Splendid (14 page)

“Hell and damnation!” Belle swore, a little too loudly.

“I heard that!” her mother called from her bedroom down the hall.

Belle groaned. “I swear, she must have six sets of ears, her hearing is so good.”

“I heard that, too!”

Emma laughed. “I'd be quiet now before you're really sorry.”

Belle made a face. “About those earrings…”

“I don't see why you think I'd take them when I've a perfectly good pair of my own. You probably just misplaced them.”

Belle sighed dramatically. “Well, I don't know where—”

“Oh, there you are!” Ned's voice called from down the hallway. He poked his head into Emma's room. “You two look ravishing, as usual.” He eyed his sister a little more closely. “Belle, are you sure you should be out in that gown? If I crane my neck just so”—he craned his neck in demonstration—“I can see straight down to your navel.”

Belle's mouth dropped in horror. “You cannot!” she screeched, punching her brother in the arm.

“Well, maybe not quite, but almost,” Ned grinned. “Besides, Father will never let you out of the house dressed like that.”

“Half the women in the
ton
are wearing gowns like this. This is a perfectly acceptable style.”

“Maybe to you and me,” Ned replied, “but not to Mother and Father.”

Belle planted her hands on her hips. “Did you come in here for a reason or were you just hoping to torture me?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you were sure that Clarissa Trent would not be attending the ball tonight.”

“It would serve you right if she did show up, you miserable excuse for a brother,” Belle snapped. “But you can relax, I'm completely certain she's gone to the country for an extended stay.”

“Emma?” Ned wanted to be absolutely certain that the cruel girl who had scorned him earlier in
the season would not be present to wound him again.

“As far as I know, she's left London,” she replied offhandedly, studying her image in the mirror, trying to decide if she liked the hairstyle Meg had created for her.

“She's probably gone to nurse her wounds,” Belle guessed, settling down onto Emma's bed.

“What do you mean?” Ned asked, striding into the room and perching next to his sister.

“I'm afraid Clarissa was a little miffed when she realized that Ashbourne was quite determinedly pursuing Emma,” Belle smirked. “Clarissa kept throwing herself at him shamelessly, and I must say that his grace was very polite to her at first. Uncharacteristically polite, if you ask me. I think he was trying to impress Emma with his good manners.”

“I doubt it,” Emma said dryly.

“Well, what happened?” Ned asked impatiently.

“
This
is the good part.” Belle leaned forward and smiled with glee. “About a week ago she absolutely
pressed
herself up against him, and believe me, her gown was far lower-cut than mine.”

“And?” Ned urged.

“And Ashbourne simply gave her one of those cold stares he's so famous for and said—”

Emma cut in, lowering her voice in imitation of Alex's, “‘Miss Trent, I can see down to your navel. '”

Ned's mouth fell open. “He didn't!”

“No, but I wish he had.” Emma laughed uproariously, and Belle exploded into giggles.

“What did he really say?” Ned urged.

“I believe it was: ‘Miss Trent, kindly remove yourself from my person. '”

Ned was ecstatic. “And then what happened?”

“For a moment I thought Clarissa was going to faint,” Belle said animatedly. “At least a dozen people heard the remark, and she'd been telling everyone that she was out to snag him. Which was ridiculous, of course, because it's obvious to everyone that Ashbourne is only interested in Emma. Anyway, after giving everyone the most murderous glare, she fled the ballroom, and no one has seen her since. My guess is that she'll spend a month or so rusticating before she comes back to try to sink her claws into the Duke of Stanton.”

“But he's well over sixty!” Ned exclaimed.

“And thrice widowed,” Emma added.

“You know how women like Clarissa are,” Belle sighed. “She's got it into her head that she wants a duke. Ashbourne was obviously the top choice since he's still young, but I doubt that Clarissa will be choosy now. She wants a title, and she wants it now. If she doesn't get a duke, mark my words, she'll start on the marquesses and earls. That's when
you
had better watch out, Ned.”

“But I'm only a viscount.”

“Don't be obtuse. You'll be an earl eventually, and Clarissa knows that.”

“Well, you can be sure I'll avoid her assiduously now that I know what she's really like.”

