His Scandal Page 18

  “Enough,” she finally cried, breaking from Alex’s hold, her breath coming hard from exertion—or so she told herself.

  He smiled at her. “Then you’re ready for Max’s turn at the dance?”

  “No! I need—fresh air,” she stammered, giving Maxwell an apologetic look before taking his arm. She led Blythe’s suitor out the tall, windowed doors leading into the gardens, knowing that Alex followed because she could feel his movement like a part of her.

  “Why, this is a perfect idea,” he said, coming to stand beside her on the terrace.

  She glanced warily at him. “What do you mean?”

  “What a fine way to again demonstrate the art of touching.”

  He was gazing at a meadow on the side of the mansion, where archery targets had been set up.

  “Many of your lady friends practice archery, do they not?” he asked, walking toward the grass.

  Emmeline had no choice but to trail behind the two men, for Maxwell seemed intrigued—or at least, amused by the possibilities.

  “Come, Alex,” he said, “surely there is not a way to court a young lady on an archery field!”

  Alex grinned back at him. “There is always a way. You must use ingenuity to find it. Emmeline, do you shoot?”

  “A bit,” she murmured skeptically.

  “Good. Do come here, then, and show me your form.”

  She inhaled and glared at him.

  “I mean your archery form, my lady. Max, she takes such easy offense, does she not?”

  Maxwell’s grunt was noncommittal.

  Emmeline lifted the bow she had been using that morning, but before she could even take the correct stance, Alex was at her back, his hands on her arms. Stunned, she wondered what to say, how to make him stop without Maxwell realizing how much Alex affected her.

  But Alex didn’t seem to be feeling the same things. “Max,” he called, “see how I lift her elbow to the correct height, how I lean close, how I allow my breath to lightly fan her neck?”

  Maxwell chuckled and Emmeline forced herself to do the same, trying desperately to control her blush and the shivering that made her arms seem not her own.

  She almost kissed Maxwell when he strode toward them. “I can do this, Alex. Let me try.”

  Alex’s grip tightened, and she heard his quickly inhaled breath. She glanced over her shoulder at him and saw not playfulness, but unguarded anger in his eyes.

  Anger?

  Then Maxwell stepped between them, and he guided her left hand to lift the bow, and her right hand to pull back the string.

  “Just a bit farther, my lady,” he said in an almost apologetic voice.

  Suddenly the back of his hand touched her breast, and he jumped away from her as if she’d burned him.

  “Oh, my lady, forgive my clumsiness!” he cried, looking mortified.

  Flustered, Emmeline glanced at Alex, ready for his amused laughter. Instead his narrowed gaze pinned Maxwell like a sword. Was he angry that another man had touched her?

  “Willoughby, you’ve gone too quickly to the advanced lesson,” Alex said in a low voice unlike his own.

  She gaped at him, wondering if he was actually jealous—over her? She didn’t know if she was giddy at the possibility or frightened. She was held motionless, trapped by the mysterious depths of his gaze.

  Maxwell blathered on, obviously unaware of the emotions raging around him.

  “Your friendship has meant so much to me, my lady, but how will I ever look upon you again?”

  “It was merely an accident,” she said quickly, needing to end their lesson. Watching Alex, she felt like she was trying to stop a rising storm.

  “I should go,” Maxwell said. “I can’t believe I—”

  “Willoughby, you’re not using my lessons enough,” Alex said slowly.

  She watched with awe as he seemed to lock every emotion behind an effortless mask of friendliness. He was much more complicated than the face he showed the world. What did he hide, and why did she desperately want to understand it all?

  “But tomorrow night you will,” Alex continued. “You will practice touching at Lady Rutherford’s card party.”

  Maxwell’s face faded to the color of an uncooked pastry. “Alex, I cannot—I wouldn’t know where to begin, what to say.”

  “You will wait for a woman to play the spinet, and you will sit beside her, helping her to turn the pages of the music. And you will touch her.”

