Chapter Four
From the moment she stepped through the front doors of Beckley House, something hadn’t seemed quite right with the air.
At first, Emilia attributed it to the amount of perfume that clouded the room.
Every breath seemed thicker than the last, sticking in her chest and making it increasingly harder to mask her labored breaths.
Everything was much brighter and louder than it should have been. Despite the doors to the outdoor terrace that stood open at the back of the drawing room, Emilia could feel the flush rising in her neck as she was pushed further into the crowd.
“Stop blushing, Emilia!” Her aunt scolded under her breath. She pulled her embroidered silk fan from her reticule, pretending to fan her own face while discreetly sending the cool air in Emilia’s direction. “Your coloring is unfortunate enough. You do not need to draw even more attention to it”
Emilia felt the air stick in her throat completely as her cheeks heated even more. Her pale skin was pinker than that of her aunt and cousin, and it was only accented by the color of Louisa’s dress that she had been forced into. Her red hair also did nothing to aid her in this regard.
“I think I will find the refreshment table,” Emilia whispered. “Perhaps some lemonade will help me to cool.”
Her aunt nodded dismissively and waved her off.
Emilia filled her glass with the cool drink, sipping slowly, trying to focus on slowing her breathing to a particular rhythm.
That always seemed to help whenever she found it difficult to take in air, though it was nearly impossible to take a full breath with how tightly the stays of her corset had been pulled.
The room hadn’t started spinning like it sometimes did, so she was still confident in her ability to regain control of the feelings churning inside of her.
She pretended to browse the vast spread of refreshments provided, though she had no intention of eating.
If the room did in fact start to spin later in the night, it was best if she kept an empty stomach.
But if she kept her eyes on the food and off the people floating around the room, she would not risk accidentally giving someone the impression that she wanted to converse—or dance.
Her eyes roamed aimlessly, landing on a sugary pink confection with red berries decorating the top.
“You should try one,” a soft, delicate voice sang in her ear.
Emilia looked up to see the most dazzling smile. The young girl could not have been more than eighteen, if that. Her black curls were immaculately styled, and her blue eyes shimmered with excitement. She was a breathtaking beauty.
Emilia was sure they had never met before; it would be hard to forget her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that her eyes were incredibly familiar.
The young man who stood beside her seemed completely besotted by her. The way her eyes flickered back to him every so often made Emilia feel a pang of sadness for her. She knew all too well how quickly the thrill of a first season could fade.
“They look like they were made for you.” The young girl’s smile brightened even more.
“I beg your pardon?” Emilia asked.
“The cakes.” She pointed towards the tray holding the pink treats. “They match you perfectly.”
Emilia held in a laugh. Had it been anyone else in the room, she might have thought them to be making fun of her—comparing her overly pink complexion and peach dress to the frosting and berries decorating the small bite-sized cakes.
If she were being entirely honest, Emilia was sure she did look like a ridiculous confection. But from a smile so full of light as this young girl wore, it felt nothing short of completely genuine.
Emilia smiled back at her, noticing for the first time the gown she was wearing.
The cut was different—the neckline drooping in an elegant off-the-shoulder scoop—and the lace was far daintier and higher quality than what Emilia wore—but beyond that, their dresses were nearly identical in style and color.
This must be Lady Charlotte.
“Considering how much more flattering this color is on you, I dare say you should take the honor of being compared to such a delicacy.” Emilia placed a few of the cakes on her empty plate and stretched them out as an offering.
Lady Charlotte took one, placing it on her own plate that was already piled high with sweet treats. She picked a berry from the top, popping it in her mouth with a smile.
Before either of them could say another word, Emilia caught a glimpse of her uncle across the drawing room with Lord Whitecombe. His eyes scanned the crowd, and Emilia felt the sudden urge to flee before they landed on her.
She could feel her chest constricting again, her lungs working harder than they had been just a moment before, but somehow still void of air.
She could have simply stayed where she was and waited until he found her. She could have held her head high and faced her inevitable fate, but for the second time in her life, Emilia Talbot gave in to the urge to flee.
Her head was still muddled, and it took a moment for her mind to fully catch up to what her body intended to do.
By the time her breath returned to normal and she was thinking clearly again, she was standing outside on the terrace.
The biting wind cut at her exposed arms, making her fully aware of how hasty her actions had been.
She stole a glance back inside, where the glow of the lanterns that had seemed so overwhelming before now looked unexpectedly inviting and warm. She could see Lady Charlotte still at the refreshment table, reengaged in conversation with the young man who had been with her.
Emilia couldn’t remember if she had even excused herself before making her escape. She had seemed like a lovely girl, no older than Louisa, and Emilia’s stomach clenched at how terribly rude she must have been.
The thought nagged at her to the point she nearly turned back to apologize, but before she could even take a step back towards the drawing room, she saw him.
Over the past two and a half years, Emilia had convinced herself that her memories of him were nothing more than embellishments of her imagination.
No man could be so perfectly tall, strong, and flawlessly handsome—especially not men who risked their lives to pull foolishly reckless women from the River Thames in the dark hours of the morning.
Yet, the moment her eyes landed on him, even from a distance, she could confirm that her memories had not exaggerated him—somehow they had entirely fallen short.
He towered above every other man in the room. The candlelight reflected off his dark hair like a sea of ink, and even from a distance, she could see his eyes shining under the light of the chandeliers.
There were many reasons why Emilia had chosen to remain absent from society over the past two years; one very important reason was the need to avoid this man. She had been trying to forget that night since it had happened, and she couldn’t risk anyone finding out the truth of what had occurred.
