The Dream (12 page)

“Orchids? What orchids? I don’t have—”

“Edward.”

He stood and went to his wife, furiously whispering, “I don’t have any bloody orchids, madam.”

“That is beside the point.”

The door shut firmly behind them.

“I uh— I have something I need to see about.” Rayne strode to the door and exited.

Emily didn’t have a clue what her family was up to. It was almost as if they wanted her and Jason to spend some time together. Which made no sense at all. If she and Jason were courting or some other such nonsense, she could see it, but as it was, she really wished they
hadn’t
left her alone with this man.

She stood and walked to the window, wondering what they were supposed to discuss.

Late afternoon sun shone down on the terrace outside, muted and dull as it always seemed to be here.

“Are you certain you have recovered fully?” His deep voice wrapped around her.

She realized with a start that he was much closer than she thought. He must have taken lessons from his esteemed butler.

“You move silently for one so large.”

A grin tilted the corner of his mouth, but his eyes narrowed. “And you’ve a way to avoid answering a question for one not in politics.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

She’d forgotten exactly how tall he was, or seemed to be.
Ravensworth
was a man neither too large or small, yet not lanky. He reminded her of a tall sailor on her voyage over. A jungle cat, sleek and…predatory. Like the mountain lions back in the Maryland wilderness.

Or was it just her?

Theodore had been of medium height, wiry. His seemingly lanky build had been an illusion to his strength. And she knew what that strength could do.

So why was she standing here with a man much larger, clearly more muscled than her late husband?

No answer came forth.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, lifting a hand toward her.

Lost in her own musings, the past shadowing her thoughts, she flinched.

A muscle in his jaw jumped, the planes of his face became more defined as his eyes narrowed.

He didn’t move. His hand still aloft between them, Jason said very softly, “Madam, I pray you know me well enough by now to know I would never harm you.”

Stupid, so stupid. Knowing her hands shook, Emily fisted them and cleared her throat, tried to think of something to say. His eyes were like the eastern sky at dusk, a rich blue. “I do apologize, my lord. I-I-I…” Emily trailed off and looked back out the window, hoping to find her bearings once again.

Silence settled between them.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

For a moment, she didn’t know how to answer. Did he make her uncomfortable? Not exactly. Not like Theodore. Her stomach didn’t ache, tight and pinched when he walked in the room. Instead… “Not really.”

“Not really? Another ambiguous answer. Is that a yes or a no?”

She turned back to him. “Not in a bad way.” Her shoulders lifted on a shrug. “Unless you’re hounding me with questions. I hate being questioned.”

“Why?”

She licked her lips. “It makes me nervous.”

“My apologies. I’m not normally in the habit…” Jason moved his hand as though to reach out to her again, but stopped. “In what way?”

Her chest rose on an inhale. “What?”

Jason cleared his throat. “You said I don’t make you uncomfortable in a bad way.” Quietly, he asked, “In what way?”

She scraped her teeth over her lip, wiped her hands down her skirt. “I…I…I don’t know.” That was as honest as she could be.

One eyebrow arched and he smiled. “You don’t know?” He stepped ever so slightly closer. “I think you do, Emily.”

Emily. The way he said her name made the hair across her neck tingle. But it was soft, like the sigh of a storm. He was crowding her, flustered, she blurted, “You don’t make my stomach hurt.”

His lips twitched then he rumbled out a laugh. “That is good to know. I can’t tell you how tedious it is to make a woman physically ill. I’ve searched high and low for one that can stomach my presence.”

It was quite a bit for her. But she supposed to another it seemed a bit absurd. Her own lips lifted in a smile and she chuckled. “That’s not exactly what I meant. But if you send women into faints and give them upset stomachs, perhaps you should question why.”

His eyes ran over her face, slowly as though cataloguing every little feature. The gaze stopped at her lips, and she self-consciously licked them. The blue of his eyes deepened, or seemed to.

“I know why,” he said, his voice now serious. “Most see me as—” he stopped. Looked at her, as though searching for something. Then he looked past her out the window.

“As?”

“Another time, perhaps.” He ran a finger down his scar.

And as if light dawned, she wondered if some judged him as unjustly from his face as others had rumors of her, of the “proof” that had marked her. The bruises, the cuts, the welts.

