Page 5 of A Game of Hearts

“Heaven forbid.” She couldn’t quite keep the edge from her voice. “But perhaps we might manage something between complete impropriety and utter tedium?”

Around them, the morning room buzzed with conversation as other couples worked on their assigned Valentine’s verses.

Lady Beatrice’s quiet laugh drew Emma’s attention to where her friend sat with Lord James, their heads bent together over their paper, clearly enjoying the task.

“The Duke has requested that each pair perform their verses before the assembled company this afternoon,” Lord Limnwood reminded her. “We cannot afford to be... experimental.”

“No,” Emma agreed, suddenly inspired. “But we might draw upon classical sources. Surely you cannot object to Ovid? Or perhaps Catullus?”

His eyebrows rose slightly.

“You are familiar with the classical poets, Miss Everton?”

“Is that so surprising? My father believed in education for both his sons and daughters.” She met his gaze steadily. “Though perhaps you find that somehow improper as well?”

Something flickered in his eyes - surprise? respect? - before his expression settled back into its usual stern lines.

“Not at all. Though I confess, I would not have expected...”

“A frivolous girl to know of such things?”

The words came out sharper than she intended.

“I did not say that.”

“You did not need to, my Lord. Your disapproval has been quite clear since our first meeting.”

He sat back slightly, and Emma was startled to see genuine confusion cross his face.

“You believe that I disapprove of you?”

“Do you not?” She gestured to the paper between them. “Everything I suggest is too informal, too spirited, too... everything.”

“I merely believe in maintaining proper standards.”

“And you believe that I do not?”

Before he could answer, Lady Anne’s voice carried across the room.

“Oh, how delightful! Lord Radmill, you must hear the verses that Lord James and Lady Beatrice have composed. Such perfect propriety of sentiment.”

Emma noticed Lord James’ slight grimace at this pronouncement. Clearly, Lady Anne’s interpretation of their verses differed from their intent.

“Perhaps,” Emma said quietly, turning back to Lord Limnwood, “we might find a way to be both proper and genuine? Unless you fear that genuine feeling might somehow taint propriety?”

His eyes narrowed.

“You do take delight in provoking me, do you not?”

“Not at all, my Lord. I simply believe that truth and propriety need not be enemies.” She picked up her pen. “Shall we try again? I promise to maintain perfect decorum, if you will allow at least a touch of genuine feeling.”

He studied her face for a long moment, and Emma found herself holding her breath, suddenly acutely aware of him as a man, not merely an embodiment of rigid propriety. The morning sunlight caught golden glints in his dark hair, and there was something in his eyes that made her heart beat faster.

“Very well,” he said finally. “Show me what you propose.”

Emma bent to write, trying to ignore how his proximity affected her. His cologne - something subtle with hints of bergamot and cedar - teased her senses. How unfortunate that such an attractive man should be so determined to eliminate every drop of joy from life. The scratch of her pen filled the silence between them as she wrote. When she finished, she passed the paper to him without speaking.

He read it, his expression unchanging. Then, to her surprise, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.