Tessa's Touch (23 page)

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CHAPTER 15

Tessa was determined to keep her distance from
Lord Anthony for the remainder of the day's ride. He had already tricked her
into admitting more than she'd intended, but if she told him the rest, he would
feel obliged to do something he'd regret for the rest of his life. She couldn't
allow him to do that.

Her efforts were helped by the fact that the
hounds cornered the fox only half an hour later, without another check. Using
the excuse that she didn't want to watch the kill, she at once rode back to
meet her father and Lady Killerby, coming up at the rear of the field in the
phaeton.

"Let's go home, Papa, shall we?" she
suggested as soon as she reached them. "You must be cold —and tired."

"Nonsense," said Lady Killerby.
"You're neither, are you, George?"

He shook his head. "I appreciate your concern,
Tessa, but this has been the most enjoyable day I've spent in years."

"And you certainly don't want to miss my
little party," the dowager added. "Not to worry, Miss Seaton, we can
sit him as near the fire at Ivy Lodge as you would at Wheatstone."

Tessa nodded, but her heart sank. How would she
avoid more conversation with Anthony if they all went to Ivy Lodge?

"I'll just go home to change, then,"
she said, thinking that perhaps she could take long enough about it that the
party would be over before she arrived.

But Lady Killerby would have none of it.
"No, no, my dear! That's the point, don't you see? Everyone is to come in
their hunting attire— though I suppose those who managed to get muddy or wet,
like your poor Mr. Emery, will insist on changing into something dry."

"Then Uncle Emery is coming?" she
asked her father.

Sir George nodded. "And Harold too. It
seemed only proper, considering you two are now betrothed." Some of the
sparkle left his eyes.

Lady Killerby sniffed, but only said,
"Yes, I told Emery to bring his son along, at Sir George's behest. But
now, we'd best be on our way, if I'm to be there to welcome my guests. Let's
take the road back, Henry," she said to her driver.

Tessa rode alongside, glancing nervously behind
from time to time to make certain Anthony wasn't catching them up. Surely with
both Uncle Mercer and Harold at Ivy Lodge, she needn't worry about him resuming
their earlier conversation?

Unfortunately, he was already at his hunting
box when they arrived, having apparently taken a quicker route back. "Ah,
there you are," he greeted them from the front steps. "Killer has
been directing the preparations in our absence, and everything is ready. Did
you enjoy the meet, Sir George?"

"Very much indeed," Tessa's father
replied. "Lily insists I accompany her to every hunt she attends while she
is in the country, and I plan to do just that."

That was news to Tessa, and not particularly
welcome. "Papa, are you sure—" she began, but Anthony was already
talking again.

"Excellent! Glad to hear it. Clearly,
you're a tonic for more than your son, Lady Killerby." He gave Tessa a
meaning look, which she ignored.

"Is there a room where I might freshen up,
my lady?" she asked, dismounting and handing her reins to a waiting groom
just as Mr. Turpin, Lord Rushford and Sir Charles came around the corner from
the stables.

Lady Killerby jumped lightly down from the
phaeton. "Of course. I'll take you up while Anthony and one of these
others help your father into the house."

Tessa followed Lady Killerby inside and up two
flights of stairs to the bedchamber she indicated. Inside, she found a
washstand with hot and cold water, a comb, a looking glass and a necessary.

Ten minutes later, feeling much refreshed, she
reemerged —to find Anthony waiting in the hallway.

"What say we finish our talk?" he
suggested, smiling down at her in an intimate manner —far too intimate a
manner, considering that she was technically betrothed to another man.

Her heart quickened its beat. "I . . . I
don't believe I have anything more to say," she stammered, cursing her
tongue for not giving him the scathing set-down he deserved.

He moved closer, which did not help at all.
"But I have many questions to ask," he said softly. "Tessa, do
you really wish to marry Harold Emery?"

She looked up at him and he seemed to fill her
senses. Clutching at the shreds of reason, of what she knew was right, she
nodded. "I must," she whispered.

"That's not what I asked. Do you
want
to?"

Now he was only inches away, his hazel eyes
boring into hers. He smelled of horses and the clean outdoors and something
else, a masculine scent uniquely his. She knew that her response to this
question would seal her fate —and his.

Steeling her resolve, for his sake and for her
father's, she looked into his eyes and lied. "Yes."

There. She'd done it. Now—

He gripped her by the shoulders and pulled her
against him, then pressed his lips to hers— roughly, demandingly, not at all
like the tender caresses she remembered from the abandoned cottage.

She froze, stunned, but only for an instant,
because something equally demanding awoke within her. With a moan, she pressed
herself against him, not caring how wrong this was, how foolish, how— anything.
Only that she needed this, and needed it now.

He released her shoulders and gathered her to
him, his lips gentling as she responded. Scarcely knowing what she did, she
opened her mouth to him and he plundered it with his tongue, stroking,
possessing —knowing. They were fused. One.

It was as though she'd been waiting for this
since they'd left the cottage, as though her body, her mind, had been craving
exactly this, and she was now complete —or more nearly complete. His lips moved
over hers and parts of her body far distant responded, from the tips of her
breasts to the place below her belly, to her very toes. She never wanted this
kiss to end, never wanted to return to cold reality.

Even as a shadow of that thought passed through
her fevered brain, a slight sound from downstairs intruded, breaking the spell
of madness that had her in its grip. With a gasp, she pulled back, panting, to
stare up at him.

Though he was still flushed with passion, he
smiled, humor glinting in his eyes. "Now. Tell me again that you wish to
marry Harold Emery."

"Why—? How could—?"

"I know how adept you are at deception,
Tessa," he said. "You've hidden things from your father for years.
But while you may be able to lie convincingly with words, your body has not yet
learned to do so. I wanted to know the truth —and now I do."

