The Importance of Being Wanton - Christi Caldwell Page 0,43
Emma’s eyes. “Charles,” she blurted with no small amount of surprise—a surprise he understood all too well. And with her foot adroitly resting atop the gentleman’s throat, where one forward press would kill the man, she would have ended any ill-timed movements on his part. “What are you doing here?” she asked, conversing as easily as if they met over tea and not with her in the middle of Regent Street, defending herself like some Spartan warrior woman of old.
He doffed his hat. “Uh . . . saving you?”
Emma widened her eyes.
“But not,” he was quick to add. Clearly not. Yet again, his former betrothed had saved herself, and quite nicely . . . first from an unwanted betrothal, and now, it would seem, from some bounder on the street.
There came an animal-like whimpering, bringing Charles’s attention back to the pale-faced lord. “Do I need to kill him?” he asked conversationally. “Or do you wish to see to the honor yourself?” The ghost of a smile danced on her lips, that beautiful tilt of her mouth so infrequently bestowed upon him that it sent his heart into an overtime rhythm.
The man moaned, turning his head slightly enough that Emma angled her heel down a fraction, halting any further movement. She hesitated a moment, then slowly removed her foot.
Charles leaned down, and taking the man by the front of his jacket, he drew him up by the lapels so the coward had no choice but to look him in the eyes. “If you ever go about handling Miss Gately, or any other woman, that way again, I will happily destroy you,” he said, adding an icy smile that sent the man in his arms trembling. “Only after she’s finished with you, of course. Is that understood?”
The cad frantically nodded, blubbering like a babe. Charles wasn’t finished with him. Not until he heard the words. “Is that understood?”
“Y-yes! Yeessssss!”
Except Charles couldn’t, and wouldn’t, let off so easy a man who’d ever put his hands upon her. “Make your apologies.”
His eyes darting over to Emma, the man swallowed visibly. “I’m s-sorry,” the younger man said on a rush.
“Assure her that it shall not happen again.”
“Never!”
“To any woman.”
The coward under him quaked all the more, and also hesitated. Charles brought up his fist, and the scared pup whimpered.
“To any woman! To any woman,” he cried, repeating that second promise all the louder.
Charles hesitated a moment longer, then released the whimpering fellow, lowering him back to his feet.
The moment he was free, the blubbering lord scrambled about, snagging the spectacles Charles, previously tunneled in on his fury, hadn’t even realized the man wore, and a cane. The cad made a beeline for his townhouse, tripping and stumbling over his legs as he took the steps two at a time.
The moment he was inside, he slammed the panel shut.
In the aftermath of the moment, the battle, Charles’s body continued to thrum. “You’re certain—?”
“Oh, I assure you, I’m quite unharmed.” She spoke quickly and with a greater steadiness and calm to her voice than he was capable of in this moment.
That would make one of them who was fine, then.
Emma glanced about, muttering to herself, and then her eyes lit. Hurrying up the steps, she collected a delicate white lace parasol and draped it at her shoulder.
Unlike Charles, who was unsteadied by the whole damned exchange, she was masterful in her strength. God, in her defense of herself, and in her absolute lack of need of Charles or any warm-blooded man, she was magnificent.
“Will you walk with me?” Charles asked.
Following the emergency meeting of the Mismatch Society, Emma had assembled all manner of words she had for Charles, and knew precisely how she intended to deliver them.
None of them had been warm.
None of them had even been remotely kind.
But then, all of them flew out of her head with that one question: Will you walk with me?
It was the first time he’d ever asked to do . . . anything with her.
Yes, they’d often danced at ton events, but only because his parents were standing over him, ensuring he remembered to ask for the next set.
But this? This was different.
This offering came with just the two of them together, Charles having rushed to assist her. Granted, she’d not needed assistance in that particular moment, but he’d let her handle all that—deciding on when her exchange with Lord Newhart was at an end—and that ceding of power was something she’d not expected of him. Or any man.