Page 37 of The Viscount's Promise
“Well, for your sake, I hope we do not find them.” The words came from him unbidden, gruff. He cleared his throat, looking away as she glanced at him in surprise.
“Please don’t tell me you intend to be nice. You really don’t have to, you know. You must no longer feel beholden to watch over me. I have officially released you from your promise, even though you have not broken it officially with my brother.”
Her words sent a shaft of anger through him. “Do you think that I cannot wish for your company without being forced?”
“No,” she answered immediately, without a hint of self-pity in her tone.
He walked on beside her in troubled silence. Her confidence in herself had not improved a bit. Had he done the girl no good at all? He watched as Lady Daphne and Sir Tristan, young Bingham between them, headed up the lane to the farmhouse. Forcing his thoughts away from Lady Emily and her low opinion of herself, he concentrated instead on this growing affection between his friend and Lady Emily’s young sister.
Tristan had been fairly inseparable from Lady Daphne since the day of the picnic. Malcolm feared that, if it continued on as it had been, his friend would be engaged by the end of this fortnight, either by choice or by force.
Not for the first time he wondered at Lady Emily’s involvement in the rapidly evolving relationship. She seemed to push the two together every chance she got, pairing them off and making certain that they were in each others’ orbit. Was she playing matchmaker? He rather thought she was.
But why? That was the burning question. What could possibly be the reason she would have for wanting to get her sister married off so swiftly? The answer to that did not take much searching. London. She had that trip to the capital looming over her head. But would she really go so far as to see her sister married off to prevent it?
He blew out a breath. Of course she would. She would easily be blinded in her desperation, would go to any length to save herself from something so dreaded. It had ruled the rest of her life; why wouldn’t it rule this as well?
He had to put a stop to it.
“I know what you’re about,” he murmured.
She stumbled to a halt at the foot of the lane and eyed him cautiously. “I don’t have a clue what you mean.”
He gave a low chuckle. “Please, Lady Emily. I can see you’re attempting to play matchmaker between my friend and your sister.”
She stuck her chin out mulishly and turned her gaze toward the other couple and young Bingham. He did likewise. They were at the door to the small stone house, talking to a large woman in a bright blue gown. As they watched, Daphne motioned toward them. The woman shook her head and retreated, and the trio headed back their way. Malcolm heard Lady Emily give a small sigh of relief before she turned to him.
“You cannot prove it, my lord,” she said with surprising spunk. Despite himself, he felt a deep-seated satisfaction at her stubbornness.
“No,” he replied with a smile. “But I can stop it.”
Just then the others rejoined them. As they all continued on to the next dwelling, he thought he heard Lady Emily say, very softly, “Not if I can help it.”
Chapter 14
The dog was hers.
By some miracle each and every group that had been out searching came back with the same news: the owner of the animal was nowhere to be found. Emily looked down at the sweet creature sitting patiently at her feet, her heart swelling almost painfully. She had done it, had kept her promise to look for the dog’s home. Now the ordeal was over. She need never part from him. The realization that they belonged to one another filled her with such joy she nearly lost her composure then and there. She mumbled a thank-you to the assembled guests before quickly retreating to the seclusion of her room. When she reappeared the next morning, her heart was light and free, the newly christened Bach at her side.
The day was a warm one, the sky heavy with clouds, the air damp with threatening rain. Lady Tarryton had declared the partygoers could not possibly attend outdoor events with such a storm looming, and so inside provisions were made for their amusement. Even so, there was a general air of restlessness permeating the house all the day long. The weather was making everyone surly, the electricity of the coming storm charging the very air with biting discontent. Even Emily, in her happiness over the dog, was not immune. Especially as a certain viscount continued to interfere in regard to her plans for Daphne and Sir Tristan.
No, it was more than interfering now. Ever since his observations of her matchmaking attempts the day before, it had turned into an all-out war, albeit a silent one. No matter where she turned, there he was, glowering and subtly thwarting all her efforts. It was enough to set her teeth on edge, even more so for the fact that his increasing physical proximity sent the most disturbing shiver of awareness through her. She was entirely too affected by him. Which made her intentions to ignore him and put him from her mind difficult, to say the least.
Perhaps he meant to frighten her into decamping. His frowns certainly seemed to say as much. Instead of sending her scurrying, he managed to make her all the more determined. She would not let some troublesome lord ruin her plans. Too much was at stake.
Later that evening, she moved across the room with Daphne in yet another attempt to maneuver her sister into Sir Tristan’s vicinity. Lord Morley followed in her wake, like a small and annoying insect that insisted on buzzing about you no matter how you swatted at it to discourage it. Or, in his case, a large brute of an insect. She was turning to Daphne to suggest that Sir Tristan might like to view the orangery before they went in to dinner when Lord Morley sidled up disturbingly close behind her. As had become the norm when he was near, a tingling started up at the back of her neck, moving along her skin, causing it to pimple with awareness.
It was that reaction, accompanied by the small burst of anticipation, that heated her blood, that had her snapping like a worn pianoforte string. Abandoning her attempts to manipulate Daphne, she spun to face him. “Do you mind, my lord? I am attempting to have a conversation with my sister.”
“I do believe, Lady Emily, that I am allowed to stand wherever I wish.” To her outrage, he took a step closer. His arm brushed hers, sending a shaft of fire through her. Glaring daggers at him, she took a step to the side, not even attempting to mask the distaste that twisted her features.
“You do not have to stand so close,” she hissed. “This drawing room is not small. You could just as easily stand, say, over there.” She pointed to a lonely corner the full breadth of the room away. To her annoyance, he ignored her completely, instead staring intently ahead. By the time Emily returned her attention to her sister, Daphne had moved off. And not with Sir Tristan as she’d hoped. Blowing out a small, frustrated breath, she followed. She found her sister close to their mother, and again opened her mouth to speak, only to find that once more Lord Morley had followed on her heels. Annoyed beyond bearing, she motioned for him to move to the side with her. After a slight pause he complied, then proceeded to look at her with that infuriating haughty disdain of his.
“Stop following me about,” Emily snapped. “I told you, I don’t need looking after any longer.”
“I am not following you around,” he gritted, his voice pitched low so the others wouldn’t hear.
“You must think me an imbecile. Everywhere I turn, every move I make, you’re there. I want your promise, as a gentleman, that you will keep your distance from me. Knowing how much it pains me to have you near, you cannot deny me such a wish.”
