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“I had no intention of taking them off.”
Dex studied her more closely.
“Why don’t you just leave Torie alone?” Kenny said.
“It’s not that simple. Remember that our fathers are involved.”
“If you had any balls, Dex, you’d tell both of them to go to hell instead of letting them torture Torie like this.”
He gave Kenny a long, inscrutable look. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at your reaction.” With a shrug, he rose. “I’ll talk with Ted later. It’s been very nice meeting you, Emma. I look forward to seeing you again soon.” He nodded at Kenny and, without so much as a glance toward the Foosball game, headed for the door of the Roustabout.
“Coldhearted sonovabitch.”
“I found him very pleasant,” Emma said.
“It figures you’d like him. He’s just your type.”
“Quite.”
“Is that a gleam of speculation I see in your eye?”
When she didn’t reply, he frowned. “First you’re after a little boy. Now you’ve got Dex sighted through the crosshairs. Nobody could ever say you’re particular.”
She wasn’t going to let him bait her. “Desperate women can’t be particular.”
“I guess I’d better dance with you, then.” He spoke just begrudgingly enough to let her know he was doing her a favor.
“Oh, no.” She gave him a pleasant smile. “It would require far too much effort on your part.”
That made him so mad his teeth started to itch. Damn, but there was something about this woman that rubbed him wrong. He’d wanted to get away from her tonight, but then she’d shown up here. The worst thing was that part of him had been glad to see her, which was why he hadn’t behaved too well, because he didn’t want to be glad to see the virgin head mistress.
She made no secret of the fact that she disapproved of him, and he didn’t like the notion that he was nothing more than a sexual convenience, even though he felt the same way about her. Or at least he thought he did.
He wasn’t used to being confused about a woman, and his thoughts returned to the person who’d put him in this position in the first place. If it weren’t for Francesca, he might be able to talk Emma into a discreet fling. The two of them could use each other, then forget about it. But Dallie’s wife had more ways of finding out other people’s private business than anybody he knew, and she’d never forgive him if she thought he’d taken advantage of her friend. It also wouldn’t be the slightest use telling her that Lady Emma had started the whole thing when she’d tried to buy his body.
He felt claustrophobic, as if he were being forced into a small, windowless room with no exit. Lady Emma was too bossy, too difficult, one of those women who could run right over the top of a man, beating on him with her demands until he’d been flattened like a cartoon coyote. Frustrated, he pulled her to her feet and led her, none too gently, back to the dance floor, where it didn’t take more than a few seconds for his temper to bubble up again.
“Stop trying to lead!”
“Then move faster.”
“It’s a ballad.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to fall asleep.”
“I’m not falling asleep! I swear . . .” But whatever he’d been about to swear slipped from his mind as her hair brushed the bottom of his chin.
For a moment he could have sworn he smelled violets, which was very peculiar, since he had no idea what violets smelled like, except somehow he knew they smelled just like Lady Emma.
Chapter 9
Even though she knew she should put her time to better use working on her research paper, Emma luxuriated in her leisure the next morning. She visited Kenny’s horses, took another long walk along the river, then changed into her bathing suit, fetched her straw hat, and accompanied Patrick to the pool. They sat beneath a French market umbrella at one of the rectangular tables around the water and shared a glass of peach-flavored iced tea along with still-warm slices of a dark, spicy sweet bread drizzled with icing. As they ate, Patrick filled her in on some of the local lore and told her a little about his book of photographs before he excused himself to develop film in the basement darkroom.
Emma moved to one of the chaises that sat in the shade and opened up her notes from Lady Sarah’s journal. The day was warm, and she wanted to discard her cover-up, but she was afraid Patrick would come back, and she didn’t like the idea of him seeing her tattoo. It was one thing to show it off when she thought she was being watched, but quite another to expose people to it privately. She was thankful for her caution when she looked up to see an attractive blonde coming toward the pool with a baby in her arms.
The woman was a few years younger than Emma and a bit plump, but not unpleasantly so. Everything about her reeked of money, from the diamond tennis bracelet that glimmered on one tan wrist to her linen tunic and shorts. She had sleek, jaw-length blond hair and flawless skin enhanced with little more than some tawny lip gloss.
