Chapter Thirteen
Emily
Emily stalked across her bedroom, ripping the jaunty hat from her head and sailing it without a care. The riding crop she’d forgotten to leave behind in the stables was flung upon the bed with an unladylike curse.
Beneath the obvious anger sparking her blood, bewildered hurt rippled through her fragile soul.
She’d been blissfully unaware of Wylder’s visit to Blackthorne Manor today.
Returning from an afternoon ride in Hyde Park, she’d discovered the earl dismounting from his horse in the circular drive.
After handing her mare off to the groom, she ran to greet Wylder only to find herself reeling from the cut direct.
Wylder’s dispassionate salutation deflated Emily.
Any joy at seeing him collapsed when Wylder granted her a dispassionate salutation.
It did not matter that his eyes spoke a different story…
a spark of sadness that had she not been studying his face would have gone unnoticed.
He was not happy. And, when he abruptly turned away and bounded up the steps to the manor’s front doors, she stood frozen in place by his icy demeanor.
“I understand the need for discretion,” she fumed aloud within the privacy of her room.
“But must he be so cruel when going about it? It’s as though everything that passed between us means absolutely nothing to him.
How can he not comprehend how terribly it hurts when he behaves in such a manner toward me?
Is it so challenging to extend even the slightest hint of affection?
It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary… he has known me for most of my life.
He draws more attention to himself when he is so blatantly rude, but I cannot expect him to listen to reason on that particular point.
He is a man… and therefore believes he knows best on every subject. ”
Sitting down at the dressing table, Emily stripped off the kid leather riding gloves, her hands shaking.
The proper cravat around her neck was next to be ruthlessly ripped away, the pretty bow ruined in her state of anguished emotion.
Shrugging off the form-fitting Spencer jacket, she threw it aside as well.
Only when it felt as though she could draw in a breath did she finally turn toward her reflection in the vanity glass. Tears streaked her cheeks, her bottom lip trembling and blood red from her teeth biting it to contain her sobs.
And as quickly as anger had overwhelmed her, sorrow now seeped through her bones. It settled deep within her, silently whispering that her hopes and dreams of making Wylder St. Clair her own were just that. Fanciful dreams that would never come true.
Dropping her head into her hands, Emily allowed the tears to flow without check as reality speared her heart.
There was nothing for it… this depth of despair.
Even the realization that she was reacting rather dramatically to Wylder’s rejection did not make the ache any less painful.
She was well aware of her spoiled nature…
but wasn’t it worth something that she was also kind and generous to those she loved?
Wylder had referred to her as a brat several times before, and she supposed that could be true in some instances.
When she wanted something very badly, she put forth all her charm and sweetness in a bid to obtain it.
When those tactics did not work, she usually resorted to pouting, tantrums, and pretty tears.
I behave as a child would.
It was a shocking self-realization. Straightening her spine, Emily stared at herself in the mirror, stunned by this revelation while dashing the tears from her cheeks.
Was it possible she had sabotaged her efforts to gain Wylder’s affection?
Should she accept the inevitable and move toward the future with that in mind?
While it was true that contact with Wylder over the past three years had been superficial, Emily never stopped hoping that would change.
Never stopped hoping that her hardheaded brother would reconsider his ridiculous objections to the relationship.
It would come to that or in the alternative, Wylder would tell Simon to go to hell and to stop interfering where he wasn’t wanted.
Emily sighed heavily and rose from the dressing table chair.
Calmer than when she’d first stormed into her room, she retrieved the items of clothing abandoned during her fit of temper.
The cravat was picked up and smoothed into order.
Her riding gloves were paired once more and placed in the bureau where they belonged.
And the Spencer jacket was scooped up from the floor and carefully laid across one of the plush chairs, ready for her maid to see to its cleaning.
Seeing the riding crop on the bed, Emily plucked it from the coverlet and tapped it against her outer leg. She would return it to the stable’s tack room upon her next ride. For now, she set it in the same chair as the jacket.
That left one thing to be done. A new mindset that did not involve Wylder St. Clair as part of her future.
She would cease this infernal hoping and waiting for the man to see reason.
She would learn whatever he desired to teach her, absorb it, and save the knowledge for the future.
More importantly, she would enjoy the pleasure that came with such lessons without expecting Wylder to be a part of that future.
This simple decision had a profound effect on Emily. A strange sense of peace washed over her… an acceptance of her life’s path along with the knowledge that certain things about it could not be altered.
Wylder would never be hers. He would never be her husband and she would never be his wife.
But that did not mean she couldn’t take some part of him for herself.
She could take his kisses and his caresses and hold them as dear memories.
And if the day ever came about that he realized just what he had lost, she would mourn the loss and turn her back as he’d turned his back on her.
*
Emily’s first opportunity to put her new outlook into practice was at dinner that same evening.
Wylder had spent the afternoon holed up in Father’s study with Simon.
Emily had no idea what the two men could have possibly discussed that necessitated such serious conversations, but Wylder accepted the invitation to dinner.
He appeared relaxed as the first course of white soup was served.
He conversed easily with Lady Blackthorne, chuckled at her father’s humorous observations, and politely inquired after Emily’s well-being.
Only she saw the questioning glint in his silver gaze when she coolly replied that she was fine, although a bit tired from her afternoon ride.
“I’m not surprised,” Simon teased, giving Emily an affectionate grin.
“I’ve heard tales of how you tear about Hyde Park upon Morgiana’s back as though you were galloping the country meadows of Thorne.
” He wagged a finger at his sister and half-heartedly admonished, “Your boldness frightens half the dandies on their social rounds every time you have the reins in your hands. God help them if they actually race you.”
