The Dream (13 page)

“I dare say that’s more amusing than what some—” he abruptly stopped.

“Yes?” Jason prodded. “You were saying?”

“Nothing,”
Nickolas
mumbled.

Another man, fair-headed and a rake in Jason’s opinion, asked Emily for a dance. Jason gritted his teeth when she smiled at the rogue and prettily declined, but asked for lemonade.

“Lord Sheldon, madam. I would be honored if you’d accept this dance?”

Emily blushed prettily and just as she placed her hand on the man’s proffered arm, Jason reached forward and grabbed her hand.

A waltz started.

“My dear, I believe this dance is mine.” Jason waited to see what she would do. When she frowned at him, he smiled, and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.

The music started. Lord Sheldon smiled, his eyes twinkling and nodded to Jason before taking himself off. Jason swept her around the room. She was as guileless as a clear summer day. Most widows he knew, hell most women he knew, would either be ignoring him outright, dancing with him because she knew it rude to turn him down, or they would be flirting with him. He’d had several attempted seductions aimed at him on the dance floor. Batted eyelashes, slow appraising looks, lips that had been licked ever so slowly, softly whispered innuendoes.

But Emily. Ah, Emily was different. Her gaze was direct as though she might have something else altogether on her mind. And in her case, she probably did.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, tightening his hold about her waist a little more than necessary.

“I’m trying to count.”

“Count?” he smiled.

She grinned. “One. Two. Three.”

He twirled her in a deep turn around couples. “Well, you needn’t worry about counting it seems. You’re dancing wonderfully.”

And she was. In fact, he thought they danced well together given the differences in their height. Her head only went to the center of his chest.

And did he really care how tall she was?

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He let the silence between them lengthen and scanned the crowd. Several people watched them. He knew no one had missed the fact he’d danced the first waltz with her grandmother and then the next with her. Rumors would be alive.

He noticed the other young bucks and rakes staring at her and found he didn’t like it one damn bit.

His gaze turned back to the slight woman in his arms. Her gown brought out the colors of her hair, the bronze material teased the gold in her eyes. Jason noticed the back of the evening gown rode higher along her neck than most of the fashionable plates. But in her case, she at least had the option of hiding her scars, except for the one on her lip. His was a bit hard to miss. Though, he noticed Emily never remarked on it. In fact, she rarely seemed to actually see it.

He spread his fingers, then pulled them back toward his palm across the small of her back. The shiver that glanced through her was not lost on him. Nor was the smell of her, a faint vanilla scent.

She tilted her head at the movement and looked up to him. “Are you still angry with me,
Ravensworth
?”

“For?” Under the lights her hair took on the color of honey.

“Leaving so abruptly. I was under the distinct impression you were not pleased with me this afternoon.”

“On the contrary, Mrs. Smith, I was very pleased to see you this afternoon.”

Her brow creased with a slight frown, yet she said nothing.

“You don’t believe that.”

“No,
Ravensworth
, I do not.”

The skirt of her gown whispered against his legs. He wanted to hear her say his name. “Jason,” he said.

Her frown faded. “I beg your pardon?”

“Jason. It’s my name.”

Brown eyes narrowed slightly before her tongue darted out wetting her lips, which he saw were the color of ripe peaches. As beckoning as the luscious fruits hanging just out of reach.

She cleared her throat. “I don’t think—”

“Jason.”

Something shifted in her eyes. He wished he could read her better, understand her more. Normally, he could read, understand and give a woman that which she sought. As far as Emily was concerned, he had no idea where he was with her, or exactly where he wanted to be.

“Jason,” he said, lowering his voice.

Her sigh wafted gently. “Jason.” A small grin pulled the edge of her mouth up.

Jason. An image hot and intense flashed unbidden into his mind. The two of them, sweet and tangled, dark and passionate, his name whispered just that way, a sigh on her lips.

“Though why you insist is beyond me.”

Her sharp words jerked him back. “Excuse me?”

“Why must I call you Jason?”

