The Seduction of Emily (14 page)

Emily followed his gaze. The mistress of the house stood at the door, bidding farewell to members . . . with her attention trained on Mr. Samson more than on them. Her blatant disregard for her guests was indefensible. Emily’s throat burned with something that could easily have been deemed as jealousy. The older woman’s eyes were positively hungry with desire and if her tongue wet her bottom lip any more, it would droop to the floor beneath the weight of her lustful saliva.

She huffed out a breath. “Well, I see you are as capable of manipulating the older generation as you are me. But then, I already knew that from the things you have managed to persuade my father into saying.”

He met her eyes and smiled. “I find Mrs. Cambridge’s attention extremely flattering considering I am not part of your set. What they say about the upper class is clearly not true.”

“What do they say about the upper class?”

“You are toffee-nosed snobs. People who’d never deign to be seen walking within five feet of someone below their class. Unless that person was in your employment, of course.”

Annie gasped beside her. “Mr. Samson.”

He winked at her before turning to Emily.

Insult burned hot in her chest. How dare he. “I have never heard such utter nonsense in my life.” She glared.

“I’m not suggesting you should be blackened with the same brush, Miss Darson. In fact, I am so confident such snobbery isn’t in your nature, I’ve asked your driver to take Annie home so you and I can take a leisurely walk back to the Crescent . . . alone.”

She blanched. “I beg your pardon?”

“I have asked your driver to take Annie home while we walk.”

Emily looked to Annie and back again, cursing her sudden inability to speak. She swallowed in an attempt to get her tongue functioning. “You expect me to walk home alone with you?”

He nodded, his eyes bright with challenge. “Why not? Your father trusts me to look after you and it’s a beautiful evening.”

The walls closed in on her as the chatter of the ladies surrounding them grew in pitch and volume. Was he insane? If people saw them, they would assume . . . but then, would they not assume he was a relation? Everyone acquainted with her knew of her engagement to Nicholas. If they didn’t know her, people would surely assume they were just another married couple taking an evening stroll.

She looked into his devilishly handsome face, her gaze tracing the contours of his infuriating mouth before flitting back to his eyes. Excitement burst like a breaking balloon in her chest. Oh, what a thrill to be out after dark with a man other than Nicholas or her father! Her heart raced and her imagination soared. She could do this. Of course she could.

The night air came through the open front door and whispered across the floor, shrouding her with its potent liberty. Her appetite for adventure halted. If they were alone, he would ask about her mother. She looked away.

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“No danger will come to you, if that’s what concerns you.”

She met his eyes. The heat in his gaze could not be denied. A strange sensation tugged at her chest and deep between her legs. “What if you are the danger and I cannot see it?”

His gaze fell to her lips and the sensations intensified. “Trust me.”

She turned to Annie. The girl’s eyes were wide enough to roll right out of their sockets and her mouth agog. Emily bit back the sudden urge to laugh out loud and pulled back her shoulders, her decision made. “I will be walking home with Mr. Samson, Annie. If you could be so kind as to inform Papa I am perfectly well chaperoned and will be home soon.”

Silence.

Emily waved a hand in front of her face. “Annie, are you listening to me?”

The girl blinked and she immediately erupted into a smile the width of her face. She nodded eagerly. “Of course, Miss. Take your time, Miss. I’ll allay your father’s worries and get him to bed. Never fear. You take your time now.”

She turned on her heel and rushed from the house as though her bloomers were on fire. Emily stared after her, grinning like a fool. Mr. Samson touched his hand to the small of her back and gestured toward the door with the other.

“Shall we?”

Emily smiled. “Indeed we shall.”

The two of them walked forward with their heads held high, past Mrs. Cambridge and the women surrounding her. Emily bit down on her bottom lip to stem her smile at the satisfying sight of their wide eyes and open mouths.

Every step they took away from the house, Emily became more aware Mr. Samson had yet to remove his hand from her spine. Soft heat simmered there, radiating outward and upward, warming her bones and making her stand tall and proud. It was a new experience, being so conscious of a man’s closeness; of the way her shoulder barely reached the middle of his upper arm.

