To Love a Tormented Earl - Bridget Barton Page 0,24

she murmured, thinking of the small key that lay at the bottom of her reticule, 'and a sample of the footman’s penmanship.'

'You’ve mastered the plan,' the earl said, sounding pleased.

Very well, then, I should be on my way, Emilia thought but did not voice. She was flustered by the entire meeting, it seemed. To walk like this beside the earl as if they were lovers...it was perplexing, for it was pleasant and disagreeable at the same time. The day was hot. Her walking dress should have been comfortable, for whilst it was typically long-sleeved it was made of a lightweight muslin. Instead, it clung to her unreasonably. The fit of her corset seemed to have shrunk, as well. Were her stays cinched too tightly?

I must recover my composure and make polite conversation, Emilia admonished herself.

'You are recently returned from the continent?' she asked, casting about for the first subject that seemed acceptable to broach.

'Yes,' he said with a nod. His eyes moved away, however. Had she stumbled onto a subject he disliked?

'Have you found England much changed?' she tried again.

The earl exhaled a short breath of air. 'I suppose I have not been home long enough to say.'

Emilia let the matter drop, nonplussed.

After a few more steps, he said, 'Do you still play the pianoforte?'

Emilia’s head swam for an instant—speaking of music was too close to topics she wished to avoid herself. 'I do,' she said, unable to think of any way to change the subject gracefully.

'How lovely. I recall you were very accomplished,' he said.

'You are too kind,' she replied by rote, but inwardly she enjoyed his praise.

'You made some of your own compositions, as I recall. A rather ambitious sonata, was it not?'

Emilia’s cheeks flushed hot. 'Your memory is remarkable,' she said, her hands worrying the ivory of the handle of her parasol. It was a bad habit and she told them to stop, but the discomfort of his question was nearly unbearable.

'Have you written any more? A bagatelle, perhaps?'

If only you knew, Emilia thought with agony.

'I’ve dabbled a little,' she said, her face burning.

'So modest,' he replied softly, and she looked at him then.

Her breath caught in her throat. He gazed down at her, his green eyes soft, his lips curved in a smile. The breeze ruffled his brown, silky curls against the brim of his hat and she felt a sudden desire to touch his hair.

Horrified by the impudent urge, she laced her fingers together around the handle of her parasol, gripping it tightly.

'I should like it very much if you would play for me one day,' he said, his voice like a caress.

I shall faint. I cannot bear the strain, she thought, but she found that the strain was, somehow, not entirely unpleasant. ‘Twas only that her legs felt weak. She might have liked to sit. Or lean against him.

Emilia Whitmore, have you taken leave of your good sense entirely?

Swallowing, she dragged her eyes away from his and forced herself to look ahead to Alice.

I must go to her, Emilia thought. And put an end to all of this. Emilia’s legs, still weak, now, became heavy. It felt quite impossible to leave Lord Ceastre’s side. But she knew she must. The only proper thing to do was to rejoin her lady’s companion, and make her way home. He was not her lover. Nor her intended. There was no hope of any proposal to justify continuing on in this way.

But she could not muster the strength to move away from him. The best she could manage was to begin walking again, and focus her gaze on the pond and the ducks. It was late spring, and though she felt certain that a small group of them must be young ones following a mother, they were so close to adulthood as to create a doubt.

Ducks, she thought with a sense of absurdity. I am walking along with none other than the late Maximilian Emery, true Earl of Ceastre, and I am thinking about ducks.

Had she ever engaged in anything more bizarre?

What am I doing? Why have I agreed to involve myself in his affairs at all? It is folly.

And yet, she could not bear to reverse herself now. Instead she must think of ducks in an effort to school herself and stop her heart from running away, it seemed.

After what felt like little more than a minute had passed in this way, the earl said, 'We’ve come full circle.'

Emilia blinked and looked round. Sure enough, they were