“You know, Ned, I think that you owe me a favor,” Emma declared. “You'd probably still be pining over her if I hadn't sent you that fake love note.”

Ned grimaced at the thought of being in Emma's debt. “Much as I hate to admit it, you're probably right. But don't get it into your head to continue meddling in my affairs.”

“Oh, I wouldn't dream of it,” Emma said innocently.

Belle and Ned both looked at her dubiously.

“It must be almost time to leave,” Emma said, rising.

As if on cue, Caroline swept into the room. She was dressed in a lovely midnight-blue gown that complimented the stunning blue eyes she had passed on to both of her children. Her chestnut hair was swept up atop her head, and she certainly did not look old enough to have mothered two adult children. “We really must be off,” she announced. With a quick turn of her head, she scanned the room until her eyes fell on her daughter. “Arabella Blydon!” she exclaimed, horrified. “What on earth are you wearing? I do not recall giving you permission to wear such a low-cut gown.”

“Don't you like it?” Belle countered weakly. “I think it's rather flattering.”

“
I
told her that one could see right down to her navel,” Ned drawled.

“Edward!” Caroline said sharply. Emma whacked him in the shoulder with her reticule, flaying him with a mutinous glare. Caroline gave them only a passing glance before she continued her lecture. “I do not know what you were thinking. That gown will give men the wrong idea.”

“Mama, everyone is wearing gowns like this now.”

“‘Everyone' does not include my daughter. Where did you get that?”

“Emma and I bought it at Madame Lambert's shop.”

Caroline whirled to face her niece. “Emma, you should have known better.”

“Actually,” Emma said truthfully, “I think Belle looks beautiful.”

Caroline's eyes widened and she quickly turned back to her daughter. “You may wear that gown when you are married,” she announced.

“Mama!” Belle protested.

“Fine!” Caroline huffed. “We'll ask your father. Henry!”

All three members of the younger generation groaned. “I'm sunk now,” Belle mumbled.

“Yes, dear?” Henry Blydon, the Earl of Worth, ambled into the room. His brown hair was liberally streaked with silver, but he still retained the air of elegance and affability that had won Caroline's heart a quarter of a century earlier. He smiled lovingly at his wife. She looked pointedly at their daughter. “Belle,” he said simply, “you're naked.”

“Oh, fine! I'll change my gown!” Belle flounced out of the room.

“Goodness, that wasn't difficult at all, was it?” Henry smiled at his wife. “I'll be waiting for you downstairs.” Caroline rolled her eyes and followed him.

“May I escort you, darling Emma?” Ned laughed, offering her his arm.

“But of course, Edward dearest.” The two of them followed the older couple down the stairs. Belle proved to be quite speedy changing her gown, and within fifteen minutes the family was on its way to the Iindworthy mansion.

When they arrived, Belle, who had changed into pink silk, pulled Emma aside. “You had better be far, far away from Mother and Father when you take off that shawl,” she advised.

“Don't I know it.” Emma waited for Henry and Caroline to get swept up in the crush before she turned to Ned and said with mock imperviousness, “You may take my shawl now, Edward.”

Ned responded in kind. “Oh, but you know I'm just dying to be your servant.” He deftly took Emma's shawl and handed it to one of the Lindworthys' footmen. “Emma,” he asked careful
ly, “you do realize that your dress is every bit as low-cut as Belle's?”

“Of course. We purchased them at the same time. Can you see down to
my
navel?” she asked daringly.

“I'm afraid to try. Ashbourne could descend from the shadows and wring my neck.”

“Don't be silly. Oh, look! There's John Millwood. Let's go say hello.” Emma, Ned, and Belle wended their way toward John and were soon lost in the crowd.

Alex arrived soon after and, as usual, mentally cursed himself for once again putting himself through the torture of a large London ball. Such affairs were only tolerable with the knowledge that he would find Emma and hopefully whisk her off and enjoy her company without a hundred other onlookers.

Unfortunately, Emma was
always
surrounded by admirers, and it was getting damned irritating. Every day he swore he'd give up this ridiculous process of seeking Emma out and every day he found himself longing to see her—and smell her and touch her—and sure enough, he donned his midnight black evening attire and headed out to participate in the endless round of parties.

