Page 6 of A Foolish Flirtation

Only once they were comfortably seated did Pinky lean forward to whisper urgently, “You are alright, dear, aren’t you?”

Emmie nodded but mercifully there was no chance to speak further, for Florrie was knocking on the door. She flung it open, cleared her throat, and announced importantly, “Count Stefano!”

Jeremy Vance, or rather, Viscount Faris as he was apparently now known, paused, a faint pucker appearing between his brows. Still, he advanced into the room, assured as ever, his eyes on Emmeline’s face as she rose to give him her curtesy.

“Miss Ballentine,” he said, his own bow grace itself. “It has been too long, and yet, I would have recognized you anywhere.”

“You are too kind. Allow me to present my friend and companion, Miss Hannah Pinson.”

He turned at once to Pinky. “I am delighted to meet you,” he said with a charming smile. Emmie was glad that Pinky was on her guard, or she might have been completely taken in by such beautiful manners. As it was, her friend merely curtseyed, her eyes wary, her face tight with concern.

“Please be seated, my lord,” Emmie said, gesturing toward a spoon-back armchair, which was their best and did not match the rest of the room, since it was a relic from more affluent times.

Lord Faris hesitated slightly before seating himself. “I hope I have not come at an inopportune time,” he said. “It appears you are expecting someone else’s company at present.” When they gazed blankly back at him, he said, “A certain Count Stefano?”

Pinky went off into a coughing fit and Emmie felt a hot flush start crawling up her neck.

“That was a simple misunderstanding only,” she said hastily. “I do apologize. It was my fault; Florrie mistook my meaning.”

He waved this off. “So long as my poor company is not a crushing disappointment in his stead.”

“How could it be?” Emmie said brightly. “You are a count yourself, are you not? A viscount no less, and no longer a mere honorable.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, a gleam appearing in his eye. What had he been about to say? Emmie found herself wondering. Likely, something about never being honorable in his life, she guessed. Then, something seemed to occur to him, and the laughter abruptly vanished from his eyes. “The title,” he said softly, “you did not realize who I was.” He shot her a look of disconcerting frankness. “Am I still welcome, Emmeline? Now that you know it is me.”

Emmie’s stomach lurched. Emmeline? She did not dare look at Pinky, who was doubtless scandalized by such familiarity. She was shocked herself. No one called her Emmeline. He had certainly not done so during her London season. Instead, he had called her “Ballentine,” a form of address equally improper, though more contemptuous than overfamiliar.

Still, the unaccustomed look on his face as he asked made her feel quite unequal to upbraiding him. He looked almost unsure of himself. She plastered a smile to her face. “Of course you are welcome!” Emmie declared. “You have certainly grown a good deal more modest in the past decade it seems. Pinky,” she said, turning to her friend, “during my brief time as a debutante, Viscount Faris, or rather, the Honorable Jeremy Vance as he was known then, was quite the most eligible bachelor of my season.”

Pinky’s eyes widened and she nodded, looking from Emmie to Lord Faris. “How interesting,” she said politely.

“I don’t know that I would put it quite in those terms,” he said with a rueful smile.

“On the contrary, that is exactly how you put it,” Emmie corrected him. “In fact, those were the very words you used to me, on the occasion of our first dance at Lady Halford’s ball. ‘Ballentine,’ you said, ‘I am sure our host has informed you, but should she have neglected the fact, you happen to be dancing with the most eligible man in London.’”

She had meant to put him to the blush, but unfortunately, halfway through the anecdote, Emmie realized she was confessing she had memorized his every word. How embarrassing.

Lord Faris stared at her, his lips parted and his breath coming fast. The air in the sitting room seemed strangely oppressive somehow. Never had Emmie been so grateful for the fact she had a chaperone. She had the oddest feeling Pinky’s presence was the only thing keeping the situation from falling apart completely.

Suddenly, he laughed. “What an insufferable blackguard I must have been. Could you ever find it in your heart to forgive me, do you think?”

Nonsense, of course, to imagine the flippant words meant anything to him. “Whatever could there be for me to forgive, my lord?” she asked, opening her eyes wide and matching his light tone. “You spoke nothing but the truth in any case. Several people had already apprised me of that same fact over the course of the evening. I was profoundly grateful you deigned to notice me, and single me out for a dance. It was the highlight of my evening, I assure you.”

His eyes held hers for a breathless moment, until finally, he inclined his head. “You are too gracious, Miss Ballentine. It is still Miss Ballentine, I take it?”

“Miss Ballentine is engaged to be married, my lord,” Pinky interjected firmly, surprising them both. She then ruined this by adding, “And has been anytime these past ten years.”

“Ten years?” His tone was faintly incredulous, his brows, surprisingly dark for his golden hair, shot up.

“Yes,” Emmie agreed in a choked voice. “Dear Humphrey resides in London and is busy running my late father’s business there. Alas, we have had to put our marriage plans on hold.”

“Is that so?” His tone was polite, but it still stung somehow.

“And how is your lady wife?” Emmie heard herself ask with a faint edge to her voice. Amanda Liversedge had been one of the most beautiful girls she had ever met. Beautiful and remote. Emmie doubted very much that she would ever deign to visit.

“Ah, you have not heard that news either, it seems,” he replied. “Amanda is no longer my wife.”

“No longer…?”