  “Alex!” Emmeline cried. “What are you doing?”

  “It will work,” he said patiently, never taking his gaze from her. “You’ll see.”

  Maxwell stuttered through his good-byes, and soon she and Alex were alone. The emotions raging through her were only for him. He could manipulate her very heartbeat and the blood that pulsed through her veins.

  And the way he looked at her now, his amusement gone, his intensity making him seem like a stranger—

  Without a word, she dashed around him at a dead run for the house, knowing she was not capable of resisting him anymore. He caught her arm, pulling her about to face him.

  “Em, what did you think you were doing?”

  “I?” she cried, aghast. “I’ve only done everything you wanted me to do.”

  “Then why did you let him touch you like that?” he demanded, gripping her by both arms now.

  “Let him?”

  “Very well, I’ll be more blunt. You leaned into his hand.”

  “I did not!” How could he even suggest such a thing? Anger clouded the last of her good judgment. “Why are you acting like this over a simple accident?”

  He opened his mouth, frustration raging across his face.

  “Do you not understand?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “No one can touch you but me.”

  The kiss Alex gave her was demanding and possessive, and Emmeline felt tears of frustration fall down her cheeks. She finally pushed him away and wiped her hand across her mouth.

  “Stop this!” she cried. “Our encounters cannot always end thus. You don’t mean any of it!”

  With a sob, she turned and ran from him, ignoring his call, not stopping until she slammed the door to her chamber and leaned against it, holding the stitch in her side.

  And still the tears came. How had he done it? He was destroying all her defenses against him. She’d been wrong about love, wrong about everything she’d ever experienced with her poet. None of it compared to even one touch from Alex—a man too hurt by his own problems to commit to a woman.

  Oh, she’d spent nights reminding herself of his past scandals, of the women he must have seduced. But some foolish part of her was convinced there was a different Alex hidden inside him, one who was hurting, who covered it all with scandal and flirting and wagering. Her feelings for him frightened her, because Alex was not the kind of man who fell in love. He pursued her for the adventure, for amusement.

  Her plan to be content as the maiden aunt no longer seemed enough—and it was all Alex Thornton’s fault. Did he even understand what he did, how he made her feel like a desirable woman? Yet what would it get her but seduced, or even left with a child and no husband? Had he truly only turned to her because she was more available than her sister?

  Wiping away her tears, she gave a reluctant laugh. To think she had never thought to feel this torn by desire. She would have gone to her grave not knowing this painful pleasure, the wonder of being the only thing one man looked at.

  But she hadn’t found it with a man who would marry her.

  That night at the Rooster, Alex sat at a corner table and finished his fourth tankard of beer, ignoring the tumult of voices raised in a drunken song. But he couldn’t drink away the jealousy that ate at him, jealousy he’d never felt in his life over a woman. Why had he showed Emmeline his emotions? Now she knew he was jealous, and would think she had a hold over him. If he wasn’t careful, he was still going to have to leave London for a while—taking some future mistress, of course.

  Because there would be a mi
stress, he thought, looking dejectedly at the tavern maids. He would not make a fool of himself over a noble maiden he couldn’t have; he’d done that enough while posing as Spencer. He still remembered when he’d first visited Lady Margaret, daughter of a duke, after his true identity had been discovered. They had danced and flirted and kissed for months, and she was the first person he was actually relieved to reveal himself to. But what he’d thought had been feminine interest on her part had been only a lusting for power and wealth. Her father expected a brilliant match, she told him coolly, and she expected no less for herself.

  Women like Lady Margaret—and Emmeline—were for men with titles and power. Though Emmeline desired him, she had already learned long ago that desire didn’t matter. She would be a dutiful daughter and marry as her father told her to.

  Chapter 21

  Lady Rutherford’s card party was going to be a sedate, relaxed affair, Emmeline realized, as she came through the doorway. At her side was Blythe, who had arrived home in time for the event. On the coach ride over she’d told Emmeline about the people she’d seen in Kent, the parties she’d attended, but all the while Emmeline had gotten the impression that Blythe was almost relieved to be back in London.

