Page 38 of The Viscount's Promise
He gave an inelegant snort and made to move away. But she was well and done with him and intended to finish this here and now. She grabbed at his jacket sleeve.
“Sir,” she ground out, “I have asked you a question and would like the respect of an answer. I think you owe me that much, at least, after your initial subterfuge.”
Her reminder of his promise to her brother seemed to do the trick. He turned a glare on her that would have melted stone. “You wish for an answer? Fine,” he spat. Casting a quick glance around, no doubt to ascertain whether they were unobserved, he took hold of her arm and propelled her out of the room and down the hall.
At the library he yanked her unceremoniously inside and closed the door. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. A fire had been lit in the hearth, but it was a small thing, hardly bright enough to travel to the farthest reaches where they presently stood. Even so, she could see the glint of anger in his eyes when he turned the full potency of it on her. Her breath hitched in her throat at the disturbing nearness of him, and of the sudden realization of how intimate this meeting was. But this was no time for faintheartedness. She could not take a minute more of his unwanted presence and would end it now.
“So you wish me to promise to stay far away from you, do you?”
“Yes.” She raised her chin a fraction to hide the thrill that shot through her from the dark timbre of his voice.
“I do not follow you about on purpose, I assure you,” he bit out.
“Well,” she declared, clapping her hands together in front of her, “that settles it, then. You will kindly keep yourself away from me for the remainder of the house party.”
“I cannot do that, and you know it,” he growled, his frown casting darker shadows over his face.
“You can have no possible reason to be in my vicinity.”
The look he gave her was ripe with disbelief. “Oh, don’t I?” he drawled.
Emily felt her face heat. “No, not a one.”
He blew out a breath and raked a hand through his hair, sending the inky locks into disarray. “Despite the glaring fact that you cannot free me from a promise that was never given to you, there is one other reason I might have for staying close to you. As I have told you before, I know of your attempts to play matchmaker with Tristan and your sister. And I saw it for myself tonight. You are not subtle, my lady.”
As if she would own up to it. Her insistence on her innocence in the matter may very well be the one thing keeping her plan from falling apart before her very eyes. “You are delusional,” she said as lightly as she could manage.
“I am not delusional. And I tell you here and now, you will not succeed. There is no way in hell I will allow you to marry Lady Daphne off to Tristan.”
His insistence that she would fail rekindled her frustration and panic over the matter. For a moment she forgot the need for subterfuge. “Why are you so determined to keep it from happening?”
“It’s none of your business,” he mumbled.
“Come along. You must have a reason.” A sudden, horrifying thought came to her. He had been incredibly stubborn in regard to keeping Daphne and Sir Tristan from each other the day before. He had declared to her that he would not allow her to play matchmaker with them, with much more force than he should have had a right to feel. Did the man care for her sister?
Goodness, did Lord Morley have designs on Daphne himself?
A sick feeling settled in her stomach. It was possible. Daphne was young and beautiful and sweet. With her outgoing, vivacious personality and her pedigree, she could claim any man as her own. She was certain to be much in demand if she went to London next Season. Why wouldn’t Lord Morley want her?
An image of them together made bile rise up in her throat. To see Daphne marrying him, having his children...The grief that welled up in her nearly had her knees giving out from under her.
“Ah,” she choked. “You wish to court her yourself. I see it now.”
Instant horror filled his features. “What in blazes gave you that idea?”
She managed a shrug, even as she pressed a fist into her stomach. “It makes sense, my lord. You don’t wish her to make a match of it with your friend. She is young and beautiful. You really could not do better than her.”
He gave her an odd, almost pained look, and seemed about to reach out for her. Then he frowned and took a step back. “Of course I don’t want her for myself. You are not even remotely close on that account.”
She blinked uncomprehendingly at him, his words not sinking in through the tangle her brain had become. “Then what is it? What is your interest in my sister if not romantically?”
“I have no interest in her at all,” he growled.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
She searched his face for any hint of insincerity. Cursing herself for the relief that bloomed in her chest when she saw none, she said, much more harshly than intended, “I do not understand your insistence in keeping them apart then. If they hold affection for one another, why not let them form an attachment? They make a lovely couple, and the connection is not a bad one, on either side.”
