Page 15 of The Viscount's Promise
Emily chewed on her lip. To her surprise, she found that she was becoming curious about this enigma of a man whose arm she was holding.
But small talk had never been her forte. As a matter of fact, she had always been at a loss with any type of talk at all. She eyed the group ahead of them, narrowing her eyes, trying to understand the dynamics. They all mingled and conversed and laughed with seeming ease. Truly, how did one do it?
She cleared her throat, blinked a few times, hoping for some divine lightning bolt to hit her in the head and give her instantaneous insight. But it seemed she was on her own for now.
Finally she said, lamely, “So, you are here for Caleb’s wedding.”
Immediately she had the urge to dive into the nearest bit of foliage and hide for the next year at least. Especially when he turned his head to look down at her for a long, silent moment. She could not see his expression, as she was still looking determinedly ahead. But she could well imagine it. She flushed and was desperately thankful that her ruined cheek was not facing him at the moment.
“Yes,” he answered slowly. “So I am.”
“What I meant was,” she stammered, “it is good of you to come. For his wedding, that is.”
“I wouldn’t say it is good of me,” he mumbled. “But I could not say no, could I?”
She shot him a confused look. “Couldn’t you?” When he merely looked at her as if she were daft, she continued, “I mean, it is not as if you are related to either the bride or the groom. There was nothing forcing you to come. I know if I had a choice, I would not be here.”
“Is such a scene so abhorrent to you that you would miss your brother’s wedding if given the chance?”
He seemed genuinely curious. So much so that she did what she normally wouldn’t and answered him with complete candor, “Yes, it truly is.”
His eyes changed as he considered her. But where she expected pity or compassion, perhaps a sliding of his gaze to her scar, she saw instead an undefined emotion, as if he were trying to work her out, to understand her. Unnerved by the intensity there, she turned back to the path before them. “But you have not answered my question. Why could you not decline the invitation if you are not glad to be here?”
He was silent for a time. Bird calls could be heard over their heads, and the chitter of squirrels as they rushed through the underbrush and clambered up the trunks of the trees was almost loud in the strange, intimate cocoon of silence that seemed to envelop them. Belatedly she realized the sounds of the rest of the party had faded. Suddenly nervous to be so alone with him, she was about to suggest they walk a bit quicker to catch up to the rest when he spoke.
“You know that Willbridge and I have been friends since our first days at Eton,” he said. His voice, usually so gruff and deep, seemed almost hesitant.
Emily got the distinct impression that he was about to impart something precious to her. Not wanting to break the spell by speaking, she merely nodded. She watched his profile closely, at how a muscle seemed to tick in his jaw, at the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard.
“The truth is,” he said, so quiet she had to lean closer to hear him, “Willbridge is my dearest, oldest friend.” He turned to look at her then, and his dark eyes fairly blazed with emotion. She sucked in a sharp breath at the intensity of it. “There are not many I care about. Your brother is one of two people in this entire forsaken world that I trust with my life. I would do anything for him.”
It was only when he returned his gaze to the path that Emily could draw breath again. Fighting off her roiling emotions at having been witness to such feelings, she said, low and gentle, “I would think, if you cared for him as you say you do, you would be glad to witness him marrying someone he loves so dearly.”
He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “Not in the least.” Shocked, she blinked several times. She could not have heard him right. She opened her mouth to question him on it. Just then, however, they rounded a bend in the path, and Ketterby came into view. The rest of the party stood in a loose group past the bridge. Daphne peered back along the dirt road, a small frown on her face. When she caught sight of Emily and Lord Morley emerging from the tree line, she smiled broadly and waved.
Disappointment crashed over Emily. She had been so close to something important, something that would have given her greater insight into this mystery that was Lord Morley. As for him, there was an immediate change that came over his person at the sight of the others. He straightened, angling his body away from her. It was as if a physical wall had come up between them.
Which was for the best, she knew. The man had sent her emotions bouncing about in the most maddening manner since his arrival. As he pulled away from her to make his way to Sir Tristan’s side, she determinedly went to her sister’s. She had no wish to have that sad childhood infatuation that had so defined her in the past take her over again. She would not be able to come back from it this time. That she knew.
Chapter 6
Daphne’s voice calling her name snagged Emily’s wandering thoughts. She looked up from the book she had been blindly perusing for the past half hour, blinking in incomprehension. Her mind, it seemed, could not grasp onto anything with firmness this evening.
No, that was not right at all. Her inattentiveness had started well before this evening. A vision of Lord Morley’s face, alive with emotion as it had been earlier that afternoon on the way to Ketterby, swam in her mind. She shook her head to dispel it.
“I’m sorry?” she asked, not having heard a thing her sister had said.
Daphne was already out of earshot. She and the rest of the young women had risen from their seats and were milling about the outer perimeter of the room, talking quietly to one another, their excited giggles carrying to where Emily sat. The rest of the room was in a vague kind of chaos, with the men moving furniture and rolling back the carpet. Ah, she saw it now. They wished to dance. And she was to play for them. With a small sigh, she placed her unread book aside—truly, she hadn’t even the faintest idea what it was she’d been pretending to read anyway—and made her way to the pianoforte.
Music was to Emily as rain and sun were to flowers. She spent hours each morning practicing in the music room, reveling in the release of emotion it provided that other avenues of her life did not. As she was not keen to dance in public, she was always called upon to play when they had any type of party that included dancing. She typically preferred it that way.
For some reason, tonight was different. Her feet dragged as she skirted the group that had gathered in the middle of the room. Her eyes were drawn to the couples pairing off, and a strange sort of longing filled her. She had the sudden urge to join them, to feel the freedom of the dance, to let her body move in the intricate steps. Without meaning to, her gaze shifted and came to rest upon Lord Morley where he stood against the mantle. He regarded her solemnly, his eyes dark and intense. Flushing, she ducked her head and kept on until she made it to the grand instrument and sat herself down before the keys. She scanned through the collection of music sheets always kept nearby, but she could not seem to concentrate on the offerings before her. Instead she felt Lord Morley’s eyes like a brand, heating her skin in the most disconcerting way. Frowning, she let out an irritated puff of breath. Never mind the fleeting moment of communion they had shared that afternoon. Never mind his supposed good intentions in trying to get her to stand up for herself by baiting her mercilessly. She could not have him intrude on her thoughts a moment longer. Determined, Emily pulled out a promising score, put her fingers to the keys, and began.
For the next hour, she played. The joy she typically found in the music, however, failed to touch her. As much as she tried to concentrate on the way the notes flowed through her, she was painfully aware of Lord Morley the whole while. He did not dance. That she knew with disconcerting certainty. Instead she could see him out of the corner of her eye as he moved about the room. He joined Sir Tristan at one point, found his way to her mother’s side, then moved to the window and stared out it for a good long while. But never did he dance. And she found herself wondering, much to her horror, that if she were free, would he ask her?
But, more importantly, would she say yes? She rather thought that she would.
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