The Importance of Being Wanton - Christi Caldwell Page 0,34
is right. You don’t want this.”
Nay, Emma didn’t want it, but this was just one more piece in her life beyond her control because of her former betrothal. “If I do nothing, he wins,” she said tightly.
“Some might argue that if you do something . . . and with him, you lose more,” Valerie murmured.
Chewing at her nail, Emma stared into the empty hearth, contemplating her friends’ words. They were not wrong . . . Charles merely sought to goad her. This all, ultimately, came down to her rejection of him. And yet . . . Emma faced her friends. “If it weren’t Lord Scarsdale, and if the members hadn’t reacted as they did today, would we have simply let this affront go?”
Their collective silence served as answer enough, and yet Sylvia confirmed it anyway. “But the fact remains it is Lord Scarsdale, and as long as we play whatever game this is to him, the ladies will continue to respond as they did.” She shook her head. “And that is not what this place is about, Emma. This is a place to be free of the constraints that men and society bring to our lives.”
Only it was just pretend. They might walk through the doors and share their views and live in that time, free of those constraints the viscountess spoke of. But it was just pretend. None of them could truly be free of the chains about them . . .
“I’m putting you in charge of our next agenda.”
Emma whipped her gaze back to the viscountess. “But . . .” She was rubbish at speaking publicly in the group. Nor had she ever been charged with developing the agenda. “That isn’t my role.”
“Not before.” Sylvia smiled. “It is now.”
Blast and damn. It was an attempt to distract her and nothing more.
“It will be good for you, and the other members. You’ve never had the opportunity to lead a session.”
And she hadn’t wanted to. Having that focus trained on her left her nauseous in a different way than Charles’s betrayal.
“But—”
“It is settled, Emma.” The viscountess spoke with an air of finality. “We have competition now, and have to be even more creative in our content. Focus your attentions there.”
And not on Charles.
That meaning was clear.
“Very well,” she said stiffly. “Thank you.”
The moment she took her leave, she let loose a stream of curses in her head.
Her friends might think to divert Emma with a new responsibility in the society, but they also underestimated her if they believed she was capable of just that. Nay, first, she was going to pay a visit to Cressida Alby and her brother, and when she was done with that, there was a certain earl in need of her attention.
Chapter 6
THE LONDONER
BRILLIANCE ABOUNDS
A valuable addition to Polite Society has recently sprung: a club that provides a valuable means of bringing persons together to speak. Unlike the Mismatch Society, which takes itself too seriously and tries entirely too hard, it is no wonder so many are clamoring for a place within this new, exciting establishment, hosted by none other than the Earl of Scarsdale.
M. FAIRPOINT
White’s was more crowded than usual, even for the afternoon hour. That fact was not just some matter of chance.
Reclining in his chair, Charles stared at the Baron Waldegrave. The young rogue, with his Brutus curls and deliberately unkempt cravat, wore a look Charles recognized all too well.
And he didn’t trust him on sight for it. “State your intentions,” he said, turning to an empty page in his notebook.
The fellow cleared his throat. “I . . . I thought . . . is this an interview?”
Landon snorted. “Surely you don’t think our club would have such low standards that we wouldn’t conduct interviews?”
Charles and Landon both leveled the younger man with a look that effectively doused the cocksure arrogance the boy had come in with.
Ducking his shoulders, the baron squirmed in his seat. “To join the club?”
“Is that a question?” Charles asked. He didn’t wait, turning that query instead to Landon. “Was that a question?”
Taking that cue from him, the marquess shook his head disapprovingly. “It sounded like a question to me.”
Lord Waldegrave immediately shot up in his chair. “Not a question. A request?” When both men continued to stare at him, he said, “An appeal?”
Charles shook his head. “Another question.” He made a note in his book; feeling the younger man arching forward to examine the words there, he looked up quickly.
“Tsk-tsk,” Landon said, cradling his drink in his hand.