The music was fading. He slowed them, watched her try to concentrate on the dance steps, him, and her question at the same time. Perhaps the trick to her was to keep her busy.

“Why indeed. Mayhap because I want to hear you say my name.”

Her expression, the furrowed brow, the narrowed mouth clearly told him what she thought of his confession. The music stopped. He looked up and noticed several more men scanning her as if she were a delectable confection. Jason ground his teeth. He did not like other men looking at her. At all. It wasn’t as if she were some light skirt, some…

“Jason?” she asked, her voice tentative.

He realized he’d been squeezing her fingers. Gently, he rubbed them, then brought the gloved digits to his mouth and kissed the backs. “I’m sorry, my mind was on other matters for a moment.”

She looked to the men, her chin jutted up, but her gaze lowered.

Jason merely glanced at them and raised one brow. They fell back out of his way as he led her toward her uncle.

“Would you like some lemonade?” he asked, wishing he’d made more out of the dance with her and not set her on edge at the end. He wanted her to smile, perhaps even laugh.

“Thank you. That would be lovely.”

He grinned, and raised her hand. “Jason.”

Her lips twitched. “Has anyone ever told you, you are impossible?”

“On several occasions. It’s nice to see I haven’t lost my touch.”

She chuckled. A small laugh, but a laugh all the same.

He looked up and saw her uncle just ahead surrounded by young bucks and older rakehells alike.

“I will fetch you a glass as soon as I see you safely back to your uncle.” He put his other hand atop hers, which rested on his arm.

“I can manage to walk all of a few yards to Uncle Rayne, you know.”

“Humor me.”

“My goal in life.”

The wit was so unexpected, he laughed aloud. Then it was as if she realized what she said and paled. “I-I-I’m…”

He stopped and put his finger to her lips. Jason didn’t care who saw or what they thought. He wanted others to know not to slight her in the least.

Her dark, expressive eyes questioned.

Her lips shifted beneath his finger and Jason inhaled deeply. Forget not wanting others to slight her.

Emily was his.

He didn’t want another to have her. Period.

Where the thought came from, he knew not, but there it was, and he knew in his gut, it was right.

She was his.

As far as he was concerned, Emily was his to protect and see to. He just knew it was going to take some time to convince her of this. After all, he’d been taking care of her since the day he met her.

“Don’t,” he whispered, lowering his finger. “I won’t hurt you. I like you just the way you are. Perhaps one day you’ll see that I enjoy wit and humor in a woman and think no less of her for it.”

Her eyes had dimmed but then flashed in rage. Emily’s voice though was as cool and composed as she always was. “Forgive me, but I’m not afraid of you.”

Jason smiled. “I know that, Emily. It is my experience that old habits often die hardest.”

For a moment, she said nothing, then nodded and attempted to smile. “You’re right. And I hate it.”

“That I’m right? It does seem to be an affliction I have.”

Emily smiled. “That’s not quite what I meant.”

“I know.” He patted her hand again and started through the crowd. Some had pressed closer to see what the two of them might have been talking about, but the gossip mongers retreated several steps back as he sent them a look. There was at least one advantage to appearing like a demon.

Emily didn’t know if she was more embarrassed or confused. There had been no pity in Jason’s eyes and she knew he suspected her husband was not a nice man. He’d hinted so much when she’d stayed at the Abbey with him.

It didn’t matter. She was not going to fret and worry about it. He was right. Old habits were hard, but not impossible to break and she would break them one way or another.

“There you are,” Rayne said as they walked up.

Jason put his hand on her shoulders, squeezed slightly and said, “Emily would like some lemonade.”

Rayne arched one dark brow at her, but said nothing. The other men in the circle looked at her and grinned. For a moment she felt as if she were on display. Then one of them asked if she would like to dance. It was another fast waltz. Looking at her uncle, he barely nodded. Emily offered Lord
Umbridge
her hand and danced around the room with him. They made polite and scarce conversation. He did not dance nearly as well as Jason and she did not feel as comfortable with this man as she had with the last.

