Page 104 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

“It’s all right, my dear,” Sir Thomas urged. “It will give me the opportunity to search out your father.”

“But…um… I mean… Please.” Emma sagged forward. “Please don’t say anything to Father quite yet, Sir Thomas.”

“What the lady is trying to say,” Heath began “is that she is already betrothed, and your further pursuit would be an enormous waste of your time.”

Emma gasped, and Sir Thomas took a step backwards as though he’d been struck across the face. “Betrothed?” The magistrate turned his horrified gaze on Emma. “Is this true?”

She glanced from Sir Thomas to Heath and back again before slowly nodding.

“Well,” the magistrate shook his head, “I am shocked, Lady Emma. Truly shocked. I had thought you were the most virtuous of ladies. But now…”

Heath stepped towards the lady in question. “No one blames you, Mason. Any man would have fallen under Lady Emma’s spell.”

Sir Thomas nodded. “Spell, indeed. Quite right.”

“Perhaps,” Heath added quietly, “you might allow me that word with Lady Emma alone now, sir.”

The magistrate straightened his spine and nodded once, very curtly. “Just be careful, Heathfield. Shedoescast a spell on unsuspecting men.”

Heath let his eyes drift up and down Emma’s delectable form. “Excellent advice, my good man.” Then he lifted his arm once more to the little auburn-haired seductress. “My lady.”

* * *

Emma didn’t have much choice, did she? Lord Heathfield didn’t seem likely to let her escape without having his blasted word. Though what could he possibly say after he’d kissed her so thoroughly? Did he mean to apologize for his actions? Clearly he shouldn’t have kissed her, but Emma didn’t think she could take hearing that he was sorry for having done so.

This must be her punishment for having kissed a betrothed man in the first place, wicked wanton that she was. Emma waited until Sir Thomas escaped down the corridor, then she folded her arms across her middle as though the act would help protect her from the sting that was sure to come from Lord Heathfield’s words.

“What is the matter with you?” she demanded with more bravado than she felt.

“Me?” His voice raised an octave in surprise. “What is the matter withme?” In just two strides he closed the gap between them, towering over her like a great, enraged bear. A very handsome bear, blast him!

Never had the portrait gallery seemed so small. Yet with Lord Heathfield standing so close, Emma could hardly breathe. Instead of speaking, she simply nodded her head.

Heathfield snorted. “I have been nothing except a pawn in some game you are playing, Emma. A game in which only you know the rules, and I am tired of it.”

A game? She wasn’t playing any games. She was trying her hardest to be an honorable lady, all the while clutching the pieces of her broken heart to her chest. “Are you in your cups?” Hehadconsumed a rather large amount of wine over dinner, after all. At least it seemed that way each time she chanced a glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

“No,” he clipped out as his face turned an unhappy red, almost as though his head might burst into flames. Emma took a slight step backward, just in case. “I am quite clear-headed. Hearing you ask that featherbrained dolt to kiss you sobered me well enough.”

Her heart sank. She had hoped he hadn’t overheard that part. Her mortification was now complete. “Well, I don’t see how that is any of your concern, my lord.”

“Don’t you?” He closed the small distance between them and tipped her chin up so she had to look him in the eyes, just as he had done earlier that night. “I hope you don’t think I go around kissing every young lady I come across, Emma.”

“I suppose that should be your fiancée’s concern, not mine,” she muttered sourly.

“Fiancée?” Lord Heathfield’s brow furrowed as though he’d been presented with a difficult problem to solve.

Drat it all! She hadn’t meant to let that slip. Emma shook herself from the viscount’s grasp. “I mean, how you normally behave doesn’t matter to me in the least.” Or it shouldn’t, not that she could say as much.

“It doesn’t?” he asked, with a slight twinkle to his light eyes as his hand slid around her waist, securing her, once again, against his large frame. “I somehow doubt that.”

Did he? Well that was rather arrogant of him, wasn’t it? Emma spread her fingertips across his chest to distance herself as much as possible from Heathfield, though touching him was probably a mistake. Why did he have to feel so strong beneath her fingers, almost like stone and so very, very male? Why did his mere presence still make her belly flutter and tingles race across her skin? And why was she doomed to love him the rest of her days when she could never have him? Emma mentally shook herself. Had he said something? Asked her a question, perhaps? He was looking at her as though he expected an answer. “I beg your pardon?” she choked out.

“Youwerelooking for my attention when you summoned me here, were you not?”

Good heavens! He’d figuredthatout? And here Emma had thought her mortification had reached its highest possible level. If only the ground would open up and swallow her whole. As it was, she thought she might faint. “I-I,” she stuttered for lack of anything intelligent to say.

Lord Heathfield caressed Emma’s cheek with his finger, strangely soothing her. “Without a doubt, you have my undivided attention now, my dear.” A slow smile spread across his face. “And now that I’m before you, what do you intend to do?”

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