Emma was already on her feet. “Yes, I think so.”
But the ladies’ retiring room was deserted, and the tiny knot of worry lodged in Emma’s stomachpulled tighter.
She hesitated in the hallway, unsure whether to return to the ballroom or wander further, but then she heard a soft echo of footsteps at the opposite end of the corridor. Emma hurried after the sound, down the dimly lit corridor. It ended in a pair of glass doors, the darkness swallowing whatever was on the otherside of them.
A cool breeze drifted down the hallway, raising goosebumps on Emma’s arms. Moonlight glinted on the glass, and just beyond it, Emma caught a flash of pale pink skirts before a gentleman in dark evening dress closed the door behind him. He was turned away from her, so Emma couldn’t see his face, but she’d recognize those pretty darkcurls anywhere.
Lord Lovell.
She hurried after them, anxiety quickening her steps.
Surely, Lord Lovell would never dream of harming Lady Flora? Even if hewasthe villain Caroline Francis accused him of being, Flora herself had told Emma she and Lord Lovell were dear friends, as close as a brother and sister. And they were at a ball, steps away from a gathering of a hundred or more guests. No villain, no matter how bold, how vicious, would dare to harm a young ladyhere.
But it was dark, so dark and quiet.…
Emma flew down the corridor to the door, wrenched it open, and ran outside, heedless of the open door behind her, and stepped out onto a narrow stone terrace. There was just enough light for her to see that it let out into a small but lush garden with a series of gravel pathways that seemed to converge at an enormous tree in the center, its leafy, flowing branches dark against the moonlit sky.
Under those spreading branches were a dozen hiding places for a pair of lovers, a rake intent on seduction, or another kind of rake entirely, a rake turned villain, his intent unspeakable, unthinkable.…
Further, a little further and she’d find them—
A faint sound met Emma’s ear, a whisper in the darkness. She froze, listening, then crept forward, peering ahead of her into the gloom. A man’s voice, was it? Low and familiar, and his shadow, nearly invisible, just an outline of a man, but there was enough light for Emma to see him raise his arm, his hand moving toward Flora’s face—
Emma stifled a gasp. Her stomach dropped, and she tensed to run, to leap onhis back, and—
Lord Lovell cradled Flora’s cheek, his touch infinitely gentle as he murmured earnestly to her, histone pleading.
Oh. Not brother and sister, then.
His voice was too low for Emma to hear his words, and she drew closer, the invisible fist around her throat easing its grip when she saw the tender expression on his face.
All of Lord Lovell’s legendary charm had deserted him. There was nothing of the rake about him, nothing of the practiced flirt. His handsome face was somber, the hand on Flora’s cheek trembling slightly. He hadn’t brought Flora out here to harm her, or even to steal a few forbidden kisses in a moonlit garden.
Whatever it was he was whispering to Flora, he meant it withall his heart.
And she—oh, the expression on Flora’s face as she listened to him! It was hope and doubt at once, as if her every wish had come true only for her to wake and discover it had been nothing more than a dream.
Emma lingered for a moment, but then quietly withdrew, and crept back down the pathway in the direction she’d come, unwilling to intrude on such a tender moment. Flora was her friend, and such a violation would beunforgiveable.
No, she’d return to the ladies’ retiring room, and wait for Flora to pass by on her way back to theballroom, and—
“Are you going somewhere, Lady Emma?”
Emma gasped as a gloved hand landed on her wrist and tugged her into a remote corner of the garden. Only the faintest glimmer of moonlight filtered through the thick branches here, but Emma knew at once who’d waylaid her. Lord Lymington was much too large to be mistaken for any of the other, punier lords in London.
She looked up into that severe face, and her mouth went dry. He was intimidating enough in broad daylight, but far more so here in a lonely garden, his face in darkness but for a hint of the stern line of his lips. For an instant Emma considered fleeing, as she was much smaller than he was and could make her way through the branches more quickly, but if she cowered from him now, she’d spend the rest of the season running from him.
“You didn’t answer my question, my lady. I asked whereyou’re going.”
“Iwasgoing to the ladies’ retiring room, Lord Lymington. Fortunately, you’ve caught me out before I did something shocking, likeretire.”
“You’re strolling through a hidden garden, alone in the dark, on your way to the ladies’ retiring room? Strange, but I would have thought the ladies’ retiring room wasinsideLady Swinton’s townhouse.”
Emma glanced nervously behind her, toward the tree in the center of the garden. Shewasn’talone, but she had no intention of setting Lord Lymington on poor Lady Flora, who already had her hands full. “Yes, er…I needed a breath of fresh air, and then I got lost. Thank goodness you found me. Well, if that’s all,my lord, then—”
“You do turn up in the strangest places, don’t you? Tell me, my lady. Does your grandmother know about your midnight frolics?”
Emma went still, her heart giving a sudden lurch in her chest. It wasn’t his words that disturbed her, but a thread of something in his voice. Not a threat, and not his usual commanding arrogance, but something else that made her tingle with foreboding. “Midnight frolics? I don’t understand you, Lord Lymington.”
