Twenty-seven years later
As the strains of a waltz emerged from the orchestra, Miss Emma Kent took leave of her sister-in-law Marianne, who was chaperoning her this evening, and wove through the mirrored ballroom. Her purpose wasn’t to find a dance partner. With all the ladies eagerly convening like a kaleidoscope of butterflies upon the dance floor, she saw a prime opportunity to visit the necessary without waiting in line.
Born and bred in the country, she was practical by nature. As she nudged a path through the heavily perfumed throng, she thought—not for the first time—that the night’s endeavor was rather pointless. She didn’t belong here amongst the champagne fountains and rarefied guests. Not only did she lack the requisite blue blood, she was also too old, too independent, and too unsophisticated to attract a husband.
These were facts and did not bother her overmuch. She knew her strengths: having managed a cottage and four unruly siblings since the age of thirteen, she was resourceful, efficient, and competent in an array of skills. She loved her family dearly and had never met a man who’d made her want to relinquish her place there—or her firmly established autonomy.
Hence, marriage was not a top priority.
She had bigger, better plans.
The orchestra began to crescendo, eliciting a swell of emotion beneath her peach silk bodice. Her papa had passed over a year ago, and she still missed him with every fiber of her being. As the village schoolmaster, Samuel Kent had dedicated his life to educating the young minds of Chudleigh Crest, and he’d been the wisest man she’d ever known.
It is not living that matters, he’d taught her and her siblings,but living rightly. Follow the wisdom of your heart, and it will lead you to the truth.
The twirling dancers and opulent surroundings faded as Emma contemplated how to put her papa’s moral philosophy into action.
After their father’s death, her eldest half-brother Ambrose had insisted on moving her and their younger siblings from Chudleigh Crest to London. Emma knew that he wanted to give them opportunities not found in the country. Marianne, Ambrose’s beloved wife, had been a wealthy baroness prior to marrying into the middling class Kent family, and she was more than happy to use her social cache to give her husband’s younger siblingsentréeinto theton.
Marianne had taken them in hand, polished them up. She’d put in effort and expense, and Emma hadn’t the heart to dissuade her sister-in-law’s good intentions or puncture the bubbling excitement of her younger sisters Dorothea, Violet, and Polly, who’d taken to city life like ducks to water. Tonight was Emma’s first outing in thebeau monde, and she was supposed to set a good example for her sisters, who would soon be introduced to Society as well.
She didn’t want to let her family down... but she didn’t want to be here either. For she’d already discovered her true passion; the problem was how to gain her older brother’s support for her plans. As she contemplated the conundrum, she passed through the arched entryway and suddenly tripped, gasping as she hurtled forward. She braced for impact—collided with something firm and solid...
Blinking, she found herself staring up at the countenance of a ruthless god.
She was far from being a fanciful sort, yet there was no other way to describe the stranger with the dark, gleaming black hair and face sculpted with savage perfection. He looked to be in his thirties, his edges chiseled by jaded experience. He had high cheekbones, a blade of a nose, his chin and jaw arrogantly jutting. Beneath the dark slashes of his brows, his eyes were a startling shade of silvery jade, fringed by the thickest, longest eyelashes she’d ever seen on a gentleman. She stared, mesmerized.
Those arresting eyes narrowed. The brooding mouth twisted into a cynical smile.
“If you wanted to dance, pet, you might try asking.”
The deep, mocking tones held a faint lilt, something not entirely English. Then the words themselves penetrated her dazed brain. With dawning horror, Emma realized that she’d literally fallen into the stranger’s arms—and he thought she’d done soon purpose. That she was deliberately throwing herself at him!
Mortified, she tried to disentangle herself. “Let me go.”
“Easy there,” he drawled.
His scent permeated her senses, a blend of wood spice and soap that was ineffably masculine. His muscular arms surrounded her, held her closer than any man ever had. Placing her hands against his silver grey waistcoat, she pushed to no avail. Even through the layers of fabric, his chest felt as hard and unyielding as a slab of marble.
Immobilized, she became aware of his heartbeat, the strong rhythm surging beneath her palm. Its dominant cadence flowed into her, overtaking her own wild pulse, harnessing it. Her eyes drew to the sensual curve of his mouth, and her insides gave a strange flutter. Liquid awareness rushed from her center.
With growing panic, she struggled and said, “Release me at once!”
“If you insist.”
His hold loosened at the same time that she shoved against him with all her might. She toppled backward in a cascade of silk, landing with a thud on the hallway floor. The wind knocked out of her, she tried to gather her breath and the remnants of her dignity.
“Need help?” he inquired.
He towered over her, his broad shoulders tapering to a lean torso and narrow hips. Nary a wrinkle marred his elegant black and white evening wear. His cravat was a study in perfection, a large emerald winking in its snowy folds.
Flustered, she swatted a loose dark curl out of her eyes. “Not from the likes of you.”
His expression turned sardonic. “Just so you know, these ploys of yours have been tried before, and they won’t work with me. I don’t play with innocent misses. The untied slipper ribbon?” He glanced pointedly at her left slipper, where the peach satin lace indeed dangled undone. “’Tis the oldest debutante trick in the book, sweet.”
His mind-boggling arrogance rendered her speechless. Before she could unknot her tongue to give him a proper set down, he swept her a mocking bow, and his tall, virile form disappeared into the ballroom.
Emma stared after him.Unbelievable.
