Page 8 of A Game of Hearts

“Did he?” James’ tone was wry. “I rather think that he did the opposite. You see, I have never seen my brother react so strongly to anything - or anyone - as he did to your performance together.”

“His reaction seemed clear enough.”

“Did it? Consider, Miss Everton - why would a man who felt nothing need to retreat so completely behind his shields of propriety?”

Emma’s breath caught.

“I...”

“Just something to consider.” He bowed. “And now I believe that I see my brother approaching, no doubt to corner me about proper behaviour. I shall make my escape while I can.”

He disappeared through a side door just as Lord Limnwood entered the main one. Their eyes met across the room, and Emma felt that same spark of connection which had so disturbed them both during their performance. For a moment, she thought that he might speak. Then Lady Anne appeared at his elbow.

“My Lord, you simply must give me your opinion on these verses. I have been working on a new version...”

Emma turned away, not waiting to see his response. She had preparations to make for dinner, after all.

And if her hands trembled slightly as she closed the drawing room door behind her, there was no one to see.

*****

In his chamber, Nathaniel stood at the window, watching Miss Everton cross the garden below with Lady Agatha. Even at this distance, her grace and vitality drew his eye. The sunlight caught fire in her dark red curls, and he found himself remembering how her eyes had shone as she spoke their verses. He had been a fool to let himself be drawn in, to show such open emotion. And an even greater fool to retreat into cold propriety afterward. He had seen the hurt in her eyes, though she had hidden it quickly.

A knock at his door preceded his valet.

“Your evening clothes are ready, my Lord.”

“Thank you, Staples.”

But he remained at the window until Miss Everton disappeared from view, wondering how he could possibly maintain his proper distance through two more weeks of intimate partnership, when every moment in her presence made him question everything that he had ever believed about propriety and passion. It had only been a little over one day, and already, she had shaken the very foundations of his existence. Somehow, he would have to find a way. The alternative - letting himself feel everything that she stirred within him - was unthinkable. Yet as he finally turned to dress for dinner, her voice echoed in his mind, speaking of hearts both wise and free, and he wondered if perhaps he was fighting a battle that he had already lost.

Dinner proved an exquisite form of torture. Seated beside Miss Everton again, Nathaniel found himself hyperaware of her every movement, every carefully controlled expression. She maintained perfect politeness, answering his few attempts at conversation with cool courtesy that gave him no opening for a more meaningful exchange.

Lady Anne, seated to his left, kept up a steady stream of properly elegant conversation, but he found himself comparing her practiced charm to Miss Everton’s natural grace, and finding it wanting. Even as he reminded himself that Lady Anne’s behaviour was exactly what society demanded, he could not help watching the way that Miss Everton’s eyes sparkled as she discussed poetry with Lord Radmill’s son, or how her quiet laugh at something Lady Beatrice said lit her whole face with joy.

“I trust that tomorrow’s activities will prove less... challenging,” Lady Anne murmured. “The Duke has arranged a scavenger hunt in the gardens. That has much less scope for inappropriate displays than poetry provides.”

Nathaniel saw Miss Everton’s shoulders stiffen slightly, though she gave no other sign of having heard.

“I found nothing inappropriate in today’s activities,” he said quietly.

Lady Anne’s eyes widened slightly.

“But surely you agreed that...”

“I agreed to nothing, my Lady. If you will excuse me, I believe that I see my brother attempting to catch my eye.”

It was a lie - James was deep in conversation with Lady Beatrice - but it served to end the exchange. As he turned away, Nathaniel caught a flash of something - surprise? satisfaction? - in Miss Everton’s expression before she looked down at her plate.

The Duke’s voice rose over the general conversation.

“I trust that everyone will be well rested for tomorrow’s adventure? The weather promises to be fine, and I have arranged some rather challenging clues.”

Nathaniel watched Miss Everton’s face light up at the prospect of intellectual challenge, and felt an answering spark of interest. Despite his fears about propriety, he could not deny that he looked forward to matching wits with her again. Heaven help him, for he was beginning to suspect that poetry was not the only thing about Miss Emma Everton that might prove dangerous to his peace of mind.

Chapter Three

Morning sunlight streamed through the conservatory windows, turning the glass panes into a kaleidoscope of crystal and gold. Emma paused in the doorway, breathing in the rich scent of blooming jasmine and early spring flowers. The Duke’s conservatory was famous throughout the county, and now she understood why.