Lady Emma's Dilemma (9781101573662) (25 page)

Keenly aware of the amount of male attention she was receiving, she lifted her chin, turned, and walked back through the crowded stable yard with the same elegant pace she would use crossing a ballroom.

With an indescribable feeling in her heart, Emma started off toward the racecourse.

The jumble of emotions crowding her thoughts had her feeling almost dazed and she put her shaking fingers to her lips.

It seemed rather amazing to her that something as basic as a kiss could throw her past, present, and future into such confusion. But it really wasn't just the kiss, she mused. It was Jack himself. Still touching her throbbing lips, she decided that now was not the time to try to sort out her chaotic emotions.

Looking down, she winced at the state of her clothes. Not only were they horridly creased and still damp, but her excursion to the mews had added a border of dirt several inches wide to the hem.

As she continued toward the crowd, she spared a moment's lamentation that there was no time to change her clothes—even if Milton had arrived with the baggage coach.

She drew nearer and it became instantly clear that no one seemed to mind that the racing had not started yet. People milled about in groups, some by carriages with picnic baskets and some beneath open-sided tents.

As her gaze scanned the numbers of ladies—garbed in all the hues of the rainbow—it became painfully clear that no one else had been caught in the rain.

“Emma!”

At her name she turned to her left and saw Amelia rushing toward her, wearing an apple green ensemble and holding aloft a pink parasol. Roger was close behind his stunned-looking wife.

“Good afternoon, Amelia. Good afternoon, Roger,” Emma said as they rushed across the perfectly manicured lawn. “Surprised to see me?”

“Lud, yes!” Amelia said as she stopped, her gaze moving up and down Emma's clothes. “Last we spoke you were on your way back to Yorkshire. What are you doing here looking like you fell in a trough?”

Emma laughed and spread her hands wide. “I changed my mind about coming this morning. Grandmère and I got caught in a sudden shower on the way here. I don't want to chance missing the race by taking the time to change.”

Amelia still stared, her expression a picture of consternation, but her husband stepped forward and offered his arm.

“I think you look charming,” he said with a broad smile. “They will be parading the fillies any moment, so let us find a good vantage point.”

Emma smiled at Roger, deeply touched by his gallant behavior. As she took his other arm, Amelia recovered her composure and said, “Yes, we must find a good spot so we can cheer for Circes.”

With the dashing Roger Spence-Jones between them and the subject of Emma's clothing being studiously ignored, the ladies chatted as they joined the rest of the highest-flying members of the beau monde.

As she and the Spence-Joneses made their way across the lawn toward the finish line, Emma became aware of how everyone was eyeing her curiously. With a philosophical shrug, she decided that she couldn't blame them and was grateful that she had never been a slave to fashion.

Dismissing the attention she was receiving, she became aware of her mounting excitement over the impending race. Even though she felt reassured that the attempted bribery had failed, the jockey's honesty did not necessarily ensure that Circes would win.

Suddenly, she was quite startled to see Monteford standing with a group of fashionables a few yards in front of her. He looked handsome and proud—and completely innocent of being capable of such a corrupt action.

A searing anger narrowed her gaze as she said to her friends, “I wish to speak to Lord Monteford. Do you mind?”

“Of course not,” Roger replied affably, changing directions slightly.

“Emma,” Amelia leaned forward and whispered, “do you think this is wise? He is standing there with …” Her voice trailed away as they drew near the group of people.

Monteford and the others turned at her approach. Emma was so riveted by his surprised and cautious expression that it took her a moment to notice the Earl of Edgebrooke on his left and—to her wide-eyed shock—the Prince Regent standing on his right.

Hesitating, she tightened her grip on Roger's arm as she fought the strong urge to flee. Stealing another glance at her clothing, she saw with a sinking feeling that the bright afternoon sun highlighted the dusty water stains on her pelisse.

Wincing inwardly, she thought it was one thing not to have a care about her appearance when she confronted Monteford, but quite another to look like a tatterdemalion in front of the future king of England.

