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“I did.”

She’d liked that bit of hair on his face. It had made him look a bit less polished. More approachable.

“Forgive my impertinence,” he started.

Emma’s breath quickened. She didn’t want him to kiss her.

Yes, you do.

“Are you spoken for, Lady Emma?”

“Nay, I am not,” she managed to say.

He didn’t look happy about that. Which made no sense. Why would he—

“Graeme de Sowlis,” he said, still frowning.

Emma didn’t understand. “What of our host?”

“He inquired about you.”

Garrick’s gaze was so intent that it took a moment for his words to sink in. Graeme de Sowlis? Was he asking for Graeme?

Oh, what a fool I am. Well, good. Garrick was the exact type of man she most assuredly did not wish to marry. She had no use for an earl twice over, a man who was powerful in two countries. No doubt he’d expect to control her and aught she did.

“I see.”

And she did. She must have mistaken the look in his eyes the previous day. Emma had very little experience with men, save two kisses. One had been with the only suitor she’d seriously considered. That flirtation had ended the moment the gentleman had spied Sara in her women’s breeches one day while visiting Kenshire. The look of utter horror on his face had advised her more surely than anything he could say or do that he was not the man for her. By her request, it had been the last she’d seen of him.

“But I don’t believe . . . that is . . . I promised Sara and your brother to protect you—”

So he did not want her, but neither did he want her with Graeme. It was not his words but his tone that told her as much. Bryce often used that exact same tone, and it was always intended as a warning.

Well, Emma had never been the type to heed warnings.

“Thank you for your concern, Garrick.”

She spun around, intending to show the earl exactly what she thought of his “protection,” but he reached out to stop her. This time, he forced her to face him again.

“Emma, I didn’t mean—”

He pulled her toward him so quickly that Emma only realized what he was about when his lips touched her own. They were so soft but firm. He released his grip, allowing her to pull away, which she did not.

Heat shot through her like a leather horsewhip. It came from nowhere but consumed everything, its effects utterly unavoidable.

When he touched his tongue to her closed lips, Emma didn’t know what he wanted. She opened her mouth just a bit, intending to ask, and his tongue swept into her mouth.

Something deep inside her knew what to do, and she touched her tongue to his.

She was lost—even more so when he abruptly pulled away.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

She stared at the tip of his tongue when he licked his lower lip. Sorry? She certainly was not.

“I don’t understand, Garrick.”

“I should not have done that. Will you accept my apology? That was inexcusable.”