AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Was he still angry, as he had been the morning she'd sent him away? Hurt that she had kept her past secret?
But she had revealed nearly everything save only her name and birth. He must know that, when the whimsy of fate had taken her life and spun it upside down, she had not dared contact him. And if he hadn't, he should now. She'd worn the comb for him.
When his mama asked about it, had anything like understanding dawned in those stark eyes? She could not tell, but...he'd asked her to dance. A waltz, where under cover of the movement, he could hold her close. Would he take that opportunity to congratulate her good fortune, or chastise her for not confiding in him?
Rob introduced another arriving guest to her, and she dragged her attention back to the receiving line. The ballroom was already crowded, and if the success of an evening were judged by how much of a "crush" it became, this ball was certainly successful.
However, the greetings of the assembled guests had been cautious. Though they acknowledged her title as introduced, the speculation in their glances—and the overly familiar gleam in the eyes of some of the supposed gentlemen— made it clear their initial approval was qualified.
Who is she really? Emily could almost hear them thinking. Shopkeeper or duke's daughter? Lost relation or impostor? Widow or whore? She clenched her teeth.
An almost palpable atmosphere of anticipation hung in the air, the attendees obviously waiting to see the reactions of those high-born leaders of the ton whose approval was essential to her success. None of whom had yet appeared.
If those doyennes of society stayed away, 'twould not matter how many others attended. Her presentation would fail and the Maxwells' social position suffer accordingly.
The thought made her indignant. She cared naught for herself, but how dare those haughty women slight Natalie?
Nearly an hour later, Rob insisted she leave the receiving line. As he waited for the eager officer he had called over to take her in to dance, he patted her hand reassuringly. "I'll summon you when the Dragons arrive. Chin up, the evening's just begun."
She was not so sanguine. But though a part of her mind simmered with outrage and another part made polite conversation with the officer, every nerve hummed with anticipation that soon the hand at her waist, the voice murmuring in her ear, would be Evan's.
The dance ended. Her partner remained to chat as the orchestra struck up the next selection. A waltz.
Out of the throng she spied Evan walking toward her, his face grave, his deep blue eyes mesmerizing hers until at last he reached her side.
A mumble of words, a bow, and he offered his arm. As she laid her hand on his sleeve the spark of contact made her heart skip a beat. A tingle of flame raced from her fingertips up her wrist, her shoulder, her neck.
Neither spoke as he led her out. One hand slid up her arm to clasp her wrist, his other encircled her waist and drew her close as he swept her into the rhythm of the waltz.
Though he seemed rigidly unresponsive, the burn of his hands upon her, the arousing heat of his torso brushing hers, the solid presence and achingly familiar scent of him intoxicated her. Right, wrong, duty, obligation—all fell away as she abandoned herself to the embrace of the dance. With a deep, shuddering sigh, for just an instant she allowed her head to rest against his shoulder.
His hands on her clenched. Then he brushed his lips against her hair and she felt more than heard him whisper, "Oh, Emily." His hand on hers twisted, splayed her fingers apart and intertwined them with his own.
He swung her into ever-faster spirals. The velocity of the turns flung her against him the whole length of her body, from leg to hip to chest. She leaned into him giddily, but 'twas his nearness rather than the circles that made her dizzy.
After the upheavals of the last few weeks, reclaiming a role she'd abandoned so long ago it felt foreign, as if she were a ghost resurrected in the wrong body, this was solid and familiar and right. Here, in his arms, moving as one with him, she'd come home. She clung to him and wished the waltz would never end.
But of course it did, although they danced until the very last note, earning a spatter of applause from the laughing couples around them. Once more offering her his arm, he led her off the floor.
But not immediately back to the chairs. Rather, he made a circuit of the room, as if searching for a particular party. She was about to question him when at last he spoke.
"Why, Emily? Why did you never tell me who you were?"
He was still angry, she thought with a pang of sadness. “What difference would it have made?''
"What diff—" He sputtered and halted to look at her. "All the difference in the world, as you must know!"
"How so? Oh, Evan, if Rob had not chanced to return, I'd still be Madame Emilie working in her shop. Even now, 'tis highly doubtful I'll be accepted. I'd not even have attempted it had it not—''
"Evan, well met! I see you've stolen the belle of the evening. You'll hand her over for the next dance?"
