Page 101 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

If he did she’d only kiss him again, and she just couldn’t do that to his fiancée, or to herself. She’d never forget the last kiss, as it was. And…

“Emma,” he began, confusion flashing in his eyes.

But she didn’t give him time to use his charming tongue to say anything else as she darted past him, threw open the parlor door, and raced through the castle back to her chambers as fast as her legs would carry her.

Thank heavens she hadn’t encountered Grandpapa along the way. If he’d chastised her for running in the corridors, she would have dissolved into a puddle of tears right then and there. That would never do.

Emma wanted to collapse onto her bed and cry her eyes out, but she didn’t deserve to feel sorry for herself. She was a terrible person. She had kissed—kissed—another woman’s fiancé. It didn’t matter that she’d loved Lord Heathfield since she was in leading strings. He wasn’t hers and would never be hers. It was a terrible, awful thing to do. And she’d done it. And she’d never forgive herself for doing so.

She paced the floor, berating herself, wishing she could remove the memory of Heathfield’s kiss from her mind. But she couldn’t. She’d never been kissed before. A few gentlemen had tried, of course, but she’d always managed to put them off. She’d never wanted to kiss anyone except for Lord Heathfield.

And now that she had… Her heart still quickened at the memory. The way his strong arms felt around her, his wine-scented breath across her lips, the toe-curling, mind-numbing, soul-searing kiss he’d given her.

She stopped mid-step as an idea struck her. The answer was right in front of her, though she would have never considered it before now. But was there any other way? She didn’t think so. And it might not be so bad. In fact, it could be just the thing to erase the memory of Lord Heathfield’s kiss from her mind forever.

She’d have to kiss someone else. After all, if kisses were so powerful, a kiss from another man—onewithouta fiancé, preferably—would be the very best antidote.

Mr. Lockwell looked as though he would be interesting to kiss, but he probably wasn’t the best candidate, as he was a friend of Lord Heathfield’s… And of Drew’s. Heaven help her if her brother learned he had a wanton for a sister who went about kissing all of his friends. No, not Mr. Lockwell.

But perhaps Sir Thomas.

Lord Heathfield thought Sir Thomas was paying her court. Perhaps he was correct. If so, it shouldn’t be too difficult to get Sir Thomas to kiss her, would it? Hopefully not.

Emma rushed across the room to look into her beveled mirror, glancing at her appearance. Thank heavens she hadn’t allowed herself to cry, or her cheeks would be red and puffy. Sir Thomas wouldn’t kiss a girl with red, puffy cheeks, would he?

She smoothed a hand over her hair and was surprised at how presentable she actually appeared. “One kiss,” she said aloud. “Just one.” One kiss from Sir Thomas to erase the memory of Lord Heathfield’s kiss. And the sooner the better. After all, she might never get rid of the memory if she let it linger in her mind too long. And then where would she be? Rotting into her old age, pining for a man who belonged to another. That couldn’t be her future. It just couldn’t.

No, Sir Thomas it would have to be. And tonight, if at all possible.

CHAPTER6

Dazed,Heath stood in the parlor, not quite sure how long he’d even remained rooted to the floor after Emma’s hasty departure. What the devil had happened to make her bolt from him? Their kiss had been nothing short of amazing. It was the most intense kiss he’d ever shared.

In fact, his ardor was still on display. He certainly couldn’t join the others in his current state. But even if he could, he wasn’t at all in the right frame of mind to be social. He could barely put two thoughts together. He’d sound like a stuttering oaf if he was forced to entertain.

An irritated snort from the threshold caught his attention and Heath turned his head to face the interloper. His eyes rounded in surprise when he discovered the Duke of Danby scowling at him. What was left of Heath’s ardor vanished in an instant.

The old man snorted. “Youare an idiot.”

Heath wasn’t certain how to even respond to that. “I beg your pardon?”

“Didn’t think I’d notice that you made calf-eyes at my granddaughter all through dinner, did you?”

“I-I did?” he stammered.

“You looked like a deranged dolt.”

How very complimentary. He was an idiot who looked like a deranged dolt. Was it any wonder Drew had abandoned England for France even with a war going on? “I will take that under advisement, Your Grace.”

Danby’s eyes narrowed on Heath. “You should take something else under advisement as well, Heathfield.”

“Indeed?”

“If you are chasing Emma’s skirts, which I can only assume you are considering you never took your eyes off her, you should know that if you make any sort of improper advances I’ll stick your head on a pike outside my castle.”

Well, that was a far from a pleasant thought and more than a bit medieval. “And if my intentions are honorable?” Heath wasn’t even certain where that comment came from, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew they were true. Something about Emma called to him, like a flower seeks the sunlight. She was enchanting and beguiling. Deep down, he sensed she could fill the emptiness in his heart to overflowing. And if the heat of their kiss was any indication of how they would get on together… Well, he would gladly wake every morning the rest of his life to see what sort of mischief she was up to, and he’d happily join right along.

“If your intentions are honorable—” Danby sighed— “then I would say you should make your way to the drawing room before that featherbrained Mason steals her out from under your nose.”

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