Page 30 of A Game of Hearts

“Thank you, my Lord.”

They moved away from the table together, maintaining proper distance, yet somehow seeming to draw every eye in the room. Emma felt Lady Anne’s gaze boring into her back, but kept her chin high.

“I feel that I must apologise,” he said very quietly as they walked, “for allowing Lady Anne to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t allow anything.” She matched his quiet tone. “Indeed, you were quite... forceful in your defence.”

He glanced down at her, something warming in his grey eyes.

“Not forceful enough, perhaps.”

Before she could respond to this cryptic statement, they reached Lady Agatha’s chair. Emma curtsied, her skirts brushing his legs as she did so.

“Until tomorrow, my Lord.”

“Until tomorrow.” His voice roughened slightly. “Though perhaps... that is...” He stopped, glancing around at their interested audience. “Sleep well, Miss Everton.”

He strode away, leaving Emma to wonder what he had been about to say. Lady Agatha’s knowing look suggested that she had her own thoughts on the matter.

“Well, my dear,” her aunt rose, taking her arm, “a most interesting evening.”

“Indeed.” Emma managed to keep her voice steady. “Though I fear that Lady Anne found it rather trying.”

“Did she?” Lady Agatha’s tone could have frozen mulled wine. “How fascinating that she should be so concerned with others’ behaviour, when her own leaves so much to be desired.”

They had reached the door when Lady Anne’s voice carried across the room.

“Such a shame when people forget their proper place in society. Though I suppose some find it difficult to maintain proper standards when their circumstances are... reduced.”

Emma felt the words strike like physical blows. Her family’s reduced circumstances after her brother’s death had been carefully glossed over in society, but Lady Anne’s words made it clear - she knew, and meant to use that knowledge. A sudden silence fell as Lord Limnwood stepped into Lady Anne’s path.

“How interesting.” His voice carried clearly. “I had always thought true nobility to be shown most clearly in behaviour, rather than circumstances. Though perhaps some find that concept... difficult to grasp.” He turned on his heel and strode to where Emma stood frozen in the doorway. To her complete shock, he bowed over her hand, his lips brushing her glove in a gesture that bordered on impropriety. “Good night, Miss Everton. I look forward to tomorrow’s activities with great anticipation.”

Emma’s heart thundered as she watched him walk away. That gesture, that pointed courtesy in front of everyone, had been a declaration of sorts. But of what? Support? Friendship? Or something more?

“Well,” Lady Agatha said dryly as they climbed the stairs, “it seems that Lord Limnwood has finally decided which side of propriety truly matters.”

Emma touched the spot on her glove where his lips had pressed.

“What do you mean?”

“My dear, there are two kinds of proper behaviour. That which protects reputation through rigid rules, and that which protects through honour and courage.” Her aunt smiled slightly. “It seems that his Lordship has finally learned the difference.”

Emma fell asleep that night with her glove still clutched in her hand, dreaming of grey eyes and gentle lips and the possibility that perhaps, just perhaps, love might prove stronger than rules after all.

Chapter Eight

Dawn mist still clung to the grounds of Pelham Hall as Emma made her way to the stables. She had risen early, hoping to enjoy a quiet ride before the morning’s planned activities, only to find that several other guests harboured similar intentions.

Lady Beatrice waved to her from where she stood with Lord James, both already mounted. Other horses were being led out by grooms, their riders following in twos and threes. Emma’s heart gave a treacherous leap as she recognised Lord Limnwood’s tall figure near the stable door, speaking quietly with the head groom.

“Miss Everton!” The Duke’s cheerful voice carried across the yard. “Excellent! We seem to have arranged an impromptu morning riding party. Would you care to join us?”

Before she could respond, Lord Limnwood turned. Their eyes met, and Emma felt the weight of last night’s events hang between them - his defence of her, that almost-improper kiss of her hand, the way that he’d looked at her as he wished her good night...

“Your usual mount is ready, miss.” The head groom led forward the sweet-tempered bay mare that Emma had ridden several times during their stay. “Though I fear that there’s been a slight change in the arrangements.”

“Oh?”