Lady Emma's Dilemma (9781101573662) (9 page)

“Reach the border! We are in Kent, for Heaven's sake! An alarm will be raised before we are out of the county.”

As he opened his mouth to reassure her, she threw her hands up in a despairing gesture. “You are so foxed that you have not even noticed you've been driving in the wrong direction for the last three miles.” Lowering her head, she covered her face with her hands.

Peering down the dark road in surprise, he felt a hot flush come to his face at his stupid mistake. Feeling a little fuzzy, he struggled for something to say to calm her down and get her back in the carriage.

“Emma, I—”

“Have I been a fool?”

The muffled, anguished words had him scrambling down from the carriage. Swiftly moving to her, he put his hands on her arms, feeling his feet sinking slightly in the muddy lane. “Emma, I love you more than anything. Please don't worry. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

She did not move, and his heart felt as if it were choking him. “We will make up the time,” he continued a little desperately.
“I have mapped out a way to take less traveled roads—they will not find us, I promise.”

Finally, she raised her head and looked up at him. He saw anger beneath the crushed look of disappointment. “Can you know so little about my relationship with my family? I have no reason to be afraid of them. They only want the best for me. Do you have no notion of what it means to be the daughter of a duke, the sister of a duke? I have defied my mother, my grandmother, and my uncles to run away with you. I entrusted myself to you at the risk of being utterly ruined. The people who love me would be shocked, shamed, and disappointed by the action I was about to take.”

At the word
was
he instantly realized how close he was to losing her and a sick feeling washed over him. He cast about for something to say to put everything right. From the beginning he had always been able to tease her into a laugh. Recklessly, he attempted light humor now. “Come, my love, just point me in the right direction and let's be gone. You can tease me about this later.”

With a jerk, she pulled away from him. “I was willing to give you everything and yet you come to me like this—half foxed and lost. How could you treat this decision as if it were a lark? I trusted you with everything that I am. I can now see that I have been a fool. Good-bye, Jack.”

And with that last choked whisper she had turned back toward Kelbourne Keep, leaving him and his heart in the mud.

H
is hair is just as black as I remembered.
This odd thought was the first thing that registered on Emma's confounded senses. Why should it not be? He was barely four and thirty, she reminded herself distractedly.

But there were a few things that had changed, she noted, her eyes sweeping over him as he descended the stairs with graceful athleticism. Gone was the rangy frame she had found so endearing. His broad-shouldered, muscular frame appeared seasoned and well honed. His thighs, bulging at each step, evidenced long hours in the saddle.

As he reached the floor, he smiled down at their hostess, who appeared delighted by his arrival. Even from this distance Emma could see that the dimples she had adored were deeper and there was a hint of very attractive crinkles around his eyes. His eyes—she recalled them with a shiver, wondering if they were as black and full of mischief as they had been all those years ago.

His nose, longish and straight as a razor, was also just as she remembered. His pale skin, angled cheekbones, and square jaw line were arranged in the same devastatingly masculine fashion that had caused her young heart to race erratically when she had met him at her first London ball.

The cheerful hum of voices quieted for a moment. She saw most of the ladies watching him, but he did not take notice and spoke to their hostess as if she were the only
woman in the room. Well, that trait had not changed, she thought wryly.

Just then, she saw his dark head turn and suddenly she was gazing directly into eyes as black as his evening coat. He moved away from Lady Colhurst and began striding toward her through the crowded room.

A maelstrom of indescribable emotions swirled through her body as her heart started thudding in a painfully rapid rhythm.

There could be no mistaking his intention. He was coming straight for her.

The guests milling between them furled back like the petals of a rose. Within seconds, if he did not veer from his present course, he would reach her.

In a way, a part of her felt no surprise at seeing him. From the beginning of the evening she had been aware of a certain tension permeating the very air. Now her overwrought mood almost felt like some sort of presentiment. It seemed clear that after thirteen years the stars had finally aligned in the proper order to bring them to this moment.

As she gripped her fan until her fingers hurt, the voices of the chattering guests became distant and indistinguishable. Glancing up at the chandelier, she hesitated as the thousands of candle flames became hazy orange halos.

Once, many years ago, she had fainted. It had felt just like this then, before everything had gone black and she had fallen to the floor. Damnation, she thought, as the candle glow faded into distant pinpoints of lights.

As suddenly, and as welcome, as a touch from an angel, Emma felt Penelope's cool hand grip her arm and steady her.

Emma took a deep, shuddering breath. She hadn't fainted, and now that the initial wave of panic had thankfully receded, her head began to clear and the room righted itself. Sending her friend a slight smile, Emma straightened her shoulders.

This was not so terrible, she told herself, grasping the thought with all the desperation of a drowning woman. The
sense of unreality that had gripped her for the last few moments vanished. Jack Devruex was here. For the first time in thirteen years, she was in the same room as the man who had utterly broken her heart and changed her life.

She lifted her chin, feeling her natural confidence begin to return. Yes, she had coped with far worse than Lord Devruex. Let him come.

An instant later, he stood before her and her friends, bowing. “Lord Devruex!” Grandmère said, and Emma was surprised by the pleasure in the old lady's tone. “What a delight to see you this evening.”

“The delight is all mine, Duchess,” he said, lifting the hand Grandmère proffered to his lips.

Emma suppressed a shiver as his voice rumbled over her. The tone was deeper and richer than she remembered. He greeted everyone else and it was apparent by their response that he was acquainted with all of her friends.

He certainly had filled out, she observed with a sense of unreality. Even in the elegance of his evening clothes, his muscular frame seemed a little too menacing for this refined company.

“Lady Fallbrook,” Grandmère said with exquisite politeness. “I'd like to present Lord Devruex. I believe the two of you may have known each other years ago. Devruex's dear grandparents were very good friends of mine.”

