Page 62 of Vanquishing the Viscount

She turned away, hating him. He’d ruined her chances and even her friendship with James, and the sooner she crushed his pretensions, the better. Somehow, in time, she would endeavor to bring James round. She’d find a way to rekindle what had sparked between them—the flare of passion that had promised to become an inferno. It was too precious to let slip through her fingers.

Not that James was giving her any cause to hope. She glanced at him often and sometimes caught him subjecting her to an intense, thoughtful stare. But when he met her eye, he didn’t smile or even look self-conscious. He just acknowledged her attention, then looked elsewhere.

The more he snubbed her, the greater her frustration grew. And her despair. She wanted to take him outside and shake him until his teeth rattled, tell him to stop thinking the worst of her, but to have faith in her, and to brush off Charles’s behavior as a minor irritant.

But a large part of her warned that she might well have lost James forever. She’d hoped he would stand his ground and fight for her. For them. But he was just giving in and bowing out, exactly as he had with Belinda.

After dinner, when the gathering crowded into the music room, she expected either Charles or James to seek her out, but neither did. Instead, it was her brother George, who, to her great consternation, insisted she sit at the pianoforte to demonstrate how much better her playing had become. Sir Richard, overhearing this, added his own exhortations, so she was forced to perform before the entire room.

As she concentrated on working her way through the first piece without making any errors, she could see James from the corner of her eye. He sat very still, slightly forward in his chair, gazing at her with an intensity that brought a flush to her cheek. She willed her audience to blame it on modesty and forced herself to play on, regardless of his scrutiny.

Her mind flew back to the time when he’d sat and sketched her, when she’d felt his perusal like a caress, as if he were tracing every feature with his finger, stroking every hollow, his touch lingering in every curve.

Curse it! Would this piece never end? As soon as she hit the last note, she leaped up from the pianoforte, inviting Jemima to take over. Then she scurried off to find a chair at the back of the room near an open doorway, and let the light breeze cool her burning cheeks.

From her new position, she subjected James to the same scrutiny he’d fixed on her. But alas, the longer she looked at him, the more handsome and desirable he became.

And all the more beyond her reach.

There were pretty young women aplenty at the house party, any of whom could make a suitable bride for a future earl. Why would he waste his time on Emma, with her ruined family, her embarrassing term as a servant, and her unfortunate ability to hurt him when he was at his most vulnerable?

These unhappy thoughts continued to assail her an hour later as she lay in the big bed she was sharing with Jemima. The girl was an excellent sleeper and went out like a flame in a breeze, but Emma lay staring up at the heavy canopy long after the candles had been extinguished and all sound of activity in the house had ceased.

She wondered where James was sleeping. Was he anywhere close by? For all she knew, he might be in the next room, just the other side of the elegantly papered wall, staring up at the invisible stars just as she was, unable to sleep with the heat and the excitement.

No, probably not. He was no stranger to excitement, parties, or grand dinners. If he was awake at all, he might be mentally shuffling through the relative charms of the other young ladies in the company. Or he might be thinking how disappointing Emma’s playing had been, or finding fault with her features, having examined them so minutely tonight. Perhaps he was lying in his bed reading one of the hundreds of tomes available in Colt Hoare’s library, his thoughts tangled in French history or ensnared in the arithmetic of Palladian architecture.

Bother! Why hadn’t she thought to fetch a book? It would be better than just lying here, goaded by her roiling thoughts.

Lord, was this what love felt like?

Or was it obsession?

Whatever it was, the need was building up in her so powerfully that she feared if she couldn’t secure James’s affections, she’d go mad.

And that madness would provoke her to act. Even if it meant doing something…

Well, something rather scandalous.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The following day, to James’s relief, their host arranged a picnic luncheon for his guests on the lawn by the lake. This gave James an excuse to wander about outside and avoid unwanted conversations. He lurked at the edge of the activity, observing and—though he hated to admit it—waiting for Emma to appear.

He’d found he couldn’t be at rest if he didn’t know where she was and with whom. The idea of her being in company with Charles was tearing him apart, but he’d promised himself not to interfere. For his own peace of mind.

Charles must be given the chance to redeem himself by making an offer to Emma.

And Emma must be free to choose between her two suitors.

James tried to distract himself by watching the small army of servants clear the goose droppings from the grass and shoo the waterfowl to the island in the middle of the lake. Various blankets, tablecloths, and picnic tables were then set up near the shore. A few brave coots swam back and cronked crossly at the disruption, but ultimately they gave up, allowing tranquility to return.

Ah, more guests were coming out of the house. Was she among them?

Yes, she was.

His breath caught as he gazed at her, then he forced himself to turn away. He might be behaving like a lovesick idiot, but he still had his pride.

If she refused Charles, should he court her again? Had he embarrassed her with the strength of his feelings, because they were feelings she felt unable to return? After all, she hadn’t accepted his proposal as he’d expected, but had begged for time to consider. Had he disgusted her with his unbridled passion? Why, he’d practically thrown himself at her that night at Sydney Gardens—she must have thought him a complete rake to seize and kiss her in a public place like that, quite out of the blue.