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He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “Good night, Emma.” Reluctantly, he let go of her hand, watching as she disappeared inside. His heart ached with a longing he could not name, and he turned away, the night air suddenly colder without her warmth beside him.

An hour later, George paced the length of his room, each step echoing the chaos of his thoughts. Sleep eluded him, his mind stubbornly fixed on Emma. She had infiltrated his thoughts, becoming a constant presence he could neither ignore nor dismiss.

It was now undeniably clear to him: Emma needed to marry, and she needed to marry well—and quickly. Yet she kept the exact reasons shrouded in mystery, a puzzle that gnawed at him with increasing urgency.

He recalled the sight of her dancing with Alexander, how it had left the most unpleasant taste in his mouth. It dawned on him that his distress was not rooted in any particular concern for Alex’s well-being or happiness. No, it was the thought of Emma with any man but himself that he found intolerable. The jealousy was a bitter revelation, its truth inescapable.

George realized he could no longer pretend his interference was merely for his friend’s sake. That facade had crumbled away; he wanted Emma for himself, and this admission struck him with the force of a revelation.

Abruptly, he halted his restless pacing, a decisive moment crystallizing his next steps. Before he fully grasped the implications of his resolve, he found himself exiting his bedchamber, drawn irresistibly toward Emma’s.

As he approached, he noticed her door was curiously ajar. He paused, a flicker of hope igniting within him—perhaps she, too, was awake, caught in her own web of thoughts. He wonderedif she found sleep as elusive as he did, if her mind was as tempestuous as his. With both apprehension and anticipation, he moved silently toward the slightly open door, driven by a newfound resolve to confront, perhaps to confess.

Most importantly, however, he no longer wished to hide behind pretenses.

CHAPTER 15

Firman is the one who would secure my future; the one my parents—particularly my father—wants.Emma sighed and ran her hand through her hair.If only George were not so determined to remain a bachelor. If only he were not known to be a rake!

The evening’s events had left her in a state of dire confusion. Her head and heart were at war, each pulling her in opposing directions, vying to emerge victorious in her decisions.

A barely audible knock at her door startled her from her reverie, and she turned toward the sound, her heart rate accelerating slightly. Who could it be at this late hour? Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she crossed the room and opened the door. Her mother, still dressed in her evening finery and looking very weary, stood in the doorway.

“I was hoping you’d still be awake,” Caroline said as she walked into the room without waiting for an invitation.

“Is something the matter?” Emma asked, her concern deepening as she noted the serious expression on her mother’s face.

“After seeing you with the Earl tonight, I think it is time we take a step further,” Caroline declared without preamble. The firmness in her tone suggested that retreat was not an option.

That familiar sinking feeling overwhelmed Emma once again, and she began to regret opening the door. “Couldn’t this have waited until morning, Mother?” she asked, her voice a mix of weariness and frustration.

“We have waited long enough,” her mother responded sternly. “I already have some information which would help us. The Earl’s daily schedule,” she elaborated, producing a piece of paper.

“Are you stalking the Earl now, Mother?” Emma sighed, the weight of her predicament settling heavily on her shoulders. She wouldn’t be surprised at the lengths her parents would go to ensure her advantageous match.

“I didn’t have to,” Caroline replied coolly. “I got all the information I needed from a footman. A few coins did the trick,” she added, her tone shamelessly pragmatic.

“Even worse,” Emma muttered under her breath, feeling a mixture of dismay and disgust.

“Mind your manners, young lady,” Caroline admonished sharply before continuing, “We need that scandal to happen as soon aspossible. I was told that the Earl received a new shipment of plants, and he tends to them in the west wing of the gardens every morning after breakfast.”

Emma felt a wave of nausea at the thought of her mother’s schemes. “Is it not enough to continue getting acquainted with him, Mother? I have his attention now, after all. Surely, we do not need to resort to—” she began, hoping to appeal to some sense of decency.

“Do you think your father will give you more time?” Caroline cut in abruptly. “Or that the house party will last forever?” she added, her words sharp and unyielding.

These were points Emma couldn’t dispute. Her father knew no patience, not anymore. And she had fleetingly forgotten that the house party was indeed coming to an end soon.

Panic lit an unpleasant flame within her at this last realization. She was getting nowhere, and her time was running out—if it had not already.

“The truth is,” Caroline sighed, her expression wearing a mask of resignation that seemed deeper than ever before. “Your father is already negotiating your dowry with the Marquess of Neads,” she announced, her voice low and heavy with inevitability.

“What?” Emma’s voice cracked, the panic within her igniting into a full-blown inferno. Her mind raced, her thoughts a chaotic whirl as she tried to grasp the reality of her situation.

“I tried to reason with him, believe me,” her mother continued, her eyes reflecting a turmoil that matched Emma’s own. “Especially after your dance with the Earl tonight. But he lacks any more faith in you and is determined to conclude things with Neads. I cannot stop him anymore. I cannot buy you any more time after this,” she added, her voice filled with a defeat that was almost palpable.

Emma’s gaze fell to her white knuckles, clenched so tightly around her night rail that they ached. She was gripping it as desperately as she clung to the remnants of her autonomy, feeling each moment slipping through her fingers like sand.

“And you should know that the Marquess is paying for too,” her mother’s words cut through the tense air, each syllable a hammer strike to Emma’s hopes.