Chapter Three
EMILIA STOOD TO ONEside of the candlelight-bathed foyer of Lady Peddington’s School. She studied the carved wood panels and endeavored to project serene confidence. She knew it was improper, perhaps even brazen, to lurk in the foyer in wait of a man, but she dared not enter the ballroom without her protector.
That he would arrive, she had no doubt. That afternoon, one of the school’s maids, Mary, had delivered a bouquet of pink gillyflowers to Emilia’s room. With the flowers was a note that read,Wear these in your hair tonight - SS.As she’d sent a sketch of herself, the flowers were an insult to her artistic skills, but one she would willingly swallow to have someone by her side to fend off another kiss from Viscount Dunreid.
Each time the school’s stone-faced butler opened the ornate front door to admit more gentlemen, hope coursed through her. Any one of them could be her savior, Sir Stirling James. Each time said gentleman walked past without slowing, her heart fell.
Had she missed him? Earlier, Emilia had glimpsed Viscount Dunreid as he ascended the steps and she ducked into the cloakroom once, much to the shock of the footmen. She hadn’t dared come out for several long moments, until multiple cloaks, hats and greatcoats had been stowed. Perhaps Sir Stirling had entered on the viscount’s heels?
Emilia patted the gillyflowers artfully arranged among her blond ringlets and suppressed a sigh. The influx of gentlemen had waned, and none had approached her yet. If she’d missed Sir Stirling, she would have to enter the ballroom to seek him. That risked Dunreid finding her first.
The butler stepped back from the small window he peered out and pulled open the door with a bow. In sauntered four more gentlemen. They handed coats, walking canes and hats to the footman, who handed them to another, to be placed in the cloakroom behind the artfully hidden door built into the paneling.
Hope sprang to life within her as the men turned to cross the foyer. Emilia dropped her gaze demurely to the inlaid floor in an attempt to be noticeable but not noticed. She didn’t want to attract the wrong sort of attention, after all.
She kept her gaze downcast as four pairs of polished shoes passed by. None slowed. None turned toward her. The gentlemen chatted amiable, obviously friends. Laughter drifted down the hall in their wake, followed by strands of music. The dancing had begun. Somewhere in the ballroom, her three dearest friends likely clustered together, wondering at her odd behavior of late and her absence.
A twinge of guilt stabbed at the thought of them, clad in their finest gowns, clustered near a wall in hopes a gentleman would ask them to dance. Her three friends hadn’t received flowers, and to inquire if they’d received some other assistance risked breaking her promise to Missus Millview. Unsure she could witness her friends’ despair at their lack of partners without confessing, she avoided them.
“Hiding from me, Miss Glasbarr?” a silken masculine voice said behind her.
Emilia stiffened. Dunreid. He’d found her. She remained facing the door. Perhaps her stiff posture and refusal to turn would discourage him.
He stepped up behind her, too close. His overly-musky cologne seared her nostrils. Heat from his body caused her skin to crawl, as if spiders tiptoed across her shoulders. She looked to the servants, but they’d gone still, gazes locked ahead. With a heartsick sensation, she realized they couldn’t stop the viscount, no matter how he elected to torment her.
“You’ve already given me far more sport than my last mistress.” He exhaled the words against the back of her neck with hot, sticky breath.
Emilia suppressed a shudder.
A gloved finger slid along her skin. “Such an elegant neck shouldn’t go unadorned, and won’t once you’re mine. My pockets are deep and I’m not stingy. I know how to reward a woman who pleases me.”
She stepped away to gain much needed space, then faced him. She tilted up her chin. “I shall never please ye, my lord.”
His smile was warped with condescension. “You already do.”
“No, some idea you have of me does, butInever shall.” She bit off the honorific he clearly didn’t deserve.
His gaze narrowed. He reached for her arm. Emilia stepped back. Dunreid’s expression went flat with displeasure. A long stride brought him to her, her wrist captured before she had time to retreat farther.
Behind her, the servants moved, but not to come to her aid. Rather, toward the foyer door, which she could hear the butler open. She prayed Sir Stirling would enter. She tugged against Dunreid. Her efforts only tightened his grip.
A look of condescension on his face, he yanked her toward him. “Don’t forget what I told you.” His voice was low, touched with vitriol. “No one else will have you. They won’t dare dance with you. You have no choice. It’s me, or no man.”
“Then I’ll die an old maid,” she hissed.
“Now, that would be a shame,” a man’s voice said.
Dunreid’s gaze snapped toward a spot over Emilia’s left shoulder. Dislike flickered in his eyes. He released her with a shove. Emilia stumbled back. Strong hands caught her by the waist and kept her upright. They dropped away as a man stepped up beside her.
Heart pounding, Emilia glanced at her savior askance, almost afraid to take her eyes from Dunreid, lest he put his hands on her again. Was this finally Sir Stirling James, come to save her? She certainly hoped so.
He was taller than Dunreid by several inches, and lean. Even out of the corner of her eye, she noticed his sculpted features, the impression of stone made stronger by the rigid set of his jaw. The cut of his dark hair, shorter than was fashionable, suited him. In every other way, from the gleaming diamond pin in his cravat to his perfectly tailored black tailcoat, he was impeccably modish.
Dunreid pulled his lips into the semblance of a smile. “Banbrook, how good to see you. Come to find a young lady to jilt you? Again.”
Banbrook? Jilt him again? Not Sir Stirling, then.
“Not this time, Dunreid.” Mister Banbrook’s voice was as hard as his countenance. “I’ve simply come to thwart you.”
