Page 42 of The Hellion is Tamed
Three hulking footmen stood on the outer edge of the lawn, patrolling in the event Hargrave got it in his mind to approach Emma so soon after his last attempt. They nodded when Simon glanced at them, their dour expressions never shifting from kill-at-any-moment perseverance.
“Yes, join us,” Emma said, throwing him a terse look, her eyes flame-blue, letting him know she was still angry that he let his brothers separate them—and then making it worse by not coming after her immediately. Or the very next day, at least.
Simon ripped his bowler from his head and whipped it against his thigh. Then, perching on the edge of the duchess’s bench, he waved away her offer of tea, and instead, made a game of twisting his hat brim into submission while trying hard not to stare at Emma’s gown, the most gorgeous he’d seen on her yet. The bustle was ridiculous but stylish, rounding out her slender figure. A floral motif, chrysanthemums if he wasn’t mistaken, woven into the silk in a pale green thread that glimmered in the sunlight. Her auburn hair contained in a chignon that exposed the gentle slope of her neck to his hungry gaze.
“This looks cozy,” he murmured finally, unable to help himself, his tone saying what his words didn’t.
Delaney choked on her tea, her cup rattling the saucer as she banged it atop her thigh.
“Don’t,” Emma mouthed across the short distance.Don’t, you, dare.
“This ain’t a good start,” Henry advised from his spot next to a hydrangea that looked to be swallowing him in lavender blooms.
The earl gazed curiously around the group, canny enough to realize he didn’t comprehend the whole story. “I was just asking Miss Breslin if she’s ever attended Epsom. The running of the Derby’s next week, at the Downs. The Duke of Westminster’s horse, Shotover, took Newmarket. Could be the one to win, first filly in over a hundred years to take two in the Crown if she does.”
Simon gave his hat brim a snap, eyeing the earl’s cufflinks. Oval, etched with some sort of scrolling design around the boundary that he found fetching. Capped with a ruby, tiny but quality, he could see, in the center. Catching the earl’s eye, he said, “Didn’t you visit the Blue Moon after Newmarket this year? Finn had to break up a petty spat with that Wellington chap over a horse he’d told you was well suited to juice in the grass, rainy conditions that day and all. Considering your unfortunate wagers on the beast, that didn’t turn out to be the case.” Simon clicked his tongue against his teeth, thinking he could get a mint for even one of the cufflinks. “No, no, I have it wrong. It was his mistress you were quarreling over. The opera singer from Wales. Perhaps you thought to make heryour—”
“Simon,” Delaney whispered between clenched teeth, “behave.”
The earl bounded to his feet, his teacup tumbling from his knee to the grass. “Alexander, if it were a different time, I’d call you out for this nonsense.”
Emma said nothing, stirring her tea with a chilled expression he couldn’t decipher.
In for a penny, Simon thought with a sigh. Tossing his hat on the bench, he braced his hands on his knees and rose with a lazy stretch, knowing full well he was going to tower over the earl once he got there. “Pretend it’s another time, Hollingmark. I’m the youngest in a family of brothers who delight in pummeling me into the dirt. Her duke”—he jacked his thumb in Delaney’s direction—“has done it quite a few times himself. Former soldier, so no easy mark. Me, either, now that I’ve had so much practice. Try your best, and we’ll see where we end up.” He stretched his shoulders with a pop. “Make a day of it.”
Emma hopped up, squeezing herself between the men with as much grace as possible and without actually going so far as to touch either of them. She’d learned well; Simon could almost believe she’d been born to this life. When he knew it wasn’t the first time she’d broken up a brawl, though this news would have surprised the hell out of the earl. “I would love to attend the Derby with you, Lord Hollingmark. Thank you for asking,” she said, a bit breathlessly. Fury, though it probably sounded like reticence to those who didn’t know her. “I look forward in great anticipation to the event.”
The earl flashed a broad smile, his steely gaze shooting to Simon. “Well, I’m obviously delighted when you said you had to think it over first. Emmaline Breslin leaves the party if she’s not enjoying it, as this town has come to find. Disappears almost. We shall, as Mister Alexander suggested, make a day of it, my dear. I’ll do my best to keep you entertained.”
