Page 49 of The Viscount's Promise
He should fight the suggestion of escorting Lydia, should insist on accompanying Emily. Eventually he would win out over her innate politeness. But he would not draw unwanted attention to Emily, something she abhorred above all else. And so instead he placed a hand at her back, leaned in toward her. “I will see you at the picnic, then?”
The smile reached her eyes then. “Oh yes.”
He reluctantly turned to Lydia, offering her his arm. “It appears you have an escort, madam.”
She smiled brightly, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. But it was the too-knowing glint in her eyes, the thoughtful look she sent Emily’s way, that turned his blood to ice. Suddenly desperate to get Lydia as far from Emily as possible, he turned and led her away.
Chapter 18
“How have you been, Malcolm?”
They headed the party that was tramping across the manicured lawn to the picnic grounds, as per Lord Randall’s directions. Malcolm kept his gaze on the great sea of white tents in the distance and fought to keep his features even as distaste roiled through him. He would not lose his composure, would not allow Lydia to see how she affected him.
That did not mean, however, that he would not let her know what he thought of this little deception she had perpetrated.
“Are you truly going to pretend that this is simply a casual meeting, Lydia? You must know that I would rather be anywhere but here right now.”
Her light laugh grated on him. “Of course, which is the reason for my little ruse, you silly man,” she said. “Though you mustn’t think I came here for the express purpose of seeing you. No, this trip was planned long ago. This chance meeting is simply a bonus.”
“A bonus.” He glared down at her serene profile. “I would hardly call it that.”
“To me, it is.”
The purr in her voice, instead of softening him to her, made his skin crawl. Especially as he was painfully aware that at one time he had lived for such a tone from her.
“What are you about?” he demanded. “You must be fully aware that any further communication between us is abhorrent to me. I told you as much after Bertram died. There can be nothing more we have to say to each other. You inherited a more than substantial property and allowance upon my brother’s death and can need nothing further of me. Anything you do require can be handled through my solicitor.”
Her rosy lips turned down into a little moue. “Can I not merely wish to see you, Malcolm? We used to be so much to one another at one time, after all.”
“Yes, we did,” he bit out. “Before you cuckolded me with my own brother. Before I found out that every word you spoke to me was a lie to reel in a bigger fish.”
The shift in her expression was immediate. Though her smile stayed fixed, her eyes went cold as ice. “All that is water under the bridge, Malcolm,” she stated with disturbing calm. “Can we not get past that?”
Get past it?Malcolm pressed his lips together to stop the searing retort that fought to break free. If it were as easy as that, he would, in a heartbeat.
“Lady Emily is an...interesting creature.”
The abrupt change of subject caught Malcolm off guard. “Do not call her a creature as if she were an animal in a menagerie,” he snapped. The reaction had been instinctual—and much too revealing, he saw, as she turned her sly gaze up to him. Once again his blood congealed, fairly frozen in his veins. Something settled in the muscles of his back, and it took a moment for Malcolm to name it: dread.
“She is much to you, then.” It was not a question. She always had been too clever for her own good.
Take care, a voice in his head warned,or she will target Emily with her cruelties. “She is the sister of my closest friend, and so it would seem odd if she weren’t.”
She arched one perfectly manicured brow. “You are implying she is like a sister to you?”
“Of course she is.”
“And nothing more?”
He sent up a silent apology for the lie he was about to tell. “No, nothing more.”
She nodded slowly and looked away. Did she believe him? He prayed she did, for there was no telling what havoc she might create in that devious mind of hers.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Emily’s flaming hair as she walked along on Tristan’s arm. She was so different from Lydia, so innocent and pure and good. She would never betray him.
But wasn’t that what he had thought of Lydia when he had first begun to fall under her spell?
He recalled it now, those cornflower blue eyes that had seemed so open and honest. Her innocence that had him wanting to at once protect her and claim her for his own. For months he had courted her, stealing kisses from her honeyed lips, sending her ridiculous poems declaring his unswerving love. When he had told his brother of his intention to marry her, Bertram had shown such reluctance to give his consent to the match. Malcolm had been too young, he’d declared, too unsettled in life to take on the responsibilities of a wife. Surely, Malcolm had thought, his brother could not fail to allow it once he got to know Lydia, a paragon of goodness and beauty.
