Page 51 of The Viscount's Promise
He softened at the admission. “Were you?”
She nodded, her eyes luminous in the dappled light.
A thought occurred then. If she was watching him, others could have been as well. Namely one other. And if Lydia were to find him and Emily alone, there was no telling what mischief she could do. He straightened, his gaze sweeping the foliage behind her. “Did anyone follow you?”
She frowned before, with a glimmer of understanding, her face cleared. “No, no one followed me. We are quite safe from discovery.” Her lips quirked humorlessly. “You’ve no need to fear I will be compromised by being found alone with you.”
Is that what she thought he feared? Little did she know, he didn’t give a damn about that at all. But how could he tell her the truth, that he feared them being found by Lydia?
And so, instead of answering, he went to her, taking her in his arms, capturing her lips with his own. She turned pliant in an instant, sighing into his mouth. Her clever fingers ran up his chest, splayed across his cheeks, threaded back into his hair, as if she were playing him like her pianoforte.
He responded as the instrument would, his body singing with every light touch, every dance of her fingers across his skin. He groaned, his tongue delving into her mouth. Gripping her bottom in both hands, he pressed her up and into the proof of his desire, reveling in the answering shudder her body gave.
He could have stayed like that forever, kissing her into oblivion. All too soon, however, she pulled away, just enough to look him in the eye.
“That was not why I followed you, you know,” she said, her body still arched into his.
“I’d say it’s a damned brilliant reason,” he growled, trying to capture her lips again.
She gave a breathy chuckle, turning her head so his lips landed on her jaw instead. “Malcolm,” she admonished, though amusement and something altogether husky and delicious colored the word.
“Emily,” he murmured as he ran his lips down the long length of her throat.
She moaned, her head falling back. But she was more determined to have her say than he gave her credit for. Soon her hands were planted firmly on his shoulders and she pushed out of his arms.
“We really should talk, Malcolm.”
“Talking is overrated.” He reached for her, but his fingers barely brushed the material of her gown as she took a hasty step back. “You are entirely too nimble for my liking just now, madam,” he grumbled.
She did not laugh as he thought she might. Instead her eyes had taken on a decidedly serious cast. “We really must talk,” she insisted again.
All playfulness immediately left him. He eyed her uneasily. “I don’t see what could possibly be so important.”
“Don’t you?” When he did not answer, she gave a small sigh. “I saw your reaction to Lady Morley, Malcolm.”
He nearly blanched. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to,” he hedged, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.
Her hand was on his arm in an instant. “Malcolm,” she said, her voice unbearably gentle. “Do you think I would not see how she affects you?”
“I think,” he bit out, pulling away from her touch, “that you have an active imagination.”
She followed him as he moved across the clearing, more dogged than he had ever seen her. He could not fail to see the irony in it, for hadn’t he been the one who had worked so tirelessly to make certain she was never cowed again?
“You are affected by her,” she said, cornering him between two bushes. “And I think I know why.”
His lungs suddenly stopped working, his skin going clammy as he pressed back into the foliage. It took him a moment to realize that what he was feeling was panic. Panic that she knew the darkest secret in his soul: that he had once loved Lydia, had wanted her, with every ounce of his being. And, worse than that, even after she had married his brother, even after he had begun to hate her more desperately than he had loved her, he had wanted her still.
Shame filled him then. That Emily, who was all goodness and light, could see this depraved corner of his soul.
Then she spoke. “She reminds you of your brother, does she not?”
He looked at her then, his mouth falling open. “I’m sorry?”
“She must remind you of the brother you lost. I know full well how such memories can affect one. How they drag down on your spirits until the grief is almost as strong as the day of your loss.”
Relief saturated him, nearly buckling his knees. She thought this was about losing Bertram?
He stood stupidly for a time, too overcome to form words. She took hold of his hand then, pulling him to a nearby boulder, tugging him down to sit beside her.
