Splendid (8 page)

Alex immediately resumed his watch. Emma had finished her dance and was returning to her aunt's side.

“Did you have a nice time, dear?” Caroline asked.

“Oh, yes. John is a lovely dancer,” Emma replied. “And he's quite friendly, too. He said he'd teach me how to fence. I've always wanted to learn.”

Alex felt a knot of jealousy churn in his stomach.

“I don't know if fencing would be quite the thing, but I'm glad you like him,” Caroline remarked. “He'd be quite a catch, you know. His father is an earl of considerable wealth.”

The knot grew to about the size of a cannonball.

“I'm sure he is, but I'm really not interested in marriage right now.”

Alex breathed a heavy sigh of relief. His interests did not lie in that particular direction, either.

Emma patted Caroline on the arm. “Don't worry, dear aunt, when the time comes, I'm sure I'll find the perfect husband. But he'll have to be an American because I don't plan to give up Dunster Shipping.”

“There aren't too many Americans from which to choose here in London,” Caroline pointed out.

“Then I'll just have to amuse myself with the company of witty young men like John.”

Alex's temper began to flare again, and Dunford wondered if he'd have to restrain his friend from jumping out from behind the curtain, claiming his desire, and making a general spectacle of himself.

Just then Belle returned to chat with Emma and Caroline. Her cheeks were flushed pink from her whirl across the dance floor. “Emma,” she said breathily. “You must come with me and meet more of Ned's friends. I know you'll love them. And they're all just dying to meet you,” she added with a wink.

“Do you think they could wait a few minutes? I have a bit of a headache,” Emma said lightly. In actuality, she felt as if someone had taken a club to her temple. Her dizzying dance with John Millwood had only increased her discomfort.

Emma looked meaningfully at Belle, who had promised not to tell her mother of the afternoon's mishap, and then turned to her aunt. “Aunt Caroline, would it be terribly impolite if I retired to my room for ten or fifteen minutes? My head is pounding from all this excitement, and I know that a few moments of quiet is all I need to ease it.”

“Of course, dear. I'll just tell anyone who asks that you've just gone to the washroom to freshen up.”

“Thank you,” Emma sighed. “I won't be long.
I promise.” She scooted out of the ballroom and up a flight of stairs to the private quarters of the mansion.

Alex's eyebrows rose when he overheard Emma's request and a delicious grin spread across his face.

“Oh, no,” Dunford admonished, correctly interpreting his friend's expression. “Even you can't get away with that, Ashbourne. It's simply not done. You cannot follow a gentle lady back to her bedroom. You don't even know her.”

“Oh, but I do.”

Dunford tried another tactic. “If you get caught, you'll ruin her reputation on her first night out. You'll have to marry the chit. There'd be no way around it. It would be the honorable thing.”

“No one will see me,” Alex stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “If anyone asks for me, tell them I've gone to the washroom. To freshen up.” With that, he emerged from his hiding place and followed Emma out of the ballroom, his footsteps carefully silent.

The hallway had been left unlit to discourage the tipsy and amorous from extending the party to all corners of the house, but Emma easily found her room. She lit a solitary candle, preferring the semidarkness for her headache. With an unapologetically loud yawn, she kicked off her shoes and settled down amidst the soft white quilts of her bed. Sighing deeply, she rubbed her temples and decided that she had, indeed, enjoyed herself at her first London party. It was true that she'd met a fair number of stuffy and pompous aristocrats, but she'd also been introduced to many intelligent and interesting men and women. If only she hadn't had this blasted lump on her skull. She knew that she would be having a better time if she were feeling more the thing. She was just so incredibly tired.
Emma let her eyelids flutter shut, groaning softly as she wondered how on earth she was ever going to rouse herself to return to the party.

Alex moved swiftly and silently into the room, mentally blessing the well-oiled hinges of Emma's door. He paused for a moment, regarding Emma with a tender gaze. In repose, she was soft and sweet, without a hint of her sharp tongue and rapier wit. A delicate smile touched her face as she nestled deeper into her quilts, and Alex thought that there was nothing in this world he wanted to do more than to take her into his arms and lull her to sleep. He stopped and frowned, puzzling at his chaste thoughts. Frankly, he could not remember the last time he'd had any tender feelings for a woman.