He reached out and lifted her hand, turning it over in his to look at her palm. She watched as he traced patterns over the pads of her fingers. Her breath paused in her lungs, caught, held, frozen.

Her hands were scarred, callused like the rest of her. Suddenly, she didn’t want him to see her hand. He didn’t let go. Jason tensed as she attempted to pull her hand from his. He looked up into her eyes, but kept running his thumb over her small palm, drawing a circle, then grazing the soft inner skin of her wrist. Emily’s breath was short, her pulse pounding just above her collarbone.

Her eyes, dark and often expressive, shuttered embarrassment away. But he’d seen it. Instead of saying what he had been about to, he decided to let it go. For now.

“Will I get the first waltz tonight, Emily?”

Her features softened when he said her name. He’d noticed earlier. At least she wasn’t flinching from him. Anger roiled through his blood, hot and fast. There was little he could do for her in regards to her past, except to help move her forward.

And suddenly he knew, without a doubt, that she
must
move forward.

That bit seemed firmly planted between his teeth and he had no idea when it had gotten there.

“I do not know. I don’t know what the etiquette is for that. Is there one?” A slight frown lined between her eyebrows.

“Well, you should probably dance the first dance with either your grandfather or Rayne.”

“But I don’t know how to dance. I just learned the waltz right before you arrived.”

“Well, then save one of your waltzes for me.” He could not longer help it. He pulled her just a bit closer and reached up. Slowly, so as not to frighten her again, he tucked a wayward strand of hair back behind her ear, let his finger trail over the edge of the small shell.

“Why?” she asked, standing perfectly still.

He laughed. “You do put a man in his place, dear Emily.”

Her face altered, paled. “I didn’t… That is…”

Jason sighed. This was going to take time and patience. Plenty of which he had. Didn’t he?

He’d come here to make certain she was all right. And here he was thinking in terms of the future.

A voice seemed to remind him of other suitable ladies. He winced. The devil on one shoulder, the angel on the other. The problem was, he often had a hard time telling which was which. He ignored them both.

“You worry too much, Emily. Try not to, it makes life more enjoyable.” He lifted her hand in his, started to kiss her knuckles, but didn’t turn her hand over. Instead, he kissed the inside of her wrist. “Until tonight, Emily.”

Her eyes darkened and she wet her lips. “Tonight.”

He smiled and released her hand. The late afternoon sun shone through the window, lighting her. She wasn’t any taller than he remembered. Still small, petite came to mind. But there was an inner strength in her that gave her more presence. This was no shallow, self-indulgent woman who worried about the fripperies of life. It was, in a way, very refreshing, but at the same time almost sad. A woman should have careless worries upon occasion.

“Now you are the one deep in thought.” Her voice was soft as a summer rain. She always sounded that way.

“I think I had better go find Joy and depart.”

“She is a beautiful little girl.”

He studied her, the way her eyes lowered, the way her fingers wove together, then unwove again. “Do you like children?”

With a smile, she nodded and moved past him. “Yes. Come, I’ll take you to the conservatory.”

The woman had a way of not exactly ending a conversation, but he’d talked with her enough to know she would speak no more on the subject of children.

Mysterious and enigmatic were two words that came to mind when he thought of Emily. Without another word, he turned and followed her. Perhaps tonight he could get a bit further past her defenses. And this woman had a fortress of defenses.

* * * * *

The river was cold. But then he’d dealt with cold. It had worked perfectly. Everyone had been busy with the harvest, the grains, the berries, the drying of skins. He’d waited for the right moment. Prayed to God for intervention, trusting his faith, his calling to see him through.

Apparently, God had forgiven him his transgressions against his faith, his belief, his fall from grace.

The heavens had opened and God had sent his wrath down on the nonbelievers in a torrent of lightning and cold, hard rain. In the sudden downpour, in the confusion, he’d grabbed his hidden supplies from inside the old tree and fled.

The trees, like demons’ claws had tried to hold him in hell, but he fought on, straight to the river.

Currents pulled at him, as if not wanting to grant him freedom. They might have called on their water god. They had so many, who could keep up with them all. Like ancient pagans they were.

