“And, Kate. I poured out my heart to you. It was a long time ago, I’ll grant you that, but for you to spring something like this on me without a single word of warning . . .
“You were my dearest friends, both of you, but you broke my heart, truly you did. The worst of it is that I know—I think even you know—that I would never have treated your hearts so carelessly.
“You are marrying for love, and for that I cannot be anything but happy—grateful even—for at least the loss of your friendship has not been for nothing.”
Kate looked at her in bewilderment. “Surely you don’t mean to tell us . . .”
“That is exactly what I mean to tell you,” her voice slicing through the air like steel. “I will remember our friendship fondly, but such a friendship is based on trust and respect. You have failed me in both. I’m afraid that it is over.”
Without another word, Emily turned her back on them forever and walked away, her dress swooshing about her ankles. Francis followed in her wake, his heart swelling with pride—she was most assuredly not the same Emily that he had known as a youth, the giddy little thing that always shied away from any conflict. Instead, she was a woman of unbelievable strength, courage, and resolve.
A woman that he now wanted entirely for himself.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I believe that I am presently overstaying my welcome,” Emily told Beatrice as she sidled up next to her sister and drew her slightly away from Ladies Carroway and Giddington. “I ought to leave.”
“Did you have a quarrel?” Beatrice asked, her eyes big and round with worry.
“No. I merely told Kate and Adrian exactly how I feel.” Emily looked out over the throng of people. “Where’s Claire?”
Doing her best to hide her concern, Beatrice nodded her head in the direction of the dance floor. “Lord Camden asked her to dance.”
“How wonderful!” Emily exclaimed. “And you? Do you not wish to dance?”
“Nobody has asked, as of yet,” Beatrice told her with a brave attempt at hiding her embarrassment—Francis was after all within earshot.
Realizing her blunder, Emily gave her sister an apologetic smile.
“I was actually hoping that you might dance the next set with me.” Francis’s eyes shone with a sincerity that made Emily want to throw her arms around him in a grateful hug.
Beatrice smiled at him thankfully. “That is indeed most kind of you,” she said. “However, I believe that I am quite happy here in conversation with your aunt and Lady Giddington. However, if we must leave, then by all means, let me bid our hosts a good night.”
“I’m sorry to see you leave on my account,” Emily told her.
“Claire will be most disappointed. I believe she has taken a liking to the young lord,” Beatrice said.
“Emily,” Francis cut in. “There’s really no need for your sisters to leave. I can escort you home and then send the carriage back to wait for them.”
Beatrice beamed with delight, so pleased that she entirely forgot how inappropriate it would be for Francis and Emily to share a carriage together without a chaperone. Unwilling to complicate things any further, Emily decided to ignore the issue. Instead, she moved over to where Lady Carroway was standing. “I fear I must take my leave of your company, my lady. I wish to thank you for your hospitality. You have always been kind to me. For that I am grateful.”
Lady Carroway eyed her thoughtfully as if trying to determine what had brought about such an early departure. “I have always valued our friendship and I always shall.” Her words spoke volumes and were indeed a comfort to Emily.
“Lady Giddington, I shall see you on Friday?”
Veronica smiled at Emily and gave her a short nod. “Indeed you shall.”
“Very well, then, enjoy the rest of the evening, ladies.
“Beatrice, I believe that I will turn in early, but I will see you in the morning.” She gave her sister a cheeky look. “I expect you to tell me everything about Claire and Lord Camden.”
Beatrice grinned, shaking her head at her sister’s lust for gossip. Then, taking Francis’s arm, Emily glided away toward the stairs. With a final backward glance, she just managed to see Jonathan ask Beatrice to dance, and she couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief.
Emily and Francis sat in silence as the carriage rocked from side to side, the whispering wind streaming in through the open window, caressing their faces and playing with their hair. Recognizing Emily’s need for fresh air, Francis had asked the driver to take a longer route home.
Emily leaned forward to look out of the window as they drove up Duke Street, turning right onto Oxford. She loved the clippity-clop of the horses’ hooves against the cobblestones in the hushed night air, coupled with the dim, yellow glow of the gaslights. Both created a dreamlike atmosphere that swept all worries from her mind.
The touch of Francis’s hand upon her knee startled her. “Emily?” she heard him say.
“What is it?” she asked, surprised by the level of annoyance in her voice. Turning away from the window, she looked over at him, her heart almost skidding to a halt as she did so.
She had been so caught up in her own thoughts, mesmerized by the lights and buildings that they had passed along the way, that she had forgotten all about Francis.
