Chapter Eight
Emily
“Are you insane?” Emily hissed beneath her breath as Wylder tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and began walking.
“No,” Wylder murmured. “But I am angry. Enough so that I have willingly thrown caution to the wind.”
Emily glanced back at her brother. Penelope had accepted Simon’s arm, her face a blank slate, while Lord Grant trailed behind them with Lady True in tow. Simon’s brow was creased with lingering confusion, but he was silent as he followed them from a distance.
Unable to hide her panic, Emily inclined her head toward Wylder. “This is precisely what I was trying to avoid. Now, he will watch us like a hawk for the remainder of the evening. As if it were not terrible enough that my mother is also—”
“Do not worry about them, Emily. Your immediate concern should be how you will explain why you ignored my request that we meet on the terrace.” Placing his free hand over hers, he squeezed it tight and said in a low, dangerous voice, “I do not like being disobeyed.”
Emily dug her nails into his arm, praying he felt the sharp bite of them through the soft silk of her gloves and the broadcloth of his formal evening coat.
“That was a request?” She snorted in disbelief.
“That was a little more than a royal command, Wyldewood. Had I obeyed you, my brother would have found you doing God only knows what to me.”
“Just what do you think I meant to do, minx?” He sounded genuinely curious.
“Something highly inappropriate, no doubt.” Emily sniffed, hating how needy her voice sounded over the strains of music and the chatter of multiple guests beyond the terrace doors.
“Have no fear, Emily. Whatever you are imagining in that clever little head of yours will still occur.” Leaning toward her, he whispered in her ear, “And a full explanation of your activities the night of the Linden ball will be forthcoming once I’ve seen to your punishment.”
“There is nothing to tell,” Emily replied nervously as Wylder led her to the refreshment table. Snagging a new glass of lemonade, he handed it to her and watched as she drank it down.
The mere mention of punishment had her mind flashing back to that night three years before when Wylder pulled her over his lap and struck her with the palm of his hand.
Something tingled inside her at the memory, the space between her thighs clenching with a mysterious ache.
She wanted more of the things he’d done to her on the bench of his coach just a few mornings ago.
His beautifully stern mouth worshipping her flesh until the world exploded in a shower of sparks and lights.
She was sure her face was flushed pink as Wylder took the glass from her suddenly nerveless fingers. His iron-hued gaze was inscrutable as he studied her features.
“Hmmm,” he murmured with an unmistakable note of satisfaction in his tone. “Something tells me you are remembering our interlude in the coach. I’ve thought of little else since then. It is something we will soon revisit, minx. I promise you that.”
“But Simon will find—”
“No. Your brother will not find out.” Wylder’s confidence was so infectious that Emily found herself relaxing.
Perhaps he was right. Maybe Simon would remain ignorant of all the liberties his little sister had allowed this man standing beside her.
She sighed heavily, wondering how she could obtain what she wanted most without hurting anyone or herself.
The impossible. The unattainable. Wylder St. Clair, Earl of Wyldewood and heir to the Duke of Claymore, for a husband.
“Come with me, Emily.” Wylder led her to an open spot near her mother.
Lady Blackthorne smiled absently at her daughter, completely unaware of the drama that had occurred on the terrace, and turned back to the conversation she shared with two other ladies.
“Stay here until I retrieve you for our waltz. My plans for later this evening must be amended due to this recent development.”
“What does that mean?” Emily asked, confusion knitting her brow as Wylder bent over her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Even through the thin silk of her gloves, the heat of his mouth sent shivers up her spine.
“I shall enlighten you during our waltz.” Then, with an enigmatic smirk, Wylder sauntered away.
A few moments later, Penelope joined Emily on the edge of the ballroom floor. She wore a look of bemusement on her pretty face.
“I am struggling to understand what happened, Emily,” she whispered.
“I thought all was lost, then I saw Lord Wyldewood there on the terrace. He looked… angry. Yes, that’s it.
Angry. And I believe it was directed toward Lord Grant.
” Her voice dropped as she explained, “You see, Lord Grant had hold of me and was attempting to kiss me and… and I was resisting the odious man.” Tilting her head, she regarded Emily from beneath the sweep of her lashes.
“What I don’t understand is why it seemed he was waiting for someone. And why you showed up.”
Emily laughed softly. “Perhaps Lord Wyldewood is the moral center of the Rakehells.”
Penelope smiled at that. “That’s impossible. The Mayfair Rakehells have no morals. At least the two remaining ones do not.” Her tone grew serious. “Will you tell me the truth?”
“I agreed to meet Lord Wyldewood.” Emily sighed.
“But then I saw my brother searching for him and knew that if I obeyed Wyldewood, Simon would no doubt catch us in a less than innocent situation. Then I witnessed Lord Grant practically dragging you toward the same terrace, and I realized saving you was far more important.”
“Thank God that you did. But, Emily, I fear the inevitable. My parents will not stop until I am truly compromised. You saw the look on my mother’s face. She has Lord Camden in her sights now, although I suspect she will still allow Grant to press his suit.”
“While I would love it if my brother were to choose you for a bride, I know he is stubbornly resistant to the idea of marriage.”
Penelope laughed. “I have the impression that he would rather wear a shirt made of nails than dance with a girl on the marriage mart. He was kind enough to follow through with Wyldewood’s suggestion that he at least enter his name on my dance card for the last waltz of the evening.”