Suddenly, Emma stretched out her body with a feline purr. Alex felt lust take over his mind and body as her breasts strained against the top of her bodice.

Emma, eyes still closed, sighed in contentment.

Alex stepped back to the door.

Emma curled back into a ball, thinking that solitude was indeed a wonderful state.

Alex shut the door with a resounding click.

Emma's eyes flew open with horror, and she gasped at the sight of the black-haired, green-eyed man whose powerful frame seemed to fill her entire room.

“Hello, Meg.”

Chapter 5

F
or one blessed second, Emma thought she was hallucinating. There was simply no way this green-eyed devil could have come to be standing in her bedroom. And she
had
bumped her head rather soundly that afternoon. She'd heard that such accidents did strange things to one's mind. Then the Duke of Ashbourne bestowed upon her a devilish smile and seated himself in her easy chair.

That was when Emma knew he must be real. No hallucination of hers would behave so abominably. Her breath caught in her throat and she suddenly felt very sick to her stomach. Dear Lord, her relatives had spent the last month teaching her the ins and outs of London society, but no one had told her what to do if she discovered a gentleman—no, a rogue—in her bedroom. Emma knew she should say something, scream even, but not a sound passed through her lips.

And then Emma suddenly realized that she was still stretched across her bed in a very compromising position. Glancing up, she quickly realized that the duke had also noticed. His hot gaze seemed to burn into her skin, and Emma felt herself pinken with embarrassment. She hastily pulled herself upright, clutching a pillow to her chest, eager to shield herself from Alex's eyes.

“Pity,” he remarked sardonically.

Emma's eyes flew to his. She still didn't speak, not quite trusting her voice.

He answered the question he saw in her eyes. “Not many women have breasts as lovely as yours. 'Tis a pity to cover them up.”

That only made Emma clutch the pillow even tighter. Alex chuckled at her modesty. “Besides,” he continued, “you're not hiding from me anything you haven't just shown to all of London.”

Except they weren't sitting in my bedroom
, Emma thought angrily.

“Really, Meg, or should I say Emma? You can't convince me you're mute. I saw a fair piece of your temper earlier this afternoon. Surely you must have something to say?”

Emma said the first thing that came into her mind. “I think I'm going to vomit.”

That comment took Alex completely off guard, and he half rose out of his chair. Emma feared she might actually laugh at the look of utter panic she saw on his face. “Good Lord,” he exclaimed, scanning the room for some kind of receptacle. Not finding one, he looked back to the woman on the bed. “Do you mean it?”

“No. Although your presence
does
unsettle my stomach.”

Alex was once again taken aback. The American chit had succeeded in completely flustering him— no mean feat. He ought to throttle her for her impudence, but she looked so damned innocent and appealing sitting on the bed with the pillow clutched to her chest that he could only laugh. “Women have told me that I make them feel a number of things,” he drawled, “but nausea was never one of them.”

Emma ignored his comment. “What on earth are you doing here?” she finally asked.

“Isn't it obvious?” Alex's green eyes twinkled as he leaned forward. “I came to find you.”

“Me?” Emma squeaked, hoping there had been some mistake. “You don't even know me.”

“You're right,” Alex mused. “But I did meet a kitchen wench this afternoon who looked remarkably like you. Red hair, violet eyes. Do you by chance have an identical twin?” He smiled dangerously. “She was nothing like you in temperament, however. A lusty wench, she was. Could barely keep her hands off of me—and kissed me in the most unspeakable places.”

“I did not!” Emma roared. “How dare you even suggest it!”

Alex merely raised a single eyebrow at her outburst. “So you do admit that you were in my coach this afternoon?”

“You know I was. There is no use denying it.”

“Indeed,” Alex agreed, leaning comfortably back into the chair.

“Make yourself right at home.”

Alex paid no attention to her sarcasm. “Thank you. You're very kind. And now,” he commanded, “I would like a full explanation of how you came to be wearing servant's clothes and traipsing around London unescorted.”

“What?!” Emma shrieked, outraged.

