The Seduction of Emily (8 page)

“Oh, thank goodness.” Annie hurried ahead of him. “Quickly, Mr. Samson. This way. This way.”

Will followed the maid up a short walkway to a painted black door bearing a brass knocker and letterbox shining beneath a polished lantern. Annie opened the door and rushed inside, holding it open for Will and the tussling tigress in his arms to enter.

Miss Darson’s thrashing abruptly stopped. “Are you smiling, Mr. Samson? Is there something about my assault and your subsequent caveman brutishness that amuses you? Because let me tell you this—”

Ignoring her, he turned to Annie. “Drawing room?”

The maid nodded, hiding what he was sure was a smile behind her fingers. He winked at her and followed the direction she pointed. “Miss Darson, I promise you there is nothing the least bit amusing about being attacked by the person you are actually trying to help.”

“Then why don’t you put me down before I take a handful of your crowning glory and yank it out by the roots?”

Will stopped and stared into her eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware Annie was watching them and knew it likely the girl would scream her head off if he took advantage of her mistress, yet Miss Darson’s face hovered inches from his. . . .

“You wouldn’t dare.”

The warning didn’t come from Annie but Miss Darson. Her tone was so low it could have been deemed a growl. Will blinked. She’d read his damn mind! He swallowed and inwardly cursed the heat singeing his face. “Pardon me?”

Her eyes shone with triumph. “I know exactly what you were thinking and if you wish to use your lips on some poor unsuspecting female in the future, I suggest you learn to close your eyes. They’re a mirror to your despicable soul.”

Will opened his mouth to retort. To toss something clever and witty in her direction but snapped it closed. Fine. She surprised him. She won that round but there was always round two.

He dragged his gaze from her beautiful brown eyes toward the settee. “Shall I lay you on the settee?”

“No, you can lower my feet to the floor. I have been telling you since we left the park, I am perfectly capable—”

“The floor it is.” Will abruptly put her down.

She swayed unsteadily backward and he swept her back into his arms, silently cursing his pathetic attempt at exerting his male authority over her. Irritation simmered in his stomach as he marched across the vast expanse of the room and gently laid her on the cushioned settee.

Their gazes locked until Annie cleared her throat. “I’ll . . . um . . . fetch Mr. Darson. He should be told what happened.”

She hurried out and Will turned to survey the room. From the heavy drapes at the window to the not one but two crystal ashtrays and half a dozen porcelain figures lining the mantel, the Darsons had a pretty penny. Was this house and its contents the last of it though? Or was he wrong about Miss Darson? Was she just another money-hungry socialite willing to marry for money? Willing to marry a man to be kept in luxury? Even if the man in question made her grimace when he kissed her hand or touched her back.

God, how he wanted that thought to be entirely unwarranted.

Emily hated the way her breath hitched and her skin still burned where Mr. Samson had touched her. Even now she couldn’t drag her gaze from the breadth of his shoulders as he surveyed the room. The stark contrast of his dark hair against his white shirt collar drew her eyes again and again. She couldn’t believe a stranger, a man of Mr. Samson’s size and physical stature, was in her home when she was alone and unchaperoned.

It was incredibly unnerving and, if she were honest, more than a little exciting.

He abruptly turned and warmth rushed to her face. If he noticed her staring, he didn’t acknowledge it. He came toward her, his intense blue eyes on hers. Heat flared in places she’d only really become aware of since knowing him. Her mouth dried. The man moved her. In a way that would make her father throw him out in an instant had he known.

“Are you feeling better?” His gaze wandered over her face, his brow furrowed.

“Yes. Much. Thank you.”

“Good.” He smiled and lowered to his haunches.

Emily froze. His eyes were dangerously level with hers. Her gaze drifted to his lips and there was another urgent pull at her center. She snapped her gaze back to his.

“You can leave now.”
Why am I whispering?

They continued to look into each other’s eyes and no matter how much she wanted to break the moment, she was caught in an invisible trap.

“You have a nasty bruise forming on your cheek.” He lifted his hand as if to touch her face but instead it fell to his leg. “Did the boy do that to you?”

She raised her fingers to her cheek and winced. “No, I must have knocked my face when I fell.”

“I see.” He pushed to his feet and the moment broke. “If he as much as laid a finger on you . . .”

Trepidation knotted Emily’s stomach, making her feel lightheaded. Who was he? Was she insane to allow him entrance into the house? Right then he looked capable of knocking the boy into next week, whereas a moment before . . . Emily shivered; he looked capable of pulling her into his strong arms and kissing her with skilled and gentle persuasion.

She cleared her throat. “He was a boy dressed in rags. No doubt running from trouble. It’s quite all right. I’m sure I’ll live.”

His study of her was intense and her heart beat a little harder. Will Samson could be a frightening man. Yet not frightening like Nicholas—frightening in a perfectly honorable way. God help her. She felt protected. Cared for.

His stare turned soft and apologetic and undeniable attraction to him roused its unwanted head again. He smiled. “I appreciate you have a good and, no doubt, generous heart, but the boy should be held accountable.”

She looked at her hands as she tightly clasped them in her lap. “What does it matter? We have little way of finding him. Bath is a big place with lots of corners. Considering my father’s current state of health, it might just be the death of him if he was to hear any suspicions of my being hurt or fearful. I hope you will support my wish to not further upset him.”

“How will you explain the bruise?”

“Leave that to me. I’d appreciate it if you do not contradict me when I retell tonight’s events to him.”

His jaw locked. Emily waited. It was imperative she win this battle. For all her problems and challenges ahead, her father remained paramount in her consideration—and would until the day he died.

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Agreed. I will respect your wishes with regard to your father.”

Relief slumped her shoulders and she smiled. “Thank you.”

