“Let me have a look at you, my dear.” Lady Crosby took both of Emma’s hands in hers and stood back to consider her. “It was rather brilliant of you to adopt that shade of blue for the season. It’s lovely on you. If I could coax that frown from your pretty face, I think youjust might do.”
“Am I frowning?” Emma peeked into the pier glass, and found a blue-eyed lady with a creased brow and downturned mouth staring back at her. “I didn’t realize.”
“You’ve been frowning since you woke this morning, my dear—in between frequent dreamy smiles, that is. I do believe I’ve strained my neck, trying to keep pace with your moods.” Lady Crosby regarded her with kind brown eyes. “Did, ah…did something happen with Lord Lymington last night?”
Emma opened her mouth to deny that Samuel—that is, Lord Lymington—had a thing to do with it, but she couldn’t make the lie leave her lips.Thathad never happened before. Given the dozens of lies she’d be obliged to tell before this business was done, it was worrying, indeed.
It was all Samuel’s fault, with his lovely words last night, and his even lovelier kisses. Emma had caught herself with her fingers pressed to her mouth dozens of times today, recalling the delirious brush of his lips against hers, his whispered words in her ear.
Who would have guessed such a gruff gentleman hid such generous passion, such gentle tenderness under his stern appearance? The sweetness of him, the sincerity, the unexpected kindness…
Emma sucked in a trembling breath. Flora had warned her Samuel wasn’t at all the haughty lord he appeared to be at first. Emma would have done well tolisten to her.
How had Flora put it, again, that first night at Almack’s?
He’s blunt, but he rathergrows on one.…
That was all well and good, but it had never occurred to Emma he might grow onher.
No gentleman ever had before, yethere they were.
Samuel had been creeping his way under her skin since their dance together the first night of the season. He’d been unforgivably rude to her that night, every inch the high-handed, arrogant marquess, but it seemed shelikedarrogant marquesses, because she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since.
She’d tried over and over to convince herself Lord Lymington wasn’t any different than any other gentleman, but it was no use. Hewasdifferent. He washonest, and somehow, his honesty hadcompelled hers.
And that…well, that changed everything, because it made it impossible for her to lie to herself any longer. He’d slid under her defenses with all that absurd honesty, and now he was clinging there like a prickly saddle burr. She hadn’t any idea how to tear him loose, and worst of all, after last night she wasn’t sureshewantedto.
Not anymore.
Lady Crosby raised an eyebrow at Emma’s silence. “You hardly had a chance to leave our theater box before Lord Lymington leapt to his feet and went after you, Emma. I confess I’d been hoping the two of you had negotiated a truce.”
“It was more of an, er…suspension of hostilities than a truce.” If making her laugh, and tugging her ribbons loose, and kissing her senseless could be called a suspension of hostilities, that is.
Emma tweaked a curl into place, and made an effort to smooth her brow and will the blush from her cheeks before turning back to Lady Crosby. It wouldn’t do to appear at Vauxhall Gardens looking like a cross between a lovestruck schoolgirl and a thundercloud. “There. Is that better?”
Lady Crosby smiled. “Much better, yes. Come along, then. I don’t like to keep Lady Flora and Lady Silvester waiting.” The four of them were sharing a supper box at Vauxhall Gardens this evening, along with Lord Lovell, Lady Lovell and Mr. Humphries, Lady Lymington, and…Lord Lymington.
Samuel.
Just thinking of him made Emma flush with humiliating heat once again. Dash it, of all the times she could have chosen to become besotted with a gentleman, thiswas the worst.
But that was the trouble with infatuations. They were rarely convenient.
Caroline Francis was still missing, Helena was trapped inside the Pink Pearl with an infuriated Madame Marchand, and a mysterious nobleman with a missing pendant—a nobleman who might or might not be a murderer—was running loose in London.
And hereshewas, mooning overLord Lymington.
She sighed as she draped a thin silk shawl over her shoulders, and followed Lady Crosby from the drawing room down to the carriage, which was waiting in front of the townhouse. Daniel Brixton stood beside the open door, ready to hand them in. “Good evening, Daniel.”
“Evening, lass.”
Daniel’s voice was as gruff as ever, but a tiny wrinkle between his brows disturbed his usual dark impassivity, and Emma’s stomach gave an uneasy lurch. She’d seen that wrinkle before, and knewwhat it meant.
Somethingelsehad gone wrong.
“What is it?” She paused, her hand on his arm. “What’s happened?”
Daniel jerked his head toward the carriage. “Ye’ll find out soon enough.”