Anger and rage pulsed hot, keeping the chill of the elements off of him. A log drifting by caught his attention. He grabbed hold and rode it in the flooded current. He might die, but at least he would not die among the savages, the pagans and their wicked ways. He would find his way home. Home to the reason he’d been here in the first place. Home to the harlot whose soul he needed to save. Home to where he was master and bowed before no one.

It might take him awhile. He was not certain where exactly he was. But sooner or later, he’d come upon a settlement. Or traders. The river was full of them.

Blackness closed around him as the storm started to fade. Lightning and thunder tore the heavens apart, shook the Earth, but the punishing rains lessened like a tired flogger’s arm.

He rested his cheek on the rough, slick wood of the log and rode the current back to his home, to his past, to his future.

Chapter Seven

“Lord and Lady
Redgrave
,” the
Athridge
butler announced. Her grandparents moved through the line.

It was now her and Rayne’s turn. “Viscount
Hardlow
and Mrs. Smith.”

“There, now that wasn’t so bad was it?” Rayne asked her.

Her stomach was coiled, the muscles in her neck tight enough, Emily knew she’d have a headache later that evening. She ran a gloved hand down the skirt of her deep copper gown. A gown she had never dreamed the likes of. Whisper soft, the gossamer material was water against her skin and moved as if a hushed breeze blew.

“Now,” Rayne continued, “we’ve to meet Lord and Lady
Athridge
. Head up. Think of all of them as less than you.”

She rolled her eyes and looked up to him. He was dressed very handsomely and though he smiled, she saw it did not quite reach his eyes. “That is easy for you to say. They’ll all take one look at me and wonder if I’m your latest conquest.”

“What?” he all but hissed.

“My dear.” A woman, gowned in black lace over dark rose, stood with her grandparents. “You are the very image of your mother. Your grandmother was telling me how you were finally able to come all this way to meet them. How wonderful for you.”

Emily curtsied. “I believe so. It is wonderful to finally meet them.”

“Of course. You must come by sometime. George, doesn’t she look just like Elizabeth did at that age?” The woman swatted at her husband’s shoulder with her rose gloved hand.

“What? What?” George, a portly fellow, round of girth and features asked.

Emily felt like echoing him herself.
What? What, what?

“Oh. Yes, yes, of course she does. Very image, my dear. Knew your mother myself.” He squinted, his bushy red brows dancing. “But I think she was a mite taller, if memory serves. She and my Gwen here were close friends didn’t you know. Splendid to meet you.” He grabbed her hand and she barely managed to stop the impulse of jerking free. He raised it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “We’re honored to have you here tonight.”

“Thank you.” She pulled her hand free and sighed. Some things, she supposed, she would have to get used to.

Lady
Athridge
laid her hand on Emily’s arm. “Would you come by later this week?” Tears shimmered in the woman’s eyes. “I’ve missed Elizabeth so over the years. I’d love to talk about her, to learn what life was like in the Colonies. I miss her.”

A wave of longing washed over Emily. She only nodded.

“Gwen, let the girl go. You can reminisce another time. You’re upsetting her and getting upset yourself. We’ve other guests, my dear. Another time.”

Lady
Athridge
nodded and patted Emily’s arm, then turned back to her husband. “Yes, you’re right, George. Another time, dear and welcome.”

“Thank you.”

Rayne led her off through the crowd. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “See, I told you, nothing to it.”

“You were the one so worried you enlisted help.”

His mouth tilted ruefully. “True, but it’s always wiser to be prepared.”

Of course. Prepared.

They made their way through the crowd. Her grandparents motioned to Rayne with a tilt of their heads. This was new to her. This was their world.

Three ladies sat against the wall, their gowns shimmers of silks, their jewelry faceted and bright below the chandeliers.

“My dear, I’d like you to meet Lady
Kesterson
, Lady
Gillray
, and Lady
Shephard
,” her grandmother said. “Ladies this is our granddaughter, Mrs. Emily Smith.”

“Granddaughter? Victoria, I know all your grandchildren, and I’ve never met
Mrs
. Smith,” said Lady
Gillray
, the white powdered woman who looked out of place here. Her powdered white hair was piled high and decorated with little feathered swans.

English fashion Emily would never understand.

Her grandmother’s face smoothed to indifference. “Yes, well, she is our dear Elizabeth’s daughter. Emily was widowed and traveled as soon as she could to meet us.”

