“No?” He traced the bones of her wrist with his thumb. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I’m referring to the Pink Pearl.”
For one frozen moment Emma didn’t move, didn’t breathe, but then she snatched her hand free of Lord Lymington’s grasp. “I-I don’t know what you’re—”
“Do you think I don’t know about your bawdy house romp, Lady Emma?” He caught her chin between his fingers. “I did warn you not to playgames with me.”
That was all it took—those few words from his lips, and Emma’s past came racing headlong into her present with a deafening roar, sweeping all before it. How had she imagined she could ever escape it? You could never be free of a thing that livedinside of you.
He wasn’t hurting her. His touch on her face was careful, gentle even, but Emma’s breath froze in her lungs as surely as if he’d seized her throat. She tried to gasp, but she couldn’tget a breath.
“Lady Emma?” Lord Lymington released her at once, his jaw tensed, something like regret inhis expression.
But by then, it was too late. Helena’s face flashed behind Emma’s eyes, and Amy Townshend and Kitty Yardley, both faceless, but no less real to Emma for it, and then…she saw herself as she’d been five years ago, the night she’d tried to leave the Pink Pearl behind forever, a terrified girl of fifteen with blood gushing from the slashes on her hands, so much blood, but not all of it hers.…
“Emma!” Lord Lymington muttered a curse. His voice was faint, as if he were a great distance away from her, but his hands were warm and strong on her shoulders, holding her almost protectively, until at last Emma was able to gulp in a desperate breath, then another.
The haze of panic receded then, just enough for Emma to whisper, “M-my grandmother is waiting for me in the ballroom, Lord Lymington.”
He hesitated, his dark gaze moving over her, as palpable as a touch, tracking her every move, her every labored breath. Emma’s heart began to race again, and his gaze darted to the pulse fluttering at the baseof her throat.
He dragged a hand through his hair, then stepped back. “Tomorrow, then. I’ll call in the morning. And Lady Emma? Don’t think about trying to evade me.”
Emma was shaking, but she drew herself up and raised her chin. “I don’t runaway from anyone, my lord.”
He stared down at her, a strange look on his face, then without warning he gently brushed his thumb across her lower lip. “No, I don’t imagine you do.”
They stared at each other, the air thick with tension, then he let his hand drop. “Until tomorrow, then.”
Emma didn’t wait for him to say any more, but fled down the pathway, through the corridor and back to the ballroom, where she found Lady Crosby waiting for her.
“Lady Flora has returned to—” Lady Crosby began, but Emma interrupted her.
“Forgive me, my lady, but we mustleave at once.”
Lady Crosby’s eyes went wide, but she didn’t argue. She followed Emma to the entrance of Lady Swinton’s townhouse without a word, where they waited for what felt like years for Daniel to arrive with the carriage.
He handed them in, but lingered by the open door, his sharp gaze on Emma’s face. “All right, lass?”
“Yes, I…yes. I’mwell, Daniel.”
Daniel didn’t look convinced, but he closed the carriage door and leapt onto the box. Emma went limp against the squabs, one hand cradling her aching head, and closed her eyes to easethe throbbing.
“There, dear, that’s better. You rest now.” Lady Crosby said no more, but she lay her hand over Emma’s, and kept it there as they made their way through the streets of London.
At the Royal Academy this afternoon, Emma had lied to Lord Lymington.
She’d told him she wasn’t playing a game, but she was. She’d been playing it since she first set foot in Madame Marchand’s library.
Her mistake was in thinking she was playing it with Lord Lovell.
She wasn’t. She was playing withLord Lymington.
Chapter Six
Samuel wasn’t certain what to expect when he called on Lady Emma thefollowing day.
He hesitated in the hallway outside Lady Crosby’s drawing room door, bracing himself for anything from the unexpectedly painful sight of Lady Emma pale and lost, as she’d been last night, to the scandalous—intrigue, flirtation, a dozen gentleman callers on their knees at her feet, all of them vying for the merest flutter from herwide blue eyes.
What he found was Lady Emma sitting quietly on a settee, alone, wearing a modest gray gown—no vibrant blue today—her fair hair bound back into a severe knot, her fingers working at…
