Page 53 of Vanquishing the Viscount

Too late. They were being welcomed back into their party, and James spent the next ten minutes in animated conversation with his mother, speaking too low for Emma to hear. But the countess looked pleased. If only she could fathom why—was James telling her he intended to court Emma? Or was she smiling because he was giving her his revised opinion of Miss Belinda Carslake?

Emma stifled a sigh of frustration. She mustn’t let her uncertainties spoil what was turning into a most splendid evening. Her heart missed a beat every time James looked at her, and she felt a thrill of anticipation when he stood up to claim her for a dance. As she moved about the floor with him, it felt like the music of the stars flowing through her, charging her body with a power that made her feel as though she were flying. The moonlight mingled with the warm glow of the hanging lanterns, casting his face into dramatic angles and hollows and adding mystery to the eyes that never wavered from her face.

Smiling up at him, she tried to recall all the reasons she’d once had for disliking him, but they refused to come to mind. He fit her perfectly, and his exultant mood continued to buoy hers throughout the rest of the enchanted evening.

It was a wrench to part from him at the end of the night, and she barely slept a wink, her mind full of wicked imaginings.

When a parcel arrived for her late the following morning, she immediately assumed it was from James, and tore off the wrapping excitedly.

It was a copy of that day’s Bath Chronicle. A notice on the front page had been circled several times in ink, and she stared at it, unable to comprehend.

Our social observer is pleased to announce that an engagement may shortly be announced between a certain Miss D—lately under the patronage of Lady R—and Mr. K of G—shire.

How was this possible? Could there be any doubt the writer was referring to herself, the countess, and…Charles Keane?

Our social observer…

Someone must have been in the gardens last night, someone who’d seen her being kissed by Charles. Of course there would be an expectation of marriage—the gentry didn’t usually behave like that in public if a union wasn’t in the cards.

If only that same observer had caught her in James’s arms instead. How different she would feel were that the case!

But she was given no time to consider what to do, for at that moment someone knocked loudly on the front door.

Shoving the paper hastily beneath a cushion, she peeked out the window down to the street below and saw a familiar figure gazing back up at her.

Her heartbeat doubled in an instant.

James.

Chapter Thirty-Two

James hadn’t managed a single minute of sleep. Which was infuriating, as he wanted to look his best today.

He needed to have a serious talk with Emma, as soon as humanly possible. That kiss last night, the way she’d become tongue-tied when she saw the portrait, gave him hope. She’d given away her feelings, and he was damn well going to take advantage of it.

He’d left it too late with Belinda. Which, as it turned out, was all to the good.

But he wasn’t going to leave it too late with Emma.

If she didn’t yet realize the strength of his feelings, he was going to enlighten her. And he needed to do it while he still had the upper hand, before she had time to doubt or question the fact that they were made to be together, that each completed the other.

He would behave like the perfect gentleman and give her no opportunity to find fault with him. Today he’d discover if he’d interpreted her behavior correctly. Today he hoped to become the happiest man alive.

Because any other outcome would simply crush him.

Having gained admittance to No. 12 Great Pulteney Street, James strode into the parlor where he’d been told Emma could be found.

Thank the gods neither Mama nor Jemima were with her—he was wound too tight for company. He stepped through the door, discovered the key was in the lock, and turned it.

Then fetched up short.

After the magic of last night, he’d expected Emma to be more pleased to see him. Instead, she stood in the middle of the floor, chewing her lip, looking at him warily. Almost…guiltily.

Strange.

He took both her hands in his, saying, “I startled you. I’m sorry.”

She looked dazed. “Um…”