Page 39 of A Scandalous Proposal

For a moment no one said a word. Then a tinkling laugh issued from behind the people crowded about Rob. "Lord and Lady Maxwell, Auriana, forgive me for being late." The group parted like the Red Sea before Moses as, leaning heavily upon her cane, Emily's great-aunt Lady Augusta, Dowager Countess of Doone, moved slowly forward.

To Emily's astonishment, the old woman came over and kissed her on both cheeks. "If she don't sound like her papa to the life! Though I swear, you've a bit to go to be as dismissive as Stephen. Sally—'' she turned toward Lady Jersey "—you remember Stephen's glare! My nephew by marriage, the late Duke of Suffolk," she explained to the avidly listening crowd. "Don't this little chit have just the look of him?"

Emily found herself subjected to inspection by a pair of shrewd dark eyes. Evidently she passed, for the woman hailed as "Sally" walked forward to take her hand. "I most certainly do remember," she replied with a shudder. "When I was but a giddy young girl, someone dared me to try to tease him into a dance. The Black Duke turned that glare on me and I declare, I expected to be turned into a pillar of salt upon the spot."

As the bystanders laughed, Lady Jersey took Emily's arm and steered her toward the rest of her group. "Now, you must let me present you to a few friends."

"Mind you bring her by later to chat with this old lady, Sally," her great-aunt admonished. "She's got Stephen's quick wit, too, and as such is likely one of the few people worth talking to at this demned caper-party. Now, Maxwell, find me a comfortable chair. These old bones don't like standing about in a draft."

Rob grinned. "At once, ma'am. Martin, see Lady Augusta to a chair by the refreshment room."

Impulsively Emily turned back to give the old woman a hug. "Thank you, Lady Augusta, for coming to my ball."

"Turn me loose, child, 'fore I break somethin'," the old lady protested. “And it used to be 'Auntie Augusta' to you, missy."

The vague outlines of a memory focused. "No, 'twas 'Auntie August,' was it not? As a child I thought how delightful it was you'd been named for a month."

The old woman's imposing face softened. "Aye, I remember, too," she said. Then jerked her chin up and tapped her cane on the floor. "Come along, young man! I'm weary for that chair."

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In the early hours of the morning Emily at last sought her chamber. The ball had succeeded well enough. Her great-aunt's recognition laid to rest most of the speculation about her parentage and relationship to Rob. However, since she'd defiantly replied to Lady Jersey's pointed inquiry that she had and would continued to design gowns and bonnets, the matter of her mercantile connections would still stand between her and full acceptance.

Vouchers to that Valhalla of acceptable breeding, Almack's, would likely never be forthcoming, nor would she be included in invitations sent by the highest sticklers. But as long as Rob and Natalie did not suffer from their connection to her, and her son's future under Rob's sponsorship was secure, she was content.

She fell into bed, exhausted, but sleep eluded her. In a few bare hours it would be dawn. Though prudence, safety and discretion all clamored against it, she intended to keep her pledge. When morning broke, she would ride to the park and meet Evan.

Chapter 16

After dozing fitfully, Emily finally gave up and rose before dawn. She astonished the sleepy groom by appearing at the stables with the sky still black. Even now, pink and coral light painted the eastern sky, and 'twas just bright enough to ride safely.

Edgy and restless, she turned her feisty mount into Green Park and signaled the mare to a trot. 'Twas an hour or more before she could expect Evan. The broad expanse was empty, it being still far too early for the nursemaids with their charges or the cowherds with their flocks to make an appearance. Perhaps, as soon as it was fully light, she could indulge in a nerve-steadying gallop.

But as she turned the first corner, she saw him farther down the carriageway, mounted on his big black. She pulled up sharply, her heartbeat leaping as her horse halted. He kicked his stallion forward.

In the privacy of the deserted park and under cover of semidarkness she let her eyes devour every detail as he approached. The minute movements of his knees and muscled thighs as he guided the horse. His strong hands gripping the reins. The jut of his jaw, the arrogant tilt of chin, and finally the blazing blue of his eyes.

He dismounted and walked toward her, obviously intending to hand her down. She took a shuddering breath.

