The Seduction of Emily (13 page)

She exhaled her breath in a rush and shook her head. “Thank you. I am just one of the hundreds of women held by the chains of an arranged betrothal. Alas, there is no love between Nicholas and me. Our union was decided before I was barely eleven years old.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Color rushed to her face and she laughed nervously. “I have no idea.”

Will met her smile. “I will endeavor to at least try not to upset Mr. Milne any further.”

“Thank you. Our fathers signed a deal many years ago and neither Nicholas nor I will concede to breaking it. This is my truth and that is his. You being here and . . . implying things is only going to make the situation harder for me to bear.” She looked to the floor and shook her head. “I’ve said enough. You should leave.”

He gave in to his earlier instinct and touched his hand to her face. She stiffened but he gently lifted her chin. Tears shone in her eyes and a stab struck far too close to his heart.

“You deserve more, Miss Darson. A woman as beautiful as you deserves the world.”

He dropped her chin and turned, yanking the door open and striding outside. The blast of cool night air fanned his cheeks but failed to appease the fire raging in his blood. His breath rasped against his throat as he stormed along the cobbled street and out of her possible sight.

“I feel so nervous. This is ridiculous.”

Annie smiled. “Mr. Samson is merely a man, Miss. A man with eyes that make a girl shiver, but a man all the same.”

Emily glared. “This is not funny. Whatever will people think? I can’t believe Papa has orchestrated this. We will be riding through Bath.”

“In a carriage. No one needs to know.”

“Mrs. Cambridge’s sewing circle will know.”

Annie gave an inelegant snort. “Who cares what they think? They never agree with anything. Whiners and moaners, the lot of them.”

Emily frowned. “Annie . . .”

Her maid looked to her feet. “Sorry.”

Pulling back her shoulders, Emily endeavored once again to beat off the nerves fluttering in her stomach and the anticipation bursting in her heart. This evening would be her and Annie’s first excursion with Mr. Samson. Just the thought of being seated near him in the carriage sent a bolt of fear through her. She cleared her throat.

“Come. Let’s get this over and done with.”

Annie walked ahead of her to the door and opened it. Emily walked onto the landing, and her hands turned clammy inside her gloves. They were halfway down the stairs before she noticed Mr. Samson talking to her father at the front door. It was clear by their stature, they were waiting for her. She continued her descent. There was little use denying how much happier her father looked secure in the knowledge she and Annie wouldn’t be going out unaccompanied.

She stopped beside them. “Are we ready to go?” She smiled in the hope it hid the tangle of nerves sweeping through her veins and kept her gaze steadfastly on her father rather than Mr. Samson. “I will not be home late, Papa.” She kissed his cheek. “Even though I promised to help Mrs. Cambridge with her sewing circle this evening, the ladies are all of a mature age so I’m sure they won’t be chattering beyond half past nine.”

He squeezed her gloved hands. “Take your time, my dear. You haven’t even ventured as far as the shops since Mr. Samson has been staying here.” A knowing gleam sparkled in his eyes. “In fact, I was beginning to worry you might be avoiding going out altogether.”

Emily’s cheeks flushed hot. “Don’t be silly. Now, you have an early night. Annie gave Malcolm strict instructions to look after you.”

She finally met Mr. Samson’s eyes and her stomach executed a spectacular loop-the-loop. It did not do her focus any good to have such a handsome man as an escort. She inclined her head. “Mr. Samson.”

He smiled. “Miss Darson.”

Emily tilted her chin and walked outside with Annie close behind. Carrington, the family’s chestnut mare, stood at the carriage’s helm, impatiently clacking his hooves on the cobblestones. Emily smiled her thanks to the footman as he helped her into the carriage. She sat as close to the window as possible and spread her skirts about her.

A second later, Annie sat down beside her followed by Mr. Samson who, of course, elected to take the seat directly opposite. The carriage pulled away with a jerk. Emily purposely trained her gaze on the passing houses. They came out of the Crescent and down the street toward the circle of residences known as The Circus.

Mr. Samson’s gaze burned hot on her cheek but she refused to look at him. Until she had clearly established in her mind how to get through this outing, Emily didn’t trust herself to speak firmly or with authority. The clacking of the horses’ hooves grew louder and the area inside the carriage smaller.

“Miss Darson?” Mr. Samson’s voice broke the silence.

She turned and her heart kicked at the sight of his soft smiling lips. “Yes?”

“Is everything all right?”

Emily stared at him for a long moment before she released her held breath. A little of the tension left her rigid body. Although unsure of what to expect from him, it certainly hadn’t been concern. He was a man after all. Didn’t all men find women a possession? Something to do with as they willed? Shame warmed her cheeks. Rubbish. Mr. Samson was unlike any man she’d ever met.

She shifted on the seat as the heat in his gaze swept over her. He made her feel like the most interesting person on the planet. A woman he wanted to listen to, wanted to know. She smiled.

“I’m not ashamed to admit this feels very unconventional.”

“Unconventional?” He grinned. “It’s insane.”

A burst of laughter tickled her throat and she met his grin. “My father is an impulsive man. There is rarely rhyme or reason when it comes to what he thinks is right for me. In business, though, everything is well thought out and considered.”

“Matters of the heart rarely follow a logical path.” He stared at her with one brow raised. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Emily cleared her throat and looked once again to the window. “Indeed. My father has been a widower a long time. He’s raised me as any man would.”

“Meaning?”

She turned. “Meaning, he doesn’t look at my life as mine to do with as I wish. He wants me to be happy but he wants me to be looked after, too.”

His smile dissolved. “Isn’t that what you want?”

