Page 23 of Loving an Earl
“It’s true. Anyway, tell me how it was.”
Smiling, Lilly said, “It was nice.”
“Nice?” Emmeline frowned. “You mean to tell me the handsome marquess didn’t pull you into his arms and kiss your breath away? His tongue tasting the inside of your mouth, causing you to grip his arms for support as your knees threatened to buckle and your throat makes soft purring sounds?”
Lilly could feel her cheeks warm. “No. His tongue? My goodness, purring. I never.”
Emmeline sighed wistfully, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “You haven’t been kissed properly until tongues are involved. And mewing and weak knees.”
“Henry was not much for kissing.” Lilly frowned. “Oh my, I have so much to learn.”
After Daisy helped her undress, Lilly climbed into bed and thought about her time at the opera with Hollingsworth. Her belly didn’t tingle with butterflies when she thought of him as it did when she reflected on that dreadful man, Langford. They were both handsome. One kind, one not. One insulted her, and one did not. Both looked at her with desire. At least, she interpreted it as desire. But what did she truly know about desire? Langford tempted her anger and made her furious; at times, she couldn’t speak. Hollingsworth—she should think of him as Nicholas—didn’t anger her. Life would be simple and easy with Nicholas. At least what she knew of him made her think so. Now she just needed to figure out if that was what she wanted.
Chapter Nine
After leaving theopera, Edmund, feeling the worst mood descend on him, hired a hack and headed into St. Giles. It was a clear night, the perfect weather for looking for Annabelle. Well, not Annabelle per se. Rather her husband who frequented taverns. From what Edmund and the baron had learned about him since Annabelle had left with him all those years ago, the man had a propensity to tavern life. It made Edmund wonder what Annabelle was doing when he was gone.
The closer the hack got to St. Giles, the tighter his stomach became. He didn’t know how much good he could do, but he felt he owed it to Baron Winslow to look for his daughter. The baron had also had professionals looking for Annabelle for the past ten years, but it was to no avail. Every lead seemed to turn up empty. Edmund couldn’t imagine how the baron went on day after day alone. His wife had passed and his daughter had disappeared. The man was heartbroken and Edmund, now that he was back in London to stay, couldn’t stand by and do nothing. He would comb through the slums until he either found her or died trying. But tonight, as with other nights, turned up nothing helpful which only added to Edmund’s bad mood.
He walked several blocks over before he was able to wave down another hired hack that took him to Brooks’s. He liked White’s but Brooks’s even better, especially when he was in a dismal mood, such as tonight. He made his way toward the back, beelining to a chair in front of the hearth, when he noticed Blackstone sitting alone with a half-empty drink in his hand. “Rough night?”
“Perhaps... perhaps not,” Blackstone said with a grin. “What about you? You left the opera abruptly.”
He sat and signaled the waiter. “Brandy.” He tugged on his cravat trying to loosen it, then gave up and untied the bloody thing along with unbuttoning the top button on his linen shirt. It was choking the hell out of him. “I went looking for Annabelle’s husband.”
“Any luck?”
“No. I wish I could find her to give Baron Winslow peace. But I’m beginning to believe it will never happen.”
“I know it seems hopeless, but don’t give up just yet.”
Edmund ran his hands through his hair. “On a different topic, I don’t think I can stand the idea of Hollingsworth with Lilly.”
His friend chuckled. “You’re just figuring this out now?”
“No.” He sighed deeply and took a sip of his drink the attendant had just set down next to him, enjoying the slow burn down his throat and then continuing on to heat his belly. “She hates me.”
“You could compel her to marry you.”
“How?” He groaned. “Never mind. I’d never subject her to that. I want her. I don’t want her to hate me.”
Blackstone signaled for a refill. “I spent four years watching one of my closest friends being married to the woman I wanted. And honestly, did I not secretly, during some dark times, wish him dead so I could have Emmeline for myself? Then, when he died, I struggled with guilt for years because I felt responsible for his death. And because I’m a bloody arse, I blamed her for his death. And now she is free, and so am I, and I’m still conflicted. You know what rabbit hole I’ve fallen down.” He drained his glass and placed it on the table beside his chair. “I don’t wish for you to fall down that same hole. It’s too crowded since I’m still clawing my way out. So take it from me, the last thing you want to do is step aside and watch the woman you care for marry another, whether it ends up being Hollingsworth or someone else.”
Edmund pondered this advice, then offered a bit of his own. “Perhaps you should call on Emmeline tomorrow. But keep your frustrations to yourself. Whenever you’re around her you practically snarl at her. She undoubtedly thinks you hate her.”
Blackstone looked at him and winced. “Of course she thinks I hate her. Several years ago, when I was drinking heavily, I provoked her to hate me. I thought it’d be easier to have her loathe me than to admit the truth.”
“Which is?”
“That I’m in love with her.”
“We are both making morning calls tomorrow.” Edmund’s thoughts got lost as he stared into his empty glass. As he was leaving, he noticed Hollingsworth deep in conversation with his younger brother. Edmund hid behind a chair, giving anyone the evil eye if they seemed inclined to say anything, and eavesdropped, learning some important facts. His melancholy of moments ago was taken over with seething anger.
*
Flowers arrived fromthe same three gentlemen that morning as the day before. “The flowers are lovely,” Aunt Vivian remarked as she entered the morning room with a lightness in her step. Obviously, she’d slept well the night before. Lilly hadn’t, and she imagined Emmeline hadn’t either, if the circles beneath her eyes were any indication. She would request cucumber slices after breakfast. As not to hurt Emmeline’s feelings, she would say they were for her and then share.
“Do flowers always mean the sender will make a call?” Lilly asked.
