Page 5 of A Murder, a Marquess, and Miss Mifford
Just as she stood, however, the door to the library opened, and a handsome man of about six feet entered, all artfully tousled hair and razor-sharp, Bond Street tailoring.
"What-ho?" he said, more to himself than to Emily, as he caught sight of her, "Do forgive me, ma'am, I did not realise the room was occupied."
"Oh, it's not," Emily answered, suddenly flustered, for now that the gentleman had stepped into the light, she could appreciate just how terribly attractive he was. As well as a tall, athletic frame, the gentleman also possessed locks of spun gold, eyes of sea-blue, and a face which put Emily to mind of a Greek statue.
"I mean, itwon't be,in a moment," she continued hastily, dropping her gaze to her feet for she realised she was staring, "I'm returning to the fray; I just needed a moment to compose myself."
"Overcome by the performance?" the interloper queried, arching an eyebrow so perfectly that Emily guessed that he must have practiced the move for hours in the mirror before unleashing it in public.
"The young ladies' playing moved me," Emily replied, stubbornly refusing to be drawn into mocking their hosts' daughters, though she rather feared she sounded like a pious sacristan, for the performance had truly been an insult to music.
"Moved you to hide in the library," Emily's companion observed, his tone neutral but his eyes dancing with amusement.
"That's not what I said," she replied, a hot flush of annoyance staining her cheeks.
"No, I inferred it," the gentleman agreed, with another amused glance at her, "Which makes me the wicked one. Your goodness remains assured, Miss..?"
"Mifford," Emily replied, though inside she wondered at the appropriateness of introducing herself to a gentleman whilst alone in a library.
"Miss Mifford," the gentleman sounded her name out, as though thoroughly delighted by it, "Very pleased to meet you, very pleased indeed. And though I would like to continue our flirtation, I believe it would be remiss of me to delay you any further."
"Our flirtation?" Emily could not help but blurt out, confused by his choice of noun.
"Yes," the handsome gentleman smiled, a little patronising this time, "We are flirting, Miss Mifford."
"Are we?" Emily tried to hide her confusion but failed miserably.
"We are," came the slightly irritated reply.
"I wasn't aware," Emily frowned, "Forgive me, sir, if that's the impression I gave, for it was not what I intended."
"I find it hard to believe that you were not as active a participant in our flirtation as I was," the gentleman grumbled, giving every impression of a man trying to conceal a feeling of insult.
"I expect that's because you're so handsome," Emily rushed to assure him, demonstrating her natural instinct for kindness alongside her unfortunate habit of always saying the wrong thing.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Well," Emily explained patiently, "A man as handsome as you must be so accustomed to having ladies flirt with him, that after a while he assumeseverylady to be flirting, even when she is not."
There was a silence as Emily's unexpected intimate digested her statement.
"So, you are accusing me of conceit?" he deduced, a smile playing at the corners of his generous mouth.
"I suppose one could logically infer that," Emily answered, realising her words had been clumsy, "Though I did not mean to be cruel. I was just trying to explain why you might have believed me to be flirting when I wasn't. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to my mother."
"And I shall not attempt to stop you," the gentleman drawled in reply, taking a theatrically large step back so that Emily could pass him.
Feeling a little aggrieved, for it was he who had begun the whole silly interaction, Emily pointed her nose to the air and flounced from the room.
Honestly, she thought, as she stalked down the hallway, men's egos were a frightfully fragile thing. People always said that girls were more delicate, but having grown up with three sisters, Emily knew it to be patently untrue. She could mistakenly insult Mary, Jane, or even Eudora, most egregiously and none would bat an eyelid. They'd simply shrug it off with a smile, deliver their own drubbing-down in response, or decide that the insult had bestowed on them the liberty to "borrow" a pair of her best stockings.
Most likely they would all decide on the latter, Emily thought, even though one was now a duchess and the other a viscountess. In Emily's recent experience, titles and peerages did not remove the idea from a lady's mind that her sister's stockings were fair game for pilfering.
As she neared the door to the parlour room, Emily tried to calm herself, for it would not do to return to under the eye of thetonin foul spirits. She took a deep, steadying breath, and was about to open the door, when it was opened from the other side.
"Have you taken up a position as a footman, Miss Mifford?" Lady Hardthistle sneered, as she caught sight of Emily standing sentry in the hallway.
"No," Emily replied shortly, before adding a reluctant, "My lady."
