Page 16 of The Viscount's Promise
Malcolm looked out into the moonlit garden, not seeing a bit of it. Instead he shifted his gaze in the glass and watched Lady Emily as she labored over the keys.
Truly, didn’t any of the other women present think to relieve her? She’d been playing nonstop for an hour, and not once had she been approached. He supposed this was something she often did. It seemed like her, to hide away at the instrument while those about her made merry. And perhaps she had no enjoyment in the dance. As much as he thought the situation unfair, what business was it of his?
He had been deeply shaken at the urge he’d felt to pour his heart out to her earlier that day. What was it about Lady Emily that chipped away so thoroughly at his defenses? She did not accomplish it with pushiness or aggression, but with quiet questions and a gentle, commiserating glance. He had been relieved when they had been reunited with the group at the bridge, though disappointed as well, that he had to part from her. Disturbed at these unwelcome emotions, he had gone to Tristan’s side and had not left it for the entirety of the trip. He told himself it was because of his friend’s apparently growing interest in Lady Daphne, which was becoming more obvious with each passing day. But he knew better. It was not worry that Tristan might find himself at the wrong end of a bullet, but a desire to put distance between himself and Lady Emily that had him so pointedly ignoring her and placing all of his attentions elsewhere.
He was a coward, plain and simple.
Even so, regardless of how she had affected him that afternoon, he still had a job to do. That did not include cowering in the corner and leaving her to her devices. Just then, there was a pause between songs. But instead of looking through the music sheets beside her as he expected, Lady Emily gazed at the dancers as they laughed and paired up with new partners in expectation of the next dance. A frown marred her brow. Was it him, or did she seem eager to step down from her position as entertainer?
He had the sudden urge to rush to her rescue. But that would be peculiar, would it not? He was nothing to her; surely one of her relatives should go to her aide? Upon closer inspection, however, Malcolm saw that was not going to happen anytime soon. Her mother had been drawn into conversation with Lady Tarryton and would no doubt be stuck there for some time if the latter woman’s expression was any indication. Young Lord Drew was flirting in an outrageous way with Miss Mariah. Caleb and Imogen were nowhere to be seen, no doubt having taken advantage of the dancing to sneak off. And Lady Daphne...
She was deep in conversation with Tristan.
Damnation, he should have been paying closer attention. The best thing for all involved would be to keep Tristan far away from Willbridge’s sister. But perhaps he could accomplish two things at once. Striding forward, Malcolm insinuated himself between Lady Daphne and his friend. She looked up at him in surprise. Tristan merely scowled.
Malcolm leaned in close to the girl. “It seems to me that Lady Emily may need to be rescued from the pianoforte,” he murmured.
Lady Daphne’s attention immediately shifted to her sister in the corner of the room. “Rescued?”
“Yes,” he pushed. “She does look as if she is done. Perhaps she’s fatigued. I don’t suppose you could possibly relieve her?”
That seemed to do the trick. Her eyes flashed with excitement at the prospect. Malcolm figured that, if it was as he suspected, and Lady Emily regularly took to the instrument to hide from guests, her sister didn’t often get to perform in public. Perhaps this was the chance she’d wanted for so long.
In the next moment, however, he realized his mistake, for Lady Daphne said with a coy smile, “I would be delighted to relieve my sister. But I am not as proficient as her on the pianoforte. Perhaps, Sir Tristan, you would do me the honor of turning the pages for me?”
To Malcolm’s disgust, Tristan’s face fairly lit up. “Certainly,” he said, gallantly offering his arm and walking her off in the direction of the instrument.
Well, hell, Malcolm thought as he watched them go.
• • •
Emily walked away from the pianoforte in a daze, leaving Daphne and Sir Tristan happily talking over song selections. Never had anyone offered to relieve her from the instrument, especially during such a lively party as this. She was certainly not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Hurrying her steps, almost afraid that Daphne would turn about and call her back, Emily failed to look where she was going. She soon found her face full of snowy white cravat.
She really did need to start paying better attention to her surroundings.
It was then a familiar scent assailed her, a heady mix of leather and black tea and some indiscernible spice that had been branded on her brain since meeting Lord Morley again two days ago. It filled her, making her light-headed. She swayed a bit. His hand was on her upper arm in an instant, steadying her.
“I had feared you were exhausting yourself at the pianoforte,” he mumbled. “I see I was proven right in sending your sister to you.”
She shot him a stunned look. “Do you mean it was all your idea?”
His ebony brow quirked up. “Does it surprise you that I can be kind?”
“Yes,” she answered with all truthfulness.
“Good. Best to keep you on your toes.” A small smile softened the harsh line of his lips. To her consternation she was captivated by the small movement. She realized in that instant that she had not seen him smile except in the most sardonic ways in the past days. It transformed his face, made him even more handsome if that were possible. For a moment, just a moment, she remembered why she had become so enamored of him years ago.
But that would not do. Regardless of the small connection they had shared that afternoon, the fact remained that he had no designs on her. She certainly had no designs on him. Bobbing a quick curtsy of thanks, she made to walk around him.
Apparently he wasn’t quite through with her.
“Come and sit with me?”
He looked as surprised as she felt that he had made the suggestion. But he held out his arm to her, and what else could she do but take it? It would have been rude not to, she told herself. It had nothing whatsoever to do with how wonderful said arm felt under her fingers, or how she could stay close to him a bit longer to take in more of that captivating smell of his. She realized, however, as he guided her to a quiet corner—which was no easy feat in a room with nearly two score people—that now she had to actually sit and try to converse with him. Would he be kind and considerate, or rude and surly? Truly, there was no way to know with this man. His moods were as mercurial as a feral cat’s. And as she had already determined that she had no wish to like him again, it would not do to provide him with any chances to get in her good graces.
Right away she knew that things would not be in her favor, for wouldn’t he go and position her with the left side of her face to the wall? She frowned. “So now you will go and be wonderful and undermine my very reasonable dislike of you?”
“No, I would never be so unkind as to do that,” he said with a small smile as he lowered himself beside her.
