Page 30 of Playing the Scoundrel

Miss Clay sighed. “I don’t have that many accomplishments to speak of.”

“Then consider us equals, for neither have I.” Emma hoped her smile was encouraging enough. “And Mrs. Dunn might put on a quizzical brow, but she’s not as prickly as she lets on.”

“Very well. If you’ll excuse me, Miss Follett. It was a pleasure to meet you.” Then she curtsied and walked over to the couches, leaving Emma alone with Mr. Godwin.

Emma straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, trying to ready herself to face him.

He raised an amused eyebrow. “Are you preparing for war?”

“With you, one can never tell.”

He chuckled, hands clasped behind his back, but that did nothing to make his presence less impactful. Rather, it was as if he tried to make himself more approachable, but his closeness alone made it difficult for Emma to swallow. His nearness flooded her with memories of being in his arms, subject to his kiss, and she couldn’t allow such a moment of weakness again.

“Do you often dine here?” Emma asked.

Mr. Godwin nodded. “Most nights. I have my own apartment but being with friends is better than dining alone.”

“What of your family? Didn’t you say your father resides in London?”

Emma wasn’t sure if she had her facts right, but the way Mr. Godwin reacted led her to believe she’d touched on a sensitive subject. Now he was the one to stiffen, pressing his lips together. “I see my father when I can, but he doesn’t entertain much or go out in society.”

His tone was ice cold, so Emma did not press the matter, but it had her curiosity piqued.

“But you certainly do,” he continued.

“I do what?”

“Go out in society. And have much to entertain.”

His lips quirked in an alluring smile, and though Emma was certain his intention was to make her weak, she couldn’t seem to resist, and allowed herself to smile in return. She knew she needed to fight off the desire to enjoy his company. It would be so easy to be his friend, but whenever she let her mind turn to such thoughts, she had to remind herself, it would also be so easy for him to use that friendship to his advantage. Emma needed to strengthen her defenses against this man.

The glow of the fire danced in his dark eyes, making their green depths seem like a forest was ablaze. And as Emma thought of her surroundings, an idea occurred to her. She had a way to test the extent of his regard for her. It would also be a test of her skills as an actress, and would undoubtedly be an embarrassment to Mrs. Dunn, but the idea screamed unrelentingly in her mind; another way to draw out Mr. Godwin’s affections to see just how deep they truly ran.

Emma looked down at the fireplace, and then whipped out the fan hanging from her wrist. “Are you warm?” she asked, allowing her voice to crackle.

Then closing her eyes, she pressed one hand to her brow, and leaned toward him.

Mr. Godwin placed a gentle hand on her shoulder to steady her. “Miss Follett, are you all right?”

Emma let out a light moan, letting her knees buckle beneath her. She thankfully never met with the floor, for Mr. Godwin caught her effortlessly in her fall. “Miss Follett!”

Instantly, cries sounded from the duchess and Mrs. Dunn, but Emma almost didn’t hear them. She was more caught up in how quickly Mr. Godwin had swooped her up, one arm under her legs and the other behind her back, cradling her against his chest. Emma tried to maintain the appearance of unconsciousness, but she found herself fighting the urge to nestle into him, the strength and sturdiness he exuded. Not to mention the sound of his heartbeat, pounding against her cheek. It left her feeling vindicated, to cause such a rise within him.

Mr. Godwin set her softly on a settee, and Emma allowed her head to fall back against it. “Miss Follett?” His voice was now urgent and gentle, and Emma found it stirred an emotional reaction within her. Such tenderness could likely rouse any woman from the dead.

“Fetch my smelling salts,” came Mrs. Dunn’s voice from somewhere nearby, and that was enough for Emma to give up the ruse.

Pretending a gasp and flittering her eyes open, Emma was surprised to first see Mr. Godwin’s face. His brow was narrowed, eyes full of genuine concern.

“Miss Follett! Are you quite all right?” Miss Clay asked from behind him.

“What happened?” Emma asked, looking around innocently.

“You fainted, dear.” The duchess, too, wore a worried expression while wringing her hands.

“Oh, do forgive me. I promise I’m not normally such a ninny.” Emma tried to lean forward, but Mr. Godwin again pressed a gentle hand to her shoulder.

“Don’t hurry yourself,” he said, and when his thumb moved back and forth for a moment, Emma found it robbed her of breath. And movement. And thought.

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