15. Jealousy #2
Not far away, Helen held court with her own impressive circle of admirers.
Young ladies clustered around her like eager butterflies, hanging on her every witty observation while several gentlemen hovered nearby, trying to catch her attention.
She was in her element, effortlessly commanding the room with her sharp humour and dramatic flair.
“So,” Michael said casually as they turned, “what exactly happened when you followed him out during the concert?”
Emma nearly missed a step. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Come now, Emma. I saw you leave shortly after him. And when you returned…” His eyes twinkled. “Well, let’s just say your hair wasn’t quite as tidy as when you’d left.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “I simply needed air.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
“Michael!”
“You’re blushing.” He grinned wickedly. “The unflappable Emma Brown, blushing like a—”
“If you finish that sentence, I shall tell all the debutantes you have syphilis.”
“Noted.” But his knowing smile remained. “Though I must say, watching you pine after someone is rather refreshing. Makes you seem almost human.”
“I do not pine.”
“No?” He spun her so she faced Everett’s group again. “Then why do you keep looking at him as if he’s simultaneously the answer to all your prayers and the bane of your existence?”
Emma moved through the steps in silence, Michael’s observation striking too close to her heart’s turmoil.
The familiar patterns of the waltz became a meditation on her feelings for Everett, each turn bringing her closer to love, each retreat pulling her back to betrayal, until the music itself seemed to echo her internal struggle.
The dance drew to a close just as Alexi glided toward them, Arthur at her side.
With them stood an elegant older gentleman whose aristocratic features could have been carved from the same marble as Everett’s, the same commanding presence, the same dark eyes, though his held none of his son’s warmth.
Here, Emma thought, was the architect of her current predicament, wrapped in the polished manners of the ton.
She quickly grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing tray and took a few gulps before the party arrived.
“Emma, dear,” Alexi said sweetly, “may I present Dr Moreland? He’s been most eager to meet you.”
“Miss Brown.” Dr Moreland smiled tightly. “Your reputation precedes you. Such unconventional methods for a nurse.”
“I find conventional methods often fail those most in need,” Emma replied evenly.
“Indeed. Though one must be careful. Straying too far from accepted practices can lead to unfortunate consequences.”
“How fortunate then,” Arthur interrupted smoothly, “that my sister-in-law practices under my protection. I take great interest in her work.” His pleasant tone carried steel beneath. “As does Her Majesty’s Physician whose son she has saved with her unconventional methods.”
Dr Moreland’s expression shifted. “Of course. I must thank you, Miss Brown, for saving my son’s life. Your dedication to nursing is admirable.”
“Speaking of your son,” Alexi said as Everett approached. “Arthur, you haven’t been properly introduced.”
Emma watched Arthur assess Everett with cool politeness. Her brother-in-law’s usual warmth was notably absent as he exchanged pleasantries.
When the group’s attention was drawn to some commotion near the punch bowl, Everett moved closer to Emma. “You dance beautifully,” he murmured. “Kincaid seems to have acquired new skills along with his title.”
“Not only that, he manages to maintain engaging conversation without being distracted by every pretty face in the room,” Emma said tartly.
To her irritation, his eyes sparkled. “Jealous, Miss Brown?”
“Of your admiring flock? Hardly.”
“No? Then why do I feel daggers every time I smile at another woman?”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” He leaned ever so slightly closer while keeping his eyes on the crowd. “Admit it, Emma. You feel this too, this maddening pull between us, even as you are looking for another suitor.”
“I—” She swallowed hard, fighting the effect his proximity had on her senses. “Arthur, Lord Salisbury, disapproves of our involvement. I ought to follow his advice.” She swallowed nervously.
“Since when did you heed the advice of other people?” He sounded bitter.
“Since Arthur holds the key to my happiness, wealth, influence, and family,” I should listen and marry Kincaid.”
“Kincaid?” He whirled around then lowered his volume. “Let me help you decide.” His low timbre made her knees weak. “Lesson six: temperature. How heat and cold can heighten every sensation…”
The memory of their last lesson made her cheeks flame, but she couldn’t possibly give more of herself to a man she couldn’t trust. “No. I believe Lady Amy’s brother, Lord Lex, is waiting to claim his dance.
