The Hopeless Hoyden by Margaret Bennett Read Free Book Online Page B

Emily would have thought. While the two of them were as different as night and day, Emily found she had a friend in Jane Taber.  They chatted and commiserated over London Seasons, Emily's having ended in disgrace and Jane's never materializing because of a lack of funds as well as a sponsor.  They laughed over their individual faults, Emily's total lack of female talents, and Jane's atrocious seat on a horse.
                  When Jane was called to fetch a shawl for Sylvia, Aunt Esmeralda came to sit by Emily. 
                  “I am sorry, my dear, for my earlier lapse.  You understand it was quite a severe shock, seeing you here."
                  “Yes, Aunt Esmeralda."
                  “I harbor no ill feeling toward you, Emily.  Even Lady Addington has forgiven you for destroying her antique porcelain collection.  It was just so... so very unfortunate and all."
                  “Yes, Aunt Esmeralda."
                  “Oh, I am glad we had this little coze to clear the air.  I do feel so much better.  And you, my dear?"
                  “Yes, Aunt Esmeralda,” Emily replied dutifully.
                  Much later, with her knees drawn up to her chin and her bare feet tucked under the hem of her night dress, Emily sat at the window seat in her bedroom, looking out upon the rear gardens of the Park, deep in thought.  A scarce few hours ago she had been dreading the morrow.  But now with the Viscount’s unexpected compliment and Miss Taber’s friendship, a bright new day awaited her. She hadn't forgotten her primary reason for being here, either.              
                  Mentally, she formulated plans to watch over her gallant host.  She imagined various scenes whereby she'd come upon Lindemann's foe in the very act of attempting to do the Viscount some grievous harm and perform a dramatic rescue.  Then, she'd throw herself across his body, taking a bullet--no, the point of a sword.   Or she'd be the one who rushed in with a pistol and fired at the killer, who by chance happened to possess the dark looks of Cecil Caldwell, and disarmed him. 
                  After each successful rescue, Emily envisioned Lindemann taking her in his arms and gratefully raining passionate kisses on her.  The trouble was, she wasn't sure which she'd wanted most--his gratitude or his kisses.
                  These images were suddenly extinguished as quick as a candle's flame when a dark figure breezed across the landscaped garden below her window, headed for the stables.  Without hesitating, Emily grabbed her robe, wrenched her door open, and raced downstairs to the back of the house.  As she let herself out through the library French window, she noted it was unlatched.
                  Once outside, she cautiously edged her way out to the edge of the terrace, her bare feet soundless on the cold flagstones.  Peering about the garden, she thought she detected some movement over by the topiary.  Gathering up her gown and robe with one hand, she ran down the steps and began dodging from one sculptured bush to another, hoping whoever it was wouldn't spot her.  
                  Rounding a hedge shaped like a dancing bear, Emily's progress was suddenly halted.  She'd run into a human wall.
                  “Oh!" she cried out, before a hand clamped over her mouth. 
                  “Emily!  What the deuce are you doing out here?" whispered Gabriel, removing his hand from her mouth to grab her by the elbows.
                  “I saw someone from my bedroom window and thought--"
                  “You thought to get yourself killed, you mean.  Are you mad?  Hen witted?  A pea goose?"
                  “Ohhh, do stop," she hissed, raising one hand to further still the insults.  "You have