The urge to shout
No!
quivered on her tongue. “I want to look after myself, Mr. Samson but, alas, the option is nonexistent.”

“The contract to Mr. Milne?”

Heat flooded her face and she cast a hurried glance at Annie, who quickly looked to the floor. Why had she shared so many personal details with him? “Somewhat, yes. I wouldn’t want my father’s legacy to go anywhere but to his grandchildren, so the contract is right and just.”

He frowned. “Is that truly how you feel?”

She flinched. “Mr. Samson, I really do not think—”

“I’m sorry.” He held his hands up in surrender. “It’s none of my business.”

He leaned back in his seat and faced the window.

Further words of explanation battled for release on her tongue. Her billowing tenderness for him bobbed ferocious and uncertain like a ship upon a stormy sea.

“My father is born of the previous generation. He’s dying. I want . . . have to do right by him or else never forgive myself.”

He turned. “I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. We owe everything to our parents who love and do their best for us. That I know above all else.”

Even in the semidarkness, Emily recognized the undeniable respect and fondness in his gaze as he clearly thought of something she could not know but longed to. What was this feeling deep inside of her wanting to trust a man she’d barely known five minutes? A tingle skittered across the surface of her skin. Whether by design or destiny, Mr. Samson became forever more intriguing to her impudent nature. He challenged her, encouraged her to fight rather than attempting to pacify her as every other man had before him. His appeal was dangerous and now he lived in her home.

She had to find a way to get rid of him or risk her marriage to Nicholas becoming a bigger and more hateful proposition than it already was. The minimal trust and respect she’d had for the man she grew up with wobbled precariously on its apex. She feared what Nicholas’s future actions would be and how violently she’d fall. She swallowed the tears that dared to lodge in her throat and tilted her chin. She’d face her future as her mother faced her death. With dignity and courage.

The carriage hit something in the road and lurched Emily forward. With a gasp, she clasped her fingers to Mr. Samson’s knees to prevent from tumbling to the carriage floor. Realizing her position, she attempted to snatch her hand away but he grasped it tight.

“Tell your father of your concerns, Miss Darson.” He stared deep into her eyes. “It will undoubtedly give him more reason to fight his illness.”

Emily’s heart beat wildly. The sincerity in his eyes could not be ignored. “What concerns? I am perfectly content.”

He shook his head, his green eyes blazing with passion. “No, Miss Darson. Content is the last thing you are.”

Emily’s heart thundered. “You barely know me. Do not assume—”

“If your father must die, let him pass knowing you are still entirely alive. That whatever he has done or regrets has not broken your spirit. That you will go on to be the woman you were meant to be.”

Fear clutched at her heart that this stranger seemed to know so much of what she thought and felt. “What do you mean by that?”

“Your marriage contract. He is not happy about it.”

She opened her mouth to retort. To call him rude. Insolent. Yet, pride seeped from her body as her mother’s beautiful face filled her mind’s eye. She shook her head. “So much has happened to him. You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me.”

The need to suddenly confess everything, to lay the burden on his shoulders, rushed to the surface. She felt such incredible trust in him. Nicholas would never show an inch of Will’s compassion. Sadness flooded her senses.

Emily turned to the window. “I can’t.”

“Emily, please.”

Her heart leapt at the sound of her Christian name uttered so softly on his tongue. And worse, it severed the fragile thread holding her common sense in place. She met his gaze as her need for sharing overtook her resistance. She released her held breath. “My mother was murdered. I will always do my utmost to ensure my father’s life does not pass in vain also.” She snatched her hand from his. “I should not be telling you this.”

The carriage halted and seconds later the door opened. Light from the lanterns outside illuminated the interior. Not waiting for Mr. Samson’s assistance or anyone else’s, Emily alighted from the carriage, leaving Annie and him to follow behind her.

Emily stood with Annie in the hallway of Mrs. Cambridge’s house and stared out of the open front door in silence. Usually, in a bid to keep her father from sending out a search party, Emily rushed home the moment the meeting came to an end. Tonight she remained immobile. Mr. Samson waited outside and she knew not what to say to him. Instinctively, she felt he would not let her admission about her mother go by without further discussion.

Her fellow members wished her good evening as they passed and she smiled and nodded her acknowledgment. Their kindness did nothing to move her feet forward.

Annie touched her arm. “I think it best we make our way home now, Miss.”

Emily remained frozen to the tile floor like a snowman in winter.

“I can’t.”

Annie moved from her side to stand in front of her. Emily stared past her to the open front door.

“Miss, look at me.”

“Hmm?”

“Mr. Samson will have the manners not to mention your mother again. He’s a gentleman.”

Emily jerked her gaze to Annie’s, her paralysis broken. “No, he isn’t. What gentleman would push and push a lady until she told him such intimate details about her life as I have told him?”

Annie frowned and cast a glance toward the door. “I wouldn’t say he
pushed
you exactly.”

“Miss Darson?”

At the sound of Mr. Samson’s voice barely two feet away from her, Emily whirled around, her heart pulsing in her ears. “Do you not possess even an ounce of etiquette, Mr. Samson? It is extremely bad form to sneak up on a lady conversing with her maid.”

Amusement shone in his eyes. “I apologize . . . again.”

“What do you mean
again?
”

“I always seem to be apologizing to you, do I not?”

Emily pulled on her gloves, her gaze intent on the task rather than on him. “Maybe you should start thinking why that is.”

“Maybe I should.”

“Like now, for example. You should not be inside the house. This is a private residence and you are here as a chaperone. I cannot imagine the hostess invited you in.”

“Oh, but she did.” He turned and tipped his hat to Mrs. Cambridge.