Undone by His Kiss (18 page)

She wondered if his heart felt anything like her own, pounding in her chest, commanding notice, demanding to be heard lest it break apart or burst from the fragility of the moment. In its entirety, the experience was frangible and dangerous, and the sudden conclusion forced her hand away, the risk all at once overbearing.

She almost dropped the tube. “I don’t think I’m doing it correctly.”

He made a strange sound, like a growl and moan combined.

“This might work better.” She stared into his green eyes, sparks of gold and genius reflected, and laid her palm flat against his chest, right above his heart, the skin warm and smooth, flat and still, poised and ready for her to sense his heartbeat.

He exhaled long and fully. Her hand quivered as it fell with his breath.

“What will I hear if I listen to your heart, Miss Shaw?”

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “I couldn’t say for sure.” She hemmed her bottom lip in a moment of indecision, acutely aware of each fractured emotion.

They stood in utter silence, the sizzle and crack of the flames licking fresh tinder the only discordant sound.

At least, at first.

Then a fierce pounding at the front door, much stronger and disruptive than any palpitation beneath her palm, caused her to retract as if she’d been burned.

“Hell.” He said only the one word and rushed from the room, his boots marking each stair, the sound echoed by the furious knocking.

Emily moved to the window, her fingers clenched tight as if to contain the sensation of his steady heartbeat. Outside a well-sprung carriage waited in the streetlamp’s circle of light, the team as restless as the young driver and tiger who conversed at the boot.

Curious as to this late night visitor, she moved to the door, hoping to catch a word of conversation or at the least, resonance of voice. Was it a female who’d come to call? A late-night visit from an anxious paramour? She’d heard of such goings-on from Cynthia, although true ladies pretended nothing of the kind existed.

The thought reminded of her dedication to the league. Good heavens, how many rules had she broken this evening? She shook her head, vowing to excogitate the matter in the near future.

A stern note of apprehension in Jasper’s voice drew her attention. Then another male voice followed, low and unclear. Unable to harness her curiosity, she crept down two steps, then a few more. Beyond wisdom and convention, she descended the rest of the flight into the front drawing room.

Kellaway stood in the hall, his lower lip cracked and bloodied, his clothing a rumpled mess.

“Well, who do we have here?” He swayed the slightest, his sardonic inquiry rhetoric at best.

Jasper jerked round, his expression grim.

“The lovely Miss Shaw.” Kell stepped forward, his roguish smile enhanced more than blemished by the bruise.

Jasper was quick to intercede. “Kellaway’s driver will take you home. It will only take a moment to make the arrangements.”

His eyes sought hers, seeking permission, and she nodded.

“Sit,” he commanded Kell and pointed to a large wingchair across the room. “And wait.”

Emily noticed his air of control, her eyes trailing Jasper as he left. She didn’t dare engage the viscount, instead stealing glances when she thought he wouldn’t notice, until her concern won out. “Are you all right?”

“Do not fret, Miss Shaw. Your indiscretion is safe with me. Mind you I possess so many secrets society would perish were I to reveal them all.” His words were rich with sarcasm, though his eyes shone with wry humor.

“Nothing happened.”
Everything had happened.

“I’m a master of the very best nothings.” His throaty declaration resonated in the room. “No need to explain.”

Jasper returned and after a discreet discussion, escorted her down the sidewalk where the carriage waited.

“He’s in a bad way.” The grave tone revealed more than his words explained. “And I couldn’t allow him to wake the neighborhood.”

“No need to explain.” Borrowing a line from Kellaway, she climbed the stairs and settled on the bench.

“I’m sorry, Miss Shaw.” His voice had gentled considerably.

“For what circumstance, I can’t imagine.” She offered him a little smile. “I enjoyed this evening.”

He dared a soft laugh, as if he couldn’t believe what she’d said. “Then you best get home.” And with that he shut the carriage door and the driver pulled away.

Chapter 19

The first rays of morning warmed the windows, dancing through the lace drapery to bring with them a rush of reality. Refusing to pay heed, Emily sank deeper into the mattress, and pulled the counterpane to her chin. She closed her eyes and laid her palm against her heart, recalling the evening before. A little sigh escaped. She’d never been so close to a man, the experience beyond description. If only she could share her feelings, but she knew all too well some things were best kept secret.

