***
Emma’s heart fluttered. So she was to meet the young lady he just danced with. She should have recognized the resemblance between siblings. Marissa was a vision with her pale skin, emerald eyes, and the same thick, mahogany-colored hair her brother possessed.
The duke and Marissa certainly appeared to enjoy their waltz, laughing and smiling at each other. And Myles would encourage a union between the two of them. What could be better than to have your best friend marry your sister? That was something Emma did not want to think about.
Yet, try as she might, her mind had other ideas.
“I would like to make her acquaintance. If she is anything like her brother, we’ll get along splendidly.” She smiled at Wentworth, praying he did not notice the envy she felt for Marissa.
The twinkle in his eye and the grin tugging at his lips told her he had noticed, and when he leaned in and whispered in her ear she knew for certain.
“Do I detect a little jealousy? I thought you loathed the sight of me and couldn’t wait until I was out of your life.”
Closing her eyes, Emma swallowed the lump in her throat, hoping to steady her voice. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her unsettled.
“Jealousy is not something I feel.” Fluttering her lashes, she forced her lips into a wide smile. “Marissa is a lovely young lady. I believe she would make you a perfect wife.” She lowered her voice. “That is, if you can win her heart…”
Oh, dear Lord, did she just challenge him? She hoped not, because that was not her intent.
“Do not fret, my dear Emma. If I wanted Marissa, or any other young lady present this evening, all I have to do is snap my fingers. They would be all too accommodating for the chance to become the wife of a duke.” He bowed. “If you will excuse me, I believe I see Lady Caroline Henley, and I promised her a dance.”
Emma stood frozen to the spot, her jaw open. The nerve of Thomas, brushing her off like that. She would show him he meant nothing to her. She glided across the room, glancing around, hoping he watched. Her pulse raced when she saw he did. When she came to a stop, she stood facing the major, and, ignoring propriety, she said, “Why, Major Fontaine, I do believe you promised me this dance.”
Watching his eyes sparkle, Emma congratulated herself for accomplishing what she’d hoped and planned. Fortunately, the dance was a country reel and she would not have to flirt her way through the dance. They would change partners often.
The music began as the gentlemen came forward and bowed. The ladies curtsied at the same time. Ignoring Wentworth who took his position beside the major, she smiled the most coquettish smile she had––for the major’s eyes only. Emma took prided in herself and she wondered if she should consider a career in the theater. She had no idea she was so accomplished in the art of dissembling.
Wentworth paid her no heed, which was good because she needed to focus on keeping up with the steps of the reel and the switching of partners when necessary. Because of the complicated steps of the dance, she was able to ignore the duke on one level––until she found herself partnered with him.
“Do you think I care if you flirt like a lightskirt with the major?” he demanded in an undertone.
Gasping, Emma glared at him. How dare he compare her to a lightskirt? “At least I am not leading some poor, silly girl on, making her believe you have feelings for her.” She tried to turn away, but he held onto her and they danced.
“If you don’t behave yourself,” he warned, “all the gossips will be wagging their tongues about you and your shameless flirting with Fontaine.”
“Oh.” There was no time for a retort, as she found herself back with the man in question. “Hello, Major.”
“Miss Hamilton, when this dance is over would you care to stroll in the gardens? I hear they are lovely in the evening, all lit up with torches.”
“Why, Major, I would love to.” Emma smiled and clapped when the reel ended. She allowed the major to lead her through the French doors and into the garden. There were not many people around, and the gardens were not at all well lit. Wentworth’s warning not to find herself alone with Major Fontaine prickled awareness up her spine.
“The gardens are lovely, but if you don’t mind, I prefer to sit on this garden bench and rest my feet a spell.”
The disappointment on his face was evident to her. Emma ignored it and sank down onto the bench, adjusting her skirts, taking up the whole seat so the major could not sit next to her.
Fontaine stepped in front of her then and reached for her hand. “Miss Hamilton, may I call you Emma?”
She lowered her head. “Yes, but only in private.”