Page 51 of Vanquishing the Viscount

Wherever had he got that idea? Being unmasked at the Birney House ball had hurt her deeply. She’d learned her lesson then and would never take such a risk again.

“I’m not nearly so adventurous as you think,” she told him, taking another hurried step closer to freedom.

“Very well. You wish to tease me, I see. By denying me my pleasure, you hope to make my feelings stronger.”

“Not at all,” she ground out, straightening her gloves and patting her hair back into place. There were several long hairpins in it, should a weapon be needed. “I’m quite above such behavior.”

He looked at her for a long moment, and she held his gaze steadily, determined to show no sign of weakness. At length he said, “I’m sure you are, my darling. I do but jest. Now, we mustn’t be seen leaving the grotto together. You go first, from this entrance, and I’ll go a bit later from the farther one.”

Her steps wobbled as she walked away, with no idea of where she was headed. She felt exhausted from her battle, but guilty, too. Had she done something at Figheldene to encourage him? The countess would be appalled if she ever found out what Charles Keane had just done to her protégé. And as for James…well, she couldn’t answer for what his feelings might be on the matter.

More through luck than judgment, she found her way back to the supper box. The countess gave her a cursory nod of recognition, then returned to her conversation.

What a relief! Emma feared her guilt must be obvious—her lips felt swollen, and her face burned from the chafing of Charles’s cheek. It could be a while before she recovered herself.

“Emma. Please forgive me for abandoning you like that.”

James! Her smile wobbled as he took the seat next to her, and she looked down at her hands. If only he knew what he’d abandoned her to! But how could she tell him? Family honor meant a lot to him, and he’d probably call Charles out for interfering with his mother’s protégé, for all that they were old friends.

She sucked in a steadying breath, then asked softly, “May I ask how it went with Miss Carslake?”

“Walk with me. My heart is too full to be still. I need to walk about and tell you all, for I cannot be calm until I’ve done so. Shall we?”

He took her hand and sped off with her, stealing her breath as she struggled to match his long stride.

Whatever was wrong with him? He didn’t seem to know or care where he was going. How far must they walk before he eventually started talking?

At last they came to a halt beside a statue of a satyr bathed in moonlight. James took her hand between both of his and said earnestly, “My dearest Emma, I have to tell you—no, this is not the moment. But I need you to know my eyes are opened. I’ve been such a fool. People must have thought I’d lost my reason. But they do say love is blind, do they not?”

She gazed up at his face, the moon’s silver glow glittering in his gray eyes and picking out the high cheekbones and noble forehead—and knew she was being treated to something unique. This was a very rare glimpse of the real James Markham. Not Viscount Tidworth, but the man beneath the title. He was ready to open his heart to her, a heart too long hidden behind the fortress of propriety and rank.

She smiled at him encouragingly. “Forgive me, sir, but you’re not making any sense.”

“There is no sense in it, don’t you see?” he exclaimed. “It was all a foolish infatuation—there was no sense about it, at all. Had I been able to see clearly, I would have realized that Belinda Carslake is a shallow, grasping, manipulative young woman with no saving grace but her appearance. I could kick myself for allowing her veneer of charm and girlish playfulness to blind me to the truth.”

Emma blinked in surprise. “What truth is that?”

He was grinning broadly, evidently pleased with himself, and she couldn’t help but be moved by his infectious joy.

Sweeping her hands to his chest, where he pressed them to his heart, he explained, “Miss Carslake has no good character, knowledge, or skills to recommend her. Why, she can’t even draw, her French is nothing to yours, and her dancing is no better than average. Just a few minutes in conversation with Belinda and Cornwallis bored me silly. I can’t believe I never saw this before. At least, I should have realized it the moment I met you, Emma—a woman of true depth, courage, experience, compassion, opinion. I accept every complaint you’ve ever thrown at me, for I deserved them all. Dearest Emma, can you ever forgive me?”

His head was bent close to hers, his expression soft as his gaze roved over her face. His smile enveloped her, and she knew she should never have considered him her enemy. “I’ve never heard you quite so voluble before, James,” she said with a laugh.

“Don’t tease me,” he reprimanded. Releasing her, he placed his hands on her shoulders, bringing his face so close to hers their foreheads were nearly touching. “I’ve you to thank for more than you know,” he said, his breath wafting her cheek.

Then he closed his eyes and brushed his lips across hers.

Chapter Thirty-One

Emma felt as if a spark had been struck in the darkness, a flicker of illumination like a physical thing. The touch of James’s lips ignited every nerve, shooting darts of fire through her entire body…yet the touch was so light it was barely there at all. He drew his head back, looked at her for a heartbeat, then joined his mouth with hers again.

There was no grasping, no bruising, just a slow, sensual caress that stirred every fiber of her being and set up an answering yearning deep inside. She leaned in to him, increasing the pressure of the kiss, and he moved his head, drinking from her mouth, cupping her face tenderly as the kiss deepened.

He broke away—much to her disappointment—and murmured, “You’re so lovely. How could I not have seen clearly what was before me all this time? Or rather I did see, but dared not act, for fear of driving you away. I don’t know how I could have borne that. You are so much better for me than Belinda. I thank the gods I found you.”

“James…” This was too much. She couldn’t cope with any declarations, not after what she’d just let Charles do. She wasn’t worthy.

“Hush.” James rested his forehead against hers for a moment, and when she leaned in to him again and closed her eyes, he placed a delicate kiss on each eyelid before seeking her mouth once more.