“I still stand by my ethics. The boy should be thrashed for making you fall in the first place.”

She turned from his gaze as a girlish thrill ran through her. The look in his eyes was possessive, virile. Almost as though she was his. She moved and her breath caught as pain shot through her wrist and shoulder.

“Let me help you.” He came forward and then hesitated. “Do you mind?”

He gestured toward her back. Emily’s heart beat faster. What choice did she have but to let him touch her once again? She shook her head. He slid one arm behind her and offered his other arm for her to grip. Feeling weightless in the powerful circle of his arms, he lifted her into a more comfortable position. She lay back against the pillows, their faces barely inches apart.

“You looked flushed.” His hands were still upon her. “Shall I ask Annie to bring some water?”

His breath whispered across her lips and Emily flicked out her tongue to wet them. Her mouth was as dry as a desert. He followed the gesture with his eyes and tension crackled.

She flushed. “No. I’m quite all right. I’m sure she will soon return with Papa. Why don’t you take a seat while we wait?”

He moved to an armchair a few feet away from her and she released her held breath. “I try my hardest not to judge people’s actions without knowing their motivation. That boy could have tried to take my bag for money to feed himself or an elderly relative, maybe his expectant mother. There is poverty and disproportion all over this city and—”

He gave an inelegant snort. “We have all been hungry, Miss Darson, but never in a million years would I have hit a woman over a missed meal.”

Their gazes locked. What was he saying? Emily stared and he looked to the floor. Realization dawned and she was reminded how little she knew the man who now sat with her, alone in her drawing room.

“You have known what it is to live on the streets?” She was thankful no tremor sounded in her voice.

“I do not wish to talk about it.”

She sat immobile as her mind raced with a million and one suppositions and questions. He intrigued her, fascinated her. Mr. Samson was a man of the world, not one of social class and privilege, but a man who could teach her things. Real things. Things that mattered. She froze. What was she thinking? She had a loyalty to her father’s legacy. A need to keep every option and opportunity open for her children. Thoughts of what a man like Will Samson could or could not teach her were deplorable. Shame flooded her senses.

She coughed. “It is one thing to be hungry and quite another to have no idea when you will eat again.”

The seconds passed. After what felt like minutes, he raised his head. His eyes shone like sapphires beneath the candlelight. Angry. Passionate. A faint blush darkened his cheeks.

“I have known both and I would never raise my hand to a woman.”

Before she could respond, the drawing room door flew open and Emily was forced to swallow her curiosity. Her father hobbled into the room as quickly as his weakening body would allow.

“Emily, my love.” He came toward her with his arms outstretched. “What in heaven’s name happened?”

He bent over her in an embrace and Emily’s gaze met Mr. Samson’s over her father’s shoulder. A muscle leapt and jumped at his jaw. Looking away, Emily eased her father back and held his hands tightly in hers.

“I’m perfectly all right.” She smiled. “Thankfully, Mr. Samson rushed to my and Annie’s aid like a hero from one of my romantic novels you detest so much.”

“What if he hadn’t been there?”

“Ah, ah. What is the use of ifs, whats, or maybes? All is well and we should thank Mr. Samson and ask that Malcolm take him back to his lodgings.”

She sensed Mr. Samson’s gaze on her but kept her eyes firmly on her father. It was best he left and she never saw him again. Every moment she spent with him, the more he piqued her interest, and that spelt nothing but trouble.

Her father straightened and turned to him, his hand outstretched. “I don’t know how to thank you, sir. My daughter is everything to me. If anything were to—”

Mr. Samson clasped her father’s hand. “Now, now, sir. She is safe and I only did what any other decent man would’ve done had he been there.”

“Well at least have a drink with me so I can thank you properly.”

Emily stared.
No, no, no!

Mr. Samson briefly met her eyes and a small smile twitched his lips before he faced her father once more. He dipped his head. “You are most kind, sir.”

Her father beamed. “Excellent. Annie? Would you be so kind as to pour myself and Mr. Samson a small measure of wine?”

Annie curtsied. “Of course, sir.”

Her father turned to Emily. “My dear? Will you join us?”

Emily’s nerves heightened. She wanted Mr. Samson gone but forced a wide smile. “That would be lovely.”

Annie left to get the wine and hopeless resignation swept through Emily when her father cupped his hand to Mr. Samson’s elbow. He led him to the fireplace out of her earshot. Mr. Samson was nothing more than a charming stranger. A man she’d met once or twice. She blinked against the unexpected burning in her eyes. She could not be drawn to a man without letting down a sea of people, including her father, Nicholas’s father, even Annie, Malcolm, and the rest of the staff who relied on her for their future wages. Her hands were tied and having Mr. Samson near made the twine that bound her pull tighter than ever.

Her father turned and the smile dissolved from his lips. “What is that upon your cheek?” He moved forward and touched his fingers to her tender place as though she were made of porcelain. “What’s this?”

Her eyes met Mr. Samson’s but his gaze was unreadable. She covered her father’s hand with hers and gently drew it from her face. “My face must have hit the ground when I fell. It’s nothing. Now, if Annie hurries along with the wine, Mr. Samson can be on his way. I am quite sure he doesn’t wish to be delayed any longer.”

“I’m quite happy, Miss Darson.”

Emily shot him a glare and he winked. Heat warmed her face. Yes, the man needed to leave. She pushed to her feet and he immediately came forward as if to assist her.

“I am quite all right, thank you.” She faced her father. “I think I will retire, Papa. I have become very tired all of a sudden.”

“Of course, my dear. Of course. I will summon Annie.”

Mr. Samson coughed. “I think it best we leave that drink after all, sir, and let Miss Darson rest.”

“There must be something I can do to repay you. Will you take a cash reward maybe? Or maybe join us for dinner tomorrow evening?”