Wylder’s smile faltered at Simon’s assertions. It seemed he was disturbed by some aspect of the conversation, but Emily shrugged it away. “I believe that any gentleman frightened by my style of riding would be frightened of a great many other things.”
Simon and Father both laughed at her words while Mother tsked in a gentle, disapproving manner. “I at least hope you are wearing your riding gloves, my dear. Leather reins can be so harsh on a lady’s hands.”
Emily took a sip of water. “Of course I wore them, Mother.” She deliberately remained silent on Simon’s accusation of cantering through Hyde Park because it was somewhat true.
She often rode through the open fields, but rarely did anyone accept the unspoken challenge of a race.
She frowned playfully at Simon. “No one will race me because of my arrogant, older brother.”
“You should not be engaging in such dangerous behavior,” Wylder growled, taking a huge gulp of wine.
Simon’s gaze shot to his friend, his dark brow raised high in question at Wylder’s tone, but he said nothing.
Emily’s smile was politely cool. “That sounds like something a husband might say.” She flashed a charming smile at her father, knowing he would not chastise her for being so blunt.
The earl rarely found fault in anything she did; his pride in both of his children was no secret among their social set.
“And what else am I to do with a horse like Morgiana? She loves to run, and I do enjoy letting her have her head. So, until someone other than my father tells me I cannot, I shall do as I please.”
A muscle twitched in Wylder’s jaw. “A husband would not indulge nor approve of such practices like a doting father is wont to do.”
Emily grinned at that. “That is probably true. And if I had a husband, I’m positive I could convince him to see things from my point of view.”
“No doubt you would succeed, my dear,” Lord Blackthorne laughed in delight, beaming at his daughter. “I cannot imagine any man possessing the strength to deny you once you’ve set your mind to something.”
Emily’s gaze locked with Wylder as she replied, “Oh, I’m sure one exists somewhere. However, like any other woman, I would prefer a far more reasonable spouse who will not lord his mastery over me. Perhaps I should put more effort into finding such a man this season.”
Wylder’s eyes were molten silver as he stared at her. Only when Simon cleared his throat in a low rumble did the earl finally break eye contact with Emily.
“Yes, well, perhaps a change of scenery will help matters, darling,” Lady Blackthorne said in a cheerful voice meant to disrupt the tense atmosphere that had fallen over the dinner table.
“We will indeed have a house party and ball at Thorne Park in honor of Lord and Lady Ashcroft next month. Arrangements are being made, and I’ve already constructed an extensive guest list.”
“Oh, no,” Lord Blackthorne groaned dramatically. “How extensive?”
“Do not fret, my lord,” Lady Blackthorne trilled, waving her hand in the air in dismissal of her husband’s concerns. “Only a hundred guests… perhaps a few more.”
“I, for one, am looking forward to seeing Lucien again when he returns to London next week,” Simon remarked, his attention flickering between Wylder and his sister. “I hope he is eager for a small break from domesticity and will indulge his two good friends with some time at our clubs.”
Lady Blackthorne frowned at Simon. “My darling son must remember Ashcroft is now a married man and, by all accounts, besotted with his new bride. My own hope is that you find the same happiness he has.”
“Here it comes,” Simon groaned as the first course was removed from the table. “The not-so-subtle hints that I must settle down.”
“You are not alone in that, Camden.” Wylder grimaced while casting a surreptitious glance at Emily, who managed, with admirable calm, to return his stare. “My father has also increased his demands on the subject.”
Lady Blackthorne clapped her hands in delight. “Would that not be the coup of the season if the two remaining Rakehells should find their brides at my house party? Even better would be that my lovely daughter finds her perfect match as well.” Her mother beamed at Emily.
“You are right, Mother. In fact, I shall apply myself with greater care in finding a wonderful husband,” Emily replied in a lilting voice.
Attuned as she was to the earl, Emily heard the low rumble that issued from Wylder’s side of the table. Thankfully, the sound of dissent was lost in Lady Blackthorne’s gay chatter regarding the guest list and what was sure to be the highlight of the season.
“Of course, your sweet friend Miss True is included. As her sponsor, I’m confident I can convince Lady True to allow her to attend, with me acting as her chaperone. She is the dearest thing.”
Perhaps only Emily saw the disconcerted frown that flashed across Simon’s features at the mention of Penelope.
He apparently found something objectionable to the young lady attending the house party.
Still, knowing how he avoided ladies of a marriageable age, Emily could not guess his thoughts on the matter.
Ideas began bombarding Emily. This would provide the perfect opportunity to help Penelope.
If it could be arranged, she was sure it was possible to hide her somewhere in London while Lord and Lady True believed their daughter was still at the Thorne Park estate.
Emily’s heart raced as she considered the possible scenarios.
While she had no qualms about deceiving Penelope’s detestable parents, she realized any plan involved lying to her own mother to excuse Penelope’s departure from the house party.
Complicating matters was the certainty that Wylder would be at the event.
Avoiding him while scheming on her friend’s behalf would be difficult.
He was sure to sniff out any plot she might devise if she could not keep him at arm’s length.
Although Emily made it through dinner with outward calm, inside, she was a trembling mess.
Feigning indifference to the man was more difficult than she had anticipated.
She did not like the way her heart thumped with longing every time he looked her way, even as her brain insisted that she was doing the right thing.
The situation must be approached with dispassion if I wish to survive it.
Any attention he gave her would be filed away for the future when he was no longer in her life. And she could do it with dignity if she tried hard enough.
Every glance Wylder threw her way, every quirk of his firm mouth that made her insides flutter with desire, Emily reminded herself that she was done chasing after the man. If he wished to continue their illicit arrangement, it would be up to him to pursue her.