“Hoping to entice Phillips into a compromising situation on the terrace?”
Odessa tugged back on her arm, unsettled he’d guessed so precisely at her intentions.
“You insufferable…titleddandy. He is twice the man you are. At least Phillips is enticed by more than my dowry.”
“Fair enough,” Emerson snarled back at her as a wash of dark hair fell over his brow. The green lingering in the depths of his eyes gleamed like shards of emeralds. “Though I’m not sure that is the case.”
Odessa tilted her chin up at him, refusing to be intimidated. “I need not explain myself to you, my lord.”
Emerson, leaned in, sniffing deliberately along the exposed skin of her neck. He spun Odessa about as the musicians began to play. Clumsily, nearly tripping over his own feet. “I miss the stench of onion laced with garlic and tar. Your signature scent, though I doubt Phillips is familiar.”
“You had no reason to—threaten Captain Phillips.”
“I did no such thing, Miss Whitehall. I merely asked if he knew my brother.”
“Clearly he had and did not recall him with fondness.”
“No, only a great deal of fear. Malcolm is an expert marksman. I think his discharge was mostly honorable.” Emerson spun her forcefully.
Odessa’s skirts billowed out and she lost her balance. Fingers she knew to be wonderfully callused and scarred beneath their polite gloves pressed into her waist.
“Such a devious creature, aren’t you?”
“You misled me.” Odessa turned away. Her eyes kept landing on the scruff of hair along his jaw, a light dusting which would, should it come in contact with her skin, chafe in the most delicious manner.
“Imisleadyou?” A wicked sound came from him, one that raised the hair on her arms. “Oh, that’s rich, Miss Whitehall.”
“You claimed on your last visit, my lord, that you would be in the country,” she said, though it wasn’t much of a defense given her own actions.
“And you’ve been burping onion on me, swathed in a great deal of padding.” The glints of green in his eyes trailed down over her breasts with shocking assessment. Blatantly sexual in nature. No man had ever regarded her with such…heat.
Her breasts, hidden beneath layers of cotton and silk, balked at their restraint. The tips of her nipples grew taut, tightening beneath Emerson’s frank appraisal.
Odessa missed a step.
This won’t do at all.
“Return me to my aunt, if you please, my lord. My temples ache terribly both from your inept dancing and having been forced into conversation with you. If you are expecting an apology from me, my lord, you will wait a lifetime.”
Emerson gave her a jerky spin, stepping on her toe.
Odessa winced. “You’reterribleat this.”
“I haven’t had much practice; I’ll be the first to admit to it. I wasn’t invited to many dances at Dunnings.” A tiny grimace crossed his mouth as he tried to turn her properly. “You wasted all that effort on Phillips. Going about padded in wool, wearing tar on your teeth, eating onions, and doing whatever it was you did to cause the rash, so I would beg off and you could wedhim?”
Another clumsy spin.
“I find myself insulted.” Emerson stumbled through another step, barely missing her left foot. “Arms like sticks. Probably struggles to wield his sword. I suppose he must sit a horse well. Surely, you could have chosen someone better to bestow your affections on.”
Odessa fumed, unwilling to look at him. “What do you care, my lord? Your only interest in me is the money attached to my skirts. How long have you known?” she demanded.
“Long enough to be annoyed at your ridiculous subterfuge. Only the rash was authentic. All those tiny sores. You looked like a victim of the pox.”
“I was hoping for leper.”
“Splendid. I’m sure you’ve read up on all sorts of horrid, disfiguring diseases, leprosy included. Where did you come by such a strange hobby, Miss Whitehall?”
“I find such things noteworthy. I opened the newspaper one day to an account of a mysterious creature lurking about the woods in the Peak District. Some said it was a devil, some the malformed son of a farmer’s wife who sought revenge on his oppressors.”