” Handing her champagne flute to Everett, she fled to the safety of the dance floor, where a young man waited with an outstretched hand.
She felt Everett’s gaze burning into her back as Lord Lex led her away and tried to convince herself she could walk away from him any time.
Everett paced his chamber like a caged beast, his evening clothes discarded, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Emma, resplendent in pink silk, her golden hair catching candlelight, those remarkable eyes flashing with barely concealed hurt.
The memory of her scent lingered from their encounter in the study. It made his blood sing.
His fingers itched to trace the path they’d mapped during their lessons, to discover if her skin still burned for him despite her anger, despite Kincaid, Lex, and whoever else she had danced with.
The quiet of his room pressed in around him, making the space between them seem both infinite and paper-thin.
One corridor separated them. A few dozen steps would bring him to her door.
But he remained rooted in place, his father’s ultimatum echoing in his mind.
Marriage or ruin. Protection or destruction.
The choice seemed simple on its surface.
He loved her, after all. Wanted her with an intensity that frightened him.
Yet the thought of manipulating her into marriage, of using her feelings to call her his wife…
Could Lord Salisbury truly protect her if his father decided to strike?
The Royal College held enormous power. One whisper of improper conduct—of stolen medical records, of unauthorised surgeries—would end Emma’s career.
His father had nothing left to lose. He would sacrifice her without hesitation to save his company.
Marriage would give his father pause before attacking his daughter-in-law. The Royal Physician’s position was too precious to gamble with family scandal.
Images from the ball tormented him. Lex’s hand drifting too low on Emma’s back as they waltzed.
The way she’d laughed at some wit of Kincaid’s, her head tilted back to expose the elegant line of her throat.
The cluster of eager young lords vying for her attention, each hoping to be the one to tame the infamous Miss Brown.
“Damn it all,” he muttered, consumed by possessive rage at the memory of other men’s hands on her. This jealousy was beneath him. Emma wasn’t his to claim, to protect, to possess. She was brilliant and independent and perfectly capable of making her own choices.
But God help him; the thought of her choosing someone else, of another man discovering the passion beneath her clinical exterior… His crystal tumbler crashed against the fireplace, the sound barely loud enough to drown out his father’s words echoing in his mind.
Sometimes love means making difficult decisions for those we care about.
The real question was: did he love Emma enough to let her make her own choice, even if it meant losing her?
Temperature
The winter morning sparkled with promise, sunlight fracturing off snow into thousands of diamond points.
Emma adjusted her fur muff as their party gathered on the front steps of Lullingstone, watching her breath form delicate clouds in the crisp air.
Helen, resplendent in her emerald-green walking dress, declared she would keep Lady Salisbury company by the fire, claiming that “tramping through the frozen white powder is an activity best left to those with more enthusiasm than wisdom.” She fixed Emma with a pointed look.
“Do try not to catch your death out there, darling. It would be a shame to ruin this lovely party.”
Laughing, Emma linked arms with Lady Amy and spoke in a low voice. “I daresay some of us are more interested in nature than others.” She nodded toward Lady Winona, who was busy adjusting her bonnet and sneaking glances at Everett rather than admiring the frost-laden landscape.
“I find nature fascinating,” Lady Winona declared as if she had overheard. “Particularly the study of… of…”
“Trees?” Lord Lex supplied with an innocent smile.
“Precisely!” Lady Winona brightened. “Dr Moreland was just discussing the extraordinary specimens he encountered in Edinburgh.”
“Isn’t it magnificent?” Lady Amy sighed, gesturing to the ice-laden branches. “Like something from a fairy story.”
Emma barely heard her, too focused on straining to catch Lady Winona’s breathless questions to Everett about his travels abroad.
Michael nudged her ribs. “You haven’t heard a word we’ve said, have you?”
“Of course I have.” But her attention drifted again as feminine laughter rang out from Everett’s admirers.
Michael glanced at Lady Amy, now deep in conversation with Lord Lex, then lowered his voice. “Really? Then you agree to assist me in amputating Lady Amy’s left foot?”
“Naturally—what?” Emma’s head snapped around.
“Just ensuring you were paying attention,” Michael grinned.
“Why aren’t you pursuing one of the debutantes who keep eyeing you like a sweet they want to devour?”
“You know I only—”