How was it possible for anyone to be so disarmingly handsome? Even now, with his typically serious expression, she could feel the blood rushing to her face. Her heart fluttered and her stomach flip-flopped while he remained seemingly unperturbed. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t like him, she reminded herself. She hadn’t liked him in years, yet here he was turning her insides to mush. What in God’s name was going on?
She leaned back toward the window again. It had suddenly gotten ridiculously hot in the carriage. She needed the breeze to cool her down. “I’m sorry.” She was relieved that her voice at least sounded normal. “I was caught up in my own thoughts. I didn’t mean to balk at you. You startled me, that’s all.”
He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes seemingly boring into her. She shifted on the bench, uncomfortable by the way in which her skin prickled at the nape of her neck.
“I was just trying to tell you how well you did back there.” His voice was low and husky.
As her eyes roamed across his face, taking in each and every detail, her face heated once again as her mouth went dry. She licked her lips and moved her eyes skittishly to the corner of the carriage.
Don’t look at him, don’t look at him.
She had become all too painfully aware of the effect that he’d begun to have on her. This was the last thing she wanted—getting emotionally involved with Francis Riley. He would never be capable of returning any feelings she might develop toward him. How could he? It required a soft heart to love, and his was as solid as a lump of lead.
Yes, he had surprised her on more than one occasion recently, but that wasn’t enough to wipe away ten years of . . . of what? She couldn’t claim that he had ever been unkind, but he lacked something that was vital to her very existence: joy.
Why was she even worrying about this? She had no intention of falling in love with the man. There was no denying that she found him attractive, but so would any other level-headed female. But love? She almost laughed at herself for even thinking it.
Throwing an imaginary bucket of ice water over her head, she straightened her back and moved her eyes to meet his squarely. “It had to be done. I’m just happy that I came away with my head held high.”
“You did indeed. It can’t have been easy.”
She let out a deep sigh. “You’re right,” she smiled. “I wasn’t sure that I would make it out of there without collapsing in a fit of tears.”
“Emily . . .”
“They were my friends, Francis!” Her voice was fierce with emotion. “Had they just treated me with a bit more care, they could have had it all: each other and my friendship. Why did they have to make a mess of it?”
“Love does the strangest things to people’s minds,” he muttered.
Letting out another sigh, she paused before continuing. “I’m sorry to burden you with all of this, but . . . Beatrice worries too much about me as it is, and Claire . . . well, Claire’s Claire. She’ll just say something inappropriate in an attempt to take my mind off of it.”
“Do you not like it when people try to help you by making you think of something else?” he asked, a smoldering heat suddenly very much present in his dark brown eyes.
Emily sucked in her breath, her heart fluttering uncontrollably as her mind went straight back to the kiss they’d shared earlier that evening. “That depends.” Why did she say that? She should have said “no.” Why hadn’t she?
“Oh?” he asked with sudden interest “On what? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“On who that person is and on their efforts,” she replied. Good Lord, was she actually sitting in a carriage, flirting with Francis? Her skin prickled as heat surged through her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She needed more air.
Francis was enjoying himself immensely. Toying with Emily and making her squirm was quite possibly the most amusing thing he’d done in years. Apparently she wasn’t as immune to him as she liked to appear. Yet she seemed oblivious to his own growing desire, his urge to pull her onto his lap and smother her in kisses. To feel her slim thighs rubbing against his legs, her br**sts pressing against his chest. . . . He wanted her in his bed, yet he willed himself to push that thought aside. He needed to wait. After all, she had nothing but reservations toward him. And rightly so. Seducing her would take time and lots and lots of patience. He wondered if he was up to the challenge, but then again, what other diversions did he have?
Willing himself not to take the bait, he smiled at her casually. “Emily, I realize we’ve had our differences, you and I, but if you ever need to talk, I really don’t mind listening. In fact, I hope that you consider me your friend, and in so doing, realize that I will do what I can in order to help.”
She swallowed hard and thanked him, turning her gaze back toward the street. They had just turned onto Piccadilly and would be arriving at Berkeley Square within the next five minutes. But even that would not be enough time for her to get her feelings under control.
Francis had somehow managed to bring something that had been deeply hidden within her to the surface. She couldn’t have found the words to describe it if she had tried, but it was something new—a primitive urge to do things she never would have had the courage to think of doing before.
Her knowledge of what went on between a man and a woman was not entirely lacking. She understood the basics, and the more Francis continued to look at her with those fiery eyes of his, the more she found herself wishing that he would be the one to show her.
She silently admonished herself for her indecent thoughts, though that was of no avail whatsoever—it only made them more prominent.
Looking up, she saw Francis’s back disappearing through the door. They were home again and he was holding out his hand to her in order to help her down.