Chapter Seven
Wylder
The palm of Wylder’s right hand began twitching the moment he laid eyes on the dazzling Emily Blackthorne.
There was no mistake as to why his palm itched to land over and over again on Emily’s pert, round arse. And while it would undoubtedly be pleasurable to mark her in such a manner, he doubted Emily would enjoy the punishment. But, punish her he would for the stunt she pulled three mornings ago.
He’d found himself consumed with worry for her safety until the groomsman returned from the Blackthorne estate with his report.
For three days, Wylder debated on whether it was wise to pay a visit to Blackthorne Manor and make his displeasure known.
But, how could he possibly explain that he’d come to call only on Emily and no one else?
Keeping his gaze locked on Emily, he finally reached her side. Her little intake of breath when he lifted her hand to press a kiss to the back of it was so damned gratifying that Wylder allowed himself a small smile of triumph.
“Good evening, Lady Emily. I trust you are well this evening?”
Emily’s gaze darted about the ballroom, no doubt wondering where Simon might be.
Normally, Wylder would have contemplated the same, but for some odd reason, he couldn’t find it within him to worry overmuch when it came to his best friend’s rage.
In fact, he was willing to risk it for the chance to touch this girl.
Now that he’d had a proper taste of her, he could not stop obsessing over when he might have her spread before him again.
“Yes, thank you, Lord Wyldewood,” Emily squeaked, before clearing her throat and giving him a serene smile. “It’s a fantastic crush of people. I’m sure my brother must be here somewhere, as he promised my mother he would be in attendance. Perhaps you have seen him?”
“My understanding is that he accompanied Lord Jacobson to his study to discuss some investment possibilities. Very boring stuff.”
“Boring, indeed,” Emily breathed, then she fell silent as Wylder’s gaze slid over her.
Her gown was a lovely shade of sapphire blue, matching her dark-lashed eyes almost exactly.
His jaw clenched. Two mounds of plump flesh rose over the bodice of that gown, commanding his attention.
Reminding him that those breasts would be the focus the next time he had her alone.
“Have all of your dances been claimed, Lady Emily?” he finally said in a husky voice.
“N-no.” Her head tilted in surprise. “Why do you ask, Lord Wyldewood?”
“Because I would like to dance with you, and according to society’s inane rules, I must be penciled in.”
Emily fumbled for the dance card dangling from a ribbon around her wrist. After she managed to untangle it, she handed it over to Wyldewood, watching with wide eyes as he wrote his name beside one of the few spaces still available.
He gave it back to her as she glanced over it before allowing him to tie the card’s ribbons so that it was once again attached to her wrist.
“A waltz, Lord Wyldewood?” Her voice wavered.
“A waltz, Lady Emily,” he confirmed. “I intend on having a private conversation with you before that, however.”
She licked her lips, the bewitching minx, and sighed, “As you wish, Lord Wyldewood.”
“Meet me on the rear terrace overlooking the conservatory in thirty minutes.”
Emily shifted her feet. “But that means I must forgo my dance with Lord Bancroft.”
“So you must,” Wylder drawled. “Thirty minutes, Lady Emily. And please don’t keep me waiting.” He raised her hand once more, kissing the soft silk glove encasing her fingers, and wished her skin was bare to him. “Until then.”
He left her with her lips slightly pursed as if his boldness confused her. It was understandable, of course. He’d been so very diligent in avoiding her company over the last few years; his actions now were the exact opposite of his usual behavior.
You are treading on dangerous ground, his inner voice cautioned, but Wylder ignored it. He needed more of her, even if encouraging that obsession was foolhardy. Simon must not know…
Wylder shut down his inner thoughts immediately when it came to that particular threat.
Simon’s discovery of Emily’s debauchery at Wylder’s hands was not ideal, but still, he put it aside for the moment.
Grabbing a goblet of champagne from the tray of a passing servant, he gulped it down while contemplating the selfishness of his own nature.
With any luck, her brother would never find out.
*
Where is she?
