“And don’t you dare say it has anything to do with us,” Portia stated with a fierce glare.
Emma looked back and forth between her sisters, for the first time ever at a loss on how to manage them. They both had changed so much in the months since Father’s death. She would not be able to avoid an honest answer this time.
“You are right.” She sighed. “About me, anyway. I do love him.” Having finally said it out loud, Emma felt liberated. She had admitted it to someone other than herself. It made it more real, but also less frightening somehow.
“And what are you going to do about it?” Portia pressed.
Emma considered the question carefully. “What can I do? You both know his position in society. He is barely accepted in most circles and downright rejected from others.”
“And?” Portia prompted, with her hands rising to her hips. “Tell me that is not your reason for denying your feelings for the man.”
“Of course not,” Emma replied. “I honestly could not care less about what ninety-nine percent of the people in this room think of me. But I do care what they think of the two of you. Such a thing could ruin both of your chances for a great match.”
“Enough, Emma,” Lily interjected sternly. “I know I speak for us both when I say none of that matters a whit to either of us. We will manage quite well with fewer invitations and a closer, more loyal group of friends.”
“Besides,” Portia added with a sly wink, “we will still have Angelique, the great example of virtue and propriety that she is, as our sponsor.”
Angelique happened to pass by their spot at just that moment. Something in the lady’s carefree indulgence in the pure joy of the waltz struck Emma acutely. Her chest tightened then swelled with emotion. Her limbs felt suddenly energized. She looked at her sisters’ expectant faces and understood what they had been trying to tell her, what Angelique finally had to show her.
“I have to go back to the club,” she said. “Right now. Tonight.”
Lily shook her head. “Oh, I would not do that.”
“Why not?”
“Mr. Bentley is not there.”
Emma’s brows lowered in utter confusion. “How on earth could you know that?”
Her sister grinned. “I saw him enter the game room about an hour ago. I am quite certain he is still there.” Lily nodded past Emma’s shoulder to the small room off the ballroom where several people had gathered to play cards.
Emma’s heart leaped. He was here. Now.
She hadn’t seen him in several weeks, and the simple fact of his proximity sent her nerves into a dance of anticipation. She turned to stare at the doorway to the game room. She would have to circumnavigate a quarter of the ballroom to get there, weaving in and out of the many guests. And then…
She turned back to Portia and Lily, who both stood patiently with wide grins. Shame swept through her. Her sisters were stronger of character and more capable than she had been giving them credit for. In her desire to protect them, she had been holding them back.
No more.
And no more denying herself what she wanted so badly.
Emma took a deep breath and made a rash decision. It was something she rarely did, but the wave of excitement that came along with it convinced her that perhaps she should make spontaneous decisions more often.
“Would you girls mind having one more eccentric in the family? I am quite certain I am about to do something rather shocking. Scandalous even.”
Portia clapped her hands. “Excellent.”
“Perhaps we shall become an entire family of eccentric women,” Lily suggested, something in her tone causing Emma to give her a deeper look. But Lily just smiled and gestured back toward the gaming room.
Thirty-four
He couldn’t lose.
He wanted to lose—had started to play for that very purpose—but luck was on his side no matter how he wished it otherwise.
Winning did not suit his mood tonight.
It had been the Earl of Wright who suggested he get out of his club and do something. The man was proving to be quite a bully. Underhanded and subtle in his delivery, but with more nerve and stubbornness than Roderick ever would have expected of the unassuming gentleman.
So Roderick had found himself in the exact situation he had been trying to avoid by staying in every night.
The moment he had seen Emma in her usual position with the chaperones, beautiful in a rose-colored gown, her hair golden beneath the light of the chandelier, a poised smile on her face as she watched the dancers, Roderick wanted to punch someone, or throw something against a wall, or stalk over to her and claim her as he yearned to do.
He had turned to the gaming room instead.