“Lady Flora told me about their betrothal. Their betrothal, and her jilting him.” For the first time since she’d sat down, Emma turned to face him. “You didn’t follow Lady Flora to London to coerce her into honoring their betrothal, I hope.”
Samuel stared at her, incredulous. Did she truly believe he was the sort of man who’d attempt to force a young lady to marry against her will? He wasn’t accustomed to explaining himself to anyone, least of all to a lady who crept about brothels under cover of darkness, but he found himself doing just that. “I would never do anything to hurt Lady Flora. I’ve only ever wanted her happiness, and Lovell isher happiness.”
“Presumption indeed, Lord Lymington,” Lady Emma murmured, but a smile took the bite out of her words. “I suppose it’s not entirely out of your character to suppose yourself much wiser than your cousin, and thus better able than he is to choose his wife.”
“If I am presumptuous, it’s because I wish to protect my cousin. If there’s trouble about, Lovellwill find it.”
Samuel expected her to scoff—to remind him, as she’d done once before—that Lovell was an adult, and might make his own decisions, but Lady Emma remained quiet, an expression Samuel couldn’t read on her face.
They both fell silent, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Samuel’s chest had tightened when he recalled the state in which he’d found Lovell when he returned to England, and Lady Emma was still toying with the petals of the rose, as if mesmerized by the drift of them betweenher fingertips.
Finally, Samuel cleared his throat. “Lord Lovell is…impetuous when it comes to matters of the heart. Passionate,even reckless.”
“Indeed? How foolish of him. What has passion to do with matters of the heart, after all?”
An ill-tempered retort threatened, but then Samuel noticed the spark of humor in her eyes, and the hard, tight thing in his chest loosened. “I only mean that Lovell’s apt to leap first and regret it later, and I don’t wish to see him endure a lifetime of suffering because of one foolish choice.”
“Itisfar better to approach lovepractically, isn’t it? I’m certain some romantic poet or other has written verses lauding the rationality of lovers.”
A reluctant grin tugged at Samuel’s lips. “Are you laughing at me, my lady?”
Lady Emma’s lips quirked. “Certainly not, Lord Lymington. Iwouldn’t dare.”
No other lady in London had a smile like hers. It was as if it had some magical quality to loosen his tongue, because the words kept pouring from Samuel’s lips. “If Lovell had kept on the way he was going, it was only a matter of time before he paid for his scandals with a pistol ball to the head.”
Lady Emma went strangely still, but all she said was, “That would have been a very great tragedy, Lord Lymington.”
Greater than she could ever imagine, and so close—so very close—to being a reality. All at once, Samuel’s throat was too dry to speak.
Lady Emma seemed to realize it, and hurried to fill the silence. “It’s fashionable for handsome young gentlemen to affect romantic sensibilities, but Lord Lovell truly is a romantic, isn’t he?”
Despite the ache in his chest, Samuel smiled. “He’s a genuine foolfor love, yes.”
“Rather like Lady Flora. I can’t say I approve of your high-handed tactics, my lord, but there’s no denying you chose well for Lord Lovell. He and Flora are enchanting together.”
“I didn’t choose for him. He chose for himself, years ago, just as Flora did. They chose each other.”
Lady Emma’s brow creased, and she shook her head. “But…I don’t understand. Howdid theyknow?”
Samuel gazed at her, so still, sitting amidst a wild profusion of pink roses. “Know what?” he asked, crossing the tiny courtyard to seat himself beside her on the bench.
“How did they know they were in love with each other?” She swallowed. “I don’t…it doesn’t make sense.”
Samuel frowned. “What doesn’t make sense? Love at first sight?”
“No, just…” She gave a helpless shrug. “Justlove.”
He’d spent more time than he should have gazing at Lady Emma’s face, but he’d never before seen her look as lost as she did now, her blue eyes dark with shadows, her mouth soft and vulnerable, and all at once, he realized hewas seeingher.
Not just a fleeting glimpse this time, but all of her—the wholeof who she was.
The lady beside him wasn’t the dazzling, beautiful Lady Emma, with her flirtatious smile and flashing blue eyes, but who she was underneath the masque. He’d thought her beautiful before, but no glittering masque couldevercompare to the truth of her face.
His gaze lingered on those plump, rosy lips, and he imagined how they would feel beneath his—how it would feel to hold her so close against him every one of her breaths feltlike his own.
She gazed at him, puzzled. “My lord? You look…are you unwell?”
Samuel gazed at her, at her deep blue eyes dark with secrets, at that sweet, red mouth, and he knew he wasn’t well.
