Page 11 of The Mister I Married

“Thank you for tonight, Emmy. You’ve made Tess very happy.”

Alex’s quiet words drew her gaze to his, and she gave a little shrug. “It was my mother’s doing. Her dinner parties are always a success.”

“Perhaps. But you asked her to organize this one for my sister, and I am grateful for it.” He leaned in a fraction, one brow cocked, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Accept my thanks, Emmy.”

The teasing order made her chuckle, and she inclined her head. “Very well, Mr. Whitcomb, I accept. And you are welcome.”

His smile widened, his hazel eyes holding her mesmerized, piercing yet warm with…something. Gratitude, probably, but whatever it was, it sent heated tingles skittering along her skin.

He was immaculately dressed tonight in a dark gray tailcoat moulded to his shoulders and arms, and a pearl white cravat and emerald silk waistcoat that summoned the flecks of green in his eyes.

She swallowed, her cheeks warming as she pulled her gaze from his and forced her attention back to Tess again. You remember Tess, don’t you? The girl you’re supposed to be helping? The girl for whom this dinner party was planned?

Lacing her fingers together in her lap, she cleared her throat to speak. “Your sister is a lovely girl, by the way. You should be very proud of her.”

“I am,” Alex replied simply, economical as always with his words, but Emmy did not doubt his sincerity. The pride he felt for his sister shone through every time he looked at her.

“She is proud of you, too.” Emmy glanced at him and smiled. “In fact, she seems to idolize you. I’ve never heard a sister speak so highly of her older brother.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “You speak highly of yours.”

Emmy shrugged. “Griffin is a decent sort, and I love him, but I certainly don’t idolize him. And I certainly wouldn’t tell him if I did. He’s fat-headed enough as it is.”

Alex chuckled softly, the husky rumble sending those same pesky tingles up her spine. Ignore them, she ordered. Alex Whitcomb was an attractive man, yes, but she was not the sort of woman who blushed and tingled over every handsome face she saw. Indeed, she was more likely to tingle over a salacious piece of gossip than a member of the male sex.

She never had been all that interested in boys, not even in her adolescence. She’d never dreamed of love and weddings and babies like so many young girls did, nor had she ever experienced the aching, all-consuming stirrings of the heart that her friends had so often talked of, and she would sometimes wonder if something was wrong with her.

She no longer felt that way, thankfully. She liked who she was, and she had no regrets.

“I’ll miss her after she marries,” Alex said thoughtfully, and Emmy turned to him, her gaze sweeping over his face as he watched his sister across the room. “It’s selfish, I know, but sometimes I wish she would never marry and remain at Bristlewood with me and our father forever.”

The confession surprised her. Men did not often speak of their feelings, but this man did not often speak at all. That he had shared such a private thought with her was strangely pleasing.

“You don’t mean that, Alex,” she said, her voice gentle. “If you truly felt that way, you wouldn’t have brought her to London.”

“I didn’t want to bring her,” he admitted ruefully. “It was my father’s wish, and I didn’t have the heart to deny him. He…” Alex pressed his lips together, his brow creasing. “He is…not in the best of health.”

“Ah.” Emmy’s heart squeezed. “And he wants to see his children wed while he still can.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you not wish to…” She hesitated, worrying her lower lip, unsure if she should ask the question. It was too personal and absolutely none of her business. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained. “Are you…reluctant to marry?”

Silence settled between them as he considered the question, and she began to worry that her query had upset him. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him he needn’t answer her, when finally he spoke.

“I would not say I am reluctant,” he said slowly, uncrossing his legs only to cross them again. “But it is difficult to look at my father, at this faded version of the man he once was and not feel some trepidation. My mother—” He broke off, his jaw clenching. “My mother hurt him very deeply.”

Sadness washed over Emmy until her chest ached with it, and she could not help but think of her own mother and how much losing her husband had hurt her.

Emmy could not remember the months after her father’s sudden death—she was much too young—but she knew her mother had loved her father very much, and her grief must have been a terrible thing.

Still, at least Lady Keswick had the comfort, small though it was, of knowing that her husband had not left her willingly. He had not left his family on purpose, as Alex’s mother had done.

Emmy could only imagine how painful that betrayal must have been for his father.

“He must have loved her very much,” she said softly.

Alex drew in a deep breath. “He did. And he thought she loved him.”