Capturing the Governess’s Heart by Sally Forbes
Chapter Twenty Four
At last, Robert thought triumphantly, I have her in my arms again … and it feels so right! From the moment he had seen Miss Emma and Henry leaving the dance floor, he had been determined that her next dance would be with him.
He immediately made his way through the other guests near the dance floor, intent on getting to her before any other man could ask her to dance. From the moment she took his arm to the first strains of music, a slow waltz he was gratified to note, nothing else existed for him but Emma Fletcher.
He felt high exultation such as he had never felt before to have this comely woman on his arm, to be free to hold her close, entwine his hand with her warm, delicate one, to gaze unhindered at her lips, her eyes, her porcelain cheek, and to smell the delicious lemon scent of her hair. It was a heady perfume that had him standing taller, feeling stronger and more masculine than he had in a long time.
When he placed his hand on her waist and felt its soft curves, it was all he could do to fight down his almost overpowering physical desire to make her his own. Despite that, dancing the deliciously slow waltz with her was a liberating feeling completely novel to him. It was almost dizzying to know that, for a few minutes at least, she was his and nobody, not his mother, not the ton, could do anything to stop him enjoying being close to this perfect little woman whom he … yes, he owned it … he loved Emma Fletcher.
For the short, dream-like time of the dance, he was free to gaze into those depthless green eyes without interruption. Emma never acted coyly, she never fluttered her eyelashes at him, or enticed him with her eyes, beautiful as they were. Her face was exquisitely fresh and natural, full of health and vitality. Pressing her small hand in his larger one was one of the chief delights of the evening for him. He wanted to keep it there forever, caged like a little bird. She was his, he was sure of it when he saw the shining passion in her answering gaze, just as he had that night in the garden.
Nothing, no prior experience of being close to Isabel, of kissing her, had prepared him for the experience of holding close this auburn-tressed angel. Oh Lord, if only he could kiss those soft, beautiful lips!
It was with the greatest reluctance that he relinquished Emma as the waltz came to an end. Was it his imagination or had he seen regret in her smile, felt the way her hand had lingered on his shoulder a little longer than it should have?
He sensed the experience had changed him forever somehow, he felt, bigger, stronger, the urge to protect her was almost overwhelming. The necessity to let her go and return to the normal world filled him with regret. And he was almost sure she felt the same.
As soon as they left the dance floor, Robert escorted Emma to the refreshment table. While she was with the Duke of Dalwater it was unlikely that any other man would be so bold as to ask her to dance, which suited him fine, he thought, slightly shocked at himself for relying on his rank to get his desire. But, as he fetched champagne for them both, he was stunned to find a profound change had taken place in their relations during the dance.
There was a deep sense of relaxation, that no further striving was necessary to be able to converse without blushing, stammering, or feeling hot and awkward in each other’s company. In fact, it was as if they had been together forever, happy and content to simply be by themselves, exchanging news about the simple things that were important in their shared life. He found it was a restful feeling, and he reveled in it.
Of course, he still wanted to hold her tightly to him and shower her with affection, he couldn’t think of a time when he wouldn’t want to do that. But much of the strain had dissipated, and they had moved onto a new footing, it seemed. It was if, he thought, there had been a silent, mutual agreement between themselves that, yes, they loved each other. Now, all that had to be dealt with was how they were going to go about dealing with the practical obstacles to their partnership.
They enjoyed a glass of champagne in cheerful contentment. They admired Abigail and Elsby as a couple and discussed with much laughter what it would mean should the young couple dance twice.
Then, they talked about how Henry was turning into a fine young man and how proud they were of him. Their minds fell into happy accord, just as their bodies had during the dance. All previous tension between them vanished. They conversed with all the familiarity of an old happily married couple. But the happy state was not to last.
Before a quarter of an hour had passed of being in this blissful bubble, it was rudely broken into by the arrival of the dowager, with the Duchess of Irrisoll and the Lady Beatrice by her side. The old woman shot a look of utter disdain at Emma, who, in her altered frame of mind, met it with a calm smile.
