Emersonwasbreathtaking.
Odessa gave him a wide, welcoming smile full of tar-stained teeth. “Lord Emerson.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth, but not on her supposedly rotted teeth. He appeared to be studying the curve of her lips.
She swallowed, telling her pulse to return to its usual rhythm.
Emerson took her fingers in his much larger,nakedhand, and squeezed gently.
Where are his gloves?
Everygentleman wore gloves, especially when calling on a young lady, except it seemed, Emerson. He’d taken them off during their carriage ride and now, once more, had forgone gloves for someinexplicable, tortuous reason and—
Odessa shivered at the roughened skin brushing seductively along hers. A delicious, lazy sensation streamed across her well-padded stomach to shoot between her thighs. Belatedly, Odessa realized she hadn’t put on her own gloves. Once the itching started, well, she couldn’t scratch with her fingers covered. And that had been her only thought. The gloves were laying on her bed.
A hum, pulsing along her skin, vibrated into Odessa’s core and along her limbs. FromonlyEmerson’s touch. Imagine if those callused hands trailed elsewhere over her body. What if—
Dear lord.
Odessa snatched back her hand.
“You are quite…flushed, Miss Whitehall.”
“The rash reddens my skin.” Panic laced her words as Emerson regarded her with a twitch of his lips. “I realize how awful it is. Repulsive. You see why I must eat a daily onion to avoid such a state.” Absently, she scratched at her cheek.
“How terrible for you.”
Odessa gritted her teeth. Soon she’d be twitching, scratching at herself like a madman if he didn’t decide to leave. Hayden was incorrect. The smallest amount of strawberry caused a horrific reaction.
“There is no need for you to witness such an unpleasant display, my lord. I thought to please you, but I find—” Her lashes fluttered down.
“Please me?” The low timbre of his voice buffeted along her heated skin. “Hmm.”
Dear God.Did he mistake her words as flirtation? She shot a look at Aunt Lottie, who was sitting perfectly still, her eyes on Emerson’s backside. Odessa really needed to speak to her aunt about her incorrigible behavior. It was unseemly for a chaperone—
“No apologies are necessary, Miss Whitehall.” He extended his arm. “Come, let us take a turn about the garden. There is a breeze. It will cool your skin.” Emerson eyed an eruption at the end of her nose.
“But—”
“Should there be a part of your person which requires a scratch…” He lowered his voice until the rich sound singed her ears. “You’ve only to ask, Miss Whitehall, and I will comply.”
Odessa stumbled as he pulled her in the direction of the doors leading outside. Large, warm fingers curled around her elbow, holding her firmly. The heat of his hand along her itching skin—
A searing tingle ran up her arm and down her neck, causing Odessa to suck in her breath. None of it related to her rash.
Drat.
“With your permission, of course, Miss Maplehurst.” A lazy grin spread across Emerson’s wide mouth with its full, sensual lips as he turned the full force of his charm, and it was significant, on her aunt.
As if Aunt Lottie, a woman in her sixth decade who looked as if she might swoon, would deny Emerson anything. “Of course, my lord.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Odessa gave Aunt Lottie a pointed look, more plea for help. She didn’t want to be alone with Emerson in the garden. Or anywhere at all. Her reaction to him during this visit was already bordering on dangerous territory.
“The fresh air will help, my dear,” her traitorous aunt replied. “I’m sure of it.”
Odessa held back the scream of frustration threatening to escape her. Her appearance was horrid. Utterly disgusting. She did smell of garlic, if not onion. Her teeth were properly blackened. Small pus-filled pockets decorated her skin.
Why wasn’t he making his excuses to leave?