“Widow you say?” another pounced. “You’re not still in mourning I take it?”

Emily curtsied and replied, “No ma’am.”

“Just so, just so. We would all dearly
love
to learn more about your charming mother. Such a shock it was when she just up and left.” The third lady
tsked
. “Scandalous.”

Emily had no idea what to say to that. She looked to Rayne.

“If you ladies will excuse us, I believe I see the
Marquess
of
Ravensworth
.”

“
Ravensworth
?”
Gillray
asked. Her gray eyes raked over Emily. “Is that the way of it?”

“Oh, Henrietta, do be quiet,” said Lady
Kesterson
. “My dear, enjoy yourself this evening.”

When Rayne gave them a slight bow, Emily followed with a curtsy. Was that all? Emily did not understand the strange workings of this world in the least. But Rayne had explained how she needed the matrons’ permission to dance the waltz no matter who she was, and apparently, the three curious elderly women reigned over the ballrooms. She rubbed her forehead and followed on Rayne’s arm.

“But
Ravensworth
?” she heard one of the matrons say. “I heard he was looking for a wife.”

One of the others continued, “Lady Wentworth believes he will offer for her daughter Lady Patricia. What does this widow have to do with it?”

“Bah. Patricia Wentworth and
Ravensworth
? I’ll wager
that
match will never happen, Henrietta.”

She could feel eyes on her. There was nothing worse than being the center of attention. And who was Lady Patricia?

“You’re doing fine.
Lizzy
would be proud,” Rayne said.

Emily looked up to him. “Do you think so? Most times I would not agree.”

They stopped at the edge of the ballroom teeming with people. The men, for the most part, seemed to be dressed in somber, dark colors, if not straight black overcoats. Splashes of muted colors, deep blues, grays, purples, flashed on their waistcoats. Gems glittered around throats and from ears as women in every color of the rainbow swished and glided across the floor. It was like nothing Emily had ever seen, and everything she might have imagined on those cold winter nights when her mother whispered stories and painted an image such as this with words.

“Now, remember.” Rayne’s voice jerked her back. “Only dance with men Father or I deem appropriate. And do not, under any circumstances, leave the ballroom with any man.”

She sighed. “It is a wonder I ever managed to make it in life without you.”

His lips quirked, yet thinned. It was almost as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to be amused. The trait was a common one for him, she’d noticed.

“Who is Lady Patricia?” she asked. And why had she asked? Did it matter if
Ravensworth
were courting a woman? She hardly wanted his attentions.

Jason’s fingers on her hand tingled a memory down her spine.

“There you are.”

Speak of the devil and he arrives, she thought.

“I must say, Emily, you are looking very lovely this evening. That color does become you.” His voice rolled over her, calming her nerves like nothing Rayne could have said.

Which, of course, was ridiculous.

Emily smiled and ran her gaze over Jason—
Ravensworth
. To think of him as Jason was not proper.

Why
?

It didn’t matter. He was dressed as other men here, yet stood out utterly. An overcoat the color of the sea at midnight only deepened the blue of his eyes. There were no splashes of gold or silver, other than a sapphire that winked from his right hand.

“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured finally remembering he’d asked her something. The man would think she was a half-wit before long.

Strains started from across the room.

Ravensworth
bowed to her grandmother. “Madam, if I may?”

Her grandmother looked from him back to her, and with a smile placed her hand in
Ravensworth’s
. Edward offered Emily his hand and she accepted.

The waltz was not quite as easy here in a crowded ballroom as it was in the drawing room back home, but at least she wasn’t falling on her face.

She looked up at her grandfather. Trouble shifted in the brown of his eyes, and wrinkles creased his forehead.

“What?” she asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he said with a soft smile. “You look so much like your mother. Sometimes it makes my heart stop.” He cleared his throat and looked over her shoulder.

Emily didn’t have anything to say to his comment, so she followed as he led her across the floor. Thrilled at the feel of the music, the bodies and people
rainbowed
into color. The music ended and another fast song began. People lined up across from each other. This was a dance she was not about to attempt just yet. Her grandfather walked her back over to Rayne where other men surrounded him.

“Don’t want to tempt the fates?”
Ravensworth
drawled beside her. Where had he appeared from? When she didn’t look at him, he continued, “It’s not too difficult once one learns the steps.”