“Robert, it is time you ceased allowing Miss Fletcher to monopolize your presence,” she chided.
Robert turned to her serenely and replied, “Hello, Mother. Lady Seymour, Lady Beatrice, I do hope you are enjoying the party. The orchestra is really first rate. I very much enjoyed the last dance with Miss Fletcher, and now we are sharing this excellent champagne. I invite you to do the same.” Emma looked away to hide her smile, while the dowager looked as if steam might come out of her ears at any moment.
However, good breeding prevented it, and she said, “Well, now that is done, it is time to honor your promise to dance with Lady Beatrice.” Robert effected surprise.
“I’m sure I don’t remember making such a promise. How very remiss of me. As you can imagine, I am rather weary at this moment, having only recently retired from the dance floor. Perhaps Lady Beatrice would be kind enough oblige one of her doubtless numerous would-be partners for this set?” He spoke with perfect aplomb.
Emma thought the dowager was about to have a fit, and Lady Irrisoll looked bewildered at the very suggestion that anyone, even a duke, would reject her daughter as a dance partner. Lady Beatrice, however, with more grit, had daggers in her smile.
“The duke is correct. I have indeed very many other partners awaiting my favor, but I feel I should at last oblige his lordship by meeting his invitation to dance. I would not want him to feel slighted by my having excluded him,” she said with a sweet and deadly smile at Robert. Robert took a deep breath, clearly steeling himself.
“How very kind of my lady,” he said stiffly, then turned to Emma. “Please do excuse me for a short while, Miss Fletcher. As you see, I have an obligation to fulfill.” Emma nodded graciously. The duke offered a triumphant Lady Beatrice his arm, and they left for the dance floor together, where a new set was about to begin. Fortunately, Emma observed, the tune was not a waltz. The two older ladies flicked their fans rather menacingly, and left Emma standing alone, with dark mutterings passing between them.
As he escorted Lady Beatrice to the dance floor, Robert wondered if Emma felt as angry as he did about having been parted in such an underhand way. He couldn’t help but show his deep resentment toward the young, sly woman beside him in his stiff bearing and monosyllabic answers to her shallow, provocative questions. They were clear attempts at flirtation, which he ignored.
As the dance began, and he thanked the Lord it wasn’t a waltz, so he wouldn’t have to hold the little vixen close, his anger began to cool. Such was the deep understanding he felt he had gained with Emma, he found he no longer regarded Lady Beatrice as much of a threat. In fact, she was a rather pathetic figure, grasping, shallow, and superficial, and she would never change.
She would find a husband as equally shallow as herself, he was sure, but it damned well wasn’t going to be him. His mother could hardly be more disappointed in him than she already was. Theo was right; she had had her life. Why should he sacrifice his own happiness merely to satisfy her selfish whim? No one could drag him up the aisle to marry Lady Beatrice, so what was there to fear?
All these thoughts ran through his mind as he went mechanically through the dance steps opposite Lady Beatrice. When they met in the dance, she would say something meant to entice him, but he shrugged off her remarks with a smile, and simply carried on, waiting for the music to end and his time-wasting torment to be over.
Then, he would go and find Emma again. And he would ask her to dance again. And if she accepted, well, then he and everybody else, including his mother and the Seymours would know where things stood.
He looked around the room to the refreshment table, but Emma was not there. His heart sank a little. Probably, she had gone to find Henry, he reasoned. He scanned the dance floor. No, he couldn’t see her dancing with anyone, for which he felt relieved.
He was so preoccupied with his own thoughts, he hardly noticed the time passing and was surprised when the dance ended. He politely escorted a subdued Lady Beatrice from the dance floor and was about to make his exit, when he was buttonholed by her father and another old lord. The gentleman had been an old friend of his father and had known Robert as a boy, so, much to his frustration, he was stuck with them in boring conversation for some time.
Not long after that, at midnight, the ball ended, and he was forced to do his duty as host and personally see off all the guests. When he had finished and looked for Emma, much to his frustration, he could not find her anywhere.
