“Have you seen Emmie this morning?” Vale asked as Sam sat across from him.
Sam looked down at his plate as he set it carefully on the table. “No.” God, he hated the familiarity of that nickname. He wanted to punch Vale each time he used it.
Vale smiled weakly. “’Fraid I was an ass to her last night.”
“Were you?” Sam stared at the other man, feeling hostility well in his chest. “She was with you?”
“Not for long.” Vale squinted. “At least I think not. I was a bit tight.”
Sam cut into the gammon in a vicious, controlled motion. Had Lady Emeline been in Vale’s rooms as well? Had she undressed him and readied him for bed? Cared for him with as much tenderness as she had Sam? He pushed too hard and his knife skidded across the plate with a screech, pushing the gammon onto the table.
“Whoops,” Vale said with an imbecilic smile.
Lady Emeline walked into the room.
Sam watched her with narrowed eyes. She was wearing a demure white and pink dress today, and the sight provoked him. Pink made her look like a silly society lady, a woman who would never be able to make a decision for herself, when he knew that the opposite was the truth. She was a strong woman, the strongest he’d ever met.
“There’s Emmie,” Vale exclaimed.
Had her fiancé ever looked at the grown woman? Evidently not, or he’d never call her such a girlish name as Emmie. Sam felt his hostility grow. She was like a sister to Vale, nothing more. And while love for a sister might be true and deep, it wasn’t passion. Emeline was a strong woman with intense emotions. She needed more than brotherly love.
She’d seen him. He knew that, although she pretended otherwise, her head turned away as she talked to their hostess. Emeline was always aware of where he was. He should’ve taken that as a sign. He should’ve known, just from that one fact: he couldn’t hide from her, even if he wanted to.
“Emmie!” Vale called to her and winced at the sound of his own voice. “Damn me, why doesn’t she see us?”
But she looked toward them then, though she was careful not to meet Sam’s eyes. She made a last comment to Lady Hasselthorpe and squared her shoulders before walking toward their table.
“Good morning, Jasper. Mr. Hartley.”
Vale reached for her hand, and Sam’s fingers fisted under the table. “Can you ever forgive me, Emmie? I’m ashamed I was such a drunken oaf last night.”
She smiled sweetly, making Sam immediately suspicious. “Of course I can forgive you, Jasper. You are always so appreciative.”
Sam was sure he’d not imagined her emphasis on the second you. He cleared his throat, trying to draw her attention, but she was resolute in her determination not to look at him. “Please. Sit with us.”
She couldn’t ignore him speaking directly to her without drawing attention. Emeline smiled tightly at him. “I don’t think—”
“Yes, yes! Have a seat,” Vale cried. “I’ll go get you a plate.”
A flicker of pure exasperation crossed Emeline’s face. “I—”
But she was too late. Vale was already up and bounding over to the sideboard. Sam smiled and pulled out the chair between his and Vale’s seat. “He’s left you no choice.”
“Humph.” She flounced into the chair, pointedly tilting her chin away from him.
Strangely, this made him come achingly erect. He leaned toward her, hoping to catch her scent. “I’m sorry I pushed you away last night.”
Her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink, and she finally looked at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He watched her dark eyes. “I refer to you sitting on my lap, my lady, and sticking your tongue in my mouth.”
“Are you mad?” she asked low. “You cannot speak about that here.”
“Not that I didn’t appreciate sucking on your sweet tongue.”
“Samuel,” she protested, but her gaze fell to his mouth.
God, she made him feel alive! He wanted her. Damn their differences, damn Vale, damn the whole goddamn country. She’d been eager last night. “And I liked the feel of your rump on top of my cock.”