AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Tonight, she would live.
Chapter 3
Every sense and emotion of Elliot narrowed onto the lady who sauntered into the grand ballroom of the Lady Waverly’s stately country manor. He froze, but just for a moment. Miss Emma Fitzgerald. He would know the curve of her lips, that pointed chin, and her delectably petite shape and curves anywhere. His foundation rocked at the implication she was at Lady Waverly’s house party and masquerade ball. These sorts of entertainment were ones no genteel lady of society should attend. The lack of a limp surprised him. Since the accident, he had never encountered her before without a cane for assistance. Perhaps I am mistaken in the identity. It was unpardonable that someone else could illicit such a visceral reaction in him.
A mass of silky dark blonde strands was piled atop her head in an elaborate style. Clearly, a wig, for Miss Emma Fitzgerald was the possessor of a mane of glorious red hair that burned like fire under the sun. Her lips were painted vixen red, luscious and pouting. Her sensual body was fitted into a red ball gown with a distressingly lowered neckline, which hugged along her breasts like a possessive lover, before falling in a shimmer to her ankles. The cut of the gown accented her small waste and all her generous curves. The domino mask was one of dark gold with black feathers, fashioned to cover the upper part of her cheeks and nose.
No…it was her, and a fierce dart of pride arrowed through him at her accomplishment. How he wished she had allowed him to be there for her through what must have been dark and trying times.
Something he had thought long dead rose from the silent depths of his soul. It stirred, stretched, a
nd hummed as a blast of pleasure rocked him back on his heels. Emma was here, in his domain.
Devil take it. Why is she here?
It should be patently obvious to his scrambled brain, but somehow, he couldn’t process that Emma was dressed so provocatively, or worse she had planned a tryst. There was truly no other reason to attend the countess’s yearly ball but to be scandalous. There were no debutants here, no charming ingénues, only rakes and scoundrels, Cyprians, merry widows, disenchanted wives, courtesans and their debauchers. He watched her covertly from the upper balcony of the second floor, a dark and secluded spot covered by jungle like greenery where he had been lingering and watching the rowdy throng below. A worried frown flittered over her features, and her teeth bit her lower lip betraying her nervousness. That wide lush mouth. He’d imagined kissing them, at first gently, then ravenously, for years.
Being so focused on her lips, it took him a few seconds to realize she searched for someone specifically. He would call out and put a bullet in whoever she planned to rendezvous with. Elliot would not allow a bounder to take advantage of her sweetness, her innocence, and the lush sensuality with which she glowed.
He almost sent a note to Anthony who had elected to attend a ball in London and decided against it. Emma would be more than embarrassed if Elliot informed her brother of her recklessness. It was not as if she was a young debutante anymore. She was five and twenty. He convinced himself he was only doing what any friend of Anthony’s would do as Elliot followed her, working his way down the winding stairs, always a few paces behind her, never letting her out of his sight as she made her way through the crowded ballroom.
Boredom no longer held him. All ennui had vanished the moment he spied her. it was a dangerous thing to acknowledge. He wanted to gut the men that enjoyed a double, triple, a quadruple glance and salivated despite being with their own ladies. He would know exactly where to cut, he thought viciously, for he had assisted his father numerous times in his surgery.
Emma was alluring, but it was more than that. The lush eroticism she displayed with her sweet voluptuous body drew every libertine’s unabashed admiration. But it would be the innocence that sparkled from her dark blue eyes that enticed. It shouldn’t, but it did. The predator in the men around would soon stir, and the dark primal part of them would itch to take her untapped sensuality and corrupt her. That was certainly the effect she had on him. Elliot wanted to wrap those wide sexy pouting lips of hers around his cock, bruising and pleasuring her lips, and then ride her body for hours.
Bloody Hell.
Anger snapped through him, and he gritted his teeth against his lurid thoughts. What the hell was wrong with him? This was the reason he had stayed so faithfully away from Emma. He was unable to conceal his evident desire for her, and he had gained a broken nose to prove the consequences of thinking carnally about her.
After a few minutes of casually circling the packed ballroom, her shoulders wilted. The confidence she had strolled in with wavered, and she spun as if heading for the entrance then faltered.
He frowned, concern curling through him as she clearly battled with herself. Whatever it was she fought with, the determination won. She visibly firmed her shoulders, notched her chin a little higher and sauntered back into the throng. A few gentlemen wasted no time approaching her, and while she smiled and responded, he could see her wariness.
A servant was passing with a tray of champagne, she reached out and snared a glass.
