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But marriage to him was not a guarantee of happiness. Few marriages among the ton were based upon love, and Emma knew that a love match had never been one of Alex’s highest goals. It was highly possible that he might reach a decision to ask her to marry him based solely on affection and lust. She could well imagine him sitting in his study with his feet propped up on his desk, considering his situation and deciding to marry her just because nothing better was likely to come along.
What would her life be like if she were married to a man who didn’t love her? Would it be enough just to be near him or would she lose a little bit of her soul day by day until she was nothing more than a brittle shell? But God help her, she didn’t know if she had any alternative because she was beginning to realize that the possibility of happiness apart from Alex was very slim, indeed. She supposed that any small piece of him would be better than nothing because it was true—she loved him. She loved him desperately and she was terrified that she might not be able to find a way to make him love her back.
Suddenly, facing him at dinner seemed a most frightening prospect.
She was fairly successful finding excuses to remain upstairs. There was a loose thread on her gown that needed mending, and she was convinced that she had developed new freckles while she had been out of doors. Meg was immediately dispatched to borrow a little powder from Aunt Caroline. She had just about managed to develop a blistering headache when Belle finally lost all patience and physically pushed her through the door and down the stairs.
By the time Emma and Bell arrived, Alex was already in the drawing room, leaning against a windowsill and absently swirling a glass of whiskey. As Emma walked through the doorway, he gave her a quizzical look, scanning her features intently. Emma did her best to appear blasé, but she had a sinking feeling that she failed miserably. “Good evening, your grace,” she blurted out suddenly, painfully aware that she sounded like a bleating sheep. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard her cousin emit a small groan.
Alex nodded his greeting to Belle, who had strategically positioned herself on a sofa that offered an excellent view of the entire room. After Belle smiled back at him sunnily, he focused his attention on Emma. “I trust you had a pleasant afternoon following our return,” he said politely.
“It was very nice, thank you,” Emma replied automatically, holding onto the back of a pale yellow chair with a death grip.
Belle watched the exchange with unconcealed interest, her head bobbing shamelessly back and forth between Emma and Alex.
“I feel as if I’m on the stage,” Emma muttered under her breath.
“What was that?” Alex inquired cordially.
“Did you say something?” Belle asked at the very same time.
Emma smiled weakly and shook her head. The tension in the room was really quite thick enough to eat.
“I believe I’ll have another whiskey,” Alex said.
“I have a feeling you might need it,” Belle put in with an innocent smile.
“Impertinent chit.” Alex smoothly crossed the room and poured himself a drink. As he made his way back to his spot at the windowsill, he brushed very closely by Emma, murmuring in her ear, “Do try not to ruin the furniture, my dear. That’s one of my mother’s favorite chairs.”
Emma immediately let go of the chair and practically flew over an end table in her haste to seat herself next to Belle. When she looked up again, Alex was smiling widely.
Emma, on the other hand, was not smiling at all.
Thankfully, Sophie chose that moment to sail into the room. “Hello, everybody,” she said merrily, glancing quickly around the room. “I see that Mother hasn’t arrived yet. Hmmm, what a surprise. I would have thought she’d be most anxious to inquire about your ride this afternoon.”
“I would have thought so, too,” Alex said dryly.
Sophie had no response for that so she scooted across the room and seated herself in the pale yellow chair that Emma had so recently been trying to mangle. Emma slouched a little, slightly deflated by Alex’s caustic comment.
“Cleopatra had her kittens,” Sophie announced with a smile. “Charlie was thrilled. He’s been talking of nothing else all evening. Unfortunately, now he insists upon asking me all sorts of, well, sensitive questions, which I do not feel at all prepared to discuss with a six-year-old boy.” She sighed sadly. “I do wish Oliver would return home soon.”
“I am certain Alex will be able to aid you in the sensitive question department,” Emma said peevishly, regretting her words the moment they flew out of her mouth.
Belle made a strange sound that was half laugh and half snort and then started to cough. Emma fought a strong urge to whack her soundly on the back.
Alex continued to lean against the windowsill, his expression inscrutable, and Emma wanted to curse him for looking so devastatingly handsome without even trying. He appeared to be quite fascinated with his perfectly manicured fingernails.
The truth, however, was that he was deathly afraid he’d burst out laughing if he allowed himself to look at Emma. She would never forgive him for that, he knew. There was something so comically adorable about her as she sat there on the couch, absolutely seething. He sensed that there was nothing that irritated her more than watching him appear in complete control of himself while her emotions were churning. He wasn’t cruel; he just preferred to see her spitting mad than forlorn and guilt-ridden as she had been that afternoon. He brushed an invisible piece of lint off of his waistcoat and stole a quick glance at Emma. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw her take a deep breath and exhale it slowly.