With reluctance, she slid from the sheets, donned her wrapper and slippers to protect from the chill, and tugged the bell pull to summon Mary. She had every intention to visit the Foundling Hospital and an early start presented the exact invigoration needed. One could always cleanse wayward sins with sincere charity work. The remembered lesson from her childhood proved beneficial now.

She dallied near the vanity mirror, wondering what Jasper could ever see in her appearance, then startled when Mary entered with a cheerful greeting and breakfast tray. She’d invite Portia and Thomasina to accompany her on this morning errand. Her friends had frequented the hospital on other occasions and the children enjoyed visitors, especially guests who arrived with baskets full of toys and treats. Remembering the young boy who’d been delivered to the hospital the last time she’d visited, Emily rummaged through her jewel box while Mary left and Agnes entered.

“Would you like to wear your persimmon walking gown this morning, Miss? Perhaps with your brown kidskin boots?”

Preoccupied with her search for the charm bracelet as she’d been anxious to climb into bed and silence her confusion last night, she hardly heard the question. An unwelcome flush stole up her neck. What if she was like her mother, blinded by emotion and weakened by love rather than the independent thinker she prided herself to be? Wasn’t that the reason she’d established the league? To assist females in having the same opportunities as men? A vision for the future that included choices beyond marriage and breeding? She couldn’t forget her purpose. She wouldn’t forget.
She should remember her goal as conspicuously as she recalled every nuance of her hand upon Jasper’s hard chest.

“Miss?”

She nodded in agreement, more to quiet Agnes than in preference to her wardrobe, and settled on the stool to finish her morning toilette, the charm bracelet linked around her wrist. Still her thoughts and fears wouldn’t calm and as her maid arranged her hair, doubt and suspicion poked holes in her resolve.

The evening spent with Jasper had intrigued her, inspired and affected her with newborn emotion, so impactful and profound something in her shifted, the new sentiment fearless and determined to wind its way into her innermost depths leaving her soul forever altered. What they’d shared equated more than conversation and a kiss. A mind-spinning, devastatingly wonderful kiss. When she’d seen his apartments and the unique, intelligent manner in which he approached life as if it was a puzzle to solve or discovery to document, affection unfurled with intense yearning. And that was far before she ever laid her hand upon his heart.

“You’re quiet this morning, Miss. Is everything to your liking?” Agnes paused with comb in hand. “I can arrange your hair in another style if you prefer something different.”

“I’m fine. Don’t mind me, Agnes.” She managed a smile despite her mind continued to whirl with unanswered questions. “Thank you. You’re always cheery, no matter there are many days when this household is quiet and sullen.”

“It is my pleasure to serve you no matter the mood.” The maid returned her attention to the comb and pins, her words uplifting and pleasant as always. “Life reminds me of London weather. It’s rarely all sunny days but we do our best to work through it in hope tomorrow brings an improvement.”

“I shall remember your words, Agnes.” Indeed, her young maid made a fine point.

Morning ablutions completed and prepared for the day, Emily penned notes to Portia and Thomasina, and hurried downstairs to hand them to Mary. She encountered her mother in the breakfast room.

“Emily, how was your evening? I noticed the very fine crested carriage that returned you late last night.”

For a fleeting instant she’d forgotten her mother’s penchant to watch by the upstairs window. Hadn’t she been sleeping? Emily shook her head with the explanation now due. “Yes. I had a lovely time. How are you feeling today, Mother? You look lovely.”

And she did. There was something different this morning, a renewal of some sort in her mother’s countenance; or perhaps it was a lucidity that had gone missing the past few weeks combined with a spark of life that had evaporated long ago.

“It pleases me to see you embracing the season. Your father preferred staying in, but the social calendar is meant to be enjoyed. It suits you.”

This conversation, focused, meaningful, seemed a foreign language, having spent so many mornings consoling her mother, quiet or fearful another lachrymose episode hovered on the periphery. Hope ignited and Emily shared her plans to visit the hospital, the conversation progressing pleasantly through breakfast just as she recalled earlier days, when she was younger.

