Page 47 of The Marquess’s Forbidden Bride

She groaned. ‘Dreams of clutching my dowry dancing in their heads.’

‘Dreams of clutching much more than that, I can assure you.’

Smiling up at him, she risked running a finger across his lips. ‘My gallant knight. But who is to protect me from you?’

He studied her face. ‘Do you really want protection from me?’

‘Once I thought I did. Now…now I only want to move forward.’

‘I’m afraid it’s far too late for me to seek protection from you…my sweet Emma.’

As she caught her breath, he studied her face. Drunk on the sweet scent of roses, the tang of smoke from the flambeaux and the intoxication of being near him, she waited, while it seemed the world itself paused with breath suspended.

After all his hints, might this be the moment he made his intentions clear? And if he should…did she dare accept him?

A skitter of footsteps on the gravel path made them spring apart. The next moment, a footman appeared, halted to give them a bow, then hurried onward.

Emma waited a moment, but Richland looked away, the intimate, sensual spell broken. Stifling her disappointment, she said, ‘Let me check about meeting in the garden of Sarah’s friend and I’ll send you a note.’

‘Make the rendezvous soon,’ he murmured, a sentiment with which she could completely agree.

Their ostensible purpose for conferring—to compare entertainments and figure out when next to meet—accomplished, there was no further excuse to linger. Accepting his arm, Emma reluctantly turned with him to head back.

‘I should return to Stanhope House before it gets too late. I’ll bid goodbye to my hostess and you can return to the army mates I know you are eager to rejoin.’

‘It is good to be with them again. But not so good that I’d miss an opportunity to be alone with you.’

He led her back into the house, where she offered her thanks again to her hostess before rejoining her maid to take the Englemere carriage back to Stanhope House.

Isolated in the darkness, Emma tried to untangle her coil of emotions—delight in Richland’s company; both a lessening of hesitation about the idea of marriage and a continued resistance to wedding a peer; uncertainty about how and when their relationship might progress and confusion about what she really wanted—underlaid by a deep, sensual pleasure in his caresses.

A little voice warned that if she wasn’t ready to fully commit to him, it wasn’t wise to keep spending time with him. Becoming any more attached would only make any eventual parting more difficult. Despite his assurances, unless they did marry, she could not see how he would avoid being sooner or later pulled from her orbit into higher realms of Society and responsibility.

Except…his friends seemed as down to earth and approachable as he was. Maybe their friendship could be maintained.

With the luxury of having an heir at hand in his father’s second son, it wasn’t imperative that he wed immediately. He’d hinted once again that he was seriously considering her for a bride. Once he was ready. Once he was settled.

Would she be ready then?

To have his companionship, his kisses and more—ah, that would be wonderful! But he would still be a marquess. She would not be a third unmarried daughter, with someone else to run the household while she indulged her love of experimenting with plants, like the fortunate Lady Mary Elizabeth Bennett. She would not be protected from the dangers and commitments of bearing children.

But tonight, the duchess had demonstrated that a lady of high station could remain involved with her family, and if she chose, avoid many of the social entertainments that occupied most women of her position. She could maintain a close and loving relationship with her husband while still carrying out the duties of motherhood. Still—would doing all that leave her freedom enough to pursue her interests?

True, she still didn’t know for sure if Richland meant to court her—or when, if he did intend to seek her hand. Before she relaxed the strong guard she was keeping over her heart, she needed to answer that vital question.

Chapter Fifteen

A week later, Charles paced the terrace outside the entrance to Oak Knoll in Highgate Village. As it turned out, his next meeting with Emma was not going to take place in a friend’s garden, but at this manor just outside London.

Before he received a note from Emma about their proposed rendezvous, he got one from Claire, inviting him to a house party her sister Lady Telford was giving at Oak Knoll. With her sister’s health still frail, Claire wrote, she preferred to entertain friends at her country home rather than subject herself to the exhaustion of London during the Season. Lest he be reluctant to leave the city, she informed him that Emma Wellingford would be among the guests, Claire acting as her chaperone. The house party would be a small one, with two dozen or so additional friends coming out from London to join them for a ball to celebrate the final night. Instead of slipping away for a clandestine rendezvous, the two would be able to meet openly in normal social gatherings.

He hastened to accept.

They would have three whole days together, he marvelled. Days to meet in the breakfast room, stroll or ride in the afternoons, chat in the evening and dance together at Lady Telford’s ball.

He couldn’t wait to waltz with her again.

At the sound of vehicles approaching, he looked down the long gravel drive, anticipation building. A moment later, coachmen brought the carriages to a halt, footman hurried over to hand his friends down from vehicles while the second coach discharged the nursery maids and younger children.