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He captured her attention every time she’d seen him from afar and she’d just…
She was in awe of him. She could barely manage the glittering world of the peerage and she’d grown up in it. How was he able to pretend to be something he had not been trained to be? And he did it so convincingly…
She knew he was a bastard.
Knew that his father, the earl, had helped him to procure documents from France to fake his lordship. They claimed he was the second son of a northern reclusive marquess. At least that’s what Emily thought she remembered.
Knew that he used that false identity to provide for his four brothers and two sisters.
Knew that he held up the world around the Smith family without ever muttering a word of complaint or appearing to strain at all. At least according to Mirabelle.
That sort of strength stole Emily’s breath and so when she’d seen him standing alone she’d just…
She’d wanted to meet him.
He stirred something in her that she was desperate to learn more about. Because, whatever those feelings were, they were the path to lead her to a real future. One where she might find a husband and cease to be an outcast.
She longed to leave behind the marriage mart where she was a failure and settle into a life as someone’s wife. Caring for another, that was one place she hoped to be a success.
“You will tell me everything that Mirabelle has said about us, not leaving out a single detail.”
She widened her eyes as she stared up at him. “Are you certain? That would take an excessive amount of time…”
He let out another rumble, remarkably like the first one she’d heard him make.
The sound conveyed strength, male will, and a certain disregard for others that fascinated Emily. She cared a great deal what others thought. Always.
She looked around. Any moment now, some servant or other would come down this hall and find them alone. “All right. If you insist.” And she opened her mouth to begin.
But a noise down on the back stairs that surely led to the kitchen had them both looking up. With quick and decisive moves, his hand came to her elbow again as he guided her back out into the party.
She’d not wished to come.
To the soiree, that is. Her brother, the Baron of Boxby, had insisted that it would be good for her. As though her failures over the past two seasons would somehow be erased if she just tried again.
She’d had a few suitors. She was pretty enough. And as her brother was fond of saying, she had a good heart. But in these sorts of interactions, she tended to either be too quiet or say far too much. Exactly like now with Lord Smith. Or the men who’d been interested in her, hadn’t really…suited.
Lord Smith’s long, lean fingers on her elbow sent tingling sensations coursing through her. That was how a man should make a woman feel, wasn’t it?
Not that he’d be interested in her. She didn’t have that posh sophistication that handsome men enjoyed. And she shouldn’t feel anything about him, not knowing what she knew about his past. His family. She didn’t care that he was a bastard. It was a man’s deeds that defined him, in her opinion, and this was a man who valued family and who used his strength to support them.
But as his fingers tightened, her heart did the strangest flop in her chest.
He started across the ballroom, guiding her along with him. “Where are we going?” she asked, trying to decide if she should be frightened or elated by this turn of events. It wasn’t often she was swept away in such a tide of male…prowess.
“To find a more private place to speak,” he muttered back.
“Oh no.” She planted her feet, bringing them both to a stop. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”
“And I’m afraid that you don’t have a choice.”
But as she opened her mouth to explain that her brother had the power and the right to insist upon marriage should they be caught alone, her brother’s voice rang out behind her.
“Emily?”
Her lips snapped shut as blood rushed in her ears.
Lord Smith looked down at her, his own mouth pressing into a firm line as his fingers tightened at her elbow. And then they were deftly turning toward her brother.
