Page 21 of The Viscount's Promise
He forced himself to relax, to bring back up the veneer of sophisticated boredom that he used as a shield. Taking several deep, cleansing breaths of the morning air, he pushed away from the tree and started out in the direction of the group. Already they were nearly out of sight, though the sounds of their laughter and conversation still reached him, bouncing through the dense trees.
What the devil was the matter with him? So Willbridge had gone and done what they had believed impossible, had fallen in love with a respectable woman and married her. There was no turning back the clock. He would soldier on, as he did when anyone of import left him.
He lengthened his strides. Best if he caught up with the others. No good could come from all this isolation, all this quiet.
He was eating up the distance quickly, making progress, when something at the side of the lane caught his eye. A figure, hunched over. He nearly groaned when he caught sight of that telltale shock of copper hair in a stray sunbeam. Lady Emily Masters.
His every instinct urged him to hurry past as quickly as his legs could take him. The episode in the music room that morning had done nothing for him but erode the wall of armor he was trying to build up against her. Sitting and listening to the music she had played, saturated with what must have been the very raw emotions that were in her heart, had only made him more aware of her, more transfixed by her.
As much as he dreaded having to speak to her in that moment, however, his sense of honor would not let him slink by. Perhaps she had been hurt, had twisted an ankle. Heaving a sigh, he strode to her side.
“Lady Emily, are you unwell? Have you injured yourself?”
To his surprise, she let out an unladylike growl. She glared up at him. “You have scared it away.”
Malcolm blinked several times, before saying the only thing possible in such an odd situation. “I’m sorry.”
She let out a frustrated breath and rose. Malcolm automatically reached out to help, but she shook him off impatiently. Once on her feet, she turned back to the copse of trees, craning her neck to see into its depths. Not finding whatever it was she was searching for, her shoulders slumped and she turned back to face him.
“It’s gone now. I don’t know when I will see it again.”
“And I have managed to scare it away.” When she nodded morosely, he asked, “And what is this creature that I have terrified into decamping, perhaps forever?”
“A dog. I think.”
“You think.” She nodded again. He cleared his throat, certain she must be losing her mind. “What, if you don’t mind me asking, is the importance of a creature that may or may not be a dog that you have only seen apparently skulking about in the forest?”
She seemed to recall herself and, without answering, began heading toward the house. Malcolm followed. He wasn’t sure why, but he did. It seemed important, for some unholy reason, that he not let her out of his sight. For a long moment he thought she would not respond. Finally her light voice carried to him.
“I have seen the animal once before. Two days ago, before our visit to Ketterby. It was on the outskirts of the rose garden at the time.”
“Yes?” he prompted.
His interest—for he was strangely captivated by this bizarre tale—seemed to embolden her to continue. “It stayed to the shadows, and so I could not determine what it was. But it sounded like a dog, and when it fled, it had the tail of a dog. And today, that same creature was by the side of the road, again in shadows. I attempted to draw it out, but...”
“But I came along,” he finished when she gave him a frustrated look. “You know me well enough now, I think, that I do not soften my words.” She gave an unladylike snort, and he might have smiled had he felt more himself. “What the hell are you planning on doing with the creature if you catch it?”
She shrugged, not at all disturbed this time by his profanity. He couldn’t tell if it was because she was used to his bluntness or if she was so concerned over the dog that she hadn’t heard it. “I’m not certain. If it is indeed a dog, and in need of a home, I suppose I shall take it in.”
As simple as that. She was planning on locating a possibly feral creature and welcoming it into her home. “Most people would leave the animal to its fate,” he said. He rubbed a hand over his face, wiping away the fine sheen of perspiration his attack at the church had produced. Perhaps he was not as completely over it as he had thought.
“I am not most people,” she all but whispered. She shot a tentative look at him, as if daring him to deny it. Suddenly she went still and narrowed her eyes, studying his face. “Lord Morley, is something wrong?”
He raised one eyebrow at her, though within him he could feel the band once again tightening about his chest. Her soft question, tinged with concern, was bringing back to the fore why he had been forced to stay behind at the church. She was entirely too observant. He tried for nonchalance when he answered her. “Not at all. Why do you ask?”
“Only that you seem a bit pale and drawn.”
“My, but you truly know how to compliment a man,” he drawled. If he could work her into another bout of temper, he thought. Perhaps then he could feel some normalcy. He could not be overtaken again by his errant emotions, for he did not think he had the strength to fight off that horrible panic a second time.
As expected, she blushed crimson, averting her face—and thus, her too-keen eyes. “Still rude, I see,” she muttered.
“Did you truly expect any different?”
She flashed him a glare, and his chest lightened considerably at the bit of fire within her pale gray gaze. There was something about her that distracted him from his cares. He didn’t know why—and didn’t much care what the reason was, if truth be told. All that mattered was she was the perfect antidote to his volatile emotions. Funny, he thought, that he now needed this girl’s company. He should be alarmed, he knew. But all he could feel was something akin to gratitude. He offered her his arm. “Shall we return, my lady? They’ll be expecting us.”
She looked at him a moment as if he were a snake about to bite. Finally she blew out an agitated puff of breath and placed her hand on his sleeve.
They started off for the manor house. The wedding party was long gone, the woods about them quiet except for the rustle of leaves and the sound of their footsteps on the path. He breathed in deeply, enjoying the fresh air that was already losing the cool bite of morning and promising a warm afternoon. Beside him Lady Emily walked on in silence. Where he often would have felt the need to speak into the void, with her he didn’t have that urge. He smiled slightly. What a freeing thing that was, to be able to drop his social façade and relax.
