“I…I beg your pardon.” Samuel shot to his feet, desperate to put some distance between them before he snatched her into his arms again. “I shouldn’t have…”
I shouldn’t have kissed you, touched you.
But he couldn’t make himself say it, couldn’t breathe those words into being, because they were lies. He turned away from her, dragging one long, deep breath after another into his lungs until he’d calmed the demands of his body, and couldface her again.
“Lady Emma, I—”
She hadn’t moved. She was sitting on the stone bench where he’d left her, the long locks of hair he’d loosened in disheveled curls on her shoulders, her fingertips pressed to her reddened lips, the usual spark of mischief in her blue eyes gone, and in its place…
Confusion. Distress.
Dear God, what had he done?
A dull, throbbing ache lodged under his breastbone. He wasn’t aware of moving, but the next thing he knew he was seated on the bench beside her again, her slender hand caught in his. “You’re very pale, my lady.”
“Am I?” A shaky smile crossed her lips, but she looked lost, all her usual playful confidence vanished.
“You’re unwell. Please permit me to take you to your grandmother.”
She nodded. “I…yes. Perhaps that would be best.” Samuel waited while she tidied her hair and straightened her skirts. They didn’t speak as he led her from the private rose garden back toward the terrace. The picknickers were frolicking on the lawn beyond it, seated on cushions with white cloths spread before them.
Samuel wasn’t certain how long they’d been gone, but long enough so Lady Crosby was waiting for them. When she saw Lady Emma’s face she shot to her feet, her own cheeks going pale. “Emma? My dear child, what’s the matter?”
Samuel released Emma’s arm, and turned her over to her grandmother. “Too muchsun, perhaps.”
Too much of something, certainly.
“Come, dearest. Some lemonade will set you to rights again, or perhaps a rest in Lady Tremaine’s drawing room.” Lady Crosby led her granddaughter away, still fussing and fretting over her.
Samuel watched them go, a strange heaviness near his heart. He spent the next hour waiting on his mother and aunt and trying to put the memory of Lady Emma’s swollen lips and pale facefrom his mind.
When he could no longer help himself, and did look for her again, she was gone.
Chapter Ten
“Someone’s been telling lies,” Emma announced, as soon as she and Lady Crosby were settled in the carriage and on their way tothe Pink Pearl.
Lady Crosby had looked inclined to doze, but her ladyship did love intrigue, and she perked up at once at Emma’s words. “Have they indeed, dear? Who?”
“I’m…not certain yet.” Notentirelycertain, no, but it was either Lady Flora or Caroline Francis, and she was inclined to suspect the latter. What reason did Flora have to lie? She didn’t know Caroline had accused Lord Lovell of a heinous crime, so she had no reason to lie to protect him.
Of course, memory could be a tricky, deceptive thing, but a lady as in love as Flora was with Lord Lovell didn’t mistake the month, or even the day he’d been shot in a duel, or miscalculate the weeks he’d spent lying in his bed, fighting for his life.
No, it was much more likely it was Caroline who was lying, or at the very least, been careless with her dates, though it would seem a lady who’d accused a man of kidnapping two of her fellow servants before he seduced and ruined her might be relied upon to be certain about when those events had taken place.
It was all very strange.
If Carolinehadlied, the question was, why had she done it, and who stood to benefit from that lie? Whoever it was, they seemed to be going to great lengths to implicate Lord Lovell in the crime, and it looked as if Caroline was helping them do it.
Caroline Francis owed her an explanation, and Emma would have it, tonight.
“You appear to have recovered from your fatigue, at any rate.” Lady Crosby cast her a shrewd glance. “You were quite feeble when you returned from your walk with Lord Lymington, but you look to be in the pinkof health now.”
“I wouldn’t saypink, precisely.” Emma squirmed under Lady Crosby’s knowing gaze. “I, ah, I do feel better, however.” And if she could keep herself from dwelling on that kiss, she’d be better still.
“Such a miraculous recovery.” Lady Crosby’s eyeswere twinkling.
Emma’s face heated. She hadn’t been feigning her indisposition when she returned from the rose garden with Lord Lymington. His kiss had scattered her wits like leaves in an autumn breeze, and left her reeling.