“I hope you are not too upset with me for sending your driver on without us.” His voice broke through the evening quiet. “I wanted to talk to you privately and saw no other way of making that possible.”

“What is it you want to talk about?” Emily stared ahead, grateful her voice sounded as it usually did rather than being tinted with the shrill squeak of the nervousness she felt inside.

“Mr. Milne.”

Emily halted and his hand fell from her back. Her sinful excitement vanished. “Nicholas? What about him?”

“It is no secret I dislike the man. I wish you were not so determined to marry him.”

“Who I marry has nothing to do with you. I barely know you.”

“Don’t marry him.”

Emily stepped back. The look in his eyes was unnerving. It was as though he implored her to walk away from Nicholas with absolute conviction. Unwelcome suspicion gripped her. “Who are you exactly?”

He stiffened. “I’m just a man looking for his nephew.”

“Then why do you care who I marry?” She frowned. “You are a temporary visitor to my home. Nothing more, nothing less and your concern confuses me.”

“I care about you. More than I should.”

Heat pinched at her cheeks and her stomach knotted with fear and shock. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Doing what? Trying to make you see you don’t have to commit your life to a man who speaks to you the way he does . . . who I fear will be capable of much graver things as time goes on.”

The memory of Nicholas’s gaze when he caught her hair crashed into Emily’s heart and mind. She swallowed and looked past him. “I am a big girl and despite my father’s overprotectiveness, I can look after myself.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I do not have to explain myself to you.” Her irritation became frustration. “You are insufferable. You are just a man I happened to meet at the auction house. A man who has somehow ended up escorting me around town. A man I do not trust.”

“Yet, here you are alone with me on a darkened street.”

Emily swallowed, her heart beating fast. “What of it? You do not scare me.”

“Then tell me what does.”

Their eyes locked and she inwardly admonished herself when her gaze drifted lower to his mouth. Why did she keep doing that? She raised her eyes. His gaze burned straight through her, scorching her deep inside. She had to do something, say something. The tension between them was too much to bear. This feeling of no control was intolerable to everything she stood for.

She worked tirelessly to uphold her commitment to both Nicholas and her father; yet with Mr. Samson, she was trapped in an entirely different way. Each as unwelcome as the other.

“Emily?”

The sound of her name on his tongue sent a shiver through her. Forcing a wry smile, Emily lifted an eyebrow. “Are we addressing each other on a first-name basis now . . . Will?”

He returned her smile. “I think we are. At least in private anyway.”

She laughed. His tone was rife with insinuation. He would not intimidate her. “You really do consider yourself quite the man about town, don’t you? The ultimate rascal? Is that what you want with me? To cause a scandal?”

“I’ll risk a scandal if you will?” He held out his arm.

Emily’s heart hitched. How could she refuse such a challenge and not lose face with the man? He was a rascal of the highest order. She struggled to grab hold of her gathering panic. With Nicholas, she felt threatened when her heart beat this way; with Will she felt something entirely different.

“Yes, Will Samson, I think I will.”

“Good.”

She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and he winked. Emily’s stomach promptly turned all the way over and she laughed. Really laughed.

He joined her laughter, his eyes shining in the most charming way as he laid his hand ever so gently over hers.

They walked a few yards in silence and Emily tipped her head back to look at the emerging stars and crescent moon. It was a beautiful night and her heart beat lighter than it had in weeks. The thought of her impending marriage threatened at the periphery of her mind and she stubbornly pushed it away. Not now. Later. There would always be time later.

Will’s arm was strong and sturdy beneath her palm. She was safe. They continued forward and Emily breathed deeply. She wanted to talk to him. The same way she had in the carriage. He pulled this innate need from her without saying a word. It was frightening but quietly reassuring at the same time.

“My father blames the Women’s Society for Mama’s death.”

Silence.

He turned and their eyes briefly met before he looked ahead once more, his grip on her fingers tightening ever so slightly. He listened. She mattered.

