He never should have discussed marriage in such a careless manner, knowing what he did of Emmie’s past. He had only wanted to gauge her response to the possibility of a more permanent relationship between them. Had tiptoed around the subject and made a mess of things because he’d been too afraid she’d reject him outright. Stupidly, it had never occurred to him that Emmagene wouldn’t think she was the lady in question.
Henry knew what the world thought of him; after all, he’d allowed it to happen. Most considered him rude. Careless in his appearance as well as his behavior. Arrogant. But even Henry wasn’t so cruel as to discuss wedding one woman while his cock was buried in another. At first, Henry had been furious. Not only that Emmie had left without so much as a bloody note but because aftereverything, Emmie believed he would treat her so harshly. She was completely oblivious to the way he felt about her. About the way they felt about each other.
A tiny black nose poked through the primroses. Then a pointed face. Another strawberry disappeared into Peony’s mouth. Henry didn’t dare move a muscle as she approached. The skunk and Miss Stitch had quite a bit in common, as it happened. Neither trusted Henry. Emmie wouldn’t care for the comparison.
Peony took another step forward and stopped. Her nose twitched at the bit of apple and strawberry in Henry’s outstretched palm. The skunk was even now considering whether it would be best to spray Henry, take the offering of fruit, and scurry back into the woods.
“Come now, Peony.” He kept his voice low and soothing. “I’ve already been dismissed once today. Twice if you count by Lady Southwell.”
Henry knew how he felt about Emmagene Stitch, but he didn’t see any reason to explain the confusing mix of emotions to Honora. Wasn’t any of her bloody business. And she’d been swatting at him like a toddler throwing a tantrum. He’d snarled at South to control his wife.
Emmiewasfragile, didn’t Henry understand? Honora had stated. If the Earl of Huntly wasn’t up to the challenge of Emmagene Stitch, it would be best if he never saw her again.
Henry considered doing just that. It would be the easiest course of action.
Peony came closer, nosed his hand, and took the strawberry from it. She looked at Henry, the black pebbles that were her eyes glinting in the sunlight. Her tongue scratched against the palm of his hand as she took her treat, no longer frightened of him.
“You see, I can be patient,” Henry whispered to the skunk, who was now sniffing at his coat where another strawberry sat in his pocket. She tugged at the fabric before disappearing beneath it, tiny claws scratching at his chest. Finally, she stopped, having found her prize, but she didn’t immediately flee. Peony curled up against him to enjoy her strawberry.
As Emmie had curled up next to him last night.
Henry stared up at the trees, feeling the warmth of Peony caught in his coat. He’d been alone for a great deal of his life, and it hadn’t ever bothered him. He didn’t find most people to be interesting enough to bother with, especially the women he encountered who were more than happy to eschew talking for the pleasures he offered them in bed.
He hadn’t come to this house party with any intention other than surviving it; certainly he hadn’t expected to find a woman who attracted him the way Emmagene Stitch did. Henry knew, in his heart, if he never saw Emmie again, he would be lonely the rest of his life.
Still, he didn’t rush off to London to claim her. Instead, he walked out into the woods to visit Peony. Immediately laying siege to Castle Stitch would be a mistake. It would put her on the defensive. She’d swathe herself in some hideous gown and twist her hair into knots. Scowl and pierce him with a withering glance.
He would leave tomorrow, as previously planned, and take a few days to decide what he would do.
Emmie wasn’t the only one who was wounded.
Chapter Seventeen
Emmagene sat inher chair beneath the window in her parents’ parlor, reading the letter from Honora for the second time. Or it may have been the third. Her cousin and new husband were making their way to Egypt. Emmagene envisioned the couple sailing down the Nile, looking at pyramids while delighting each other with obscure historical tidbits only the two of them cared about. It had taken Emmagene a while, but even she had to admit that Honora and Southwell fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces.
The same way Emmagene, ironically, felt she did with Huntly.
She paused and put the letter down.
Ridiculous.She and Huntly did nothing but argue and lob insults at each other.
A hollow feeling spread out across her midsection, something Emmagene struggled to keep at bay whenever Huntly crossed her mind. Which was far more often than she wished in the month since the house party. Some days she was successful.
But not today.
She had fled back to London from Longwood that day before the sun was even up, determined to leave before the rest of the guests, and especially Huntly, woke. Her note to Honora had been explanatory if not exceptionally detailed. The return to London had been accomplished with little fanfare. Huntly hadn’t rushed after the coach or tried to stop her. He hadn’t appeared at her doorstep in London. He still hadn’t.
She reminded herself there was no reason for him to do so.
The house party had been dull, Emmagene had told her mother, who had wondered at her daughter’s early arrival home. No one of interest to even have a conversation with. The gentlemen had all been boring. The ladies, with the exception of Honora, tepid at best.
Mrs. Stitch had only nodded as a servant had unloaded Emmagene’s trunks, muttering under her breath about her “difficult” daughter.
Huntly, Emmagene told herself as she picked up the threads of her previous pleasing but somewhat dull existence, had only been a brief interruption. A ripple, as it were, in the placid lake of her life. Maybe in time, she would allow herself another brief dalliance, if the mood struck her. The very idea of being bedded by someone other than Huntly didn’t appeal to her now, but she was sure, in time, it would. When her emotions were better under control.
She’d thrown herself into charity work upon her return, most of it dull but necessary. There were always orphans and widows to be saved. Clothing and books to be collected. Donations to be made. Emmagene had even received an invitation to one of Lady Trent’s luncheons, benefiting a hospital for the poor. A surprise given the lady’s opinion of her.
Emmagene had declined to attend, much to her mother’s dismay.