In a haze, she heard Roger present her to Prinny, as her grandmother called him. She knew she must have curtsied, for on the way up she admired his parrot green waistcoat and somewhat florid, yet handsome, face. She noticed that he had put on quite a bit of weight since the last time they had met during her husband's funeral.

“My dear Lady Fallbrook,” he cried in obvious pleasure, his rather prominent blue eyes taking in her clothing, “it is beyond a delight to see you after so many years.”

“Thank you, your royal highness. Please forgive my strange appearance. I was caught in a sudden shower a little while ago.” She was pleased that her tone sounded more casual than distressed. Even so, she spared a sympathetic thought for Milton and Grandmère. They had worked so hard, despite her indifference, to ensure she was the most modish lady in the beau monde and Emma had soundly ruined the illusion in one afternoon.

“Could this possibly be the
perfectly perfect
Lady Fallbrook?”

This question came from the very pretty lady standing next to Prinny, who had just been introduced as Lady Jersey. She giggled at her own quip and a moment later the other ladies in the group joined in, staring askance at Emma's clothes.

Before she could respond, the Earl of Edgebrooke stepped forward and drawled, “Indeed it is Lady Fallbrook. And she can even make a bit of mud look perfectly perfect.”

Tilting her head to the side, Emma sent the earl a smile for his gallantry. She recalled how flattering she had found his attentions at the Litchfield ball and she also remembered Mrs. Willoughby telling her that morning that she was “in negotiations” with the handsome earl.

“Quite so, quite so,” the Regent agreed with a hearty laugh, wagging his finger at her. “The tattle is that you are up to every rig and I can see for myself that you are. Your artless lack of vanity is quite refreshing, my dear Lady Fallbrook. I predict that a muddy hem will soon be all the crack.”

Everyone but Lady Jersey laughed at this quip and Emma took the opportunity to look at Monteford. He met her gaze for a moment, before looking away.

She turned back to the Regent. “You are much too kind, your royal highness, and much too amusing.”

Prinny preened a little and said, “Not at all, Lady Fallbrook. Now I insist that you and Mr. and Mrs. Spence-Jones watch the race with us. We have staked out a perfect view of the finish line.”

At this unexpected honor, Emma and Amelia curtsied and Roger bowed. A cheer went up in the crowd and Emma turned to see that a dozen or so horses, their riders garbed in colorful silks, were being led to the opposite side of the oval course. With growing excitement she realized the first race was about to start. Lord Edgebrooke moved to stand next to her on the soft grass as the rest of the group resumed their conversations.

“I am much more interested in the next race. What say you, Lady Fallbrook?”

Hoping no one else caught the quick scathing glance she sent Monteford, she replied, “I am of the same mind, Lord Edgebrooke. My hopes are quite set on Lord Devruex's horse winning.”

Despite her polite mien, Emma was experiencing a great deal of frustration. The presence of the Prince Regent prevented her from venting her disgust and anger at Monteford for his despicable attempted bribery. Even though she was furious, she would never consider creating a scene in front of Prinny.

Edgebrooke nodded slowly. “'Tis a very good field, but it is my personal opinion that the real race is between Devruex's Circes and Grafton's Prunella. My blunt is on Circes.”

Emma decided that she liked Lord Edgebrooke even more and smiled up at him. She was taken aback to see that instead of returning her smile, he was eyeing Monteford coldly.

“So, Monteford,” he continued, “I am sure you have placed a bit of the ready on your good friend Devruex's filly.”

By his frosty tone, Emma suddenly suspected that Mrs. Willoughby had told her potential new protector of Monteford's shocking behavior.

In fact, after giving it a moment's thought, she could not imagine that someone of Mrs. Willoughby's temperament could keep such information to herself. Shifting her gaze to the fairer man, she gritted her teeth at his insufferably smug expression. The desire to expose him to the world as the dishonorable cad she knew him to be nearly overwhelmed her.

As he pulled a snuffbox from his breast pocket, Monteford said, “As much as I admire Devruex's training methods, I confess that I think Prunella looks to be the stronger horse.”

Emma stiffened her shoulders and clenched her hands behind her back, for she itched to slap the knowing little smile from his lips.