  Guilt swamped Emmeline as her sister rushed forward happily to a table occupied by her female friends. She hoped Blythe wasn’t looking for Alex, because how could she tell her that Alex wasn’t interested in her anymore? Blythe would want to know how she knew, and Emmeline would have to say—because he’s trying to seduce me!

  Blythe waved her over and Emmeline shook her head, pointing to the refreshment table. She stood there alone a moment, sipping wine handed to her by a servant, until Maxwell joined her.

  Perspiration shone on his forehead, and his normally pristine appearance seemed hastily put together.

  “Maxwell?” she said uncertainly.

  He seemed to force a grin. “A good evening to you, Lady Emmeline.”

  Before she could say another word, he burst out, “I cannot do this.”

  She slumped with disappointment. “Oh, Maxwell, what am I to do with you? You know Alex is right.”

  “Yes, but I feel so foolish. Surely I will be the joke of the party.”

  “Never. You are a well-respected man. So let us see who’s at the spinet.”

  They both turned and saw that Blythe had just taken the bench, and was now looking through the sheet music.

  “How perfect!” Emmeline said, though she could see him swallow and tug at the high ruff beneath his chin. “Go ahead, Maxwell.”

  “But…surely her friends will help her.”

  “Then you’d best sit beside her before they do.”

  She turned him about by the shoulders and gave him a little push toward the spinet. He stumbled, then straightened and walked determinedly to the instrument. Blythe looked up and smiled at him, easing Emmeline’s nerves.

  Maxwell took Blythe’s hand and bowed over it, pressing a kiss that made Blythe blush. Emmeline could barely contain her glee. Maxwell spoke to her sister, leaning over, and suddenly Blythe was making room for him on the bench.

  Emmeline could have clapped and shouted her praise. Oh, good for Maxwell!

  She didn’t want to spy on them, so she turned her back and looked out over the room. Little tables were scattered about, and already people were engrossed in card games, while servants wandered about with wine and food.

  At the table behind her, a man said, “Did you hear? Viscount Thornton has returned to London. I just spoke with him tonight.”

  Emmeline barely stopped herself from rudely interrupting for details. Alex’s brother was back from the Isle of Wight? She could not wait to see the man Alex had successfully impersonated for almost two years. Were their personalities as alike as their faces?

  And then she saw him speaking to their hostess, Lady Rutherford. She studied him thoughtfully, amazed at their identical looks, then looking deeper for their differences. He held himself with a formal, straight bearing, where Alex always seemed casually relaxed. As he spoke his expression was serious, and the smile he finally showed seemed restrained. This was not a man who freely gave in to his emotions.

  And then Lady Rutherford was leading him toward Emmeline, and she saw for herself that the banked wickedness in Alex’s eyes was absent in his brother’s.

  And she missed it. In Alex there was always the promise of wildness and unpredictability.

  “Lady Emmeline?” Lady Rutherford said. “I would like to introduce you to Lord Thornton.”

  Emmeline curtsied deeply, then looked up into the interested eyes of Alex’s brother.

  “Lady Emmeline,” he said, “I asked for this introduction because I had to meet the woman that my…mother spoke so much of. I understand she and your mother were friends.”

  “Yes, my lord. And how is your mother doing?”

  “Quite well, thank you. We had a pleasant visit together.”

  Oh, he was nothing like Alex, so formal, so polite.

  “Congratulations on the birth of your child, Lord Thornton. I understand it was a boy? And your wife is well?”

  “Thank you, yes. She was not up to traveling yet, but I’m sure she can’t wait to meet you.”

  Emmeline tried not to frown. “But…why? I am merely a friend of your broth—mother.”

  “I guess it was because of the message my brother asked me to relay to you.” His smile was full of chagrin. “Regretfully I cannot say it in so public a place. It is a rather private request.”

