eyes. "Do you know, you may be right. I have the distinct impression that you are a sadly misunderstood young woman. But it is a mistake for you to assume that you know as much about me as I do about you."
"I do not think for one moment that my belief is a mistake, my lord." She looked up at him very earnestly. "Through our letters you and I have developed the most perfect intellectual and spiritual companionship of the mind. I am quite certain that our communication, which takes place on the highest of planes, has led us to a true comprehension of each other's—"
"Enough," he interrupted curtly. "Miss Faringdon, it is always a mistake to assume you can trust a man completely when it comes to matters of passion."
She smiled serenely, knowing he was wrong. "I do not think so, my lord. Not in your case. I would trust you with my heart and my life."
"Damn." Simon shook his head slowly and released her chin. "Your family appears to have the right of it. No common sense in this sort of thing at all. You do not mind the risks involved in the game of love, I take it?"
She shrugged lightly. "I come from a long line of gamesters, my lord. It is in the blood."
"And how often have you taken this particular sort of risk?" he inquired with sudden, silky menace.
Emily looked out over the small pond, choosing her words carefully. She knew honor required her to be honest, but she could not bear to ruin this idyll by telling him the whole story. "I have never before been in love. Not really. I know that now. Once, a long time ago, I thought I was, but I was proven wrong. Since then there has been no one else with whom I have wanted to take such a risk."
"Interesting."
Uneasily she turned her head to find him watching her with his cold, assessing eyes. "My lord?"
He said something under his breath and got to his feet. "Pay me no heed. I am obviously not thinking very clearly at the moment. A direct result of sailing too close to a transcendent, golden shore, I imagine. Come. I will ride with you until you are within sight of St. Clair Hall."
"Have I said something wrong, my lord?"
"Not at all. I believe everything is going to go very smoothly between us from now on. I simply needed to acquire certain information before proceeding further and I have done so."
"I see. Very wise." Emily relaxed and smiled up at him, not caring if her heart was in her eyes. She knew very well there was no future for them, but there was the present and she was determined to enjoy it as long as possible. "In your most recent letter you said you were very affected by my verses about urns and broken hearts."
His mouth curved faintly as he took her arm and led her back to the waiting horses. "Indeed I was, Miss Faringdon."
"Well, I am glad you are interested in them," she said cheerfully. "Mr. Pound, the bookseller and publisher, was not. I got another nasty rejection from him in the morning post."
"Mr. Pound obviously has even less taste than the critics of the
Edinburgh Review
."
Emily laughed in delight. "Very true." She paused once more, her expression sobering as a shaft of guilt assailed her. She really ought to give him a small warning about the doomed nature of his affections. "My lord?"
"Yes, Miss Faringdon?" Simon was busy untying the dappled gray mare.
"Did you mean it when you said you were here to… to speak to my father about asking for my hand in marriage?"
"Yes, Miss Faringdon. I meant every word." He hoisted her lightly up into the saddle.
She touched his hand as it slid away from her waist. Tears began to well up in her eyes. "It is quite impossible, as you will soon see. But I want you to know that I will be forever grateful for this moment. I shall hold the memory of it close to my heart for the rest of my life."
"What the devil?" Simon scowled up at her.
Emily could not bear to stay near him any longer. He was bound to inquire about the tears. Applying her ankles gently to her mare's flanks, she turned and cantered away from
"I do not think for one moment that my belief is a mistake, my lord." She looked up at him very earnestly. "Through our letters you and I have developed the most perfect intellectual and spiritual companionship of the mind. I am quite certain that our communication, which takes place on the highest of planes, has led us to a true comprehension of each other's—"
"Enough," he interrupted curtly. "Miss Faringdon, it is always a mistake to assume you can trust a man completely when it comes to matters of passion."
She smiled serenely, knowing he was wrong. "I do not think so, my lord. Not in your case. I would trust you with my heart and my life."
"Damn." Simon shook his head slowly and released her chin. "Your family appears to have the right of it. No common sense in this sort of thing at all. You do not mind the risks involved in the game of love, I take it?"
She shrugged lightly. "I come from a long line of gamesters, my lord. It is in the blood."
"And how often have you taken this particular sort of risk?" he inquired with sudden, silky menace.
Emily looked out over the small pond, choosing her words carefully. She knew honor required her to be honest, but she could not bear to ruin this idyll by telling him the whole story. "I have never before been in love. Not really. I know that now. Once, a long time ago, I thought I was, but I was proven wrong. Since then there has been no one else with whom I have wanted to take such a risk."
"Interesting."
Uneasily she turned her head to find him watching her with his cold, assessing eyes. "My lord?"
He said something under his breath and got to his feet. "Pay me no heed. I am obviously not thinking very clearly at the moment. A direct result of sailing too close to a transcendent, golden shore, I imagine. Come. I will ride with you until you are within sight of St. Clair Hall."
"Have I said something wrong, my lord?"
"Not at all. I believe everything is going to go very smoothly between us from now on. I simply needed to acquire certain information before proceeding further and I have done so."
"I see. Very wise." Emily relaxed and smiled up at him, not caring if her heart was in her eyes. She knew very well there was no future for them, but there was the present and she was determined to enjoy it as long as possible. "In your most recent letter you said you were very affected by my verses about urns and broken hearts."
His mouth curved faintly as he took her arm and led her back to the waiting horses. "Indeed I was, Miss Faringdon."
"Well, I am glad you are interested in them," she said cheerfully. "Mr. Pound, the bookseller and publisher, was not. I got another nasty rejection from him in the morning post."
"Mr. Pound obviously has even less taste than the critics of the
Edinburgh Review
."
Emily laughed in delight. "Very true." She paused once more, her expression sobering as a shaft of guilt assailed her. She really ought to give him a small warning about the doomed nature of his affections. "My lord?"
"Yes, Miss Faringdon?" Simon was busy untying the dappled gray mare.
"Did you mean it when you said you were here to… to speak to my father about asking for my hand in marriage?"
"Yes, Miss Faringdon. I meant every word." He hoisted her lightly up into the saddle.
She touched his hand as it slid away from her waist. Tears began to well up in her eyes. "It is quite impossible, as you will soon see. But I want you to know that I will be forever grateful for this moment. I shall hold the memory of it close to my heart for the rest of my life."
"What the devil?" Simon scowled up at her.
Emily could not bear to stay near him any longer. He was bound to inquire about the tears. Applying her ankles gently to her mare's flanks, she turned and cantered away from
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