She realized almost too late that the path he was on was leading straight for the terrace.
Once again, Emilia felt her body carrying her away before her mind had determined where she was going.
She stepped off the path leading through the gardens, hiking up her skirts to aid her as she ran straight towards the small hedge maze in the center.
She would hide behind the greenery and simply wait until he left.
She only hoped she wouldn’t happen upon anyone else.
It was completely silent in the maze, no sound to be heard but the gentle patter of the light rain on the path and the wind whispering through the garden.
Emilia wrapped her arms around herself, trying not to shiver.
It was not often that she made decisions without thoroughly considering the consequences, but on the rare occasions she did, it had a tendency to end in disaster.
It would be a miracle if she didn’t contract a cold even worse than the one Louisa had.
Emilia started to relax; it was still completely silent. Perhaps he hadn’t seen her, and if he had, he certainly wouldn’t have followed her into the dark, secluded maze. She stood from where she had been hiding, and froze at the sound of a whispered voice coming from just around the corner.
“Charlotte!”
Her heart stopped. Partially because she recognized the voice as the mysterious man, but also because of the name he had called. He must have seen her dress and had confused her with the duke’s sister.
Her blood boiled thinking about what kind of man would have sought out a girl so young and innocent in a situation such as this one.
Now was not the time to confront him on his lack of morals, however.
She might not be the duke’s sister, but if his attentions were as dishonorable as she assumed, she couldn’t let him find her here alone.
The lights from the ballroom barely illuminated the pathways inside the hedges, and Emilia couldn’t remember which one she had taken to reach her hiding space; and more importantly, which path would lead her away from him.
She tried to make out the sound of his footsteps and take herself in the opposite direction, but the curves of the maze were disorienting. Each turn seemed to take her in the opposite direction of which she intended to go.
The lights from the terrace lanterns glowed brighter, and the music and laughter grew louder.
Emilia’s heart raced as she realized she was nearing the exit.
The opening to the maze stood in front of her, and she sighed in relief as she hiked up her skirts, breaking into a run as she made her escape.
There was one thing that Emilia continually discovered about hope—the closer one came to achieving what they longed for, the sharper the sting when unforeseen barriers rose up to remind them that happiness is not meant for everyone.
No matter how many times life tried to remind Emilia that she was among those unlucky few, her heart continued to run towards hope each time it seemed within her reach. And each time, the inevitable impact with disappointment bruised her heart a little deeper.
On this particular occasion, however, the impact was less poetic and more literal—against an absurdly strong chest that left her body protesting more than her heart.
Emilia slowly lifted her head and found herself completely frozen under the man’s gaze.
Even if her body had wanted to run, she couldn’t have.
She couldn’t even breathe. She felt as though her limbs belonged to someone else, and it didn’t help that her arms were currently being held captive by a pair of hands that were far warmer than they should have been given how cold it was outside.
Maybe he wouldn’t recognize her.
“It is you,” he breathed, puffs of his breath floating into the night air.
She shivered, despite the warming effect his voice had on her. In the moonlight, his pale eyes shone silver as they trailed down from her face to her arms that he still held in his grasp.
“You are cold,” he stated, taking a step back. He lowered his hands, his fingers quickly working the buttons on the perfectly pressed jacket of his suit.
“What are you doing?” Emilia whispered in shock, averting her eyes as he slid the coat from his arms. His white shirtsleeves pulled at his shoulders, and even his waistcoat couldn’t hide the breadth of his chest.
He hadn’t been wearing a waistcoat the day they had met on the Thames—and the shirt he had been wearing was soaked through, exposing her to much more of his frame than what she could see now—but that didn’t stop the blush from rising in her cheeks.
He didn’t respond to her question, but instead silently lifted his arms to drape the coat over her shoulders. She took an abrupt step back out of reach, causing his hands to brush her arms again, sending a flutter to her stomach.
“I can not wear that,” she forced the words out through her tight chest. The man looked at her with the same bewildered look he had on the river bank. No doubt he thought she was completely mad, considering the circumstances in which they kept continuing to meet.
“You are cold,” he said again, slowly. “I am only trying to help.” He spoke matter-of-factly, but there was an air of authority in his voice that he could not hide.
Most men of power had a cold edge to their voice, demanding attention and submission. But something about this man was warm and comforting, as if his confidence alone was what made people heed his words.
But as sincere as he seemed, Emilia knew from experience that not every well-seeming man was to be trusted.
“I am cold,” Emilia said, doing her best to force her voice into a false confidence to match his own. There was an art to making people believe that you were stronger than you felt while still keeping yourself small enough as to not threaten their own sense of superiority.
“But if you would be so kind as to allow me to return to the party, that would be quickly remedied.”
“Allow you?” The man took a slight step back, his brow raising as he turned to glance at the warm lights glowing behind him. “You speak as though I am the one responsible for you running outside, in the middle of winter, without a coat.”
Emilia narrowed her gaze at him. “In a way you are.”
“Really?” He crossed his arms across his chest, his coat still dangling from his hand. “I suppose I am also to blame for you throwing yourself into the river at dawn when you had no notion of how to get back to shore.” His tone was amused, but Emilia was anything but. He was making fun of her.
“Actually…” She began.
“Shhh…” He raised a hand, cutting her off.
“I beg your pardon?” Emilia looked up at him in shock. She should have assumed he wasn’t a gentleman—a real gentleman would have escorted her back to the ballroom by now—but she hadn’t thought him to be completely devoid of manners.
The light was becoming increasingly dim, but she could still see the color drain from his face.
“We are not alone.”