Her grandfather let go of her hand and took her grandmother’s.

“Come, I want to show you around,”
Ravensworth
said.

Emily did look at him then. “Show me around? This is hardly your home.”

A brief grin lit his eyes. “No, but then again, Gwen and my mother are friends of sorts, so I’ve been here several times. They have a lovely little garden.”

A garden with him? No. Something about him made her… He made her feel something she could not put her finger on. It was not fear, of that she was certain. But whatever it was, her stomach fluttered, and her pulse raced whenever he was near.

“I’m sure they do,” she answered, “but I don’t care to see them at present.”

His expression never changed.

“But thank you,” she added.

He bent his head. “Then allow me to introduce you to some of our families’ mutual acquaintances.”

The names and titles, faces that went with them, soon started to blur. All but one.

“Lord Drake?” she asked on a laugh.

He rolled his deep green eyes and shook his head. “Madam, I have searched high and low for you for well over a month. Not a word, not a single blessed word.”

“You know Drake?”
Ravensworth
asked.

“How did you two meet?” her uncle inquired.

“Oh. We met when I arrived in Portsmouth. The man almost ran me over with a wicked beast of a horse.” She smiled.

“I was going to attempt to make amends by seeing you to London, Mrs. Smith.” He bowed over her hand, kissing the gloved knuckles.

“You made amends by helping me find the inn and procure a room,” she said.

“For God’s sake, Emily,” Rayne muttered glancing around.

Lord Drake grinned, his eyes twinkling, yet she sensed a seriousness in him. A hidden tension. Emily took a step back.

“If memory serves you’d agreed to allow me to accompany you the next morning,” Lord Drake said with a smile, though his eyes were anything but amused.

“Was I? I remember saying I hardly needed your help finding my way to London.”

Ravensworth
shook his head. He didn’t seem very amused. She looked around and wondered where her grandparents had wondered off to. The other gentlemen who had been around her uncle, seemed to have faded. Between Rayne,
Ravensworth
and Drake, all tall, all well built men, no one approached.

“Yes, but the roads can be very dangerous places, Mrs. Smith,” he said.

Jason looked from Emily to his friend and wondered what the hell was going on. He had a damn good idea, but since he’d yet to talk to
Nickolas
Hardin, Earl of Drake, he’d not been able to discuss what he needed to. Mainly one De Fleur. Sir Taber had said
Nickolas
was not the man involved with The Attack itself, but that obviously didn’t mean Nick wasn’t involved at all.

“She should have waited on you,” Rayne said. “Her stage was…” He trailed off at the polite and—Jason knew, as he sensed did Rayne—clearly false look of interest on Drake’s face. “You were in Portsmouth that eve?”

Not so much as a flicker from Drake. Jason stared at him, until the man finally met his eyes. “You know,
Nickolas
, I believe it is time you and I had a chat.” Anger shimmered along his nerves. She could have gotten killed. What game had been about? Because of the problems at the shipping yard and then the storm, Jason had been too late to make the meeting he’d needed to.

A rueful grin tilted Drake’s mouth. “I know it. I was about to come see you. Almost did some three weeks ago, but figured I’d wait and then things got…complicated.”

“Did they indeed,
mon
ami
?
”

“Another time,” Drake turned to Rayne.

“Definitely.” Rayne crossed his arms over his chest. “I have a feeling it will be rather enlightening if you’re concerned.”

“Yes, well, I’ll hope you still consider it that way.”

Jason noticed Emily looking at the ceiling as if she were bored. He figured she was anything but. “My apologies, Emily. We shouldn’t discuss business tonight.”

“Were you?” she asked. “Oh, don’t mind me, I’m quite used to being ignored.”

“No one would dare ignore such a beauty as you, Mrs. Smith. So which of these two blackguards is courting you?”
Nickolas
asked her. “Surely not both. You’ll tear their friendship asunder. And please call me
Nickolas
, or Nick.” He grinned. “Or even
Nicki
, as many of my friends do.”

Jason knew only the ladies called Nick,
Nicki
and Emily was
not
going to refer to Drake in that manner.

Emily sighed. “Lord Drake.”

“Please, at least
Nickolas
.”

“Very well.” Emily smiled. “You are upon occasion amusing. But now is not one of those times.”