Finally, the set was over and
Umbridge
led her back to her uncle. More men pressed in. Jason was nowhere to be seen. After several moments of polite conversation, she leaned over and whispered to her uncle that she needed to refresh herself. He told her where the retiring room was located.

A momentary respite. There were so many people here she felt as if she couldn’t get a deep enough breath. Or perhaps the maid,
Tilly
had merely tightened her corset a bit too tight.

When she came out the door she heard her name. “Mrs. Smith? What kind of a name is that anyway?” a woman’s voice asked.

Emily looked around and saw a large potted fern stood partially in front of an alcove. Not wanting to meet the woman, she darted behind the plant.

“Did you see the way he fawned over her, though, Patti?” another woman asked.

Emily couldn’t see the women, but she could hear them, and they sounded young.

“I don’t believe that bit of nonsense about some lost family member either. Do you remember an Elizabeth?”

“No, but then she was before our time.”

“I dare say she’s probably
Warring’s
mistress. And the
Marquess
is giving him a bit of competition. They share everything else.”

The words and meanings made Emily blush. She’d never heard women talk so.

“Patti!”

“
Koleta
, you really must grow up. That is the story going around the ballroom tonight.”

Koleta
, who seemed quiet for the most part, said, “I wouldn’t be spreading that if I were you, Patti. If she’s who she claims to be, they are both powerful families. The
Warrings
won’t take the slight in stride. Young Lord Warring isn’t a man I’d want to cross. Nor is
Ravensworth
.”

A moment passed and silks rustled. Emily peeked between the fronds of the plant. Two women, one blonde and tall the other a bit shorter and dark-headed stood outside the ladies’ retiring door.

“Well, it’s not as if I started the rumor. It’s all over the ballroom.” The women went through the door.

Mistress? Words and meanings danced wickedly in her head. She didn’t want to cause her family trouble. All she wanted was peace. Peace from the past, but even here she couldn’t find it.

She’d always had a problem with people like Patti—Lady Patricia? They reminded her of the ballroom matrons. People who cared more about the scandal than what lay behind it. Self righteous individuals who never bothered to help her family. Women who would easily talk about her mother and then pretended as though nothing were wrong when her mother, or she, walked into church with a black eye or a bruised cheek. The more she thought about Patti’s words, the more they angered her.

The black cloud of emotion ate at her. All the woman had probably ever had to worry about was what dress to wear to what occasion.

Emily took a deep breath and stepped out from her hiding place. She did not wish to run into the ladies again. Slowly, she made her way down the hallway and stairs, her hand to her stomach. The warmth all but suffocated in here. More guests, if that were possible, seemed to cram the area below. She saw her grandmother glance her way and look back. Emily smiled at her and waved a hand in front of her face. She had to get out of here.

Looking down, she saw the row of French doors open out onto a terrace. Emily hurried down the rest of the stairs and out into the night.

The cool air damped against her skin. She rubbed her arms and tried to settle her nerves. Voices drifted from the open doors. People along the terrace laughed and chattered. Roses and verbena mingled in the air. It would be nice to find a quiet corner for just a moment.

Emily went down the steps and onto the lawns. Hedges grew tall, almost like a maze, but more open. She walked along the shelled paths for several minutes, rosemary wafted on the breeze. The night air cleared her mind.

Perhaps she should ignore Patti—whoever the young woman was. Yes she should ignore her. For if she brooded over things she couldn’t change, she was no better off than she ever had been.

Cluttered thoughts gave way to solid visions of her future. She had no idea what she was doing, or where she was going. But one thing she’d learned since coming to England—no more fear.

She shouldn’t have hidden behind the palm. She should have confronted Patti and her friend. But she hadn’t.

She’d lived too long, been beaten down too low all under the fist of fear. From now on, whether or not it gave her a headache, or flipped her stomach with nausea, she was going to become the person she used to be. That young carefree girl. Granted, never as innocent, never as naïve again, but she wanted that strength back. Never again would she bow to a man, become his property to do with as he pleased.