Odessa wiggled her bum on the padded leather seat. Beads of moisture dripped between her breasts and rolled down the sides of her ribs. The day had grown warm. Perhaps she should have insisted on something other than wool to pad herself, but only the bulk of wool provided the proper girth. And as itchy as the thick padding was rapidly becoming, Odessa didn’t need to fake the constant jerking of her body.
Emerson might think had some sort of nervous tic.
Perfect.
“Something amuses you, Miss Whitehall?”
Emerson, far too attractive for her liking, asked from across the carriage. Hazel eyes, more green than brown, took her in before putting a finger to his nose, not bothering to hide the fact that he found her odorous though Emerson had wisely suggested putting the carriage’s top down.
Odessa, too, was having difficulty ignoring her own scent. The garlic may have been a bad choice. At the least, she should have refrained from rubbing the onion beneath her arms. She would need to soak in a hot bath the moment she returned home.
“Not at all.” Odessa itched along the side of her ear where a tiny curl of honey brown hair dangled. “Only a squirrel.”
A gentle breeze blew through the carriage, entirely welcome on such a warm day, though it did little to cool Odessa’s body swaddled in wool. It did, however, succeed in forcing the aroma of onions and garlic into Lord Emerson’s nostrils.
Aunt Lottie discreetly raised a handkerchief to her nose.
“Squirrels are curious creatures,” Emerson said. “Not when they are nesting in your eaves or attic, grant you. But in the park, I find them rather delightful.”
What a curious comment. “Nesting in your eaves?”
“I’ve lived in the country for most of my life, Miss Whitehall. Squirrels often take up residence in one’s home. I imagine they try to do so in London, but there are all sorts of footmen and the like to dissuade them.”
Odessa considered his words. Papa had hired a ratcatcher once because they could hear tiny feet running in the walls, but nothing about squirrels. Possibly Burns would know. Aunt Lottie had said Emerson and his family had been living far from London. She pictured a glorious country estate with a full staff, not a place where squirrels and the like invaded one’s home. But his comments led her to believe otherwise. She couldn’t fathom Malfrey, for instance, even knowing what an eave was.
“I haven’t been down this path since my last visit to London.” Emerson’s rough, chiseled features clouded for an instant, nose wrinkling as the smell of her hit him once more. “But that was many years ago.” A thick, errant wave of dark hair fell over his forehead, but he didn’t brush it away. Only allowed the wind to toy with it.
Emerson was nothing short of splendid, which Odessa considered completely unfair. He was still a titled twit, of course, her father’s choice and interested only in her dowry. An unwelcome suitor. But admittedly, under better circumstances, Odessa might have found herself drawn to Emerson.
He turned his gaze to the pond littered with ducks. Wistfulness drifted across his face, along with a hint of sadness. He resembled a distraught angel, albeit one with massive shoulders strewn with muscle.
“Does the area around the pond have some special meaning for you, my lord?” She silently cursed herself for speaking once more. The trick to keeping the tar in place was not to open one’s mouth overmuch. She didn’t want to know him better or why he grew melancholy over a pond.
“As I said, I was raised primarily in the country. London has never held much appeal for me. But my father liked to bring me and my brothers here when we did visit. I’ve two younger brothers in addition to two sisters. Twins, as it happens, though my brothers look nothing alike.”
Odessa had always been intrigued by twins. She’d read they could communicate without speaking. Some developed their own language.
She wished Emerson would shut up and cease to be interesting.
“We came here to sail the tiny boats out of newspaper we’d created the night before. Our day was ruined, however, when Malcolm decided to wade in after his boat because it had been attacked by a duck and sank to the bottom. He didn’t swim well at the time. I’m not certain he does now.” Emerson’s fingers, large and roughened, trailed along his chin.
His hands were…beautiful. Deliciously graceful and strong. The nails neatly trimmed. How had she only now noticed he had taken off his gloves? A soft flutter pressed down the length of her chest, even beneath all the horrid wool.
“Father dove in after Malcolm. Drew followed merely because he was told not to. And he couldn’t bear to be separated from Mal.” Emerson’s strong features grew dark with emotion. It was clear he had a great deal of affection for his brothers and greatly missed his father. “They refused to leave each other’s company. But now, of course, Mal is on the Continent while Drew is with me.”
“And you, my lord?” A bit of tar slipped, and Odessa discreetly covered her mouth, pretending to cough. A gentle push of her finger forced the tar back onto her tooth.
“I sat right there.” He pointed to a spot in the grass. “And laughed. The pond isn’t very deep, you see, and Drew knew how to swim. After a bit of flailing about, I helped pull them out.”
Odessa was struck by the broad shape of his hand. There was a rough spot on his palm, along with a thin scar. She recalled the ill fit of his gloves when he’d called upon her previously.
He doesn’t care to wear gloves. At least not the proper kind.
The sort of gloves a gentleman wore in polite society. No, Odessa sensed that the gloves thatdidfit Emerson were worn, dirty leather. Not polite in the least.
Another flutter occurred in the region of her midsection, definitely not onion related.
Placing a hand on her stomach, or at least where she supposed her stomach lay beneath all the wool, Odessa strengthened her resolve. She was not supposed to moon over Emerson but rid herself of his presence. A wide smile pulled at her lips, one she had practiced the last few days before the mirror to get the angle correct. Across the carriage from him, it would appear half her teeth were rotted. She burped, blowing a bit of onion at his glorious face.
