Page 37 of A Game of Hearts

Emma’s heart stopped as Lord Limnwood’s voice responded.

“I’m certain that there must be some explanation.”

“Oh, indeed.” Lady Anne’s laugh held what sounded oddly like triumph. “Shall we see what that explanation might be?”

Emma was frozen in place, suddenly acutely conscious of how this looked. Her eyes went to Lord James, but before she could do or say anything, the library door flew open.

Lady Anne stood there, Lord Limnwood beside her, and behind them several other guests including Lord Radmill. Emma’s breath caught at the expression on Limnwood’s face as he took in the scene - her and Lord James, apparently alone together.

“Well.” Lady Anne’s voice dripped satisfaction. “How... interesting.”

*****

Nathaniel stared at the scene before him, his mind refusing to accept what his eyes reported. Emma - who only that morning had melted into his kiss, had looked at him with such trust and affection in her eyes - stood in private conversation with James. His own brother. The two people he had just begun to let past his careful defences, meeting in secret.

Lady Anne’s words from moments before echoed in his head: ‘You must come at once - I’ve seen something that you need to know about...’

He had followed her reluctantly, irritated by her interruption of his thoughts about the morning’s intimate moments, about the way that Emma had felt in his arms, the emotion in her eyes when she’d looked at him. Now Lady Anne’s eagerness to bring him here took on new, terrible meaning.

The betrayal struck deeper than any physical blow. Memories of Charlotte’s scandal rose unbidden - another trusted family member, another secret meeting, another web of lies and betrayal. He had been such a fool, letting his guard down, letting himself feel... letting himself hope...

Pain transmuted to fury, fed by his own stupidity. Had they laughed at him, planning this assignation even as they encouraged his growing feelings? Had James known, when he urged Nathaniel to trust his heart, that he himself intended...

He couldn’t complete the thought. Better the cold comfort of anger than this searing agony of betrayal. His chest constricted, each breath an effort as proper behaviour warred with primitive urges to shout, to strike, to demand explanations. Instead, he let ice fill his veins, letting rigid control suppress the volcano of emotion beneath. They would not see how deeply this cut. He would not give them that satisfaction.

The irony struck him with brutal force - he who had just begun to trust in feelings over propriety, was now faced with the very situation his rigid rules had been designed to prevent.

Every beat of his heart felt like it was breaking.

*****

“Nathaniel,” James started, “this isn’t-”

“Isn’t what?” Nathaniel’s voice could have frozen fire. “Isn’t exactly what it appears? My brother and Miss Everton, meeting in secret?”

“We’re not meeting in secret!” Emma found her voice. “I received a note from Lady Beatrice -”

“How convenient.” Lady Anne’s smile was pure poison. “Though one must wonder why Lady Beatrice is even now in the drawing room, seemingly quite unaware of any note.”

Emma’s mind whirled. If Beatrice hadn’t sent the note... She looked at James and saw dawning comprehension in his eyes. They had been intentionally trapped – she could come to no other conclusion.

“My Lord,” she turned to Lord Limnwood, “surely you cannot think…”

“Think what, Miss Everton?” His voice was arctic, his expression rigid with control. “That I find you alone with my brother, having apparently arranged a secret meeting through staged correspondence? What precisely should I think?”

Emma felt the words strike like physical blows. The rigid disapproval in his face, the utter lack of trust in his eyes - it was too much. Without another word, she turned and fled the library, her composure shattering further with each step.

Behind her, she heard a new voice speak - her aunt’s voice? - but she couldn’t stop, couldn’t bear to hear more accusations, more assumptions of her guilt. She had thought that their growing understanding meant something, had dared to hope that he might trust her character above appearances. She had been wrong.

If she had waited a moment longer, she might have heard Lady Agatha say, quite clearly, ‘I can assure you, Lord Limnwood, that your brother and Miss Everton were never alone in this room’.

But she didn’t wait. She ran, skirts rustling, until she reached her chamber. Only there, behind a locked door, did she allow her tears to fall.

The tableaux would begin soon. She would have to find some way to face them all again, to play Juliet to his Romeo as if her heart weren’t breaking. She had never understood until now just how that story’s heroine must have felt.

Chapter Ten

“I can assure you, Lord Limnwood, that your brother and Miss Everton were never alone in this room.”