Wylder tamped down his irritation as he continued waiting for Emily’s appearance. She was already ten minutes late, and he’d spent that time devising all sorts of pleasurable ways he could punish the blatant disregard of his directive.
Not that he had any right to contemplate such things. He had no valid claim to Emily. No right to dictate her actions in any way. But the longer he stood on the shadowy terrace near the darkened conservatory, the more that rationality dissipated into mist.
Deciding that he would try cornering her before their waltz, he headed back toward the entrance to the ballroom. Before he reached them, the doors swung open and a couple emerged.
It was not Emily, that much was instantly certain.
Wylder hesitated, melting into the shadows as he watched the couple.
He recognized Lord Gregory Grant, but it took several moments for him to put a name to the female’s face.
It was one of the ladies from Emily’s circle of friends. Quiet, shy Miss Penelope True.
“Miss Penelope, you and I must reach an agreement.” Grant took Penelope by the elbow, and from where he stood, Wylder saw the girl wince in pain.
“It isn’t proper that you and I should be alone, Lord Grant,” she stated in a stern voice. She did not sound at all like the reticent girl she was rumored to be.
“Hang propriety, Miss Penelope. Your parents understand the seriousness of my intentions, and so must you.”
Penelope stood her ground, pulling back even as Lord Grant tried pulling her into the deeper shadows near the railing. “I understand perfectly, sir. It is you who requires clarification.”
“Dash it all,” Grant hissed. “If only you’d cooperated at the Linden ball, we would not be forced to this now. Stand still now, blast you, so I may kiss you and secure this arrangement…”
Penelope let out a short, sharp cry of alarm, and Wylder’s jaw clenched as he watched Grant jerk her closer.
Enough of this… he would not stand idly by while the girl was ravished against her will.
He stepped forward, seeing Penelope’s face grow slack with confusion at the sight of him while Grant swore under his breath at the unexpected intrusion.
Just as Wylder emerged from the shadows, Emily barreled through the doors from the ballroom with two glasses in her hands. She headed straight for Penelope before catching sight of Wylder. She hesitated briefly, then continued as if nothing were the matter.
“Seems we all had the same notion of taking in a breath of fresh air,” Emily exclaimed cheerfully.
She flashed an apologetic smile at Wylder, then turned to Lord Grant.
The man appeared frozen with shocked fury to see Wylder standing on the terrace as well.
“Such kind gentlemen to provide a sense of security, don’t you agree, Penelope?
Why, I’ve never noticed how dark it is out here when the moon is not providing illumination. ”
Penelope took the glass, tossing back most of its contents while gaping at Wylder. A moment later, she allowed Emily to tug her away from Lord Grant. “Yes, dreadfully dark out here. And thank you, Emily, for the refreshment. I was so parched.”
Emily kept hold of Penelope’s arm, beaming innocently as she nodded her head at Wylder. “I believe my brother is looking for you, Lord Wyldewood. He seemed almost desperate in his search.”
“I have no idea what the blazes is going on here,” Lord Grant stated angrily. “But I desire a moment alone with Miss Penelope. Now, if the two of you will grant us a bit of privacy…”
Emily laughed gaily. “Oh, I declare, Lord Grant! You are such a jokester! And so scandalous! You know that being alone with a gentleman is not allowed for young ladies like ourselves. Why, the troubles that could cause… I cannot even say such things aloud.”
Before Lord Grant could respond to that, a bevy of feminine voices drifted from the far end of the terrace. As they drew closer, Lord Grant’s frustrated expression morphed into one of nervous concern. A group of women marched toward them, their destination obvious to the casual observer.
“Just this way,” Lady True said, her strident tone of righteous indignation rising above the other ladies chattering voices. “I believe that they were headed in the direction of the conservatory. Oh, my poor, poor Penelope. I can only hope we are not too late to save the girl from ru—”
The lady, flanked by at least five of the ton’s elderly, scowling matrons, rounded a corner of the terrace and immediately drew up short.
“Good evening, Lady True. Ladies.” Wylder bowed at the waist, his mouth quirking with amusement to see the shock on Penelope’s mother’s face. “It appears we are not the only ones seeking a breath of fresh air.”