“He may be amoral, but at least he exhibits manners when it suits him.” Emily pressed her fingertips to her temple, her head aching as she tried thinking of a solution to her friend’s problem. “We-we could hide you away somewhere for a while. At least until Grant loses interest in you.”
“Do you think we could do that?” Penelope brightened. “It is a wonderful idea, Emily. But where would I go?”
“Let me think upon it. Your disappearance will undoubtedly have most of the ton desperate to solve the mystery, but there may be no other choice. At least right now.” Emily linked her arm with Penelope, giving her a comforting smile.
“And as for concealing your whereabouts, I’m sure I can find a suitable place. ”
*
Emily reluctantly remained standing where Wylder left her until the beginning strains of the last waltz began.
She watched as Simon claimed Penelope for the dance, noticing how pleased their mother was to see her son dancing with the young lady.
But even as the waltz progressed, Wylder still did not appear.
Worry niggled at her first, followed quickly by relief. Perhaps he had come to his senses. Realized how rash a decision it was to dance with her with Simon in the same room.
Then the relief morphed into irritation that she’d obeyed him to begin with. And the longer she stood watching from the edge of the ballroom floor as other gaily dressed women twirled by with their partners, the faster her irritation grew.
This was little more than a ploy on Wylder’s part to ensure no other gentleman claimed a dance with me. He deliberately has left me standing here like an unwanted wallflower. I’m sure he finds it quite amusing that I am waiting for him. Hoping he gives me a crumb of his attention. The arrogant cad…
“Was this dance not claimed, dear?” Emily’s mother, Chelsea Blackthorne, inquired with a puzzled frown. “I thought Lord Wyldewood penciled himself in.”
Emily let out a silent groan. Having her mother involved in this fiasco was definitely not a good idea. Plastering a smile on her face, she decided the best way to play it off was to pretend she never wanted to dance with the earl in the first place.
“He did, but perhaps it’s best he has not claimed it. His reputation is less than stellar, as well you know, Mother.”
Lady Blackthorne smiled indulgently. “It’s no more and no less than your brother’s. However, it is certainly true that his reputation does little to keep the ladies from seeking his attention.”
“He and Simon hardly require any additional boosts to their egos, do they?” Emily fingered the dance card dangling from her wrist, praying for the opportunity to rip it into tiny pieces while Wylder watched.
Would it affect him, though? Or would he simply watch her, those silver eyes brimming with sardonic amusement at her fit of temper?
“Your brother and his friends have enjoyed their time as London’s roguish bachelors, but eventually, those days invariably come to an end.
And like Lord Ashcroft and his new bride have found each other, I wish the same for Simon and Wyldewood.
” Lady Blackthorne’s gaze drifted from her daughter to her son.
“It pleases me to see him taking an interest in Penelope. Despite the unsavory nature of her parents, the girl is sweetness and kindness itself. I’ve long thought that she would make a perfect wife for Simon. ”
Emily remained silent on that subject, hopeful that her mother remained ignorant of the truth behind Simon’s waltz with Penelope, even if she herself felt the same.
Simon and Pen made a lovely couple as they swirled about the dance floor, but closer inspection revealed their dance to be a tense one.
Penelope wore the most miserable expression on her face while Simon’s jaw was set so firmly that it might actually crack. Neither was enjoying the waltz.
“Mother, I’ve developed the most horrid headache. Although it is the height of bad manners, I think I shall go home.” She kept watching the dance floor as she spoke, sure that if she looked at her mother, the woman would see the lie on her face.
“And not enjoy the midnight supper Lady Jacobson has planned?” Lady Blackthorne asked in surprise.
Emily nodded. “When this waltz ends, I shall take my leave as others prepare to gather in the dining room. I will have the coach sent back around for you if you would like to stay longer.”
“Very well, my dear.” Her mother pressed the back of her gloved hand to Emily’s cheek and peered at her with questioning eyes. “You do appear rather flushed, angel. You may go, of course. I will make your excuses and see you tomorrow.”
“You will stay for the entirety of the dance?” Emily asked, surprised that her mother would agree so readily to her leaving. If Lady Blackthorne did not come with her now, then she would likely not arrive home herself until the wee hours of the morning.
“Most of it, surely. I must speak with Her Grace, Lady Westley. Lord Ashcroft and his new bride will be returning from their honeymoon by month’s end, and I have requested to host a house party in their honor at Thorne Park.
There are just a few details to review before we can set everything into motion.
I know I will enjoy a bit of time away from the city before the winter season begins, as will your father. ”
Emily felt a wave of hope sweep over her.
A country house party? It would mean quite a few of their particular social set would be present at the Blackthorne country estate of Thorne Park.
It also provided a perfect opportunity to hide Penelope away somewhere for at least a month with no one realizing she was even missing.
“What a lovely idea, Mother. I would love to become better acquainted with Lady Ashcroft and, of course, I’m sure if Simon attends, he will welcome the opportunity to reunite with at least one of his dearest friends.”
“Yes, well, I do not have much hope that the two remaining rakehells will deem a country party exciting enough to abandon London, but the invite will be extended.” Lady Blackthorne smiled slyly and winked at her daughter.
“And if things work out, we may even find Simon a bride while there. After all, Lord Ashcroft discovered love outside of London. The same could happen for your brother.”