Page 7 of Emma & Edmund

"Of course!"

While she said it with such confidence, it was obvious she had missed something, if only judging by the disbelieving look he wore. But rather than admonishing her, William only donned a placating grin, regarding her with a consoling gleam in his eyes.

With an elbow propped on the thick railing, William plopped his chin in his open palm, their eyes never breaking contact.

Words fled Emma's mind, her thoughts blurred under his attention. She was simply enraptured with how lovely he looked in the moonlight, how the pale light glittering from Belmont lit up his blue eyes like the mid-morning sky.

He was so handsome it took her breath away. And he was looking ather.

It didn't matter she had waited for him all night, not when she was the center of his attention now. A warm feeling filled her gut, and each second that ticked by without his gaze wavering only made it grow.

"You are quite pretty, you know?"

The simple phrase had her nearly dying of happiness. The single word -pretty- pinging around her mind like a whirling dervish.

William Tate thoughtshewas pretty. William Tate wanted to spend time withherand tellhershe waspretty. She could die right then and die a happy woman.

"I just can't understand the flock around that Ingham girl. I know she is your friend, but how can you stand it?"

"Oh..."

The one word was all Emma could manage.

She wasn't quite sure why, but the warmth cooled ever so slightly in her at the mention of Margaret. The last thing she wanted to discuss right then was her friend's success, nor any opposition to it.

Sitting on the tip of her tongue was the objection to his words. Not quite decided if she could speak it or not when she looked his way again, expecting to see him still lounging across the banister, Emma yelped aloud.

Rather than lounging, William's face was quite close to hers with lips pursed. Even with her minuscule knowledge of men’s advances, she knew what would happen if she failed to stop him.

"Mr. Tate!"

Her body moved without her permission. In a snap, her hand came up and struck him across the cheek, sending his neck reeling back and sparing her his next move. Her palm ached through her glove.

"Oh Heavens," she breathed a moment too late, realizing what she had done. "I am so sorry!"

Just as quickly as he snapped away from her, he came back. In the place of the soft, darling smile worn before, a snarl sat in its place.

The look had the warmth in her swept away with a chill that prickled her skin.

In a flash, strong, slim fingers clasped around her wrist, still shaking from the impact of the slap. A cry ripped from Emma's throat at the force of it, feeling her skin bruising. But it wasn't her wrist that kept her attention, not when he looked at her with such malice, it made her blood run cold.

"Now look here, you!" His voice seethed as much as his eyes. "How dare you. I, along with every soul in this god-forsaken estate, know how you look at me. Your gaze is no less than scandalous."

"Mr. Tate-"

"And when I finally deign to grant you the attention you clearly have been craving, you strike me?"

"William, you-you're hurting me." She hated the way her words quivered, unable to meet his eyes any longer. She couldn't even deny the accuracy of his claims.

"Do you know how lucky-"

"People can see you, Mr. Tate."

A voice, deep and measured, seemed to finally break William's spell, and sense reclaimed his scary eyes.

Over his shoulder, the high-nosed Mr. Anthony stood just inside the French doors, the curtain drawn tightly behind him. The fact there was a curtain alone told Emma the butler had been aware of the situation longer than one moment, enough to draw them, hiding prying eyes beyond the velvet.

"Lord Lockhart has no tolerance for violence. Release the girl, or I will be forced to ban you from this home."

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