The hard part was his damned foolish decision not to try to even kiss her. After seeing Emma nearly every single evening for the last couple of months, it was growing incredibly difficult to keep his hands off of her. Just when he thought he'd memorized every turn of her lips, she would surprise him with a new kind of smile, and he was immediately overcome with the desire to grab her and kiss her senseless. He'd wake up in the middle of the night knowing he'd been dreaming of her because his body was hard and hot with need.

And no other woman could satisfy this ache. He'd long since stopped visiting his mistress, and she'd politely informed him that she'd found another patron. Alex had only sighed with relief, glad to be rid of the expense.

He had originally decided to keep this physical distance between Emma and himself because he wanted to give her time to learn to trust him. When they finally did make love—and he was certain that they would; he only wondered if Emma realized the inevitability of it—he wanted it to be perfect. He wanted Emma to come to him because she wanted him and him only. He wanted her to come to him because she, too, was waking up in the middle of the night drenched with desire.

He just hoped that happened soon, because he was slowly going insane.

“Ashbourne!”

Alex turned to see Dunford making his way through the crowd. “Hello, Dunford, good to see you tonight. Have you seen Emma?”

“My, we
have
become somewhat single-minded these days.”

Alex smiled with uncharacteristic sheepishness. “Sorry.”

“Not at all.” Dunford waved away Alex's apology.

“But have you seen her?”

“For God's sake, Ashbourne, when are you going to just marry the chit and put yourself out of this misery? Make her your duchess and you can see her twenty-four hours a day.”

“Really, Dunford, it's hardly come to that.” Alex dismissed the idea of a wedding with a flick of his head. “You know how I feel about marriage.”

Dunford raised his eyebrows. “You're going to have to get married at some point, you know, if
only to get yourself an heir. Your father would turn over in his grave if the title passed out of the family.”

Alex winced. “Well, at least I have Charlie. He may not be a Ridgely, but he's certainly as closely related to my father as any child of mine would be.”

“Emma's going to have to get married at some point, too. And it might not be to you.”

Alex was stunned by the white hot streak of jealousy that shot through him at the thought of Emma lying in another man's arms. But, determined to maintain his unflappable facade, he only said, “I'll deal with that if it happens.”

Dunford only shook his head, convinced that his friend was denying the obvious. If Alex wasn't in love with Emma, he was certainly obsessed with her, and that was a better basis for marriage than one usually found among the
ton
. “I did see Emma a few minutes ago,” he said finally. “She was surrounded by men.”

Alex growled.

“For God's sake, man, she's always surrounded by men. Get used to it,” Dunford laughed. “You should just be thankful that most of them are terrified of you. At least half the crowd disperses at the mere mention of your name.”

“Well,
that's
a blessing.”

“If I recall, she was over there”—Dunford pointed to the far side of the room—“by the lemonade table.”

Alex gave his friend a curt nod but tempered it with a smile. “It has, as always, been a joy, Dunford.” He turned on his heel and began to push through the crowd. As he made his way toward the area where he hoped Emma was, he was continually waylaid by men and women
eager for an audience with the influential Duke of Ashbourne. Alex quelled a few of them with his famous icy stare, nodded to some, exchanged words with a couple, and merely growled at the unlucky ones who caught him as he was finally finishing his journey.

He was not in a good mood.

That, of course, was when he finally caught sight of Emma. Her flaming hair always made her fairly easy to spot. Sure enough, she and Belle were surrounded by a pack of young men whose only problem in life seemed to be deciding to which cousin they should profess their undying love.

The sight of Emma's admirers did not improve his disposition.

He moved in a little closer. She looked ravishing, but then he'd expected that. She always looked ravishing to him. Her hair was piled atop her head, with wispy tendrils left to frame her delicate face. Her violet eyes sparkled animatedly in the candlelight. She threw back her head and laughed at some joke, giving Alex an unobstructed view of her long, pale throat, her creamy shoulders, and the barest hint of…Alex frowned. He could definitely see a little more than the barest hint of her breasts. Not that her dress was indecent, of course. Emma had far too much taste to appear vulgar. But if he could see the ample swell of her bosom, damn it, that meant every other man in the ballroom could see it, too.