She swallowed painfully. "But . . . it
really doesn't change anything, except to make me regret what I must do even
more."

"Why?" he demanded fiercely.
"Why can't you marry me instead? Because of your father?"

"That's only a part of it," she
confessed, finally admitting her deepest worry. "I could never fit into
your world, Anthony. You must know that. Your family would despise me and I
would be a constant embarrassment. I may be able to acquit myself well on the
hunting field, but in a ballroom, or in London Society, I would be as out of place
as a horse or a hound would be."

"I don't believe that," he said with
a certainty that tempted her to trust him, though she knew she dared not.
"Tessa, please, let me—"

At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, he
broke off and hastily released her. Tessa took two quick steps backward,
frantically smoothing her hair with her fingers.

"Here you are, still," exclaimed Lady
Killerby from halfway up the stairs. "Come along down, both of you. Our
guests are beginning to arrive."

Wordlessly, they followed her down, Tessa
completely unsure whether she felt more relief or vexation at the interruption.
She
should
feel relief —she
knew that. Nothing Anthony could say would change the facts. A match between
them would be unsuitable in the extreme, and Society would be only too eager to
punish them both for it.

A hum of voices greeted them as they approached
the parlor and Tessa found upon entering that nearly a dozen people were
already present —to include her uncle and cousin.

"Ah, there's my bride-to-be," said
Harold loudly, coming toward her. She was almost certain his father had prodded
him from behind, and the joviality of his tone sounded decidedly forced.
"I wondered where you were, my dear."

Turning up the corners of her mouth in
something she hoped approximated a smile, she said, "I merely went to
freshen up after the hunt. My hair was quite a disaster, I assure you."

She suspected it was not much better now, after
her passionate encounter in the hallway. Her lips felt bruised and swollen.
Surely the whole room must suspect the truth? But no one seemed to be staring,
and Harold merely put a possessive hand on her elbow and led her to a chair
between him and his father.

Lady Killerby was greeting a pair of newcomers,
two men Tessa remembered from the hunt, though she did not recall their names.
Once she had them supplied with sherry and biscuits, she moved about the room
to be certain all of her guests were comfortable. Tessa thought she took
particular trouble over Sir George, who seemed delighted at the attention.

"Thank you again, my lady, for inviting my
son and myself to your little gathering," Uncle Mercer said when she
passed them.

Tessa thought Lady Killerby's smile looked very
slightly strained. "Not at all, sir. As connections of Sir George's you
are quite welcome, I assure you. But pray, don't monopolize Miss Seaton. As the
only other lady here, she must help me to entertain our guests. You two see her
all the time, after all."

Out of the corner of her eye, Tessa saw Harold
frown. "But—" he began, but his father gave a quick head shake.

"Not here, Harold," her uncle
murmured. "If we want to be accepted by people like these, we must play by
their rules." Then, to Tessa, "Go on, then, girl. Help her ladyship
pour tea, or whatever it is she needs you to do."

"Perhaps you can speak with Mr. Thornton,
there in the corner, and draw him into conversation with some others,"
Lady Killerby suggested.

Hoping that she could keep her thoughts focused
enough for such a task, Tessa moved to comply.

Anthony, watching from across the room, noticed
young Emery's deepening scowl with some amusement. So, the fellow didn't care
to have Tessa speaking to other men, did he? Small wonder, since Tessa had not
entered into this betrothal of her free will. Both Emerys must worry she'd find
some way to get out of it.

None of the other men were taking any notice of
the pair, apparently realizing instinctively that they were not really a part
of this circle. Smiling, Anthony walked over to them and sketched a bow that
was so slight as to be a mockery.

"Welcome to Ivy Lodge, gentlemen," he
said. "I trust you will not catch a chill from your dunking today, Mr.
Emery?"

One or two gentlemen within earshot chuckled,
and the older man frowned. "I imagine not, my lord. Our family is known
for possessing excellent health in general."

"Glad to hear it. I'm sorry you were not
able to join us in today's meet," Anthony then said to the younger Mr.
Emery. "Why have we not had the pleasure of seeing you ride this
season?"

Harold Emery's face darkened, but after darting
a glance at his father, he managed a brief smile. "I've been too
busy." His abrupt reply bordered on rudeness.

"Ah. I should think spending so much time
with horses would make you an excellent rider, sir."

"I do all right."

"I'm glad to hear it," Anthony said
cheerfully, "for you wouldn't want your bride to show you up, I'm sure.
Never good for a man's ego, that —or so I hear. Which reminds me, I have not
yet congratulated you on your . . . conquest."

Now young Emery was scowling again, heedless of
his father's nudging. "Thank you," he grated.

"I must say, you don't seem nearly as
happy as I would expect of a man who is to take the lovely Miss Seaton to wife.
Why, if I were in your place—"

"You're not," Emery snapped.
"She'll make me happy enough once we're wed—if she knows what's good for
her." He did smile then, but it was far from a pleasant expression.

Mercer Emery leaped to his feet. "Really,
you are most kind, my lord, and my son is more grateful than he can properly
express for your attention. Come, Harold, I believe Sir George wishes to speak
with us." So saying, he fairly dragged the younger man over to the
fireplace, where Sir George was chatting animatedly with several of the
sportsmen, oblivious to the exchange which had just taken place.

Anthony watched them go, a grim smile playing
about his mouth. Perhaps it was uncharitable of him to goad a man he was so
certain of defeating, but young Emery seemed such an uncouth, bullying fellow
that he really couldn't resist it.

Still, he didn't want to make things more
unpleasant for Tessa before he had an opportunity to extricate her from Emery's
clutches. He glanced over to where she was urging Mr. Thornton to try a canape.
Several other men had gathered around her and seemed to be vying for her
attention —not that Anthony could blame them.