“She was an active member. I suppose it’s where I get my passion for right and wrong.” Further words lodged in her throat and the road ahead blurred.

He stopped as though sensing her distress. “Tell me.”

His gaze held soft concern and the last of her hesitation melted. “My mother and five other women were holding a very visual campaign around the city center when it happened. They stood on crates and shouted for support. Waved makeshift banners urging women to let their voices be heard.”

He smiled softly, his teeth white in the semidarkness. “Definitely from whom you inherit your spirit, I see.”

She briefly met his smile. “While female spirits are often dampened . . . my mother’s was extinguished. It was deemed an accident but she was murdered that day.”

“Murdered?”

Grief pressed down on her chest and Emily fought to keep her breathing steady. She would not crack. Not even with Will’s eyes so gently watching her.

“A group of
gentlemen
saw fit to heckle my mother and her comrades before attempting to remove them from the entrance of the Pump Rooms. They were manhandled from their crates while people stood around doing nothing to help them.” She stopped, drew in a calming breath as habitual anger sent her pulse racing and her head thumping. “My mother stumbled and fell, cracking her temple violently against the cobblestones. Her death was instantaneous.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “My God.”

“I’ve been told when her blood seeped onto the stones, the noise went from anarchy to silence in a matter of seconds.”

“I am so sorry.”

Tears sprung into her eyes. He understood her pain. His empathy came through in the softest nuance of his voice. Instinctively, Emily sensed his grief. Without thinking, she lifted her hand to his jaw. “Will?” He opened his eyes. They burned like two blue flames in the darkness. “Have you lost someone, also?”

His jaw tightened beneath her palm. “Yes. Yes, I have.”

“Who?”

His gaze flittered over her face and Emily sensed his hesitation. She waited.

After a long moment, he blew out a breath. “My mother. She was a good woman whose life was cut short unnecessarily, too.”

He eased her into his arms. Shock and the awareness she shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be seen in a man’s embrace, stiffened her body. The thud of his heartbeat against her ear kept her there. She closed her eyes and listened to the roar of his blood. The rush of it filled her with equal measures of sadness and pain, strength and fortitude. This was wrong. She should stop, pull away, open the space between them and create a necessary barrier.

His hand as he smoothed her back in comforting circles drew the last ounce of fight from her. Even as the moistness of her tears slid warm down her cheeks, she didn’t move away.

“Emily?” His voice was like liquid velvet. Soft and warm, rich and luxurious.

“Yes?”

“Does Milne kiss you?”

Her heart leapt into her throat and she straightened in the circle of his arms. “Surely you do not expect me to answer that?”

“Does he?”

Her body trembled. The street was dark and deserted. She stood alone with a stranger’s arms about her. “No.” The word tripped from her mouth before she could catch it. “I know he wants to. I see it in his eyes.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth. When he met her eyes, the desire she saw so often in Nicholas’s was reflected in Will’s—but in an entirely different, nonthreatening way. A wonderful new sensation pooled like liquid heat in her stomach. A sensation that made her silently plead for him to crush his lips to hers. . . .

She pretended the feel of his hands did not disturb her even though her heart beat wilder and wilder. He bowed his head until his lips hovered barely an inch from hers. “May I?”

Perspiration broke out cold on her forehead as her gaze darted from his eyes to his mouth to his eyes once more. “Will . . .”

His mouth covered hers and his eyes closed. Emily stiffened but did not pull away. She stared at his closed lids as his lips moved against hers. With gentle persuasion, he opened her mouth, provoking her response. The illicit place between her legs throbbed and her nipples tingled in the most delicious way. Her eyelids grew heavy and closed; her fingers slid onto the hard breadth of his biceps. She clung to him.

Their lips savored and devoured. He eased his tongue inside her mouth and he swallowed her gasp. Shock gave way to yearning and Emily kissed him deeper, held his arms tighter. She wanted his touch, wanted him to discover her—and as much as those wishes terrified her, for one blessed moment, Emily did not think and instead surrendered.