“Mr. Sutton,you are a delight to behold this afternoon,” Emma said, unable to keep the smile from her lips as she greeted Hart in the drawing room of her father’s town house.
The healthy hue had returned to his skin, replacing the pallor he had possessed when he had been overcome by the fever. He was dressed like any fashionable gentleman, a snowy cravat tied neatly at his throat, his dark hair combed back from his high forehead, the coat hugging his broad shoulders cut with expert lines, showing his muscled frame to advantage. His boots were polished and lovingly molded his well-turned calves.
He bowed over her hand, the only hint of the wicked lover she had come to know burning in the depths of his hazel eyes. “My lady.”
How she wished they were not reduced to polite courting. She longed for a passionate kiss, his knowing touch. She slanted a glance to the corner of the room where Aunt Rosamund watched with a keen eye whilst she practiced her embroidery. If only they could be alone.
But she supposed there would be time enough for that after they became husband and wife. It was almost unbelievable to Emma that she had been able to resume her old life with everyone but her family unaware of where she had been. Excuses had been made that she had been ill, and since she had been already ruined, her suitors had dried up. No one had noticed her absence. Aunt Rosamund had been relieved at Emma’s return and delighted at her future husband.
Emma had not had the heart yet to inform her well-intentioned aunt that her suitor was not precisely the polite gentleman he presented himself as. There would be time enough to introduce Aunt Rosamund to the Sutton family.
Later.
Though she hated having to wait, Emma also knew that taking the time for courting and having the banns read was what needed to happen. She wanted to make certain Abigail and Cassandra remained as untouched by scandal as possible, and as Hart’s wife, it would be possible for her to render them aid after they made their debuts. In her absence, her father had stopped drinking himself to perdition, and he had ceased gambling as well.
Losing your mother made me lose myself, he had admitted to her, sorrow in his voice, anguish in his eyes. Can you ever forgive me, daughter, for what you have endured because of me?
Emma had.
Of course she had.
Forgiveness was a part of loving someone. She had not known that, not truly, and nor had she understood love, until Hart had swept into her life. But she knew it now.
“What does one do,” Hart asked her, sotto voce, presumably in an effort to keep his voice from carrying to her aunt, “in such a circumstance as this?”
“We engage in polite conversation,” she said quietly.
“May I kiss you?” he whispered back.
Her cheeks went hot and she spared Aunt Rosamund a furious glance. “I fear not.”
“Blast.”
She could not quite contain her smile. “You are meant to merely visit not longer than one quarter hour.”
“That is all?” He sent her a look of displeasure. “I miss you.”
Her heart warmed. “And I miss you too, my love.”
She glanced toward her aunt, who still appeared engrossed in her task, paying them no heed.
“Which window is yours?” he asked softly. “If there is an obliging tree beneath, I’ll climb it.”
“Mr. Sutton,” she chastised without censure.
In truth, there was an obliging tree, and she would keep her window open all night long despite the chill if she thought he might enter through it.
“Ain’t that proper courting?” He sent her a wicked grin she felt in her core.
“You know it is not,” she said. “Tell me, have you learned anything about your brother from the moneylender?”
Emma was grateful Hart had been able to speak with her father and that an understanding had been reached. Her father’s debts had been canceled. He had also told Hart everything he knew about Logan Sutton. Unfortunately, that had been nothing.
The levity fled from his countenance, his jaw going hard. “I found my brother.”
She gasped. “You did?”
He nodded. “’Tis a long story, and we’ve much to learn. Suffice it to say, he is alive, and he has been here in London all along. I’m sorry for believing the lies about your father, and I’m sorry for involving you. I never should have done.”
“Hush,” she said quietly, looking toward her aunt. “All is forgiven.”
“I don’t deserve your love, Em.”
His simple statement and the raw tenderness reflected on his handsome face made her heart feel as light as a cloud in the sky.
“Yes,” she told him, “you do. We deserve each other’s love.”
Aunt Rosamund cleared her throat. “Oh dear. I do believe I have run out of thread. I will return in a moment.”
When her aunt had made her departure from the drawing room, leaving them conveniently alone, Hart rose, coming to her and taking her hands in his to pull her to her feet.
She went into his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck. “She will not be gone long, you know.”
“This won’t take long,” he promised with a rogue’s grin, pulling her body snugly against his. “I love you, Lady Emma Morgan, and I can’t bleeding wait to make you my wife.”
She smiled. “I love you too, Hart Sutton, and I can’t bleeding wait to make you my husband. Now kiss me before Aunt Rosamund returns with her thread.”
“As my lady wishes,” he said, and then his lips were on hers.