabbing at her eyes as the group of seven—Emma, Silas, Luke, Augusta, Eliza, Marina, and Jasper—headed down to the piazza below the opera house steps, where carriages were slowly circling around to pick up their various charges.

Silas nodded. “It truly was.”

“You enjoyed that?” Luke remarked, a knowing look in his eyes.

“I found myself very moved,” Silas retorted.

Emma was ignoring both of them. “Oh, I wish Nora could have come with us. I feel simply terrible that she had to stay behind with Snowy.”

“She chose to stay behind,” Luke corrected. “I got the feeling she is not very partial to the opera, much like my brother. Indeed, it is quite surprising to hear that he was so invested in the night’s performance.”

Emma sighed. “She hates the opera, but I know she would have liked that one.”

“Do you attend the opera often?” Luke asked, stepping between Emma and Silas.

She shook her head. “Rarely. My father detests it—thinks it unseemly and ‘so utterly foreign’, as he says. But my mother and sister adore the opera. Perhaps, when my father has forgiven me, they might attend more often.” She cast a shy glance at Silas that stirred something in his chest. “I hope so, anyway.”

“I will see to it that they have a box,” Silas said, surprising himself when he discovered that he meant it. In that moment, after staring at her for three hours and not being able to touch her or be nearly close enough to her, he would have given her anything she wanted.

Emma’s eyes widened. “You should not make promises you do not intend to keep.”

“Nor would I,” he replied.

It looked as if she might say something else, but a sharp scream jolted everyone’s attention toward Augusta and Eliza. The former was searching frantically through her reticule, mildly cursing under her breath.

“Luke, you must take Eliza and me to the townhouse,” Augusta demanded. “I have the wrong reticule.”

Luke arched an eyebrow. “There can be a wrong reticule?”

“I thought this was the one with your father’s signet ring in it, but that one is at the townhouse. I left it there the last time we were in London and keep meaning to bring it home.” Augusta tutted at herself. “It will not be much of a diversion.”

Eliza raised a hand. “Actually, I have some business in Mayfair at my nephew’s townhouse. Might we pause there briefly?”

“What business?” Marina interjected. “Cousin Albert is not at the townhouse.”

Eliza flashed a wicked grin. “Precisely. He has something of mine—or, rather, your father’s—and I would have it back, by theft if necessary.”

She was halfway toward one of the three carriages they had arrived in before Marina could stop her. Huffing and puffing, Marina hurtled after her, with Jasper in hot pursuit. All three clambered into the carriage, but it appeared that Eliza must have had the deciding vote, for the carriage moved away without a single utterance of farewell to the others left standing on the edge of the piazza.

“Well, let us move swiftly if you are to fetch this reticule,” Luke said, putting an arm around his mother’s shoulders. “I have several engagements to attend, and I shall miss at least one if we are not quick.”

Augusta allowed herself to be led, still rifling through her reticule as if the signet ring might suddenly turn up. Indeed, as mother and younger son entered the second of the waiting carriages and the carriage pulled away, it seemed that Silas and Emma had been forgotten entirely.

“And then there was us,” Silas said, not so secretly delighted.

Emma peered up at him. “Should we follow one of them?”

“I doubt there would be any use in it,” he replied. “We have been abandoned, my wildling. As such, it is my duty to ensure that my last remaining guest returns to my residence safely.”

She hesitated. “But it is hours away. Would the townhouse not be more prudent? I suspect your mother will decide to stay there tonight anyway, and there is no telling what my godmother will do.”

“Your chaperone and that little beastie are at my country estate,” Silas reminded her, with a small shrug. “It is your choice, Emma. If you would prefer to stay, I will not argue. If you would prefer to return to the manor… I will not argue with that, either.”

She chewed upon her lower lip in a way that brought Silas to the precipice of madness, his mouth tingling with the need to feel hers against his. Did she not understand what he could do with those private hours, alone in a carriage together? Or was she truly waiting for him to beg?

“Nora will worry,” she said, at last.

Her gaze darted around, but no one was paying them any attention. Besides, if anyone decided to write about their unchaperoned moment on the steps of the piazza, it could easily be undone with the announcement of their betrothal.

“A wise choice. Very wise. I shall reward you for your most excellent decision,” Silas whispered, close to her ear, as he took her hand and led her to the last carriage.