“Is that so?” she said sharply. “I have a hundred guineas that says Circes wins. Would you care to meet that wager, sir?”

At her challenging words, she heard a murmur go through the group around her and caught Amelia—who was standing nearby—frowning slightly with concern and confusion.

“What, ho! This is delicious,” the Regent said with a broad grin as he moved to stand closer to her. “I do believe Lady Fallbrook is an Original.”

A look of alarm briefly crossed Monteford's face before he gave a forced chuckle. “Upon my rep, Lady Fallbrook, I would never be so ungentlemanly as to take a lady's money.”

Fuming, Emma was about to call him a coward when Edgebrooke said in the same cool tone he had used before, “Then I shall make the wager on Lady Fallbrook's behalf.” He then held out his hand to Monteford to seal the wager.

Monteford hesitated but Edgebrooke kept his outstretched
hand before him. Everyone, including Prinny, watched with avid interest.

Emma saw the brief struggle in Monteford's eyes. No doubt he was wondering how he would cover such a sum if he should lose, Emma surmised cynically. An instant later the look of overweening confidence returned to his face and he shook Edgebrooke's.

“I will apologize in advance for relieving you of your blunt, Edgebrooke. One never knows how Fate will smile upon these events, but I would not be at all surprised if Grafton's filly takes the day.”

Fate, my foot.
Not bothering to hide her angry expression, Emma glared at him openly. How dared he, for his own selfish reason's, try to damage the man she loved? Emma thought in growing fury.

The man she loved.

The words reverberated through her mind, catching her by complete surprise.

The man she loved.

Her fury at Monteford—which only a moment ago seemed nearly uncontrollable—instantly vanished as the truth of the words began to sink in.

Strangely, she felt no surprise at the intensity of her emotions. What shook her to her soul was the realization of their true meaning. Since returning to London, her unanticipated feelings toward Jack were neither a sudden, irresistible desire, nor the leftover dregs of a youthful infatuation.

No, what she felt for him was a passionate love, deep and true. Taking a shaky breath, she felt the impact of this truth settle in her heart. She loved Jack Devruex. She had always loved Jack Devruex.

“Zounds!”

Lord Edgebrooke's oath pulled her from her thoughts and feeling a bit dazed she turned to him curiously.

“We were so engrossed in our conversation we missed
the first race. The fillies are up now,” he said, pointing to the parade of horses being led to the start line.

With the air seemingly trapped in her lungs, Emma scanned the riders, looking for Jack's distinctive racing colors of cobalt blue and silver.

When she found them, she sent up a fervent prayer that Circes would have the race of her life. Emma's heart pounded as she watched the grooms helping the jockeys get the horses settled at the line. She wouldn't be able bear it if everything Jack had strived to achieve was dashed under this cloud of controversy.

She watched with anxious eyes as the jockeys struggled to hold the horses. The impressively tall Duke of Severly stood by, ready to drop a white flag to start the race.

An instant later, she jumped as a shout went up and the horses surged forward in a blur of long legs and flying manes.

Lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, she hurried to the wood railing that encircled the course. The others followed and she found herself standing between the Earl of Edgebrooke and the Regent as the horses rounded the first corner.

Standing on tiptoe, she strained to distinguish one horse from the other. “Where is—I cannot see Circes.”

“She is in the middle,” Edgebrooke indicated helpfully as the horses, still in a tight pack, took the next curve.

Spotting the cobalt and silver amongst the riot of color she held her breath as Circes and three or four other horses began to pull away from the rest of the field.

“Capital! Capital!” Prinny said, clapping his hands as the other ladies waved their handkerchiefs with excited vigor.

Rounding the next curve, the horses surged into the straight with the jockeys bent low over their necks. The pack thundered past her and she closed her eyes, unable to look in case Circes was falling behind.

“Two more laps,” Edgebrooke shouted over the excited cheering of the crowd.

Opening her eyes, she leaned forward to watch the horses take the inside curve. Her heart lurched to her throat when she saw a flash of crimson satin pulling ahead.