Page 50 of The Viscount's Promise
How little he had understood human nature, he thought, bitterness settling like acid in his gut even after all these years.
He had worn that betrayal like a suit of armor since then, keeping people at bay, keeping his heart untouched. Emily’s sweetness and purity, however, had begun to wear away at his defenses. Hell, he had been damn near close to proposing to her.
The thought nearly had him stumbling. What the devil was he thinking? Would he allow Lydia to ruin his future with Emily now? The woman had already poisoned the bond he’d had with his brother, had destroyed forever that most important relationship. He would not give her sway in his life any longer. He would propose to Emily and leave Lydia and her cruelty behind him once and for all.
• • •
Emily wished she could enjoy the day. The picnic was everything Lord Randall had promised and more. Set up on a bluff, it commanded magnificent views of the rolling countryside. Along one side, the River Spratt meandered through. Upon the other, bucolic sheep dotted hillsides blanketed in hues of brilliant emerald, jade, and sage. Great white tents provided shade from the warm afternoon sun, rugs spread out beneath them and covered in all manner of tables and chairs. A small army of footmen were about to see to every comfort imaginable. Off to one side, a young woman played a harp, the gentle strains breaking over the gathered guests and providing a tranquil backdrop.
Emily was blind to it all, for she could not keep her eyes from Malcolm.
His attitude had changed drastically from the friendly, even intimate banter of that morning. Then, she had been sure they had been close to something wonderful. The hope she had felt when she had looked into his smiling eyes and listened to him talk of a wolf trading in his claws for something more domestic had been glorious. Surely, she had thought, this was leading somewhere she had never dreamed possible. Could she be so lucky as to have him care for her?
Yet in the hours since Lady Morley’s arrival, he had been a changed man.
Emily eyed that woman now. She was holding court beneath one of the tents, perched on a plush settee as if it were the finest throne. Surrounding her were all manner of gentlemen, many who had been paying court to Daphne and Mariah for the past weeks.
She couldn’t blame them their sudden infatuation. Lady Morley was all that was graceful and ethereal. Every movement was a study in beauty, a score by the master composers come to life in flesh and bone. As she watched, the woman gave a husky laugh. She was a creature of contrast, for while there was all that seemed angelic about her, there was also a knowing look in her eyes as well, a surety in her manner that was like temptation in the famed garden itself.
Emily had learned long ago that no good came from comparing herself to others that were more blessed in looks and manners. That hard-won knowledge, however, was suffering temporary amnesia at Lady Morley’s presence.
She settled deeper into the wingback chair she had earlier taken refuge in. There was something about Lady Morley that had seemed to deeply disturb Malcolm. Oh, he had attempted to hide it with bland, bored looks and a calm demeanor. Most, she knew, would not have seen a difference in him. Emily, however, was not most people. Her shyness had lent her a sensitivity to others that many lacked. The person in question being Malcolm, she possessed an even greater awareness.
That man was even now in deep discussion with Sir Tristan some distance away, close to the edge of the bluff and away from the bustle of the elegant tents. Just then, Malcolm’s gaze cut to where Lady Morley sat. His lips thinned, his brows lowering over already stormy eyes.
Yes, he was definitely affected by the woman’s presence.
His conversation with Sir Tristan seemed to make him more agitated. After what appeared to be one final biting remark, Malcolm broke away from his friend and began to stride across the ground toward a copse of trees.
Emily chewed at her lip. Though he had expressed a desire to spend time with her, he had been glaringly absent from her side throughout the picnic. Not that she expected him to be in her pocket. He had other friends, other commitments; yet she couldn’t shake the idea that he was keeping away from her on purpose.
She eyed Lady Morley again. To her surprise, she was looking at her in a very direct manner. A trickle of unease worked its way up Emily’s spine. The woman held her gaze for the briefest moment, one of her numerous admirers capturing it in short order. But Emily could not shake the feeling that there had been something altogether predatory in that look.
Which was ridiculous, Emily thought. What interest could she hold for a woman such as Lady Morley?
She thought again of Malcolm’s reaction to the woman. And was surprised at the spurt of jealousy that soured her stomach. But she was a fool to be jealous of her. There was nothing between the two of them. Lady Morley was his brother’s widow. That in itself was a good enough reason for his altered spirits. She must remind him painfully of the brother he lost. Yes, that was it surely.
Well, she knew a thing or two about losing a brother. She gripped the arms of her chair and pushed from her seat, quickly following in the direction she had last seen Malcolm. She would lend an ear if he would let her and hopefully take away some of the pain he was feeling in the process.
• • •
Thus far Malcolm had managed to keep away from Emily throughout the afternoon. After Lydia’s interest in her, he had known evasion would be imperative to protect Emily from the other woman’s poison. He could not let Lydia see again what Emily was to him.
He had not expected how difficult such a thing would be.
He paced the small clearing he had taken refuge in, a last-ditch attempt to keep from searching Emily out. Tristan had not been helpful in the least. He’d actually had the nerve to demand he not shun Emily. Did the man think he was doing it willingly? That he could see any other option?
Malcolm took up a branch from the ground, swinging it through the air, lopping off several unsuspecting leaves from a nearby bush. The action was oddly satisfying. Taking up the proper fencing position, he lunged forward, spearing the bush with a practiced thrust before slicing this way and that. Leaves flew through the air, a sacrifice to his frustration.
“I did not realize you were such an accomplished swordsman.”
The unexpected voice, soft and achingly familiar, jolted him as nothing else could. He straightened, the stick falling to the ground. He could almost hear the bush sigh in relief as its branches settled from his onslaught.
“Emily. How did you find me?”
She blushed, staying where she was on the far side of the clearing. Her fingers gripped one another. A new habit, he knew, since he had called her out on her tendency to press her hand to her cheek.
“I was watching you,” she admitted.
