Page 27 of The Viscount's Promise
She saw his pause and let out a short bark of laughter. He flinched at the raw, pained sound of it. “I see I’m right. No need to explain, my lord. I know I’m a pariah, that my face would have kept you far away, even if my shyness had not.”
Anger filled him at her self-deprecating words. “Damn it, that’s enough. Your scar has nothing at all to do with it.”
“Doesn’t it? You forget, my lord, I have had years of seeing how it affects others.”
She went to turn away from him, to leave him standing there in the middle of the room with nothing settled, these angry words hanging about his head like phantoms. Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed her arm. She gasped in outrage, spinning back to face him, looking at his hand as if it were a slimy creature that had attached itself to her.
“Unhand me, sir,” she ground out, “or I swear I will scream.”
“You will not,” he bit out. “You will stay here and listen to me. You think your scar is what drives people away? I tell you, it’s not. It is you, and you alone. I was being truthful when I told you earlier that you push people away. You are so concerned with how people may view you, so obsessed with protecting yourself from possible unpleasantness, that you will not open yourself to giving a person a chance to get to know you.” The words spilling from his mouth had the faint taste of bitterness to them. She stared mutely at him in shock, unknowingly giving him the chance he needed to have his say, for once she regained her senses it would be lost forever.
“It was not your brother that had me baiting you and pushing you these past days. That was me and me alone. You cannot continue to live your life in such a way, holed up from hurt. You are a lovely person, Lady Emily. Stop letting your fear lead you.”
Her face flushed as she stood mute under his barrage. When he fell silent, exhausted from the rush of words that had poured from him, she raised her hand slowly, balled her fingers into a fist, and struck him in the chest. Hard.
“You do not tell me how to behave.” Hit. “You do not know what I have lived through.” Hit. “You do not know what I see in people’s eyes.” Hit.
Again and again she pummeled his chest. Her small fists may as well have been flies for all the damage they did. But it was the devastation in her eyes that broke his heart. He stood speechless under the onslaught. Let her have this release. She’d had fair little of such things in the past decade, it seemed. It was when the sobs started ripping through her body that he knew he had to put a stop to it.
He wrapped his arms about her and pulled her tight to his chest. She struggled against his hold before, with a wrenching sob, she collapsed in his arms.
Her slender body shuddered with the force of her tears. Never, in all his life, had Malcolm felt like a worm as much as he did in that heartbreaking moment. And the crux of it was, there was nothing he could do to repair it. He would never lay the blame for this at Willbridge’s feet. At least love and good intentions had prompted his request. Malcolm had been the one to go into it with anger, to get more involved than he should have, to bully her into changing, to delve deeper into her emotions in an attempt to change her from the person she was. If he had not, if he had kept his distance, she would not now be hurting.
Not knowing what else to do, he rubbed her back, hoping to bring her some sort of comfort in all this horribleness. To his relief, her sobs subsided, her body stilled. She could have pulled away. Yet she remained in his arms. Against his better judgment he continued to hold her. He knew it was a dangerous thing to do. If anyone were to walk in with the door closed, the two of them alone and in an embrace, he would be seeing the parson’s noose before the day was out. But, he found, much to his surprise, that he liked holding her.
He frowned, tensing, his arms going a bit tighter around her. She pressed into him, so soft, so feminine, a delicious fragrance, like vanilla and roses, drifting up to him. His mouth watered, and he lowered his head, dragging in a deep breath. His senses awakened like the sky clearing after a cleansing rain, his skin tingling. At that moment, she raised her head to look at him.
The rest of the world fell away.
Her eyes were large and luminous in the faint light, her lashes darkened with tears. The porcelain of her skin was faintly flushed, her lips plump from crying. He had never seen anything so alluring in his life. What would it be like, he wondered, if he were to bend his head, to kiss those lips, to feel her sigh and go pliant in his arms...?
In an instant his mind recoiled. This was Willbridge’s sister. What in hell was he thinking? Abruptly dropping his arms from around her, he stumbled back, putting as much distance between them as he could manage. Finding a chair, he ducked behind it, grabbing onto the back with both hands like a shield. She stood where she was, looking more bereft than any one person should. He ached to rush to her, to drag her into his arms, to console her in any and every way he could. In response to the nearly overwhelming need, he gripped the chair back even tighter, forcing his feet to remain where they were.
Her arms wrapped about her middle. In the next moment she lowered them and straightened, her face hardening. “And so I am proved right,” she whispered. “Don’t worry, my lord. You need not burden yourself with me again. In fact, I expect you to stay far away from me in the future. Good day.”
With that, she raised her chin and walked regally from the room. Never had Malcolm seen such a magnificent sight.
Never had he hated himself quite so much.
• • •
“Willbridge, a word if you have time?”
Malcolm had not wanted to ruin his friend’s wedding celebrations by burdening him with the whole debacle with Lady Emily. Imogen had disappeared to change into her traveling clothes, however, and soon the newlyweds would be off for a fortnight while the house party continued without them. This discussion could not wait a moment more.
A wide smile spread over Willbridge’s already beaming countenance. “Morley. I’m so glad you’ve found me. I thought I would have to leave without talking to you at all. Let’s get out of this crowd and spend a minute in blessed peace.”
Malcolm nodded, and as one they wound through the revelers that had congregated in the front hall to see the happy couple off on their wedding trip. They made their way to the library, a room thankfully free of humanity at the moment.
Willbridge closed the door and turned to him. “Morley, I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for my sister this last week.”
Malcolm’s heart dropped. Damn it, the man had gotten the jump on him. He had intended to speak first; what he had to say was hard enough without having to muddle through whatever his thoroughly besotted friend had to say. After the confrontation with Lady Emily, there was only one thing he felt he could do: have Willbridge release him from his promise so he could leave Willowhaven and never return.
There were many things in Malcolm’s life he was guilty of. What he had done to Lady Emily, inadvertently or not, left those all in the dust.
To make matters worse—so much worse—he had developed a new awareness of her. She had become more than Willbridge’s sister, more than the young lady that he was supposed to watch over. Now every time he looked at her, he saw a lovely and very desirable woman.
The curve of her hip under the pale green of her gown, the gentle swell of her breast beneath her bodice, the little divot above her upper lip, all had him aching to feel again that feminine softness that had been hinted at in their embrace. His fingers itched to trail along her cheek, down the slender column of her throat. But more than anything, he wanted to bend his head, to kiss those lips...
