Desire—or more correctly, lust—Emmagene realized, could make a person blind to everything else.
After the announcement of Geoffrey’s betrothal to a bland viscount’s daughter, Emmagene’s embarrassment at believing he’d loved her and the wanton behavior she’d so eagerly displayed had horrified her.
Far better to remain a spinster than a slave to her baser nature.
So immersed in her thoughts of the past as she’d walked through the woods, Emmagene had failed to pay attention to where she was going. She had walked straight into some sort of bush covered in thorns, which had immediately wrapped around her stockings and caught at her skirts. There were at least ten other gentlemen at this bloody house party and yet the only one walking in the woods when she’d required assistance was Huntly.
He’d kissed her, and she, God help her, had kissed him back.
Over the last ten years, Emmagene had indulged herself a handful of times, mostly out of loneliness and only going so far as kissing. A barrister her father had employed briefly. A widower she’d met walking in the park. But none of those gentlemen, whose names she could no longer recall, had been anything like the Earl of Huntly.
Emmagene shouldn’t like Huntly, yet she did. Halting her steps, she reordered her thoughts. It wasn’t that shelikedHuntly, necessarily, but Emmagene desired him.
Which was far worse.
He’d tasted of mint and heat, expertly trailing his tongue along the seam of her mouth, coaxing her lips to part. Once in his arms, Emmagene had ceased to forget everything but the man who’d held her. A low growl had come from his chest when she’d kissed him back, the sound stirring to life a soft throb between her thighs. If she wasn’t careful, Emmagene would find herself at his mercy. The most unpleasant earl in all of London. Blunt. Offensive. Not the least interested in affection. There would certainly be no danger of falling in love with him. The very idea was ludicrous.
So what was to stop her from taking him as a lover?
Emmagene stumbled over a tree root at the mere thought. This bloody house party had unhinged her mind to a startling degree if she was considering doinganythingwith Huntly.
The path stretched out before her, curving around a trio of beech trees before ending in a small clearing. An enclosure sat in the tall grass, one built of wood and wire. A tiny house nestled in the corner drew her eye. The area resembled the sort of cage one would keep chickens in, though there weren’t any chickens about and the gate to the enclosure was wide open. Odd to find something like this in the middle of the woods. Did gypsies keep animals? If so, where were their wagons? Or perhaps she was about to stumble upon a crazed hermit. But wouldn’t Southwell know if there were a strange person living in his woods?
Get ahold of yourself, Emmagene.
Curious, she strode to the edge and peered over the fence, trying to discern if anything was inside. The area seemed to be deserted except for some bits of green that resembled the discarded tops of berries.
A flash of black moved through the grass before brushing against her skirts.
Emmagene jumped back, hand pressed to her throat, then shook her head at being so silly. It was probably only a cat, but regarding the enclosure again, she thought perhaps not. Southwell had traveled extensively to exotic locations all over the world. What if he’d brought some sort of creature back with him? Honora had told her about the anacondas that lived in and around the Amazon. Great snakes that wrapped themselves around their prey, strangling it.
Emmagene took another step back, looking nervously into the grass.
Whatever was here, it had found its way beneath her skirts and was now curling around her ankle. Very much like a snake.
Emmagene screamed. Stumbling backward, she tripped and fell back against a hard stone wall. A warm one that smelled lightly of shaving soap.
“Miss Stitch, whatever is wrong?” Huntly’s arm skimmed across her waist before settling her more firmly against the muscled expanse of his chest.
Emmagene’s insides contracted in a pleasurable way at his touch. Which she did not want. Pulling herself from his embrace, she pointed at the enclosure. “There’s something over there. An animal in the grass. It was under my skirts.”
“Of course it’s an animal,” Huntly scoffed with an irritated roll of his eyes. “We’re surrounded by flora and fauna. Isn’t that what you expected when strolling in the woods?”
“I’m not talking about a rabbit or a…turtle or something.”
“A turtle. We aren’t even near a stream.”
“I mean,” she said through her teeth, “that it could be some sort of exotic animal. Southwell could have brought home a creature from one of his trips.” She lifted her gaze to search the trees above them. “One of those large snakes, perhaps. An anaconda.”
A bark of laughter came from him. “Even if South was inclined to bring home an anaconda, which he wouldn’t be, such a creature probably couldn’t survive in England. Certainly not living in some tiny house in the woods.” He looked at the enclosure. “You’re being ridiculous. Probably a cat.”
“A cat? Do you practice that snide tone for hours on end to sound so condescending?” She nodded again in the direction of the enclosure. “Not so much as a warning sign to announce there is a dangerous creature on the loose. It’s very irresponsible of Southwell.”
“I doubt whatever lives here is anything dangerous. But I’ll walk around this fence and take a look if it will make you feel better.”
“It will.”
“You know, Miss Stitch. If you wanted me to escort you back to the house, there wasn’t any need to make up a story of a strange animal lurking about in order to get me to do so.” He circled the enclosure, moving slowly and looking at the ground.
