Page 71 of Prescription for Sin

Helen

P.S. Sussex was frightfully dull. Though I did manage to start a small scandal by teaching the vicar's wife about the medical uses of certain herbs. I blame your influence entirely.

P.P.S. If you're determined to be angry at a Moreland, might I suggest focusing on the elder one? He's much more deserving, and it would give you and Everett something to unite against. Just a thought from your most tactical friend.

Everett waited at the foot of the stairs, anxiety making him adjust his already perfect cravat. Two weeks of sleeping alone had already left him raw, hunger for her touch a constant ache beneath his skin.

When she appeared at the top of the stairs, his heart stopped. The caramel silk made her eyes appear breathtakingly blue, while his mother’s pearls nestled in her golden hair caught light like captured stars. But it was the diamonds at her throat that undid him. They seemed to pulse with each breath, drawing his attention to the elegant line of her neck, the graceful slope of her shoulders.

“You’re stunning,” he managed, his voice hoarse.

A faint blush touched her cheeks, though her smile remained reserved. “The gown is lovely. Thank you.”

He offered his gloved hand to help her descend, desperately hoping she wouldn’t reject even this small touch. When her fingers settled briefly in his, the contact sent longing through his body. Two weeks without holding her, without burying his face in her hair, without feeling her heartbeat against his chest… It felt like drowning slowly.

At the bottom of the stairs, he couldn’t help himself. He turned to her, one hand rising to cup her face. “Emma…”

She stepped back smoothly, leaving his hand hanging in empty air.

“Please.” The word emerged more plea than statement. “What can I do? Tell me how to make this right.”

For a moment, something flickered in her eyes, perhaps longing, perhaps just pity.

He moved closer, close enough to smell her unique scent. "I miss you. I miss us."

"Was there ever us?" she asked softly. "Or only what you and your father orchestrated?"

"Emma." He took a deep breath, choosing honesty over pride. "My father gave me an ultimatum. Get you away from London or watch him destroy your career. I thought I could protect you without losing you. I was wrong."

She turned to face him, her expression softening slightly. "You should have told me."

"I know. I fell into the same trap as my father, thinking I knew best, trying to control all the variables. Perhaps scheming runs in the family."

"Like father, like son?" But there was a hint of teasing in her voice now.

"God, I hope not." He rubbed his cleanshaven chin. "I want to be better. To be worthy of your trust. I just... I don't know how to protect you without controlling you, and it's driving me mad."

"Perhaps I don't need protection." She stepped closer. "Perhaps I need a partner who trusts me enough to face things together."

"Even if it means losing everything?"

"We're losing everything now, just differently." Her hand touched his arm lightly. "At least if we face it together, we'll still have us."

"I don't know how to stop being afraid for you," he admitted. "But I'm more afraid of losing you like this."

"Then let's start with honesty. No more schemes, no more protecting each other from the truth." She met his eyes steadily. "Can you do that?"

"I can try." He covered her hand with his. "Though I warn you, you may find my brutal honesty disagreeable."

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "I'd rather have your honest imperfections than your perfect deceptions."

It wasn't forgiveness, not yet. But as he helped her into the carriage, her hand lingered in his just a moment longer than necessary.

"You look beautiful," he said, meaning it more than ever.

This time her "Thank you" held a warmth that gave him hope.

As they entered the crowded ballroom, Emma found herself watching Everett move through the gathering with practiced ease. His natural charm drew admirers like moths to flame, and though she understood now he was merely being polite, something twisted in her chest as she watched the ladies cluster around him. When Lady Winona pressed closer to examine his cravat pin, a possessive heat flared through Emma's body. Mine, some primitive part of her growled, even as her rational mind recoiled from such sentiment.