Why was she there? Why would she take such a risk with her reputation? No one attended Lady Waverly’s masquerade ball for dancing and fun, they sought illicit pleasures and discreet bedding partners. Lady Waverly might have gained a title from her marriage to the late Peregrine Chambers, Earl of Waverly but she was not truly part of society. She reigned over London’s demi-mondaine, but she would always be thought of as a former high-class courtesan who had caught her aging husband in parson’s mousetrap. If her luscious charms had driven the old man to his grave early, as was rumored, then he had departed the earth with a smile on his face. However, much of the old tabbies of the ton deplored her existence, she had provided her earl with an heir and a spare before he headed for pastures new.
Elliot leaned against a column, careful to be out of her line of sight and observed how Emma behaved. She was looking for someone, and that man had not long to live, for Elliot would make sure the bastard failed in seducing her. She stood out from the crowd in a manner that was both alarming and enticing. Surely the predatory rakes would detect the innocent within their mix and want to be the first to seduce her into bed. She also wore the least revealing gown, the barely-there décolletage designed to entice, and from the admiring glances aimed her way, she had certainly succeeded.
She stood apart from the fashionable crowd, a small smile on that wide lush mouth as she observed the dancers. Beautifully gowned, and bejeweled women were gliding around the room in a waltz, and they were being held far too close than was considered appropriate. But that was the point, here they could be as scandalous as they wanted without judgment, safe behind their masks and wigs.
It was one of the reasons he liked attending Lady Waverly’s outrageous parties and balls. It was the one night people were honest with their needs and desires. Here the rules of modesty and decorum, duplicity and pretentiousness were forgotten once everyone alighted from their carriages. Here ladies and gentlemen were far bolder and more improper than they might have been otherwise. It was so unusual for people to be themselves in the world he had been thrust in. Elliot hoped the day would eventually come when everyone would do away with the masks and be themselves without fear of judgement.
Emma seemed undecided, and her evident nervousness grew, and after the third glass of champagne, she seemed jittery. A few gentlemen sidled up to her, and with wide eyes, she shook her head wordlessly. One lingered, the persistent bounder, but with a sweet smile, she left the presence of viscount Beauford and strolled along the edge of the ballroom.
And not once did Elliot remove his gaze from Emma. He had missed her.
Though he had seen her last week, he hadn’t taken the time to converse with her. Her face had lighted with pleasure when she had seen him, and some of his loneliness had been chased away. It was damned stupid, but her smile always had that effect on him. Warmth crept inside when she bestowed it in his direction, intentionally or not. Elliot didn’t even want to think about the power of her laugh, or he might do something stupid. Something like thinking her presence at the scandalous house party meant more, meant that he could satisfy whatever craving drove her here.
She exited the ballroom and walked with slow, measured steps down the massive hallway. He lingered in the shadowed entrance of the ballroom until he noted where she went. A few minutes later she emerged from the withdrawing room and walked back toward the main staircase. She went through the French door and into a small, secluded garden. A part of him knew he would regret it, but he was compelled to ensure her safety. Though in his gut, Elliot knew the person she needed protection from most was himself.
A soft breeze whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of jasmine and roses. She lifted her face to the cool night air, and the sigh that issued from her was forlorn. Emma moved further into the gardens, skirting pass a birdbath with surprising grace. Elliot made his way over to the lone fountain and lowered himself onto a stone bench which was partially obscured by an over pruned rosebush. He must have made some sound, for she whipped around with more speed and grace than he’d expected. Her eyes flicked around the shadows of the garden, probing and seeking. He stood, and stepped closer, their gazes collided, and she swallowed. The movement was slight, and if Elliot hadn’t been watching her so intently, he would have missed it. What he saw in her blue gaze froze him—relief, a hot flash of desire and need, before her lids shuttered.
Sweet mercy!
He gripped his glass of whisky, needing an anchor, and lifted the glass to his lips, and with one long swallow finished his
drink, his gaze never leaving her body. She momentarily looked away, then a few beats later glanced back at him and smiled. His awareness of her became acute and intense. Too intense. She finished her glass of champagne in one swallow, set it down by the birdbath, and glided across the expanse of the lawns her stride so confident and sensual he was magnetized. There was no limp, no evident discomfort and for a moment he wondered if it had been his fevered dreams why he had thought this lady was Emma. She sauntered toward him, and he was unable to glance away from her exquisitely voluptuous figure, the sway of her hips, and the determination in her walk.
