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“No.” Emeline patted her hostess’s arm. “But I’m sure the sugar peacocks will be marvelous nonetheless.”
“Mmm.” Lady Hasselthorpe didn’t appear convinced, but her eyes had already wandered to a group of ladies beyond Emeline.
ugged at a bit of lace at her throat. “He kissed me yesterday.”
Melisande stilled. “Mr. Hartley?”
“Yes.” She could feel his eyes on her, even though she had not looked at him again.
“And did you kiss him back?” her friend asked as if she inquired the price of ribbons from a vendor.
“God.” Emeline choked on the word.
“I’ll assume that means yes,” Melisande murmured. “He is a handsome man, in a rather primitive way, but I wouldn’t’ve thought that he’d attract you.”
“He doesn’t!”
But her heart knew she lied. This was like a horrible fever. She actually grew flushed whenever he was near. She was quite unable to control her body—or herself—when around the awful man. Emeline had never felt this wild in her life, not even with Danny, and that thought made her bite her lip. Danny had been so young, so gay, and she had been young and gay with him. It didn’t seem right to have stronger feelings now for another man—a man not even her husband.
Melisande glanced at her skeptically. “Then you will avoid him in the future, no doubt.”
Emeline turned her head so that Samuel wasn’t in her line of sight at all. Instead, she stared at an ornamental pond behind the targets. It looked like it was filled with reeds. Lady Hasselthorpe should’ve had the pond cleared before the house party. Mrs. Fitzwilliam stood by herself near the bank, poor woman. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“A wise lady would seek out her fiancé’s company, of course,” Melisande murmured.
Jasper was part of the shooting party, naturally. He loved anything to do with physical exertion. Unlike Samuel, though, he was in constant movement—one moment crouching on the ground for some reason, the next bounding up to the footmen to help with straightening the targets. For a moment, Emeline remembered what Samuel had said about Jasper: that he fought as if he’d had no fear. That was certainly not the man she knew. But then again, maybe a woman never really knew the men in her life.
Emeline shook her head. None of that mattered. “This has nothing to do with Jasper. You know that.”
“You do have an understanding with him,” her friend reminded her neutrally.
“An understanding, yes. That’s exactly what it is. Jasper’s heart is not involved.”
“Isn’t it?” Melisande glanced at her toes, pursing her lips. “I think he has a certain fondness for you.”
“He sees me as a sister.”
“That can be the basis for a loving union—”
“He has other women.”
Melisande didn’t say anything, and Emeline wondered if she’d shocked her friend. It was to be expected that an aristocratic gentleman would have affairs, both before and after a marriage, but it was considered gauche to speak of such things aloud.
“You had no quarrel with that before,” Melisande said. The gentlemen were beginning to order themselves as to who would shoot first. “Come, let us go watch the target shooting.”
They strolled toward the shooters.
“I still have no quarrel with Jasper’s feelings for me,” Emeline said low. “In fact, I believe a kind regard toward one’s spouse is for the best in marriage. Far better than desperate passion.”
She felt Melisande’s sharp glance, but her friend did not comment. They had neared the group of gentlemen shooters now. The Duke of Lister stepped forward and made a show of preparing to shoot. No doubt he’d been given the first shot as a badge of his rank.
“Nasty man,” Melisande muttered.
Emeline raised her eyebrows. “The duke?”
“Mmm. He drags his mistress about like a little dog on a chain.”
“She doesn’t seem to mind.” Emeline glanced at Mrs. Fitzwilliam again. She was shielding her eyes to watch the shot, her golden hair glinting in the sunshine. She appeared perfectly relaxed.
