Page 6 of The Viscount's Promise
Despite Emily’s optimism, time did not improve Lord Morley.
All through that long, long evening he was like a bear with a thorn in its paw. Yet, to her consternation, he only seemed cantankerous in her presence. No one else appeared to bring about his churlish behavior. In fact, Emily had seen him smiling and laughing with several members of their party. When he found his way to her side, however—which he seemed to do with disconcerting frequency—he was more often than not glowering and snapping. Compounding her frustration over his bewildering behavior was the lingering grief that had settled on her since learning the truth of his character. And why shouldn’t she feel grief? The very last of her dreams had been dashed, then stomped on, then ground with force into the dirt.
As much as it pained her to admit it, the heroic vision of Lord Morley that she’d kept wrapped safely in her heart had been the last vestige of her childhood hopes. Everything else had been shattered the day her brother Jonathan had died and she’d found herself scarred. All but Lord Morley. Surely, she had thought over the years when low spirits threatened to overwhelm her, the world could not be such a bad place if there was someone like that in it. Now even that was gone. Life, somehow, seemed a bit duller with the realization that her dream had no more substance than mist.
Things did not look any brighter the next day. She had hoped to find some peace at her pianoforte, with Lord Morley having shadowed her with his irritable self all the morning long, but he waylaid her before she could even begin. Now she was doing her best to lose him in the vastness of the house. Even so, he was fast on her heels. Truly, why would the man not leave her alone? It was clear he had no liking for her. So intent was she on escaping that she did not hear the gentle roar of voices in front of her. Until, too late, she was confronted with a sight that sent her heart fairly leaping into her throat.
She uncomprehendingly surveyed the crowd of people in the front hall. It took her a moment to realize what it was she was witnessing. The guests had started to arrive in earnest. Emily took a deep breath, trying without luck to ease the tightness in her chest. She had known that her brother’s wedding would attract a great number of people. He was a marquess, after all, and well liked to boot. But, even with Imogen’s seemingly unending list of guests, she had not expected something of this magnitude. The white marble floor, with its small black diamond inserts that she used to hop across as a child, was nearly hidden beneath the crush of bodies. James I, at his generations-old place of honor in all his gilt-edged glory, seemed to look down on the commotion with royal offense.
At the end of that horrifying gauntlet of people stood the great stone arch she was headed for and the polished wooden staircase beyond it. Taunting her. That was where she needed to go, the exit that led to the upper floor and her room. Her salvation from the surly man who was, for some baffling reason known only to their Maker, pursuing her. She heard the sound of his approach again, closer this time. Gathering her courage, Emily took a fortifying breath and plunged into the mass of people.
With a talent that only the extremely shy possessed, she threaded through the fine ladies and gentlemen. She kept her face averted, a swirl of bright skirts and gleaming boots filling her vision. Her heart pounded in her chest, sounding in her ears like a maddening drum. She realized in that instant, surrounded by strangers, that she may have made a grievous mistake in her attempt to escape Lord Morley. Wasn’t one surly gentleman much easier to bear than this horrifying unknown she had unthinkingly thrown herself into?Please, she begged,please don’t let anyone notice me.
To her surprise, they didn’t seem to. They all talked and laughed as their bags were brought in, apparently much too immersed in themselves to notice the slight, terrified woman in their midst. She dodged around a portly gentleman and with a quick peek saw her exit. Relief began to pound through her. A couple more people to maneuver about, a few more feet...
The lady she meant to sidestep shifted suddenly. Emily rammed into her face-first. Right into the woman’s generous bosom.
“My word!” the woman screeched. Emily gasped and extricated herself, glancing up as she did so.
It was her fatal mistake.
An immediate change came over the lady. Emily’s heart dropped. She had seen this reaction before, a hundred times it seemed. Like a moth to a flame, their gazes shifted unerringly to the ruined side of her face. More often than not, they would flinch as if they’d been struck. Then came the jaw dropping, the eyebrows lifting. Emily never could tell if it was done in horror or pity. She typically never stayed around long enough to find out.
But there was no escaping now. Her run-in with the lady had garnered attention. People were closing in on all sides, no doubt to verify they were both unharmed. To Emily, it felt as if she were being buried alive.
She cast about wildly, seeing not concerned faces about her, but strangers who would gape and stare at her. Her chest felt tight, her gaze going black at the edges...
“Lady Emily, I am having a dreadful time finding the way to my room. I don’t suppose you can guide me to the correct hallway?”
The deep voice at her side yanked her back into the now. The band about her chest seemed to loosen and she dragged in a slow breath. Turning, feeling a fatalistic doom, she looked up into Lord Morley’s somber face.
Chapter 3
It took several seconds for Emily’s heartbeat to reduce to something less than a rapid patter. She stared back at Lord Morley with what must have been patent disbelief. He was saving her? He was being kind? Drat it, she had just determined to keep far away from him, had come to terms with her fresh dislike of him, and he went and did something like this.
He looked back at her, his gaze steady, no emotion in those dark, bottomless eyes. Belatedly she realized that he had winged his arm out for her to take. Fingers trembling, she placed her hand gingerly on the woolen sleeve of his slate gray coat. They began to move through the crowd, which parted for them like the Red Sea for Moses. Emily didn’t notice how silent the hall had become until they began their winding way up the heavily carved staircase. The people behind her erupted in talk, the sound a dull roar. Emily winced.
Once they made the upper floor, Lord Morley instantly dropped his arm from beneath her touch. She stood there stupidly for a moment, her hand suspended like a marionette’s before she let it fall to her side.
A thick silence filled the air of the upper hallway, making the atmosphere cloying. Emily cleared her throat, forcing herself to meet his gaze. As she had feared, he was staring at her from beneath lowered eyebrows.
“I must thank you for saving me,” she managed. Becausesomethinghad to be said.
“You should not have tried to get through that crowd,” he growled.
Instantly all of Emily’s generous thoughts for Lord Morley’s gallant actions vanished. She straightened from her typical protective posture. “I beg your pardon, my lord?”
He scowled at her. “You very nearly fainted. It was not an intelligent thing to do.”
Which even she in her offended state could not deny. Much as it galled her, it had been foolish. Far be it for her to admit such a thing to him, however. “I did not almost faint,” she muttered, more to be contrary than anything else. But her gaze slid to the floor at the lie, her face flushing with heat. She pressed her hand to her cheek, knowing full well what blushing did to her scar. The rush of blood made it stand out all the more, bringing it into painful relief. She would not have him look down on her any more than he already did.
“Tell me,” he said, “how do you hope to get through this wedding if you cannot even walk through a room full of people?”
The burn of tears started up behind her eyes. How indeed? It had been something she’d been struggling with for days. She raised her chin, her eyes settling on his cravat, unable to look in his eyes, for they must be filled to the brim with disdain. “Are you quite through, my lord?”
“Not even close.”
So surprised was she by his answer—but more for the quiet, almost gentle manner it was spoken—that Emily’s gaze flew to meet his own. There she was dealt a double blow, for it was not disdain, or disgust, or even anger in his eyes. It was frustration and...worry? Why? He had made it abundantly clear in the past day that he did not care for her.
