"Good morning, Your Grace,” he said, amiably.
In spite of the amicable greeting, Emme felt a small frisson of fear. “Good morning, Lord Pommeroy,” she replied, and tried to move past him into the room.
As she did so, he moved again, blocking her entrance. She could smell the whiskey he imbibed at breakfast. It was strong on his breath. She stepped back, and caught the smirk on his face as she did so. He'd interpreted her retreat as fear rather than distaste. He withdrew a flask from his pocket and took a sip from it. He settled himself more comfortably against the doorframe.
The smile that crossed his face was more like a leer. “Running off so soon? I thought we might become better acquainted."
Emme had a fairly good idea of what he meant by acquainted. “Perhaps we can converse more at dinner. It's become quite chilly out here, so if you'd please move aside."
"Perhaps I could help to warm you,” he suggested, taking a longer pull from the flask. “I warmed your predecessor quite frequently."
Emme's lips firmed and she realized that her previous state of innocence had protected her from Lord Pommeroy's advances. Now, as a married woman he thought she would be fair game for his licentious games. “Lord Pommeroy, it appears you are being quite inappropriate, unless I am mistaken. I am mistaken, am I not?” she queried coolly, challengingly.
He smiled again, displaying teeth that were overlapped and jagged. “I am as proper or as improper as you desire, Your Grace."
Emme inclined her head coolly. “Then when I tell my husband of our conversation, I shall assure him that you were the soul of propriety as that is all I desire of you."
His smirk remained firmly in place, but his eyes grew cold. “As you wish, Your Grace."
Relief stole through her as he unfolded himself from the doorway and turned to exit the morning room. She stepped inside and closed the door, realizing too late, that rather than exiting the morning room, he had closed the main door and turned back to her.
"Don't play coy with me,” he said, as he stalked toward her. “I've seen you panting after your dear husband and Ellersleigh! You will be for me as well!"
Emme's fear spiked, but she did her best to conceal it. “Lord Pommeroy, I will tell my husband about this. He will challenge you. Do you really feel that you could face him on a field of honor and not lose your life?"
The odious cad, with his weasely face and whiskey-soured breath raked his eyes over her as if she were already naked. “You won't tell. Either because you'll be ashamed, or because you will enjoy it and wish to repeat the experience."
The door opened and the butler entered, his impassive face revealed nothing but Emme didn't doubt that he had heard the exchange as he approached.
"Forgive my intrusion, Your Grace, but Lord Wolverston has arrived along with a young woman who claims to be your sister."
"Thank you, Winstone,” she said.
Her voice quavered slightly but her spine was rigid as she brushed past Lord Pommeroy.
He grabbed her wrist, twisting it painfully. “We are not finished."
In spite of the pain, she twisted her wrist from his grasp. She was firm when she said, “We are finished, Lord Pommeroy. You are a guest in this home, and you have imbibed too freely both last night and this morning and because of that, I am willing to overlook this lapse in judgment and decency. However, should you ever importune me in such a fashion again, I will not hesitate to tell my husband and rest assured he will see that you pay for it! In the meantime, I suggest that you find some pressing business to attend to at your own estate, something that would necessitate prematurely ending your stay at Briarwood."
Winstone placed himself between her and Lord Pommeroy and escorted her to the drawing room where Wolverstone and Larissa were awaiting her. She paused outside the door, took several deep breaths and tried to calm herself. Winstone, understanding her need to compose herself, stood at the door and waited for her signal. When she felt reasonably like herself, she gave him a slight nod, and he opened the door.
Gervase Spencer, Lord Wolverstone, or simply Spencer to his friends, rose as Emme entered the room. He was not what she had anticipated. Blond where both Rhys and Ellersleigh were dark, he was a veritable giant of a man. He stood several inches taller than both of them, and had the physique of a warrior. He was a Viking from the top of his blond head to the tips of his rather enormous feet.
He was not the person who held her interest, however. Larissa was seated on the settee. Her face was pale and wan and she appeared to be quite gaunt. Her once curvaceous figure was little more than skin and bone.
"Larissa!” she gasped, her encounter with Lord Pommeroy completely wiped from her mind. “Are you ill?"