A short time later, she instructed the driver to Portia’s home, her spirits high with optimism and a fresh outlook. Mentally tallying her tasks for the morning, to reaffirm the League of Virtuous Equality’s purpose and rid her mind of last night’s weakness, she remained deep in thought when Portia entered.

“I’m glad you have invited me this morning. Mother was in high dungeon after I refused two callers yesterday. All of a sudden, she’s adopted an invigorated plan to see me wed and she has it in mind that if I’m seen about town with various suitors, Lord Bandlewit will be seized with jealousy and propose marriage. Every conversation has become near impossible. If I didn’t have Fortescue to soothe my temper, I’d have packed my bags and set sail for Egypt days ago.”

Emily did her best to stifle a smile. “I’m sure your patience has worn thin. Our excursion this morning is the perfect balm, and by the size of that basket and the promised contents, you will be received with great affection.”

They chatted amiably until Thomasina climbed inside, an equally laden basket consuming any remaining space on the bench. She sat beside Portia on the opposite side so both friends faced the frontward position. Portia couldn’t bear riding backwards and Emily harbored concern for her friend’s future travel experiences if motion sickness posed a serious consideration.

“Something is different? What is it?” Thomasina leaned closer with the questions, skewering Emily with direct curiosity, her head slanted to the side as she likely considered and discarded theories, while Portia narrowed her eyes to a squint as if to perceive what might not be obvious in bright daylight. The questions interrupted the conviviality of their progress.

Emily glanced from one to the other, and Thomasina persisted.

“Something has happened to you. I can tell. Won’t you spare us the agony of guessing?”

Emily saw little purpose in deflecting the questions. Thomasina was the problem solver and intuitive thinker in their group. She would eventually draw her conclusion and form a sound hypothesis.

“It’s Mr. St. David, actually.” She left it at that, hoping her friends wouldn’t probe the issue, but full knowing horses would grow wings and their carriage take flight before it might happen.

“Mr. St. David is extraordinarily handsome and well connected. You shan’t find a more prime candidate for husband unless your mother is persistent you snare a baron or better.” Portia nodded her head vigorously as her comments lamented her present situation.

“I’m certainly not husband shopping.” Emily adopted an affronted tone and laced her fingers in her lap, although hard-pressed to admit truths, much to her shock and dismay, the contrary suggestion had wheedled its way into her brain.

“Oh yes, of course.” Thomasina appeared as though she could hardly hold her laughter. A bemused look of tolerance graced her face. “He’s a fine catch if ever I saw one.”

“Isn’t this everything we fight against? The notion that women are only useful as wives or mothers?” Her friend’s assumption that she’d grow compliant and doe-eyed once a dashing gentleman paid her attention rallied her determination to prove them wrong. “I established the league to offer choices, not reinforce society’s convoluted and limited perception of female aptitude. How would it appear if I, the creator and leader of the League of Virtuous Equality, suddenly decided to close up office and play house with an exceedingly handsome gentleman? What would the other members think?” She paused, but only long enough to puff an indignant exhale. “Worse, I’d lose all credibility as a pioneer of female respect. Circumstances alone prevent me from entertaining any thoughts of pursuing a courtship, never mind a romantic relationship with Mr. St. David. Just because the gentleman excels at—” She paused to reorder her tirade, the word
kissing
near tumbling from her tongue. “Clever conversation doesn’t mean my heart will melt from one of his compliments and I’ll abandon every stricture I pride myself upon.”

“I don’t see how the two are connected.” Portia pulled at a loose thread on the edge of her shawl, at ease and not at all rallied to righteous support in kind to Emily across the bench.

Thomasina mirrored Portia’s lackadaisical dismissal of the rant and joined the debate. “Pursuing dreams and having goals doesn’t eradicate or exclude marriage. It sets a higher standard, that’s all. Ensuring women realize they have a choice beyond convention and need not settle. I’ve observed the way Mr. St. David looks at you when you’re otherwise unaware.”

Emily swallowed her immediate denial and wondered exactly what her friends had perceived.
If they only knew
. “I can’t fathom what you’re talking about.” Hopefully the rush of heat that consumed her cheeks wouldn’t be evident in the carriage interior.