Emeline glanced down and saw a huge pair of buckle shoes just below the hem of the curtain. She looked up at Samuel in mute horror. His lips were trembling as he watched her, his hand still over her mouth. The dreadful man was amused! She narrowed her eyes at him. If she could’ve hit him without alerting the man standing not two feet away, she would’ve.
“Not much else they can do, is there?” A second man was speaking now, his voice higher and almost slurred, as if the servant had been drinking. “Toffs gotta have amusements, don’t they?”
“Yeah, but tennis?” The first man’s tone was rich with disgust. “And in the house? Why can’t they just do their cards or maybe dice or somethin’?”
“Dice? Don’t be daft, man. Toffs don’t dice.”
“Well, why not? Whatsa matter with dice, I asks you?”
Emeline could feel Samuel shaking against her as he tried to contain his laughter. How he could find this amusing was beyond her understanding. She was nearly petrified with the fear of discovery. She glared at him as she lifted her foot and brought the heel of her shoe down on his moccasin. For a moment, she thought he’d lose his self-possession altogether. Instead of sobering him as she’d meant to do, apparently the feel of her heel digging painfully into his foot only amused him further. His eyes sparkled with silent laughter. She stood mutely glaring at him, and then he took his hand from her mouth and replaced it with his own mouth. He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, and altogether silently.
From without the curtain came a sigh. “Have you some of that good ’bacco?”
“Aye, right here.”
“Ta.”
Dear God, they were settling in to smoke a pipe! The thought sent horror spiking through Emeline, but at the same time, Samuel thrust his tongue into her mouth and the horror became mingled with pleasure, heightening both. He’d begun working on her skirts again, drawing them stealthily up. The fabric rustled as it moved over her thighs and she froze.
Outside the curtain, one of the men coughed. She could smell the fragrant scent of tobacco smoke now. They must have both lit pipes. Then that thought fled as Samuel brushed the bared curls at the top of her thighs.
“Why tennis, d’you ’spose?” the lower voice asked.
Samuel was threading through her maiden hair, his long fingers drawing nearer to that special spot. She clutched at his shoulders, distracted, confused, and incredibly aroused.
rimaced at the thought and looked away. His emotions had never been this primitive, this ungentle, with a woman he wanted before. He knew he was losing control—had perhaps already run past the point of self-control—and yet he could not help himself. He wanted her. Her rejection was like ice held against his bare skin too long. Painful. Unacceptable. She’d let him make love to her; she could not withdraw herself from him now. And underneath all that, there was a layer of hurt that he didn’t want to acknowledge. She’d hurt him, both his pride and something else within him that was basic to his being. It was agonizing, this hurt, and he needed it to stop.
He needed her.
“Won’t you come play cards?” Rebecca asked beside him. He’d not even seen her approach.
“No,” he said absently.
“Well, then you must at least stop looking at Lady Emeline like a dog at a sausage.”
“Am I?”
“Yes,” she said with exasperation. “I expect you to start drooling at any moment. It’s not nice.”
He turned his head and focused on her face. “Is it that bad?”
“Probably not to others, but I’m your sister. I see things.”
“Yes, you do.” He studied her a moment. The yellow of her gown seemed to make her shine. He suddenly realized that his sister was probably among the most lovely of the ladies assembled here. “Are you enjoying the party? I haven’t asked.”
“It’s...interesting.” She looked down, avoiding his eyes. “I was afraid at first that no one would talk to me, but that hasn’t been the case. The other ladies have been nice. Mostly.”
He frowned. “Who hasn’t been nice to you?”
She flicked her hand impatiently. “No one. It doesn’t matter. Don’t fuss.”
“I’m your brother; I’m supposed to fuss,” he said, trying to make it a jest.
His words must not have come off well, because she didn’t smile. Instead she just gazed at him quizzically.
He inhaled and tried again. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been keeping company with Mr. Green.”
“Ye-es.” Rebecca drew the word out, her voice cautious. Her head was down-bent, but she darted a glance at that gentleman now. Mr. Green was among the card players in the corner.