His eyes widened, and she knew she’d guessed correctly.
She held out one arm. “I helped you before. I’m not going to collapse if you lean on me a little. And the sooner you get off that foot again, the better.”
“Very well,” he grumbled. He was so very proud. “But I refuse to sit idle in my chamber.”
She had to pinch her mouth together to keep from laughing at that, which, combined with his scowl, made him seem almost boyish.
And when he reached for her arm, Priscilla ducked instead and wrapped hers around his waist.
She could just as easily ask the stable master to assist him or send for his cousin Lord Bloodstone or even Captain Edgeworth. But Leroy was busy with the horses, and Emerson really did need to get off his foot as soon as possible.
“Who are you trying to fool?” Priscilla’s conscience taunted her, which sounded oddly similar to Chloe’s voice. “And this has absolutely nothing to do with you wanting to be near him a little longer? With wanting his arm around you?”
“You’re stronger than you look,” Emerson said as the two of them limped back toward Cliffhouse.
“More compliments?” She was only a little breathless, and that wasn’t entirely due to her exertions.
“Always.”
Being close to him caused her heart to swell and her skin to tingle, but it was also familiar and fitting—like finding a lost piece of a puzzle. If left up to her, she’d never leave his side.
An icy darkness pricked the back of her neck.
Thinking like this was only going to make matters worse. Priscilla knew this. She fully comprehended the hopelessness of such thoughts. And yet… She forced herself to remember why.
It is hopeless because he thinks I’m another woman.
It’s hopeless because if or when he ever discovers the truth, he will hate me for deceiving him.
She, not Emerson, was the villain in all this. She would not fool herself into blaming Allison, Victoria, or even Miss Primm. Priscilla had had a choice, and she’d chosen to go along with it.
Nine more days, and then she could make her escape.
Suddenly those nine days stretched bittersweet before her. Bitter, because for those nine days, she would have to go on pretending to be a debutante, telling lie upon lie upon lie…
But sweet because she would spend them with him, hearing his voice, laughing with him, touching him—kissing him?
She shook her head. The bitterness would last far longer in the end. Because, when this was over, whether she succeeded or failed, he’d be out of her life forever.
And forever was going to feel like a very, very long time.
Glances
Chloe’s dedication to chaperoning Priscilla, the eagerness of Emerson’s sisters to befriend her, and Emerson’s mother’s attentiveness all combined to prevent the not-quite-betrothed couple from being alone as the house party played out.
And of course, Emerson, stubborn man that he was, refused to retreat to his chamber again. Relying upon an elegantly carved cane and avoiding the more strenuous activities, he managed to mingle with his mother’s guests and play the part of host rather well.
As promised, he’d taken Priscilla riding along the cliffs the following day, but at least a dozen others had joined them. Which, of course, included other attractive young ladies.
Priscilla hadn’t mind at all when one of the other young women, a distant cousin, guided her horse to ride alongside the magnificent Arturo and then proceeded to flirt outrageously with his rider.
And that wasn’t irritation she experienced when Emerson threw back his head to laugh at something the young lady said.
Priscilla wasn’t at all jealous. I’m not!
The Earl of Hardwood was kind and considerate to all of his mother’s guests. It was his nature.
As though sensing her watching him, he’d turned and caught her stare, holding it. The silent exchange was not the first time they’d shared such glances.