'Twas idiocy—she should never have come. Never, for though fatigue no doubt contributed to the haze in her brain, she could muster no rational thought. All the tidy reasoning and moral certainties filed away in neat array seemed beyond her power to summon.

She only knew she was aware of him in every sense and nerve. And that all she wanted was for him to take her down into his arms and kiss her.

Neither spoke as he reached to help her dismount. She stifled a gasp when his hands finally touched her, closed her eyes to savor the feel of each separate pad of his fingers gripping her waist.

"You're trembling," he said, his voice husky as he set her on her feet.

Lost in watching his lips, she couldn't reply. Syllables swarmed about in her head, a hive of disturbed bees, but she could not capture them, shoo them into words. She could only stand staring mutely at him.

"Sweet Emily." A whisper, brushing her ears like silk. He raised his gloved hand to her face, caressed her cheekbone with the chamois of his knuckles. A soft sound escaped her and she leaned into his hand.

He grasped her chin and tilted it up, his eyes searching. Forced to meet that gaze now at close range, she could only hope her own would not betray her longing.

A vain wish. Uttering her name in a cry, he pulled her into an embrace so tight she could not breathe, then eased his grip a fraction to kiss her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks and finally her lips. To her shame, she kissed him back with equal fervor.

Finally, when she was nearly too dizzy to stand, he pushed her a breath away within the circle of his arms. "Sweetheart," he whispered, "you—"

A sharp whistle and the "baugh" of a cow warned of impending arrivals. Reluctantly they stepped apart.

Reason, and with it outrage at her current behavior, slowly resurfaced. Trying to hang on to both, she bent to retrieve the reins of her grazing horse. Evan did likewise, and in unspoken accord they fell in step side by side.

“You have been well?''

"I have Rob and Natalie to help me now. And with my father-in-law dead, I no longer have to hide."

“I'm glad of it, and delighted you shall be esteemed by society as I always felt you deserved. But Emily, I must know. Taking an assumed name to evade your father-in-law I understand, but why did you never tell me who you are?"

She paused, considering how best to explain an action he clearly found inexplicable. "First, 'Spenser' is one of my given names, if not a surname. Then there's the simple fact that I've been plain 'Auriana Waring-Black' for so many years I scarce think of myself any longer as 'Lady Auriana.' And there was pride. I endured a surfeit of commiseration about 'how the mighty have fallen' during my army days. Since you'd expressed pity enough at the hardships I faced after Andrew's death, I suppose I could not bear the thought of engendering more. Or chance fueling the outrage you'd previously voiced at the injustice done me. You'd already shown yourself ready to barge off in pursuit of Andrew's father." She gave him a wry smile. "So, at the risk of angering you again, I felt the less you knew, the safer Drew and I would be."

He'd been listening patiently, but at that he exclaimed, "Surely you must see how different things would have been for us, had I only known! Call it hypocritical if you wish, 'tis true enough, but Society allows a duke's daughter far greater latitude than less highly born mortals. As for forcing us to part—''

A sharp pang of disappointment pierced her. Did he truly think her change in status would affect her opinion on that? Anger stirred. "Evan, it may make a difference to society, but my own feelings on the subject are unchanged." Remembering the unrestrained passion with which she'd just practically begged for his kiss, she colored. "Despite my behavior this morning, you must realize I could no more consider sustaining an adulterous liaison as Lady Auriana than I could as Madame Emilie. Who I was born—"

"Little fool!" He gave her a shake. "What nonsense are you spouting? I'm saying I love you! Can you really believe, had I known your breeding rendered you even marginally acceptable, I would have asked another woman to be my wife?"

She had opened her lips to argue, but that question shocked her to silence. He had considered making her his bride? She'd known from the beginning he felt a passionate attraction. Sometimes, curled by his side as he slept, she'd dreamed he might express regret that circumstances did not permit turning that attachment into a permanent, legal union    . But he had not.

"Never did you say or do anything that led me to think you would consider marrying me," she protested.

"How could you have doubted it? Did I not haunt your shop, lavish on you every present I imagined you might accept, even invest in your business so I might share more of your life?"

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