The Rake's Redemption

‘Are you sure?’

‘I am no fool.’ But she began to fear she was. She wanted this dance he had maneuvered her into. Wanted it badly. ‘But you have forced me to accept.’

He stood and extended his gloved hand. She dropped her gaze, unwilling to see him study her as she put her fingers into his.

Gloves separated their flesh, yet Emma felt like his warm skin touched hers. This was crazy, she thought, sucking in a deep breath and looking up at him, determined to act as though this dance was the last thing she wanted.

His dark eyes held hers. Was there a question in his? Did he wonder what she thought?

She notched her chin higher and turned to the floor. He led her out. She turned to face him, his strong jaw at eye level for her. He had a dark shadow on his cheeks that gave him a reckless air he didn’t need. He was already overpoweringly attractive.

The scents of musk and male wafted over her, mingling with the smell of burning wax from the hundreds of candles. Dimly she sensed other people moving around. The sound of the orchestra was muted. It was as though she stood in a room with only this man. Everything else might be in her imagination.

His right arm circled her waist and held her firmly in place a foot from him. The regulation distance. Anything closer would be considered scandalous.

Her mind told her they were adequately separated. Her senses told her he pressed her to his chest. It seemed she felt his heart beating against hers and his warmth enveloping her.

He moved and his hand guided her to move with him. She felt melded to him, as though they had danced like this before. Blood pounded through her body.

‘Are you feeling well?’

His deep voice flowed over her and twined around her. All her aversion to him seemed to have gone up in smoke the instant he touched her. No wonder Amy made a scandal of herself for this man. And how could she blame her when she, an older woman who had once been engaged to this man’s brother, was now following him in a dance that mimicked things done between a man and a woman in dark places?

Emma shook her head. ‘Well? I am as well as can be expected when coerced into a dance I did not want.’

‘Are you so sure of that?’ He gave her a knowing look that seemed to see through to her racing heart.

‘You gave me no choice.’

He swung her in a circle, forcing the breath from her lungs. If not for the firm hold he had of her waist, she would have stumbled.

‘Liar.’

She dragged in air. ‘I am not. You threatened to ask Amy if I did not agree.’

‘I gave you a choice.’

‘A very poor one.’

They moved rapidly around the room, circling and circling, skirting other couples. His arms never faltered, supporting her strongly and her body felt safe to follow his lead—wherever that might go.

‘But a choice.’ He finished the discussion, his tone brooking no more argument.

Her hackles rose. ‘A poor choice is no choice at all. I know that too well.’

His mouth thinned and she thought he would say something, but the music stopped. They stopped with it. She stepped from his embrace and tried to pull her hand free from his. He held tight.

‘Let me go.’

His mouth curved into a smile that held no humour as he brought her fingers to his lips. Even through the gloves she felt the firm softness of his kiss. An arc of fire coursed its way up her arm. Her determination floundered.

He released her and bowed. ‘Thank you, Miss Stockton, for a very informative dance.’

She stared at him, the heat still coursing through her. ‘Informative?’

He turned away as though he didn’t hear her. She stepped toward him, wanting to twirl him around and demand what he thought he was doing, toying with her as though she was a plaything. Instead she pivoted on her heel and moved in the opposite direction from him.

Somewhere in this room was the settee she had taken refuge on earlier. She reached it seconds before Amy descended on her.

‘What do you think you were doing?’ Amy said, her voice a whispered screech. ‘I thought he was a disreputable rake that no respectable woman should associate with. Yet, you waltzed with him.’

Emma’s fingers still tingled from his touch. Now they shook with irritation. ‘He is everything I always say he is, but he gave me no option.’ She steeled her voice. ‘And I am old enough to do as I please.’

‘So, you like him.’ Amy’s blue eyes were grey with anger. ‘That is why you tell me to stay away from him. Because you want him.’

Emma’s raw nerves snapped. ‘Don’t be a ninnyhammer, Amy. It is bad enough that you are flighty.’

Amy’s rosebud red mouth formed a perfect O. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘How could you, Em? First you dance with the man I am attracted to, and then you insult me so.’

Emma’s head began to pound. This was getting out of hand. She rose. ‘I think it is time we left.’

Amy stepped back. ‘No. I have promised Mr Kennilworth a dance. I shan’t shirk my duty.’

Sharp words about Amy’s frequent failure to honour her word hung on Emma’s tongue but she bit them back. Things were so bad she did not want to make them worse. ‘When you are done, we are leaving.’

Amy sniffed and turned away, her shoulders stiff. Emma watched her young sister and wondered what mischief Amy would get up to now. Likely she would manage to dance a waltz with Charles Hawthorne even after Emma’s sacrifice to prevent it.

She longed for a hot drink and a warm bed. What should have been a pleasurable outing in the home of one of the ton’s most powerful women had turned into a nightmare thanks to Charles Hawthorne. The man should be ousted from Society.

Emma rubbed her temples, hoping to ease some of the tension pounding through her head. Perhaps a breath of fresh air would help. She made her way to the open windows, watching for Amy as she went.

Amy was where she said she would be. Emma knew her sister didn’t care much for Mr Kennilworth, but she had used him as an excuse to remain.

Emma stepped into the cool night air with a sense of relief. Nothing would happen during the country dance.

The music filtered to a murmur that failed to muffle the sound of female voices. Several feet away, their backs to her, two women laughed. Emma retreated, not wanting to interrupt them. She heard her name and froze.

‘Did you see Emma Stockton in Charles Hawthorne’s arms? She looked absolutely besotted. No wonder she chides her sister for chasing the man. She wants him herself.’

The second woman giggled. ‘As though he would be interested. He is playing with both of them.’

‘So true.’

Emma felt the blood leave her face before raging back as mortification claimed her. The cool night was suddenly unbearably warm.

She twisted on her heel and sped back into the hot, crowded ballroom. The dance was only half done. What would she do? She felt like the fool she had chided herself for being. Surely she hadn’t looked besotted. She couldn’t stand the man, no matter what her body did. Her mind found him despicable and…and…

How could she have reacted to him so much that others noticed? She had thought she had more self-control.