Emma turned her face. “I willnotcompromise myself and betray him by forcing him into a union he does not desire.”
“Betray him?” her mother repeated, her expression shocked. “My dear, you must not be so naïve. He may pretend to be something heroic in here, but a man like that would just as soon cut your throat as save you, no matter what he pretends right now. You are at war and you must do anything to win.”
Emma yanked away from her. “Listen to me, Mama. I willnotcompromise myself and force his hand. Stop asking me to do so.”
Her mother huffed out a breath. “Then you doom us both.”
With that she hustled back into the house. Emma was ready to follow when she caught a flutter of movement from the dark edge of the terrace. She turned toward it, heart pounding, and watched as James stepped out of the shadows. The heart that had been pounding now sank as she watched him come toward her, his face twisted with emotion, his gaze focused entirely too hard on hers.
“How much did you hear?”
“Enough,” he said softly. He said nothing else, but bent his head and kissed her. While his other kisses had possessed her, claimed her, this one was gentle. Soothing, and she sank into it because she needed his strength and his support in that moment.
When he pulled away, she let out a shuddering sigh. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “Wewillwork this out, Emma.”
She stared up at him, his handsome face lined with worry. She was falling in love with him. She knew that. Perhaps she’d alwaysbeena little in love with him. It explained why his mere presence made her nervous. But that had been an unrequited feeling, a silly notion she’d never fully believed was possible. Men like him didn’t want women like her. She’d accepted that.
But now the world was turned over on its head. James Rylon, Duke of Abernathe,didwant her. He proved that every time he touched her. It was too easy to be lulled into the possibility that friendship and desire could turn to love when they wouldn’t. Not for him.
He would never allow that.
She pressed her shoulders back and stepped away from him. “My mother is wrong about a good many things, James. But in one thing, she is correct. Thisisa war. Not with you, not in the way she believes. But a war it still is. And I must stop waiting for something to happen, waiting to be saved. In the end, I must fight it for myself. Otherwise I will end up a causality. And I might very well drag you down with me.”
He stared at her. “What are you saying?”
“It’s time for me to fight my own battles,” she whispered, wishing her words sounded as brave as she wanted them to. Wishing her heart felt brave, too. “You have positioned me on the battlefield, after all. It is time for me to act. Good—good night, James.”
She held his gaze for a long moment and then turned away. He whispered her name. It floated to her on the wind and she nearly turned back. Nearly rushed back into his arms where she most certainly did not belong.
But somehow she found the strength not to. She kept walking, went inside and surveyed the crowd. She observed each eligible man in attendance, analyzing them, and at last she found her mark. With a smile that did not reflect the loss she felt in her soul, she strode across the room to Meg.
Her friend smiled as she reached her. “Enjoying the night air?”
Emma tried not to think of her stolen moments on the terrace with James. The moment when she’d realized she had to let him go. “It was a bit cold outside, actually. Meg, can you do me a favor?”
Meg nodded. “Anything in the world, Emma. You know that.”
Emma squeezed her hand, grateful for the kindness of this woman who she had grown to adore in the few weeks they had been friends. “Yes, I do know. Will you introduce me to Mr. Middleton?”
Meg blinked a few times and both women looked across the room to the gentleman in question. He was older than Emma by at least fifteen years, but his age did not hang on him like an ill-fitting vest as it did with many men. He was of a similar rank to her own father, though he had taken his connections and parlayed them into minor financial success and respectability. He had also lost his wife three years before and had two children.
In short, he was not reaching too high like she had been with Abernathe, nor too low.
And when Emma looked at him, she felt nothing.
“Emma,” Meg breathed. “What about my brother?”
Emma caught herself before she let out a pained gasp. She refused to meet Meg’s eyes as she said, “Abernathe has helped me a great deal, but I know I must take these next steps myself. I can’t wait around for someone else to save me.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” Meg whispered.
Emma turned toward her friend. “I know it isn’t. But James…he cannot give me what I need. I’m not even sure he would want to. And no matter what I think or feel, I cannot be so foolish as to pretend I have all the time or choices in the world.”
Meg bent her head. “You are trapped.”
“Yes.” Emma nodded. “And I must make the best of it.”
