Page 13 of A Foolish Flirtation

A horrified gasp from the doorway had them both turning their heads. It was the mousey companion from yesterday, Jeremy realized. What was her name? Munsen? Pinkerton? Whatever it was she had lousy timing.

“Pinky!” Emmeline blurted, starting up out of her chair. “It’s not… That is, Viscount Faris arrived early for our walk and—” She turned an agonized look upon him.

Jeremy came to his feet, wondering why she felt the need to bleat excuses to her paid companion. It was not as though she had walked in on them in flagrante delicto. “Good morning, Miss Pinkerton,” he started politely, sketching her a bow.

“It’s Pinson,” Emmeline corrected him swiftly.

“My apologies, Miss Pinson. I came by a little early, encouraged by the blue skies. I hoped to persuade Miss Ballentine to partake of the morning sunshine before the showers.”

“I see,” murmured Miss Pinson, two spots of bright pink in her cheeks. That is not the only thing you thought to persuade her of, that outraged maiden’s gaze seemed to convey. She was not as old as he had originally thought, closer in years to forty than fifty. “And your little boy?” she asked, lifting her chin. Her expression showed she no longer remotely believed in the child’s existence.

“Alas, not feeling up to the exertion this morning,” he lied smoothly.

“I see,” she repeated tightly. Her gaze darted to Emmeline, and she took a deep breath. “I think we must—”

“Miss Ballentine has agreed to accompany me to Royal Victoria Park, but I will return her to you in time for luncheon, never fear.” Miss Pinson looked alarmed but could not seem to summon a response to this. He turned to Emmeline and proffered his arm. “Shall we?”

Swallowing, she took his arm and they made for the door together. Miss Pinson fled into the hallway before them. “Your hat and coat, Emmie,” she squeaked. “You cannot possibly—”

Seeing the curious maidservant’s approach, Jeremy turned to her. “Ah, this most obliging young woman will fetch them for us, I am sure.” He certainly was not about to let Miss Pinson snatch Emmeline out of his clutches.

“Yes, milord.” Clearly remembering his generous tip from yesterday, the maid instantly hastened to climb the stairs in search of them.

“Oh dear, she will not know which gloves to bring,” Miss Pinson fretted. “Please excuse me,” she said, hurrying up after her.

“Poor Pinky,” Emmeline muttered. “We have given her the most horrendous shock.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to mention the time a companion of hers had walked in on something far more shocking between them, but it was too soon. Besides, this was not the same companion. That one had borne a more worldly air.

“She will recover presently, I have no doubt,” he assured her. Emmeline was looking pale and the hand which still rested on his arm had a decided tremor running through it.

“It’s not too cold out,” he assured her, despite knowing that was not the reason she was shivering. He should take her for some refreshment. Sweet tea was meant to be good for shock as well as fortifying the spirits, though she would derive more benefit from a splash of brandy. No doubt she would cavil at hard liquor at this time in the morning.

Jeremy doubted very much that she carried smelling salts upon her person. Emmeline was a healthy, well-built woman and not at all the type for swooning. If she had been, she would not have lasted her season. Not with the way he had been after her.

He would take her to Hutton’s, he decided, in spite of her shabby dress. He didn’t care if people did stare, he would enjoy squiring her about, even if she wasn’t presented to her best advantage. He eyed the faded velvet of her gown. It did not detract from her charms one bit. How could it, with that magnificent figure?

He was profoundly glad her reduced means had not wasted away her pleasing person. Emmeline had been plump and pretty at eighteen and she was still delightfully full-figured at twenty-eight, maybe even a little more so. The turn of her cheek remained rounded and dimpled. He still wanted to corner her and kiss those cherry ripe lips, though they looked a little bloodless at present.

As though becoming aware of his scrutiny, Emmeline stirred and self-consciously withdrew her hand from his arm. He could not hold back his own murmur of discontent, which seemed to startle her, for her gaze fell away from his and she took a step back. Thankfully the maid was coming back down the stairs bearing a cape and a wide-brimmed poke bonnet about five years out of style.

“Thank you, Florrie,” Emmeline said, making haste to don them with the maid’s assiduous help. From the surprised look on Emmeline’s face, Jeremy deduced Florrie was not usually so attentive.

“Miss Pinson said you’d want your tan gloves on a day like this,” Florrie pronounced loudly, handing them over. Jeremy handsomely tipped her as Emmeline drew on her gloves and he whisked her out of the front door without more ado, ushering her in the direction of his carriage.

Colfax sat up with a surprised look and hurriedly discarded the cigarette he was smoking.

“St. John Street,” Jeremy called, opening the door for Emmeline himself and helping her in.

“I thought we were going for a walk in the park,” she remarked as soon as she settled onto the seat.

“Change of plan.”

“Oh.”

“Your companion does not trust me at all,” he remarked, shutting the door fast behind them.

“No,” she agreed absently, “I’m afraid that’s my fault.”