Page 53 of The Viscount's Promise
“Yes, we were close,” he admitted almost reluctantly. She looked at him in expectation and he let out a breath. “You are not going to give up, are you?”
She shook her head, laughter dancing in her eyes.
“Fine.” He frowned. “Yes, Bertram and I were close. Exceptionally close. Our parents died when I was six and he eight. And so we only had each other.”
“Where did you go? Who cared for you?”
“My uncle.” The mere memory of that man left a bitter taste in Malcolm’s mouth. “Though ‘cared for’ is not a term I would use.”
Emily frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“My uncle was not a kind man. He was jealous of my father. I suspect he secretly wished my brother and I would follow him to the grave, so he might get his hands on the title and all that came with it. Instead he was forced to take us in, to look on the two creatures that separated him from everything he ever wanted. Needless to say, this did not lead to a loving, nurturing environment.”
He glanced at her face then, saw her grief. He should not have unloaded the burden of that part of his past on her, for she was entirely too sensitive and would take it to heart. Desperate to relieve the heaviness of the moment and bring a smile back to her face, he dragged in a deep breath and tried to think of the happy moments of those too-dark years.
“That did not mean, however, that it was completely unbearable. I had Bertram, after all. He was great fun. I recall one time he looted our uncle’s attic and found trunks of musty, moth-eaten clothes. He dragged them down to the nursery and we spent an entire week dressing up as our favorite historical figures, acting out scenes of battles and intrigue. When we tired of dressing up, he spent whole afternoons cutting up those garments, fashioning puppets from the cloth to entertain me. Needless to say, Uncle was not happy that our ancestors’ clothing had been destroyed in such a manner.”
He chuckled. And immediately stilled, shocked. He had not thought of that in years, was surprised at the joy it gave him.
“It sounds wonderfully fun,” Emily said.
Malcolm cleared his throat. “Er, yes. Yes, it was.” Now that he had allowed one memory through, however, a whole barrage insisted on letting themselves be known. Images flashed with dizzying speed through his mind, of Bertram taking him on hikes through the woods, Bertram teaching him to fish, Bertram reading him stories at night when he woke from nightmares.
He had forgotten, in the years of bitterness, how much Bertram had cared for him. Even though he had been just two years Malcolm’s elder, he had taken on all the cares and responsibilities of a parent. He had been forced to grow up much too soon, yet he had done it uncomplainingly.
But he stole Lydia from you, he reminded himself.He betrayed you in the worst way. Yet the feeling of betrayal that such a reminder typically brought about in him was muted. He gazed down at Emily bemusedly. Had she done that? Had she woven her quiet magic about him and begun to heal the gaping wound that had festered in his breast for so long?
She smiled. “I’m glad you shared that with me.”
“I am, too,” he replied. And was surprised to find he actually meant it.
Chapter 19
Emily took particular care with her appearance that evening. Before they had left their quiet bower to rejoin the picnic, Malcolm had hinted quite boldly at their future. A future that was looking brighter by the second. Was it possible that he might propose? Even this very night?
The one thing dimming her joy had been his insistence to keep separate the remainder of the afternoon. It had seemed a strange request when he had made it. But Emily comforted herself with the certainty that he must want to do things properly, seeing as she was sure he would ask her to marry him.
And so, as Emily descended to the drawing room to join the party before dinner, her step was lighter than it had ever been. She fairly floated through the house, a small smile lifting her lips.
Until she stepped through the doors and caught sight of Lady Morley across the room. With Malcolm.
Her feet faltered on the plush carpet. She should not be so affected by the woman’s presence here. It was the polite thing to do, after all, to invite her tonight after making her acquaintance that afternoon. That knowledge did not make seeing her any easier, however. She was as stunning as she had been that afternoon. No, even more beautiful, if it could be believed. The candlelight gave her an angelic glow, caressing her alabaster skin, turning her hair to spun gold. As Emily continued to stare, the viscountess spied her. Her full lips turned up in a small, knowing smile before she turned back to Malcolm. He did not look her way; his gaze instead stayed fixed and intent on Lady Morley.
Emily shivered, suddenly chilled to the bone. She tore her gaze away but was immediately confronted with her own image in the bevel-edged mirror across the room. Even from this distance, she could see how pale her cheeks had become, how angry the scar looked, a crimson slash across her cheek. She pressed her lips tight, felt the puckered skin tighten and pull.
Needing to move, to hide, Emily scurried to the side of the room. Why the woman had such an effect on her she didn’t know. Mayhap it was the residue of Malcolm’s own reaction. Though he did not seem nearly as opposed to being in the woman’s presence as he had that afternoon. Which should have been a positive change. Perhaps their talk had done him some good and he had been able to put aside his grief for his brother. As she tucked herself into the corner, however, she could not help thinking that his totally focused attention—and Lady Morley’s open flirtatiousness—made her extremely uneasy.
She remembered again her initial suspicion that there was something more between them. And as before, she dismissed it. This was his brother’s widow, after all.
The idea was slow to leave her this time.
Just then her mother approached, tearing her from her troubled thoughts. “Emily, dearest, you are looking exceptionally lovely tonight.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Emily murmured distractedly. “You invited Lady Morley?”
“Actually, Lady Tarryton did.” Her mother’s lips twisted in amusement. “Not that I mind in the slightest. It was the polite thing to do, seeing as she is in the area until tomorrow, and is so closely related to our dear Lord Morley.” She frowned then, peering closely at Emily. “But you look pale. Are you sure you’re well?”
“Of course,” Emily was quick to assure her.
