“Indeed,” he said with a slow nod. “I am devoted to protecting fair ladies from the dire consequences of their own reckless behavior.”
“How fortunate for me to have bumped into you when I did,” Emma replied wryly. As odd as it was, she was enjoying their unusual and anonymous banter. It was wonderfully liberating to be so bold.
“It was my pleasure.”
His words curled around her in the darkness, recalling her to the potential danger he still presented. He had not made any inappropriate advances beyond his initial embrace, but there was no denying her vulnerability should he choose to be more forward.
The encounter had gone on long enough. She turned to reach for the edge of the curtain, intending to sweep it aside. “Though I am grateful for your assistance, it is time for me to go.”
“If you wish,” he replied in a lighter tone, “but Marwood is likely still lying in wait just beyond this room.”
Emma started and looked back at the stranger’s shadowed form. “How did you know it was Lord Marwood?”
“I recognized his labored wheeze and wide-stepped gait. Not to mention in addition to his insatiable hunger for beautiful young women, Marwood is well-known for enjoying a good chase.”
Emma remained still as she considered his words. He could be right. The thought of running into Lord Marwood out in the hall swamped her with trepidation. But to stay where she was…alone in the private alcove with a shameless rogue…
“I can promise not to ravish you if it makes you more comfortable.” His voice was colored with dark amusement.
A shiver trickled down her spine, but she countered boldly. “You can make such a promise, but I would be a fool to take you at your word.”
“Have I given you reason to doubt me?”
“Just a moment ago when you suggested you had no honor.”
“Right, there was that,” he replied with a distinct lack of concern. “You seem to be in the midst of a quandary. Risk capture at the hands of Marwood or stay here with me.”
Two
Emma searched the shadows concealing the stranger’s face. Her eyes had accustomed themselves to the darkness, but it was not enough to discern any details beyond the faint suggestion of strong masculine features. One of the windows must have been open a crack because a cooling breath of air crossed her bare shoulders. She resisted the urge to shiver. Her instinct prompted her to trust him, but she was far too practical to rely on that alone.
“Who are you?” she murmured.
“Do you really want to know?” His voice held a note of challenge, as if he understood her wariness and welcomed it.
“No,” she answered quickly. Her curiosity had momentarily overridden her sense. She glanced away. The punch she had drunk earlier must have been spiked with something more potent. She was feeling light-headed, and her thoughts were not following the path of discernment they usually frequented. Pressing her fingers to her temples, she considered her next course of action and realized, with some surprise, her headache had completely dissipated.
For the last several minutes, she had ceased to worry over the future and the bills continuing to pile up since Father’s death. She had even almost forgotten about the exorbitant loan her father had accepted from the ruthless Mr. Mason Hale just prior to his death—a loan Emma had no means of paying back, despite the threatening demands she had received from Hale in the last months. But her brief reprieve had to end. Who knew what trouble her sisters may have gotten into during the time she had been gone.
“I must return to the ball,” she murmured more to herself than to her companion. A long silence followed, during which Emma stared at that narrow strip of light indicating the edge of the curtain. She should leave. Of course, she should leave. But if so, why were her feet so firmly rooted to the floor?
“Yet here you remain,” the stranger remarked.
Emma looked back at his silhouette against the charcoal night beyond the window. His broad shoulders were squared to her and his head was tipped to the side. It was as though he was studying her through the muted darkness, though he couldn’t possibly see her any better than she could see him.
After another moment, he gave a slow nod. “Ah, I think I understand. Have you tired of the hunt already?”
Emma sighed. He thought she was a debutante in pursuit of a husband. She would not dissuade him of the notion. “It may be fair to say I abhor it.”
Though her reply was misleading, it wasn’t untruthful.
Emma hated the anxiety inherent in watching Lily and Portia wade through the marriage market with their hearts vulnerable to anyone who might use or abuse them. The vigilance required to keep them both free of potential harm was exhausting.