One for the Rogue: The Bachelor Lords of London by Charis Michaels

Author:Charis Michaels [Michaels, Charis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Avon Impulse
Published: 2016-12-06T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Emmaline had not expected to encounter Lord Rainsleigh in Mr. Courtland’s ballroom. She’d been standing on a stool, peering into an open crate of books when they came in. The sight of him caused her to go perfectly still. At the same time, she fought the strange urge to give a small jump. What she really wished to do was run to him, but this was easier to curtail. She could not run to him. His brother was there, and servants bustled in and out. It was imprudent to look at him at all, really. One glance and then away, she vowed.

In that glance, she’d seen enough to set her heart racing. He wore clean, pressed clothes but his hair was tousled, and he had not yet shaved. Seeing him, she thought, was a little like turning the bend on the Ainsdale road in Lancaster and catching the first glimpse of the Irish Sea. It took your breath away.

But of course he was not the Irish Sea, and she was not in Lancashire. He was merely a man, and she was in London with her mind on the moon when it should have been on evading the Duke of Ticking and starting a new life an ocean away.

Of all the times to turn fanciful and heartsick, she thought. Now she could see why her mother had kept her so protected as a girl. Awareness and attraction and heart-racing desire were a potent combination. If allowed to bloom, it could easily become, well . . . all.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She barely had the time or energy for some. All was entirely out of the question.

But now she was standing behind the crate like a spy, and she stepped down from the stool and cleared her throat. The men looked up, and Mr. Courtland smiled and signaled to her. The viscount did not smile. His look was hard and urgent and inscrutable. He appeared neither happy nor sad to see her but rather intensely aware of her. The large sun-washed room seemed suddenly more vivid in the thrall of that look—the floor shinier, the colors of drapes brighter. Emmaline held her breath. He was the first to look away.

I am too inexperienced and green for him, Emmaline reminded herself, walking to them. He does not feel the same way I do. She glanced at him again, but he’d turned away, studying a crate of her books. He is a philanderer and a flirt, and he loves all women, even old Lady Frinfrock, even me perhaps, but not in . . .

Not in my way.

I should know better, she finished, stopping in front of Mr. Courtland. Perhaps she would do better not to look at him at all. Not even one glance.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” Mr. Courtland said. “We were pleased to get your note. We have been anxious for word on Teddy’s recovery.”

Thank God, she thought, for Mr. Courtland’s reliable manners and concern.

“Teddy is nearly his old self again,” she said.

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