“You botched this one, but good,” Henry muttered. “And not even the prime gift of a violin to make up for it. I already deposited that, without poetry, to her suite.”
The earl grasped Emma’s gloved hand and brushed his lips across the kidskin tips. “I must take my leave, Miss Breslin. A noon meeting with my solicitors. I’ll be in touch. Next Wednesday morning. Mark your calendar.” His gaze again shifted Simon’s way, the sneer twisting his lips a blatant challenge. “I’m thrilled by your acceptance, by the by.”
Simon faked another sneeze, stumbled, his arm brushing the earl’s. The cufflink slipped into his hand as easily as knocking an acorn from a branch. “Sorry, old chap, all the blooms, don’t you know.”
Delaney rolled her eyes, linking her arm through the earl’s and leading him from the garden before Simon had the opportunity to score the other cufflink. “I’ll be back in a moment, Emma darling. The footmen are there on the lawn, and Mollie is in the conservatory, should you need her.”
“Yes, yes, we’re well and truly chaperoned,” Simon said as they walked away, the earl’s swagger so pronounced Simon wanted to color his creamy linen shirt with the green of freshly cut grass by dragging his body across it. Delaney was an American and found society’s rules and regulations as confounding and foolish as he, a lifelong Brit, did. But they were forced to play the game. Or be ousted from the communal ledge they stood upon.
“You arrogant ass,” Emma snapped once the duchess and the earl were out of earshot.
“You senseless chit,” he returned, irate for no good reason. And he knew it. Bounced the cufflink from one hand to the other, making sure she saw it. “Enjoy the Derby. Such a magnificentevent.”
“I will. You better believe I will.” She huffed a breath and spun on her heel. “Henry, be gone!” Then she marched across the lawn, toward the conservatory, conceivably in search of her missing maid. A maidhe’dsaved from the slums and brought to her, she should know.
Frustrated, he watched her pert bottom swing from side to side as she stalked away, debating if he should hike in the opposite direction to his waiting carriage. To another adventure. Lady Lydia Davidson, a widow with what some said was the most talented mouth in England had sent him a note last week, a rather bold invitation to tea, a tea that would befun. So he wasn’t desperate. Or lonely. He sighed and rotated the cufflink between his fingers. Well, not any lonelier than he’d been his entire damned life.
The feel of Emma’s pert bottom in his hands, lifting her onto his cock as he leaned against the headboard of his massive bed, her legs wrapping around his waist as she settled atop him, sending him deep, flooded his body with a tremor of repentance that had him going after her like a fox on the hunt.
When he entered the conservatory, it was empty except for the woman he stalked and a king’s ransom of orange trees. Just Emma and the stinging scent of citrus, his girl standing in the shadows, facing him, eyes a sharp indigo glimmer. Her hands going into fists and rolling out of them at her sides. Her ginger-snap hair had tumbled from its confinement and lay in a puddle across one shoulder and rounded breast.
He stared, unable to approach as his body screamed for him to do. As the Soul Catcher screamed for him to do, a lightning pulsation in his pocket. He’d wondered at his immediate and visceral attraction. Had always wondered. A supernatural meeting, the inability to talk. A girl from another time, a curious, lonely boy, searching and starved for self-worth. Yet, he could see the allure now, with a man’s wisdom. Her strength, her certainty, called to him as solidly as thievery did. She’d known who she was, accepted herself when he’d been tossed in a rising tide of antipathy over things he couldn’t alter.
She’d stepped into his world, recognizing him in a way few had. Recognized his eccentricities, his mystical gift, the ghostly circle of people included—should anyone choose to share a life with him.
And wanted him anyway.
He’d learned to mistrust on the streets of St Giles,mightily. Watched his mother step in front of a carriage because she didn’t want to live—or didn’t want to live withhim. He’d made every person who cared about him work twice as hard to prove themselves when he’d been desperate to let them in. Julian, Finn, Piper, Humphrey, Victoria. And to what end? When he was simply a thief. Hot-tempered, rash, obstinate in a most uninviting manner.