Chapter Twelve #4
He drank in the sight of her, did not even bother to look around.
She was buttoned up at every point of entry.
Her neck, her sleeves, her bodice. Small pearl buttons that would take forever to undo but only a moment to tear from their moorings.
Her prim appearance made him only want her more. “Who’s Hermia?” he asked absently.
“Lady Dalrymple. The artist.”
“Hide me from her, would you?” he said with a groan.
She laughed again, tilted her face to his with an unconscious beguilement that warmed his entire being. He lowered his head, starved for a taste of her mouth. If he’d thought for a moment that she would let him kiss her in public, he would have showered her with kisses, devoured her—
A hard fist punched him playfully on the shoulder. “By God, Wolf, it was you in the box opposite us. And here I thought you’d given up on good society.”
He turned his head. Drake Boscastle’s indigo blue eyes stared directly into his. “Haven’t you heard?” he asked in an even voice. “I’m on a course of self-improvement.”
“Really?” Drake’s smile was skeptical. “You should have come with us. My brothers and I are always glad to keep a fellow rogue company.”
And to keep him away from their sister.
It was a theme to be repeated throughout the following week.
Emma had excused herself from the box for a breath of air.
The truth was that if she witnessed one more woman giggle or preen to capture Adrian’s attention, she would abandon all sense of refinement and…
mutter an unsavory remark. To prevent this demeaning possibility, she escaped her brothers’ company and sought a moment by herself.
She had, of course, glimpsed Adrian from behind her fan the instant he entered the vestibule.
Her first suspicion was that he was meeting a lover.
His appearance here tonight had certainly stirred amorous hopes in the audience.
But then she had seen the unguarded look of pleasure on his face when he had espied her in the corner.
She’d watched in disbelief as he had practically lifted Lady Dalrymple from his path to reach her, Emma. There were no other young ladies in sight.
Still, she ought not to even acknowledge him in the vestibule. But then he was standing in front of her, warm, vital, so devilishly handsome she couldn’t quite think of escape. All she could do, unfortunately, was bask for a few forbidden moments in his presence.
And when he lowered his head to hers, she’d felt her heart accelerate wildly, felt herself suspended between apprehension and hope. He wouldn’t dare kiss her in public. He couldn’t—
Her brother Drake ended her agony.
Although Emma could barely see Drake’s face, concealed by Adrian’s large frame, she realized in embarrassment that his interruption had been staged.
Hamm, the footman, was standing only a few feet away.
Therefore, her person was protected, which could only mean that Drake was deliberately keeping her and Adrian apart.
She fanned her face, listening to the brief exchange between the two men. “Seriously, Adrian,” Drake said, “I’d have invited you to come with us tonight if I’d known you were attending. How was the auction today?”
Lady Dalrymple chose that inopportune moment to bustle up between Drake and Adrian, inviting Adrian to join her and her escort, the Earl of Odham, for a late dinner after the performance.
Emma glanced away, aware by the speculative gleam in his eye that Drake knew perfectly well how flustered she felt.
But what else did he and her other brothers know?
Were they merely guessing or overly perceptive?
When she dared to look around again, Lady Dalrymple was dragging Adrian by the elbow across the vestibule, and a small group of young ladies, evidently tracking his whereabouts, had contrived a dozen excuses to appear in his path. He did not spare a single one of them a glance.
“How uncouth,” she muttered.
“Who, darling?” Drake asked languidly, leaning back against the wall beside her. “Me or Adrian?”
“Those forward women over there.”
“Ah. So that’s it.”
She snapped the sticks of her fan shut. “So that is what?”
“Nothing.” His innocent shrug bespoke more than she truly wished to know. “Shall we return to our box?”
“Of course.”
“And you are all right?” he asked, offering her his arm.
“Why would you think otherwise?”
“Well, you did express a desire for a little air.”
“I’m fine now.”
He patted her hand. “That’s all I wanted to hear. And remember that I am always here if you wish to talk.”
“Talk about what?” she asked tightly, her gaze fixed straight ahead.
“Well, I don’t know.”
“The weather?”
He glanced at her. “If you like. Rain, sun…love affairs.”
She grinned inwardly. “I shall bear that in mind.”
She should be grateful for Drake’s timely intervention. Thankful that the protective arms of the Boscastle family would not only shield her from harm but from temptation. Thankful that her brothers cared enough about her to guard her like a citadel.
Yes, indeed. The Boscastles took care of their own.