  She didn’t know what to say as Lord Thornton took her arm. What could Alex have said to him?

  Before she knew it they were in a small library, where a fire was rapidly becoming only embers. She turned in confusion to Lord Thornton, and found him closing the door. He leaned back against it, watching her.

  “My lord,” she began cautiously, “what could Alex have needed to say that he could not say himself?”

  Instead of speaking, he reached for both her hands. He suddenly yanked her against him, and wicked amusement spilled from his eyes. She only had a moment to breathe, “Alex,” before he kissed her.

  As always, his passion threatened to overwhelm her, but Emmeline fought the pleasure stealing over her by pushing him away.

  “Alex Thornton!” she gasped.

  The courtly bow he gave her was exaggerated with a flourish. “My lady.”

  “I didn’t even guess—I didn’t see—”

  “No one ever does,” he said, still laughing.

  But she was uneasy at his laughter, at…something.

  “I have not met your brother, but you were very successful at not portraying yourself. I can see why you fooled so many people.”

  “Not just ‘so many people.’ I fool everyone.”

  “Even your mother?”

  “Well, no. But you, Em, you believed it.”

  And though he smiled at her, made a joke of it all, she felt a sympathetic chill move through her. Somehow, she knew he had wanted her not to be fooled, to know him anywhere. And she’d failed.

  She didn’t think that he even knew it had been some sort of a test. She suddenly realized that Alex used laughter when anything cut too deep to his emotions. So many things made sense now.

  Emmeline forced a smile, but all she felt was sadness. Living as his brother must have changed him in ways he didn’t want to face. Instead of seeing himself as but a man doing a job, he must have thought of himself as somehow less than Spencer. Had such feelings always been a part of him?

  She wanted to reassure him, to tell him she knew everything, but it was not her place. Such rights belonged to a wife, not the current object of his fancy. So she had to distract him, while inside her throat ached with unshed tears.

  “Alex, I need to ask your forbearance.”

  “Over what?”

  “Maxwell and Blythe. I know you’ve claimed that you are finished courting her—”

  “I never courted her.”

  “—but please, g
ive them this chance at happiness. They are perfect for each other. You’ve helped Maxwell, and forgive me for not telling you the full truth, but I thought you would feel I was pushing you out of Blythe’s life.”

  Alex knew he stared foolishly down at her, his mouth open, but for once he was at a loss. He blurted, “But I thought you wanted Max for yourself.”

  Her eyes went wide. “For myself? Maxwell is a dear friend, that is all. No, it is Blythe I am concerned for.”

  Alex could neither understand nor explain his relief, and he had never thought to feel such confusion. “But…what about your dreams for yourself, Em? What about your life?”

  Though she laughed, he saw the pain she always kept buried. And for the first time, a woman’s pain hurt him.

  “Oh, Alex, surely you see that I have made my peace with my life? I know my future, and I gladly accept it. I will be happy living with Blythe’s family. And I want her to be happy, to choose the sort of stable man who will complement her high spirits. We do well together, my sister and I. I can help raise her children, and be her companion in our old age. What more could I want?”

  Alex saw that she had convinced herself that she meant it.

  “Go back to your sister, then,” he said, smiling at her. “I will not interfere between her and Max.”

  The light in her face could have blinded him. “Truly, Alex? Oh, thank you! You do not know how I have worried. I shall see you at the party, won’t I? We can play cards together, and I can see if you play just as well as you use your mouth.”

  Her face flamed scarlet as she realized what she’d said.

  “Oh! I meant how you talk, not how you—you—” She ran from the room.

  Alex was left alone, staring after her, reflecting on a strange ache in his chest. His smile faded as he went to the window and looked unseeingly outside.

  How had he not noticed it? Not only had Emmeline given up on her own life, she thought to live through her sister. All his kisses and passion had done nothing to make her see that she was a desirable woman, that any marriageable man would be happy to have her.

  But it wouldn’t be someone like him. He certainly didn’t need to be with her—he didn’t need any woman.