Page 33 of The Viscount's Promise
“To have our guests pick their own fruit? We couldn’t do that. But perhaps we can sneak away? Maybe bring one of the gentlemen with us to help?”
Without waiting for an answer, Emily rose and set off for the stone bridge, Daphne following behind.
Here, however, was where her biggest difficulty lay. How would she ever be able to get up the nerve to talk Sir Tristan into accompanying them? Yes, she had managed to talk to Lord Morley, even to have full conversations with him. That did not mean, however, that she was any more adept at approaching other men. But she had come this far. She would not back down now.
Sir Tristan was leaning idly against the stone railing. At their approach, he straightened. Lord Morley, at his side, did likewise. Emily’s heart leapt as his attention shifted to her. It seemed that, despite his appalling behavior toward her, he still affected her much more than he rightly should.
“Ladies,” Sir Tristan said with a smile and a bow, “how may we be of service to you?”
It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, forcing her thoughts from the man’s friend, Emily blurted, “Sir Tristan, it seems we do not have strawberries for the picnic. Perhaps you can accompany us to pick some before the food is served?”
The man blinked in surprise before smiling broadly, his entire attention shifting to Daphne, who stood anxiously at Emily’s side. “I would love to help.” He offered his arm. Daphne accepted it with gratitude and they started across the bridge.
Emily made to follow. To her consternation, Lord Morley fell in beside her. She stopped, and he stopped as well. Ahead of them, Daphne and Sir Tristan had paused and were waiting on them. Nearly growling in frustration, Emily kept her gaze forward along the dirt path and said, “I’m sure you don’t need to bother, my lord. It is only picking berries, after all. Hardly an endeavor requiring an army of people.”
There was a short, charged silence, before he replied in his deep voice, “I insist. I would help where I can.” The slight edge to his voice told her he would brook no arguments.
Emily, however, had come too far to give up quite so easily. Even if her skin was beginning to tingle in the most disconcerting manner at his closeness.
“I would be most obliged if you would stay here in our stead.” It was a weak argument at best. But then, so was his.
Like a fox scenting prey, Lord Morley narrowed his dark eyes on her before turning. “Knowles, Tristan and I will be escorting Lady Emily and her sister to gather some strawberries. Be so kind as to mind the party while we’re gone. We won’t be long.”
When Mr. Ignatius Knowles, who was in a lively dispute with some of the other gentlemen, gave him a grin and jaunty salute, Lord Morley turned back to her with a satisfied smile. “There,” he drawled, “now there is no need for me to stay behind.”
He held out his arm, his eyes throwing a challenge at her. Emily cast her gaze over the assembled group. Where the devil was her brother when she needed him? It was then she saw him, on the opposite side of the clearing, his eyes fairly devouring Miss Mariah Duncan. She frowned. Her brother’s interest in the girl was proving her downfall. Briefly she considered giving Lord Morley a scathing set-down. But something of that nature could only draw attention to them and bring Sir Tristan and Daphne back. Which would completely undermine her efforts to get the two of them alone. She looked up into the suspicious dark eyes of Lord Morley and wondered briefly if he knew her purpose for getting his friend alone with her sister. It would certainly explain his insistence in going off with her, when he was fully aware she no longer welcomed his company. But how could he? Even if he did, what could he say against the match? His friend was a baronet, and Daphne a marquess’s daughter. It would be a good alliance.
He waited patiently, a small smile curving his lips. Blowing out an exasperated breath, she gritted her teeth and accepted his proffered arm. Daphne and Sir Tristan started off again ahead of them, the rumble of their voices and light laughter carrying back to Emily. At least they were conversing. Emily knew, however, that if their affections were to be fully realized, they needed time alone. And with Lord Morley’s eagle eyes on their backs, there was no chance of that happening. As they trekked across the meadow, where her half-boots kicked up the warm scent of summer, to the cool shade of the copse beyond, her mind galloped ahead. How, she wondered, could she ensure that Daphne would have time alone with Sir Tristan?
Even as her mind raced, her steps slowed. Truly, she couldn’t have walked slower if she had been in a pool of honey. It was a surprise that Lord Morley didn’t forcibly take her arm and pull her along at a more normal pace. The only indication he gave of his aggravation was the tightening of his mouth and a small muscle working in his jaw, which she saw when she chanced to glance up at him from under her lashes. The very idea gave her a selfish little thrill. So he was annoyed, was he? Good. Emily would take any chance she could to further her cause. Even if that meant enraging Lord Morley. No,especiallyif that meant enraging Lord Morley.
Daphne and Sir Tristan suddenly ducked out of view, no doubt having found the small glen that she knew held wild strawberry plants in abundance. Not knowing what else to do, knowing she had to prevent Lord Morley from taking a step further, Emily stopped dead in the path. The problem now, unfortunately, was that her arm was linked securely with Lord Morley’s. Unaware of her intentions, he kept moving, pulling her right off her feet.
She didn’t go down, thank goodness, though there was a slight twinge in her ankle as she caught herself. It was nothing that she hadn’t felt a hundred times before when walking the grounds surrounding Willowhaven, and so she knew instantly that it was not serious. It did, however, plant quite the most diabolical idea into her brain. The question was, did she have the ability to pull something like this off? There was one way to find out.
Emily let out a squeak of pain and released Lord Morley’s arm, dropping down to the ground and gripping her ankle with both hands. In an instant, Lord Morley was at her side.
“Lady Emily, are you all right?”
He sounded surprisingly distressed. She was a better actress than she’d first surmised.
“A bit of a twist, I’m afraid,” she said, keeping her face averted. She might be able to pull this off, but if she looked in his eyes he was sure to see the lie in them.
“Will you allow me to ascertain the damage?”
Emily stilled. Oh dear, to have this man’s hands on her ankle. The remembrance of that episode in the music room seared through her mind. How it had felt to be in his arms, the desperation that had come over her to have him bend his head to hers and take her lips with his own. She gripped her skirts with both hands and yanked them down protectively over the body part in question. “I don’t think that’s necessary, my lord.”
“I believe it’s important to determine as swiftly as possible that there is no break. Won’t you allow me to probe the injury for damage?”
Face flaming, Emily closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer. When she had managed to get hold of her embarrassment, she said, “I’m certain it’s not as bad as all that. I do believe I just need to rest it for a moment.”
“Can I help you to your feet? Mayhap we can check to see how bad the damage might be by putting some weight on it.”
Goodness, but the man was pushy. She opened her eyes and chanced a glance at him. He was still crouched in front of her, worry clouding his eyes. He was ridiculously handsome this close, with that deliciously chiseled mouth, the aquiline nose, those devastating dark eyes. For a long moment she stared, utterly transfixed. She felt herself melting a bit, leaning in toward him.
Until his eyes flickered away from her, back up along the path where Daphne and Sir Tristan had disappeared. An indication of his eagerness to escape her. In a flash she recalled his reaction to her the last time they had been this close, his horror over her scar.
The devastation that rejection had given her.