A smiling young man with slightly protuberant eyes, his gaze on her offensively familiar, blocked their path. "Not to you," Evan replied baldly. "Sorry, Axelrod, she's promised elsewhere. If you'll excuse us?"
Evan bore her away before the man had a chance to dispute the matter. "We can't talk here. Meet me. Green Park tomorrow morning at seven."
She bit back an immediate acquiescence. "I doubt that's wise. My status may be—altered, but yours is the same. You're still the Earl, still engaged—"
"Emily, please. Don't you think you owe me some explanation? Or did I mean that little to you?"
She looked up at his face—and regretted it. The bewildered hurt she saw there robbed her of a safe, circumspect he.
"N-no," she replied shakily. "You meant a great deal."
"Meet me then. Just this once. Please, Emily."
'Twas madness to entertain the thought. But the allure of being alone with him, even in the public venue of the park, of being able to fully explain all she had felt essential to keep hidden, was too seductive. With every cautious instinct for self-preservation screaming "no," she murmured. "Yes."
He closed his eyes briefly and exhaled in a rush of breath. "Thank you," he whispered. He opened his lips as if to say more and halted abruptly, his gaze focusing on something behind her. "Lady Auriana," he said, made her a crisp bow and walked off.
She whirled around to see Brent standing rigid, hands clenched into fists, staring with narrowed eyes at Evan's retreating back.
She thought she heard Brent swear softly, but then he smiled down at her and held out his hand. “Rob sent me to fetch you. Guests are arriving he felt you must greet."
"G-guests?" she stuttered.
"Yes." His smile widened to a grin. "Lord and Lady Castlereagh, Princess Esterhazy and Lady Jersey. Come. We mustn't delay your triumph."
Consternation gripped her for a moment. "Or catastrophe," she muttered. But what matter to her whether she be patronized, accepted or shunned? Raising her chin, she took his arm. "Let us not keep the Great Ones waiting."
Natalie cast her a relieved glance as she and Brent approached them. "Ah, here she is! Lady Ingraham, may I present to you my sister-in-law, Lady Auriana Spenser War-ing-Black, widow of Maxwell's younger brother, Captain the Honorable Andrew Waring-Black."
Beyond her, Rob was greeting a large party, among whom she recognized Lady Jersey. Emily took a deep breath and inclined her head. "Pleased to meet you, Lady Ingraham."
The stout woman before her subjected Emily to a head-to-toe inspection. Her lip curled, as if she'd seen something unpleasant. "We may have met before," she said in a loud, carrying voice. "I believe 'twas when you waited on me at your shop."
Rob and the other guests froze. In the sudden silence Emily heard Natalie's gasp of distress, and her temper flared. Holding on to it with an effort, she replied evenly, “Perhaps so. I do not recall."
"Making gowns now as well as bonnets, isn't that right? How clever! I expect you stitched up the lovely little silver thing you're wearing all by yourself." She turned to look accusingly at Rob. "Interesting company you keep, Maxwell. You might have a care for your consequence."
The woman took a step, obviously intending to walk past Emily without acknowledging her by title—an unmistakable cut. In midreply, Rob's calm voice faltered.
At the stricken look coming over Natalie's face, Emily forgot the ball, the milling crowd of spectators, the good impression everyone was so eager she make.
You bitch, she thought. Who do you think you are to try to humiliate my family?
With one imperious hand she grabbed the matron's sleeve, halting her. "Robbins." She raised her voice to hail the butler who was announcing guests at the door. “Would you be so good as to have someone fetch Lady Ingraham's cloak. Not having found the company to her liking, she wishes to depart."
The matron looked from Emily's hand grasping her arm to her face, jaw dropped in shock. Before the woman could speak Emily gave her a none-too-gentle shove. "Immediately, if you please, Robbins. The only one more gratified by her swift departure than her ladyship will be me."
The barest hint of a smile flitted across the butler's face before he bowed low. "At once, Lady Auriana."
Still furious, Emily turned her glare from Lady Ingraham, whose face was turning an alarming shade of puce, to Lady Jersey and the other notables standing breathless at Rob's elbow. "Is there anyone else who wishes a cloak brought now? If so, please speak up. I should not wish my servants discommoded a second time."