“I'm waiting for your explanation.” His voice was deadly patient.

“Well, you're not going to get one, you highhanded louse,” she said bitterly.

“You're very lovely when you're angry, Emma.”

“Must you always say such outrageous things?”

Alex placed his hands behind his head and leaned back, as if he were pondering her angry question. “Actually, I've always prided myself on being slightly outrageous.”

“I'll just bet you have,” she muttered.

“What was that?”

Emma decided to try another tactic. “I think you're acting more than slightly outrageous. I may be from the United States, but even I know this is not at all the thing.” Emma sighed as she assessed her predicament. “Are you determined to ruin me? I'm trying so hard to make my uncle and aunt proud of me.”

Alex felt a twinge of guilt at his behavior when he saw Emma's wistful expression. Her violet eyes glowed softly with unshed tears, and her hair seemed to shimmer like fire beneath the flickering glow of the candle. Tenderness washed over him, and he fought the need to hold her in his arms. He wanted to soothe her, protect her, not ruin her. Hell, he wasn't even sure why he'd come up here in the first place.

But he knew he had to fight this strange tenderness toward the American girl. He'd yet to meet a marriageable young miss who could see beyond his title or his wealth. If he let himself feel anything for Emma, he knew he'd only get hurt. And somehow he instinctively knew that she had the power to wound him more deeply than any other.

And so he steeled his heart and sharpened his tongue. “I'm sure your aunt and uncle are most proud,” he said, his voice laden with sarcasm. “You had half the
ton
—the male half, that is—positively
drooling
over you. I'm sure you can expect half a dozen offers before the month is finished. You should be able to catch yourself quite a nice title.”

Emma flinched visibly at his verbal assault. “How can you say such cruel things? You don't even know me.”

“You're a woman,” he said simply.

“What has that got to do with anything?”

Alex noticed that, in her ire, Emma had thrown the pillow aside. Her skin flushed pink with anger, and her chest rose and fell with each deep breath she took. Alex thought she looked delectable but fought to keep his desire in check. “Women,” he explained patiently, “spend the first eighteen to twenty-one years of their lives sharpening their social skills. And when they think they're ready, they go out into the world, attend a few parties, bat their eyelashes, smile prettily, and catch a husband. The higher the title and the more money the better. And half the time, the poor fellow doesn't even know what hit him.”

Emma was obviously appalled, for her horror showed clearly on her face. “I cannot believe you just said that.”

“Insulted?”

“Completely.”

“You shouldn't be. It's the way of things. There's nothing you or I can do about it.”

Emma suddenly felt her anger dissolve into pity. What on earth had happened to this man that had made him so hard, so cruel? “Haven't you ever loved anyone?” she asked quietly.

Alex looked up sharply at her soft question and was surprised to see true concern in her eyes. “And have you loved so many that you're an expert?” he countered in an equally soft voice.

“Not like
that
” Emma said pointedly. “But I will. Someday, I will. And until then, I have my father, and Uncle Henry and Aunt Caroline, and Belle and Ned. I couldn't ask for a more wonderful family, and I love them all dearly. There's absolutely nothing I wouldn't do for them.”

Alex found himself wishing he were included in that privileged group.

“I know you have a family,” Emma continued, remembering her encounter with his sister. “Don't you love them?”

“Yes, I do.” Alex's expression softened for the first time that evening, and Emma couldn't miss the love in his eyes when he thought of his family. He chuckled. “Maybe you are correct. It seems that there are a few women in the world who are worthy of love. Unfortunately, I seem to be rather closely related to all of them.”

“I think you're frightened,” Emma said daringly

“I hope you intend to explain that comment.”

“You're scared. It's far easier to shut yourself off from people than to love them. If you keep your heart surrounded by strong walls, no one can get close enough to you to break it. Don't you agree?” Emma looked up into his eyes and was startled by his intent gaze. Cursing herself for a coward, she looked away. “You…see…” she stammered, fighting to keep the courage she needed to speak to him in such a forward manner. “I can tell that you're not a
bad
person. You obviously care for your family very deeply, so you must be capable of love. You're just afraid to make yourself vulnerable.”