In stark contrast to the crowded room behind her, the grand hall of their host’s London town house contained only a few people crossing the parquet floor as they meandered between the rooms opened for guests. Emma maintained a sedate appearance while she rushed toward the far end, thinking only to put as much distance between herself and Lord Marwood as possible.
As she took a moment to debate between turning down a narrow servants’ hall or entering one of the smaller rooms extending from the entry hall, a couple came through a door to her left. The lady was a pretty blond and the gentleman was a towering hulk of a man with dark hair and a trimmed beard. They barely took notice of Emma as they passed by.
“I told you I was alone,” the lady said with a pouty frown. “Why must you always act like a jealous boor? Do you not trust me?”
“I know you were with someone…”
The conversation was lost as they continued across the hall. Emma glanced behind her and caught a glimpse of pink-and-green stripes inside the ballroom. Lord Marwood was nearly to the door.
Her stomach clenched with dread.
In a steady, logical corner of her thoughts, she was well aware of how irrational she was behaving. Ladies did not run from ballrooms in a panic to avoid an unsavory interaction.
But if she were overreacting by running from Lord Marwood, what did it say about him that he would be so intent on following her?
Fueled by annoyance and an absurd touch of fright, Emma swept into the room just vacated by the arguing couple. It was a small study lit with only a few glowing candles. She hesitated inside the door as her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, but the thought of Lord Marwood being not far behind spurred her forward.
She needed to hide.
Long drapes hung from ceiling to floor in front of two sets of windows. Emma rushed to the nearest window and swept behind the heavy velvet curtains. The thick material fell around her, and she became ensconced in darkness.
Not a full minute later a creaky whisper floated through the room in a singsong cadence. “Hell-lo, sweet poppet. Are you hiding from me, my dear?”
Alarm flashed through her, and Emma sucked in a breath. Marwood had crossed the hall with surprising speed once he didn’t have the crowd to hinder him. Could he have seen her enter this room? Lifting her hand to her throat, she measured her racing pulse as she forced herself to remain still and silent. If the old peer were to catch her now, not only would she be humiliated for hiding in such a cowardly fashion, the privacy of the study ensured she was not likely to get past the dreadful man without a few bruising pinches or worse.
Her flight from the ballroom had been unbelievably foolish. Nothing good ever came of impulsive decisions. The swift deterioration of her current situation proved that well enough. Her only hope now was to remain hidden.
As she pressed farther into the darkness, the unexpected scents of leather and cognac mingled in the air around her.
A floorboard creaked as Lord Marwood came farther into the room.
Emma took another step back, and the heel of her slipper came down unevenly on something behind her. She faltered in a sudden loss of balance. Alarm flashed at the thought of tumbling from her hiding place right at Lord Marwood’s feet.
Just as she reached to grasp the curtain to stop her fall, a strong arm slipped around her waist and she was pulled back against a solid body. Her stomach flipped, and a harsh breath of shock flew through her teeth at the realization she was not alone behind the curtain.
A large, warm hand fell upon her shoulder with gentle but insistent pressure, and she barely heard the low “Hush” murmured in a masculine voice.
“Where are you, sweeting?” Lord Marwood crooned again.
The stranger behind her shifted his weight and Emma was drawn more fully into his hold. Her back curved into his chest and his arm tightened around her waist. She could feel the hard line of his jaw resting against her temple as his breath fanned over her neck and bare shoulder.
Shivers chased across her nerves and a numbing weight invaded her limbs. Emma’s instinct for self-preservation struggled to find direction. Stay in the embrace of the unknown stranger or break free and take her chances with Lord Marwood?
She pressed her lips together and forced her breath to a slow and even pace through her nostrils. One threat at a time, Emma. Staring at the edge of the pale light where the curtain met the wall, she prayed for Lord Marwood to give up the hunt.
Shuffling steps brushed across the carpet not far from where she stood. Every muscle in her body tensed. The stranger flexed his hand at the curve of her waist in a silent communication to remain calm and still. His other hand remained on her shoulder. He did not wear gloves and he circled his thumb in soothing strokes against her nape.