“Emma.” He gathered her close, holding her against his hard, broad chest as his lips closed over hers in one drugging kiss after another, everywhere he could reach, her skin leaping to attention under the caress of his mouth, as if it had come alive for the first time under his touch. His lips ghosted over the curve of her shoulder to her collarbone, shivers rising in their wake. He lingered at the hollow of her throat, his teasing caresses making her gasp before he dropped a string of sweet kisses over her chin and jaw.
His hands were shaking when he drew back at last and looked into her eyes. “You don’t need to hide your scars, Emma. Not from me, and notfrom anyone.”
He didn’t give her a chance to answer him before he took her lips again, and Emma didn’t allow herself to think of anything but the feel of his hungry mouth on hers, his tongue prodding gently at the seam of her lips. She never even thought to refuse him, but opened for him at once, her hands coming up to rest on his chest as if touching him were the most natural thing in the world.
“You even taste like vanilla.” His voice was low and husky, his lips curving against hers in a smile Emma knew was sweet, because she could taste it on his lips.
He wrapped his hands around her waist, squeezing gently as he eased closer, the long, hard length of his thigh brushing against hers. His gaze moved over her face, and then, with one quick flick of his fingers, he plucked at the blue ribbon woven into the locks of her hair.
Dozens of pins were hiding under the simple ribbon, all of them poking into her head and holding the heavy waves in place. Emma raised a hand to her head. “Those absurd curls took hours to pin in place, my lord.”
He let out a low chuckle. “I beg your pardon, madam. Does it soothe your injured feelings if I confess removing your ribbon didn’t have the resultI’d hoped for?”
“Hmmm. Perhaps it would. What did you intend?”
He kissed her temple, then pressed his mouth to her ear. “For your hair to fall in a cascade around your shoulders, of course.” He gave one of the offending locks a gentle tug. “If I’d known it would refuse, I wouldn’t have bothered with the ribbon at all. Still,” he murmured, his voice lowering to a deep drawl as he toyed with the loose wave in his fingers. “It wasn’t an entirelywasted effort.”
He touched the errant curl to his lips, his eyes darkening as he took in the heightened color in her cheeks, the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat. “The first time I saw you at Almack’s, the chandeliers turned your hair to pale gold, like a halo around your head.”
Emma gazed at him, mesmerized by his warm eyes, his husky voice.
“Then I heard your voice again, and do you know what my first thought was, Emma?”
Emma swallowed. “That you’d heard myvoice before?”
“No. Thatshouldhave been my first thought, but instead, all I could think was that yours was the only face I could ever imagine living up to the promiseof that voice.”
Emma caught her breath as his words moved through her, into the empty, aching place that lived inside her heart. Men had paid her compliments before, had extolled the beauties of her face, her blue eyes, but their words had never meant anything to Emma. When she’d looked at her reflection in the glass, she’d only ever seen ugliness looking back at her.
But Samuel’s words touched her in a way no man’s words ever had before, as if through his eyes she could at last see herself as she really was. Not as beautiful, but as…real.
Emma couldn’t speak, but she rested her hands on his chest, her palms flat against his waistcoat so she might feel the beat of his heart against her palm, the rise and fall of his chest with his everyragged breath.
The two of them remained like that for long, quiet moments, their breath mingling, until Samuel let out a resigned sigh, and eased her from his lap onto the carriage bench. He didn’t kiss her again after that, but he held her hand cradled in his as his coachman drove them through the dark streets of London.
He made no move to release her when the carriage came to a stop in front of Lady Crosby’s townhouse, and Emma made no move to pull away. Her hand felt small wrapped up in his much larger one, and she realized with a start that he was the only man she’d ever known who madeher feel safe.
Or perhaps for the first time ever, she just felt like herself.
Finally, he stirred, and opened the carriage door. He assisted her down, and escorted her to the entrance of the townhouse. “Good night, my lady,” he murmured, pressing a soft, final kiss to the inside of her wrist.
He turned to go, but Emma stopped him with a hand on his arm. “As soon as Helena’s free of Madame Marchand, she’ll tell you all she knows about Caroline Francis. I won’t go back on my word to you, Samuel.”
He looked down at her, his eyes soft. “I know you won’t.”
The entryway was dark and silent when Emma entered, but she heard footsteps coming down the hallway as she closed the door behind her, and a moment later, Daniel appeared. “Helena, lass? Didyou fetch her?”
“No.” At mention of Helena, the warmth Samuel had kindled inside Emma cooled to a dull chill. “Madame Marchand put a stop to it before I could get Helena out.”
Daniel grunted. “Lady Clifford, then?”
Emma didn’t like to involve Lady Clifford, but there was no way she’d leave Helena at the Pink Pearl to face Madame Marchand’s wrath. She shuddered as she recalled the way Madame had glared at Helena, the coldness in her voice when she’d ordered Helena out of the room.
“Yes, I think we must.” Madame Marchand wouldn’t relinquish Helena easily, but shewouldrelinquish her. Even Madame didn’t have the courage to refuse Lady Clifford. “You’ll go?”
“Aye.” Daniel gave Emma’s shoulder an awkward pat in a rare show of affection, then he was gone, the heavy thud of his boots on the stone steps echoingin Emma’s ears.
Chapter Fourteen
