can never remember which one of the previous viscount’s great-nephews is which.”
“Tom is the middle one. Simon is the youngest—and my favorite,” Emily answered. “Probably because he was kind to me when I was a child and I used to tag after him when he and his brothers came to visit their great-uncle. Mathew and Tom ignored me, but Simon . . .” She smiled warmly. “Simon always stuck up for me.”
The viscount walked into the room and the smile still curving her lips, Emily glanced in his direction.
Barnaby had known that he was intrigued by his boy-who-was-not-a-boy, but he was stunned by his visceral reaction when he caught his first real sight of Emily Townsend. Hair the color of moonlight framed an arresting face that made his heart thud like a war drum. She wasn’t pretty, a part of him acknowledged, but by God, he’d swear she was the most attractive woman he’d ever seen in his life. Her features were intensely feminine, yet strong and spirited, her jaw stubborn and her mouth too wide and full for true beauty, but he was only aware that he’d probably kill to feel those lips soften beneath his, and that smile . . . That smile filled him with a fervent zeal to do whatever it took to keep her looking at him precisely as she was at this moment.
As the seconds passed, Emily’s smile faded and as her long-lidded, gray eyes widened and fixed on his, something powerful and fierce sprang to life within him. It was all he could do not to stride across the room and sweep her into a crushing embrace. Dazed, feeling as if he’d been poleaxed and not very pleased about it, Barnaby wrenched his gaze away and looked blankly at the small dark-haired woman seated next to Emily.
Her pansy-brown eyes smiling, Anne said, “My lord, we cannot thank you enough for your kindness.”
Anne’s voice cleared his head and putting aside his primitive response to Emily Townsend, he forced a smile and advanced into the room. Once more in command of himself—at least he hoped to hell he was—he said, “I trust that my staff has treated you well and seen to all your needs.”
“Indeed,” replied Anne, “everyone has been most kind.” Avoiding looking at Emily yet vibrantly aware of her, he said to Anne, “But you’ve hardly touched your food! Isn’t it to your liking? If you wish, I can have Cook prepare something more to your liking.”
Emily heard their voices, but the sound was like bees buzzing around in her head. She was conscious of her surroundings, but the world had tipped on its axis the second her eyes had fallen upon Lord Joslyn. She was dizzy, her chest felt tight and she fought against an insane desire to leap to her feet and run as fast as she could. But which direction? she wondered faintly. To him or away from him?
He was very tall, but so much bigger, darker and formidable than she remembered. Entering the room, he dominated it and she could not drag her eyes away from that dark, harsh-featured face and those powerful shoulders and arms. He looked nothing like a Joslyn, she thought stupidly. The Joslyns were handsome, polished men, but this man . . . She swallowed. This man looked like a savage—a brigand—and perfectly capable of swinging a woman up into his arms and carrying her away, to do what he willed. An odd sensation curled low in her stomach at the idea of being at his mercy.
She buried her nose in her cup, taking a long swallow, appalled and angry at her reaction to him. Good God! She didn’t even like him. Through lowered lids she judged him, trying to decide what there was about him that had the power to rock her world. He was not traditionally handsome, she decided, but he possessed an undeniable virility, an unmistakable attractiveness that women would find hard to resist. Staring at that bold face, watching the mobile mouth as he smiled at Anne and hearing the lazy drawl of his voice, she shivered.
She was afraid of him, Emily realized with a start. Instinctively, she knew he
“Tom is the middle one. Simon is the youngest—and my favorite,” Emily answered. “Probably because he was kind to me when I was a child and I used to tag after him when he and his brothers came to visit their great-uncle. Mathew and Tom ignored me, but Simon . . .” She smiled warmly. “Simon always stuck up for me.”
The viscount walked into the room and the smile still curving her lips, Emily glanced in his direction.
Barnaby had known that he was intrigued by his boy-who-was-not-a-boy, but he was stunned by his visceral reaction when he caught his first real sight of Emily Townsend. Hair the color of moonlight framed an arresting face that made his heart thud like a war drum. She wasn’t pretty, a part of him acknowledged, but by God, he’d swear she was the most attractive woman he’d ever seen in his life. Her features were intensely feminine, yet strong and spirited, her jaw stubborn and her mouth too wide and full for true beauty, but he was only aware that he’d probably kill to feel those lips soften beneath his, and that smile . . . That smile filled him with a fervent zeal to do whatever it took to keep her looking at him precisely as she was at this moment.
As the seconds passed, Emily’s smile faded and as her long-lidded, gray eyes widened and fixed on his, something powerful and fierce sprang to life within him. It was all he could do not to stride across the room and sweep her into a crushing embrace. Dazed, feeling as if he’d been poleaxed and not very pleased about it, Barnaby wrenched his gaze away and looked blankly at the small dark-haired woman seated next to Emily.
Her pansy-brown eyes smiling, Anne said, “My lord, we cannot thank you enough for your kindness.”
Anne’s voice cleared his head and putting aside his primitive response to Emily Townsend, he forced a smile and advanced into the room. Once more in command of himself—at least he hoped to hell he was—he said, “I trust that my staff has treated you well and seen to all your needs.”
“Indeed,” replied Anne, “everyone has been most kind.” Avoiding looking at Emily yet vibrantly aware of her, he said to Anne, “But you’ve hardly touched your food! Isn’t it to your liking? If you wish, I can have Cook prepare something more to your liking.”
Emily heard their voices, but the sound was like bees buzzing around in her head. She was conscious of her surroundings, but the world had tipped on its axis the second her eyes had fallen upon Lord Joslyn. She was dizzy, her chest felt tight and she fought against an insane desire to leap to her feet and run as fast as she could. But which direction? she wondered faintly. To him or away from him?
He was very tall, but so much bigger, darker and formidable than she remembered. Entering the room, he dominated it and she could not drag her eyes away from that dark, harsh-featured face and those powerful shoulders and arms. He looked nothing like a Joslyn, she thought stupidly. The Joslyns were handsome, polished men, but this man . . . She swallowed. This man looked like a savage—a brigand—and perfectly capable of swinging a woman up into his arms and carrying her away, to do what he willed. An odd sensation curled low in her stomach at the idea of being at his mercy.
She buried her nose in her cup, taking a long swallow, appalled and angry at her reaction to him. Good God! She didn’t even like him. Through lowered lids she judged him, trying to decide what there was about him that had the power to rock her world. He was not traditionally handsome, she decided, but he possessed an undeniable virility, an unmistakable attractiveness that women would find hard to resist. Staring at that bold face, watching the mobile mouth as he smiled at Anne and hearing the lazy drawl of his voice, she shivered.
She was afraid of him, Emily realized with a start. Instinctively, she knew he
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