The Rake's Redemption. Georgina Devon

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      His mouth curved into a smile that held no humour as he brought her fingers to his lips. Even through the gloves she felt the firm softness of his kiss. An arc of fire coursed its way up her arm. Her determination floundered.

      He released her and bowed. ‘Thank you, Miss Stockton, for a very informative dance.’

      She stared at him, the heat still coursing through her. ‘Informative?’

      He turned away as though he didn’t hear her. She stepped toward him, wanting to twirl him around and demand what he thought he was doing, toying with her as though she was a plaything. Instead she pivoted on her heel and moved in the opposite direction from him.

      Somewhere in this room was the settee she had taken refuge on earlier. She reached it seconds before Amy descended on her.

      ‘What do you think you were doing?’ Amy said, her voice a whispered screech. ‘I thought he was a disreputable rake that no respectable woman should associate with. Yet, you waltzed with him.’

      Emma’s fingers still tingled from his touch. Now they shook with irritation. ‘He is everything I always say he is, but he gave me no option.’ She steeled her voice. ‘And I am old enough to do as I please.’

      ‘So, you like him.’ Amy’s blue eyes were grey with anger. ‘That is why you tell me to stay away from him. Because you want him.’

      Emma’s raw nerves snapped. ‘Don’t be a ninnyhammer, Amy. It is bad enough that you are flighty.’

      Amy’s rosebud red mouth formed a perfect O. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘How could you, Em? First you dance with the man I am attracted to, and then you insult me so.’

      Emma’s head began to pound. This was getting out of hand. She rose. ‘I think it is time we left.’

      Amy stepped back. ‘No. I have promised Mr Kennilworth a dance. I shan’t shirk my duty.’

      Sharp words about Amy’s frequent failure to honour her word hung on Emma’s tongue but she bit them back. Things were so bad she did not want to make them worse. ‘When you are done, we are leaving.’

      Amy sniffed and turned away, her shoulders stiff. Emma watched her young sister and wondered what mischief Amy would get up to now. Likely she would manage to dance a waltz with Charles Hawthorne even after Emma’s sacrifice to prevent it.

      She longed for a hot drink and a warm bed. What should have been a pleasurable outing in the home of one of the ton’s most powerful women had turned into a nightmare thanks to Charles Hawthorne. The man should be ousted from Society.

      Emma rubbed her temples, hoping to ease some of the tension pounding through her head. Perhaps a breath of fresh air would help. She made her way to the open windows, watching for Amy as she went.

      Amy was where she said she would be. Emma knew her sister didn’t care much for Mr Kennilworth, but she had used him as an excuse to remain.

      Emma stepped into the cool night air with a sense of relief. Nothing would happen during the country dance.

      The music filtered to a murmur that failed to muffle the sound of female voices. Several feet away, their backs to her, two women laughed. Emma retreated, not wanting to interrupt them. She heard her name and froze.

      ‘Did you see Emma Stockton in Charles Hawthorne’s arms? She looked absolutely besotted. No wonder she chides her sister for chasing the man. She wants him herself.’

      The second woman giggled. ‘As though he would be interested. He is playing with both of them.’

      ‘So true.’

      Emma felt the blood leave her face before raging back as mortification claimed her. The cool night was suddenly unbearably warm.

      She twisted on her heel and sped back into the hot, crowded ballroom. The dance was only half done. What would she do? She felt like the fool she had chided herself for being. Surely she hadn’t looked besotted. She couldn’t stand the man, no matter what her body did. Her mind found him despicable and…and…

      How could she have reacted to him so much that others noticed? She had thought she had more self-control.

      She paused inside the doors, out of view of the two women, and scanned the room. Amy curtseyed to Mr Kennilworth as the dance ended.

      Emma’s nemesis laughed at something Princess Lieven said before she swatted his arm with her closed fan. Very much as Lady Jersey had done. Were all of them susceptible to him?

      She looked away.

      What was happening to her? She had never felt this way about George Hawthorne. Truth be told, she had felt nothing for him. That was why it had been easy for her to break their engagement. Her only regret was that her action had necessitated Amy marrying for money regardless of anything the girl might feel.

      ‘Are you feeling all right, Miss Stockton?’

      Emma jerked as his rich voice came from just behind her. Her fingers trembled as she twisted around. ‘I am fine. Please go away.’

      ‘Touchy.’ He stood his ground, his eyes darkening.

      Her headache returned with a vengeance. ‘Mr Hawthorne, I am merely watching my wayward sister flirt with the latest object of her attention.’ She tried to keep her unease out of her voice and realised she sounded tired and petulant.

      ‘She is a handful.’

      ‘Quite.’

      He chuckled. ‘George would sympathise with you.’

      She stiffened at the name of her former fiancé. ‘Are you referring to your peccadilloes?’

      He wore a rueful expression. ‘What else? I’m sure my past isn’t a secret.’

      In spite of her distrust, growing attraction and overall sense of being out of her depth, she replied, ‘I only know what I have seen this Season. You dabble in trade to great profit and do as you please without regard to others. The last is very like Amy.’

      ‘Yes, Miss Amy and I share a dislike for being dictated to and for wanting our own way. Perhaps the youngest child is like that.’

      ‘Spoilt.’

      He smiled. ‘Exactly. But sometimes we go too far.’

      She sensed he spoke about something besides their shared willful disregard for propriety. ‘Such as?’

      ‘Here you are, Emma,’ Amy’s hard-edged voice intruded, ‘entertaining Mr Hawthorne. Again.’

      For the first time in many years, Emma felt as though she was in deeper water than she could navigate. Charles Hawthorne seemed ready to confide something intensely private, a trust she was not sure she wanted. And now Amy’s biting words showed again how hurt she was by the situation between Emma and Mr Hawthorne. There was only one thing to do.

      Emma took a deep breath. ‘Amy, dear, it is time we left.’ She took Amy’s arm and started moving even as she said, ‘Good evening, СКАЧАТЬ