He raised her hand to his lips, but stopped short of touching them to her glove. “Are there any other young ladies in London aside from you, Lady Emma? If so, I didn’t notice them.”
Emma laughed, the bright sound ringing in the close chamber. Goodness, hewasa practiced flirt, wasn’t he? If she were the sweet young innocent she was pretending to be, it would never occur to her this was merely a game to him, and her heart would be in his possession already.
But she wasn’t an innocent. She was a performer, just as Lord Lovell was. Emma gave him a prim look, and withdrew her hand from his. “Hush, Lord Lovell. You’re adreadful liar.”
“How can you say so?” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Such cruelty, Lady Emma! Your accusations wound me.”
“Nonsense. You’ll be betrothed to some young lady or other before the end of the season, and won’t spare me another glance.” My, how the young ladies’ tears would flow when Lord Lovell’s heart was taken. London would be drowned in them.
“Betrothed?Heavens, what an accusation. I assure you, I’m not seeking any such thing. Why, the season’s only just begun, my lady, and already you have me caught in the parson’s mousetrap.” Lord Lovell laughed, but it rang a bit hollow. “I demand to know which lady I’m meant to be marrying, and where you heard such a scandalous falsehood.”
Emma blinked. Well, there was nothing rehearsed aboutthatreaction. “Never, my lord. I know when to hold my tongue.”
Such a vehement protest against the parson’s mousetrap made Emma wonder if Lord Lovell had one foot caught in it already. Perhaps Lord Lymington was telling the truth about his cousin’s affections being already engaged.
She couldn’t ask, of course. Proper young ladies didn’t quiz gentlemen about courtships, betrothals, or their mistresses. Though thatwasrather splitting hairs, since she did intend to quiz him about ruining, kidnapping, and possibly murdering his aunt’s housemaids.
But not today.
“If I were to have my own portrait painted, I’d like it to be done like this one.” Emma paused in front of Reynolds’s portrait of the courtesan Emily Warren as Thaïs. “See how commanding she looks with her torch? I believe I’d like to carry a torch and stride triumphantly through the flames, asshe does here.”
“You must—nay, youwillbe painted, Lady Emma, for what artist could resist a face as perfect as yours? You must be painted as Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty—”
“Not Aphrodite, Lovell,” said a deep voice from behind them. “I think Lady Emma is more like Athena, the goddess of warcraft.”
Lord Lovell whirled around. “Lymington! I, ah…was just on my way tocome find you.”
“I’ve no doubtof it, cousin.”
Lovell was flustered at Lord Lymington’s sudden appearance, but Emma wasn’t. She’d known all along he’d sniff them out sooner or later. “Good afternoon, Lord Lymington. I thought you must be here somewhere.”
Lord Lymington offered her a polite bow, not taking his eyes off her, even as he addressed his cousin. “Your mother is fatigued, Lovell, and ready to return home.”
“Yes, of course.” A guilty flush rose to Lord Lovell’s cheeks, but he took a moment to raise Emma’s hand to his lips. “Remember your promise, Lady Emma, about the first two dances at tonight’s ball.” With that, he went off to do his cousin’s bidding.
“Emma, my dear?” Lady Crosby had kept to her bench while Emma flirted with Lovell, but at Lord Lymington’s appearance her brows furrowed with concern, and she half rosefrom her seat.
As well she might. Lord Lymington was a good deal more concerning than his cousin—it was rather like the difference between a playful kitten and aravenous lion.
“It’s all right, Grandmother.” Emma’s gaze remained fixed on the painting before her. “Do keep resting. I’ll fetch you once I’ve finished withthe portraits.”
Lord Lymington didn’t follow his cousin, but kept his place beside Emma. She could feel his dark gaze on the side of her face like a touch, but she remained silent, studying the painting before them, and waiting.
“Do you have an interest in courtesans, Lady Emma?” Lord Lymington drawled, once Lord Lovell’s footsteps had faded to silence.
And just like that, all of Emma’s careful schemes to manage Lord Lymington vanished in a burst of annoyance. “Do you have aquarrelwith courtesans, Lord Lymington?”
Naturally, he had a quarrel with courtesans, just like every other gentleman did. Once they’d finished with them, that is. Such was the hypocrisy of England’s privileged class. One would think she’d be used to it by now, but perhaps shenever would be.
He shrugged. “Not with courtesans, no, though I do have a quarrel with the men who turn into brutes the moment they step foot inside a brothel.”
Emma had been studying the portrait of Emily Warren, but she jerked her attention to Lord Lymington, and was taken aback to see his face had darkened with a scowl. “I’m surprised to hear you say so, my lord. Gentlemen tend to overlook their own culpability in their dealings with bawdsand brothels.”
“Some gentlemen overlook their culpability in all their dealings, Lady Emma, but not every gentleman. A gentleman may choose not to visit a courtesan, whereas most courtesans don’t choose to become one. If thereisany wrongdoing in the practice, it lies with those who have the choice.”
Choice. Yes, that was a luxury, indeed.
Emma thought of Helena, and Madame Marchand and Lord Peabody, and bitterness swelled in her chest, the taste of it coating her tongue, and she turned back to the portrait to hide her expression from Lord Lymington. “Nearly every gentleman in London frequents courtesans, my lord. None of them are much inclined to chastise themselves for it.”
