Page 23 of A Game of Hearts

“There!” Emma pointed to a flash of blue ribbon visible in a nearby urn set on a wall. “Though I don’t see how we can reach it without...”

Before she could finish, Lord Limnwood had moved to the urn and lifted her bodily by the waist. She gasped, her hands falling to his shoulders for balance.

“Can you reach it now?”

His voice was slightly strained. Emma stretched up, trying to ignore how his hands burned through the fabric of her pelisse, how his breath had stirred the curls at her temple as he lifted her. Her fingers closed around the ribbon.

“I have it!”

He lowered her slowly, their bodies sliding almost together in a way that surely violated every rule of propriety. For a moment after her feet touched the ground, neither moved. Emma became exquisitely aware of every point where they touched - his hands at her waist, her palms against his shoulders, their faces close enough that she could see gold flecks in his grey eyes.

“The next clue?”

His voice was rougher than usual.

Emma forced herself to step back, untying the ribbon with trembling fingers. Another piece of paper fluttered free.

“‘Where Neptune’s daughters dance, seek the heart of romance.’” She was proud of how steady she kept her voice. “The fountain with the mermaids, perhaps?”

“An excellent suggestion.” He offered his arm again, though she noticed that he was careful to maintain more distance between them now. “Though we shall have to go around the lake to reach it.”

They walked in charged silence, both hyperaware of each other. Emma’s skin still tingled where his hands had held her. Ahead, she could see other couples searching their own areas - Lord James and Lady Beatrice examining a sundial, Lady Mary and her partner studying something near the greenhouse.

A flash of movement caught her eye.

“Look there - a blue ribbon!”

She hurried forward, not seeing the patch of ice near the lake’s edge. Her foot slipped, and for a heart-stopping moment she felt herself falling towards the freezing water. Then strong arms caught her, pulling her back against a solid chest. They stumbled together, and somehow she found herself pressed between Lord Limnwood and a tree trunk, his body sheltering her from view of the path.

“Are you hurt?”

His voice was barely a whisper against her hair. Emma shook her head, not trusting her voice. Every nerve in her body sang with awareness of him - the strength of his arms around her, the rapid beat of his heart against her palm, the warmth of his breath stirring her curls where a few escaped from their pins. She should step away. She should thank him properly and continue their hunt. She should... His hand cupped her cheek, tilting her face up to his. Their eyes met, and Emma saw her own longing reflected in his gaze.

“We shouldn’t,” she whispered, even as she swayed closer.

“No.” But his thumb brushed her lower lip, and she felt him tremble. “Emma...”

The use of her given name undid her completely. She lifted up on her toes, closing the last distance between them, and felt his control break. His mouth claimed hers with a hunger that stole her breath, and she gave herself up to the kiss completely.

Time seemed to stop in that moment - there was nothing but the warmth of his mouth on hers, the strength of his arms around her, the solid trunk of the tree at her back. Emma’s hands curled into the fabric of his coat, holding on as the world tilted beneath her feet. It was only a few short moments, but it felt like forever, as if time had stopped.

A sharp gasp broke through their absorption. They sprang apart as if burned, but Emma knew it was too late - Lady Anne stood on the path, her expression a mixture of shock and triumph.

“Well,” Lady Anne’s voice dripped ice, “how... interesting. Though perhaps not surprising, given recent displays.”

Emma felt Lord Limnwood stiffen beside her. Her heart plummeted as his familiar mask of rigid propriety slammed back into place.

“Lady Anne.” His voice was perfectly controlled. “Miss Everton nearly fell. I was merely...”

“Merely?” Lady Anne’s laugh held no humour. “I saw exactly what you were ‘merely’ doing, my Lord. Though I confess, I had thought better of you than to engage in such behaviour. But then,” her gaze raked Emma dismissively, “some people do have a talent for encouraging impropriety.”

Emma’s cheeks burned, but she lifted her chin.

“You seem very concerned with other people’s behaviour, Lady Anne. How fortunate that you happened to be in exactly the right place to observe it.”

Lady Anne’s eyes narrowed at the implied accusation.

“I was simply following my own clues. Though perhaps I should inform Lady Agatha that her charge requires closer supervision?”