He bowed before Emma, and as he rose, her eyes met his. They were just as full of devilment as when they had met so long ago, also, ironically, in a crowded ballroom. Yet the regard and admiration she remembered were conspicuously gone.

Emma inclined her head, unable to find her voice. Summoning all her self-control, she concentrated on keeping her expression composed.

“Lady Fallbrook and I have met before, but it has been more than a dozen years since I have had the pleasure of dancing with her. If you are not already engaged would you do me the honor of dancing the next with me?”

Shocked by the request, Emma hesitated for so long that the others began to regard her with curiosity.

Why was he doing this? she wondered frantically.

Perhaps she could understand the necessity of acknowledging each other, she thought, her mind casting about for a way to make sense of this unexpected situation. After all, they could not spend the rest of the Season ignoring one another. That behavior would soon set the gossips off and running.

But to dance with Jack Devruex? The idea seemed insupportable. The mere thought of touching him brought a hint of dizziness back.

His obsidian gaze held hers and a faint smile lurked at the corner of his mouth. Strangely, nothing in his expression bore any resemblance to the young man she had once loved. Dropping her gaze from his, she felt a hot blush rising to her cheeks. It was too soon to be able to react to his unexpected presence as if the past had not occurred.

But pretending just that appeared to be the only way to get through the next few minutes without making herself look ridiculous.

“I am not engaged, sir,” she said, relieved and not a little surprised that her voice was so calm.

He held out his hand and the rapid beat of her heart forced her to take a few deep breaths before they moved to the floor. She slipped her gloved fingers into his large, warm hand and instantly recalled the first time she had done this. How young she had been, she thought wistfully, and how easily he had swept her away with his boyish good looks and devilish smile.

Well, the devilish smile was still there but there was no longer anything about him that could be called boyish, she thought as she sent him a quick glance.

The orchestra struck up a Viennese-style waltz, and Emma held her breath as his arm came around her waist. Her heart seemed to be firmly lodged in her throat and
nothing, absolutely nothing, could force her to speak at this moment.

They danced in silence and the faces of the other guests went by in a blur. With near desperate determination she forced herself to concentrate on the music and ignore the feel of his broad shoulder beneath her hand.

His prowess as a dancer certainly had not changed, she observed, except possibly for improving. His effortless grace—and silence—as he guided her around the floor went a long way in helping her regain some of her composure.

Inhaling the elusive woodsy, smoky scent surrounding him, she told herself that this was not so terrible.

From now on Lord Devruex would just be someone with whom she would exchange the merest civilities should they find themselves near each other. Now that she had faced this initial encounter, she knew her own strength. Never again would Lord Devruex throw her, no matter how disturbing she found his presence.

“Do you find much changed since you were last in London, Lady Fallbrook?”

This was very good, she thought with relief at his polite words. They were just two civilized people, exchanging pleasantries. There would be no need to mention the painful past and for that she sent him a smile.

“Some of the new buildings are quite impressive, though it does seem as if the country is getting farther and farther away. I found the new theatre at Drury Lane a marvel of architecture.”

“Yes, quite impressive. Speaking of the theatre, I hear that you caused quite a stir there yourself.”

Taken by surprise, Emma could not help but laugh at the dry tease in his voice. “I did not, sir. Some wretched actor did. I thought my grandmother would call him out, she was so angered by his impertinence.”

A slight smile curved the left corner of his lips. “But you
do not seem to find the incident as objectionable as the duchess did.”

He guided her through a sweeping turn, and to her amazement, she found herself beginning to relax. That is, as long as she did not meet his unfathomable dark gaze. “No, I confess that I was taken aback at the time, but now I find the whole scene rather droll.”

“Good for you.”

The amused approval in his tone sent a warm flush through her body. It felt dreamlike to be in his arms again. This man, whom she once believed she knew so well, was now a complete stranger. Actually, when she thought about it, it would make this whole awkward situation easier if she did look at him as a stranger.

What had his life been like the last thirteen years? She wondered. By the looks of him, he had found success and satisfaction in life.

Something about his relaxed, confident mien reminded her of her black tomcat, Satin, sunning himself on the back terrace—utterly relaxed, utterly confident, and secure of his place in the world.

“Lady Emmaline, somehow you have managed to defy the passage of time and have grown even more beautiful since the last time I saw you.”

Emma almost stumbled as his soft, deep voice rumbled over her body. At her near misstep his arm tightened around her ever so lightly to steady her. Instantly, the memory of that night on the muddy road rushed back and the pain and loss of the ensuing years stung her anew.

Anger rose within her, and lifting her chin, she met his dark gaze squarely. “Considering that the last time you saw me I was covered in mud and had not slept in almost two days, looking better is not such a great feat, even after thirteen years.” If she had had a free hand she would have clapped it over her mouth to halt the sharp words from escaping her lips.

A flash of surprise crossed his face before he blinked his
black-as-sin eyes and his expression became closed and unreadable.

“You do have a point, my lady,” he stated in an unperturbed tone. “And your penchant for being disarmingly direct has certainly not diminished with the passing years either.”

With excruciating embarrassment, Emma wondered what had happened to her. She had just congratulated herself on her composure and civility, and an instant later, she lashed out at him in this horrid manner. Inwardly, she squirmed at knowing how she had given herself away. How pathetic he must think her, still bitter after thirteen years.

“I never did apologize to you, did I?”

His tone was light, almost amused, and the sudden desire to hit him choked the words in her throat.

Taking a ragged breath she wondered what insanity had suddenly run away with her senses. This was the last way she wanted to behave with him.

Without missing a single step, they continued to dance. She could not look at, nor answer, him and instead kept her gaze on the orchestra in the gallery.