“Uh, I was just… that is to say, yes. Some fresh air, indeed,” Lady True stuttered before her lips tightened into a thin line.
“Good evening, Lord Wyldewood. Lord Grant.” The woman studied the group before her, obviously attempting to decipher what had occurred before her arrival.
Her gaze finally landed on her daughter, and her expression became even more pinched with ill-disguised fury.
“Penelope? Are you all right, my dear?” The concern in her tone did not ring true as she fussed over the young lady, smoothing a wrinkle from Penelope’s gown.
“Of course, Mother.” Penelope smiled serenely while also sidling away.
“Lady Emily and I thought we would escape the crush of the crowd for a moment and discovered Lord Grant and Lord Wyldewood doing the same.” She sipped from the glass she held and tipped it toward Emily as if toasting her friend’s quick thinking.
“We should return the ball, Emily. I would enjoy a refill of lemonade and a brief visit to the ladies’ retiring room. ”
Lady True’s disappointment was on full display as she glared at Lord Grant.
Wylder realized that the two of them had conspired to turn Penelope’s ruin into a public spectacle.
His presence and Emily’s hasty arrival derailed that devious plan.
Cocking his head, he glanced at Emily and saw her eyes narrowed at Penelope’s mother.
Then her features smoothed themselves into a pleasant mask.
“The lemonade is quite delicious…” she murmured, then her face split with another broad smile. “How lovely… look, Penelope! My dashing brother arrives just in time to see us safely back to the ballroom.”
Wylder stifled a groan, knowing that Simon’s arrival meant one thing.
He had followed Emily in his search for Wylder.
Finding an entire gathering of people on the dimly lit terrace would help dissipate his suspicions.
At least, Wylder hoped that was the case.
Honestly, he was finding new appreciation for Emily’s cleverness in the situation.
She had devised a solution in which she avoided being found with Wylder in a compromising situation while also saving her friend from certain ruin with a man she obviously did not want to marry.
“Martha, it appears your daughter is quite all right, as is Lady Emily,” the Countess of Marshton sniffed while patting her silver-gray hair.
“I believe I shall return to the ballroom as the night air is not healthy for my constitution. Come along, Helen and Frances. Join me in a thimble of brandy so that we might combat the chill I already feel settling into my bones.”
“There you are, Wyldewood,” Simon said, reaching them as the group of women began strolling back toward the bright lights of the house. Lady True remained behind, a hand fluttering at the neckline of her gown.
“Camden…” Wylder nodded at Simon, noting the hard edge of his friend’s jawline. Suspicion wafted off the man, setting all of Wylder’s instincts on high alert. “Lady Emily says you were looking for me?”
“Yes, I—”
“Surely it can wait, Camden,” Emily interrupted with a sweet grin as she stepped between the two men. “I was rather hoping that my dear brother would escort myself and Miss Penelope back to the ballroom.”
Simon frowned at Emily’s obvious tactics in separating everyone in this strange grouping of people, but courtesy demanded he do as his sister requested.
“Perhaps you will assist Miss Penelope while I escort Lady Emily?” Wylder broke in, moving closer to Emily.
Taking the glass of lemonade from her hand, he set it on the terrace wall and offered his arm.
The surprise on her face was almost comical.
Wylder could not stop smiling down at her as he added, “I shall keep her company until it is time for our waltz.”
“Waltz?” Simon growled, automatically holding up his arm for Penelope to take as he stared at Wylder.
“Yes. Lady Emily graciously agreed to grant me one dance this evening. The only one left was the waltz just prior to supper.” Wylder smiled benignly, then nodded his head at Lady True and Lord Grant, who stood silently watching.
For her part, Lady True looked delighted by this unexpected turn of events while Lord Grant’s mouth was pulled into a ferocious frown.
Simon Blackthorne was far more desirable as a catch than the lesser title of Lord Grant, and now he’d been practically thrown into the mix by Emily.
“I’m sure Miss Penelope would grant you the same consideration if you only asked to see her dance card. ”