To Love a Tormented Earl - Bridget Barton Page 0,99

a snap. She gazed at him warmly, reaching out and taking one of his hands in hers.

‘I thank you for your concern, and your kindness, my lord,’ she said. ‘But we must both be sensible. Our acquaintance is at an end. I, for one, will treasure the memories I take away from it.’

Max swallowed a great lump that was forming in his throat.

‘Very well,’ he said, his voice tight as he wrapped his fingers around hers. ‘But at least allow me to take you and Miss Bromley home tonight.’

Miss Whitmore gave him a nod, and he had to content himself with that.

***

Reluctantly, Emilia withdrew her hands from Lord Ceastre’s and took his arm again, walking with him, Alice a few steps ahead, back into the ball.

Her heart churned in turmoil, a storm of aching, full of hopeless yearning, but she schooled her expression and restrained herself from throwing her arms around his neck and begging him to never take her home.

You must be strong, Emilia. You have no choice.

She couldn’t bear the thought of parting from him forever.

For a brief time as they walked through the night to the terrace, she could imagine that ‘twas just they two, and that they might remain alone together somehow.

As soon as they crossed the threshold into the great drawing room, however, Miss d’Este accosted them.

‘Everyone! Everyone!’ the outrageous young lady cried, calling for the attention of the crowd. ‘I present to you, the true Earl of Ceastre, Maximilian Emery!’

The guests exclaimed, and a few applauded, and Miss d’Este beamed at everyone and ran off giggling with the fiery-haired Lady Harriet.

‘Well,’ Emilia said to Lord Ceastre, ‘no one can claim to have escaped the news now.’

He nodded, his face looking strained.

After another moment of shocked reactions, gentlemen began approaching them.

‘I shall take my leave of you, my lord,’ Emilia said quietly. ‘If you find you cannot leave the estate—after all, this is a delicate time—I would certainly understand...’

‘Confound it, Miss Whitmore, I refuse to forego the pleasure of accompanying you,’ Lord Ceastre said, his green-eyed gaze intense as he regarded her. ‘Allow me but a few moments to speak with some of these who seek me out—’

‘Of course,’ Emilia said, and slipped away.

Alice took her arm and they made their way through the crowd to the yellow parlour where they had taken tea with Lady Ceastre just a few days ago.

‘Oh my heavens,’ Emilia gasped. ‘What do you think will happen to dear Lady Ceastre?’

Alice shook her head. ‘I dare not guess.’

The older gentlemen who had been sitting there when Emilia came to retrieve the blackmail letter had gone, and the parlour was empty. Fatigue suddenly fell heavily upon her, and she dropped onto the nearest sofa.

‘What a night,’ Emilia said wearily.

‘Indeed,’ Alice said, sitting beside her. ‘It seems all will be well in the end for Lord Ceastre.’

‘Yes,’ Emilia agreed, and she was happy, although her heart pained her still.

‘But you had no success in your personal mission, I daresay,’ Alice said gently.

Emilia studied her gloves. ‘I did not,’ she owned.

Alice sighed and brushed a curl aside from Emilia’s temple. ‘There was never much hope that you would,’ she said.

Emilia’s eyes darted to hers. ‘I beg your pardon!’

Alice smiled. ‘You are no mercenary, dear Emilia.’

A strange blend of a laugh and a sob escaped Emilia’s lips at that. ‘And so I will fail to rescue my Papa, and the household.’

Alice made no comment.

Emilia sighed. ‘There will be no happy ending for me.’

Chapter 36

Miss Whitmore was very quiet when Max was finally able to find her and take her to the coach he had had prepared for her return journey to town.

Roberts came along and the gentlemen sat side by side across from the ladies in the carriage, an arrangement that Max knew was wise and prudent and that he detested nonetheless. How he longed to turn Miss Bromley and Roberts out of the coach and close the curtains, shutting out the world. He dared not give free rein to his thoughts beyond that image, however. He might never recover his heart. Or his composure.

The carriage ride took two hours, and Miss Bromley fell asleep after a time. Roberts focused his attention out of the window, which left Max to gaze into Miss Whitmore’s lovely dark eyes.

The silence between them was heavy with unspoken words best left unsaid. He could scarcely stand it, but there was nothing to be done, save to admire the lovely curve of her heart-shaped face, and to lose himself