without your permission.”
“Innocent?” he said slowly, opening his fist to unravel the red satin ball gown she had hoped to wear when Camden asked her to dance. How naïve her masquerade seemed now. Yet even if she hadn’t believed in her heart it would lead to a marriage proposal, she could not have imagined the dark turn it had taken.
“You were with a man tonight,” he said in disgust. “I forbade you to attend that dance, and not only did you defy me, but you apparently met a man alone in the tower and spent the evening with him and without your clothes.”
Emily shook her head, realizing he would never believe the truth. To all appearances the red gown condemned her. She would need hours to explain the sequence of events, and even then she couldn’t deny that she
had
deceived him.
“Who found the dress?” she whispered.
“I caught young Lucy trying to sneak it past her father.”
“She was not with a lover,” Michael said, his voice low and furious. “I took her there and made sure she came safely home.”
The baron held up the evening dress by its rumpled sleeve. “Then explain this.”
She stared past him to Michael. “I took it to Lucy’s house and intended to change there before the dance. I made Iris come with us. She didn’t want to be part of it. I’d no idea you wanted to go, too, or we could all have traveled together.” Which would have crimped her plans for romance, but in retrospect that might have been better for everyone involved.
“You are a liar. Like your mother,” he said, his voice hoarse with drink and disillusionment. “I’ve confronted you with the evidence, Emily, and you are still lying to me. You never went to the party at all. No one saw you there. Not one person witnessed your appearance.”
“That’s because I—” She lifted her hand to the atrocious wig and tugged.
Her father stared at her. He was too upset to even comment on—or notice—that her hair was not its usual style or color. “I’ve always known you were a hoyden,” he said. “But I would never have thought you would become loose.”
“That’s enough,” Michael said, coming forward to place his hand on the baron’s shoulder. “We can discuss this with cool heads in the morning.”
The baron shrugged off Michael’s hand. “What do you say for yourself?” he asked Emily, blocking Michael from her path.
“We
did
go to Lucy’s. But—”
She read the warning in Michael’s eyes, the reminder that if she mentioned the word
gypsy
in her father’s presence, he would only blame her brother for encouraging her unladylike attempt to impress a man. She couldn’t admit the truth.
The baron threw her dress back across the hall. It slid into the path of the man who stood in the doorway, unnoticed until Emily looked past her father to the spot where her dress lay.
Him
again. Back to bring her more bad luck.
Was he out of his mind? Did he hope to see her banished from her home? He must have heard her father shouting. He had to understand his appearance would only make her dilemma worse. He lifted his gaze from the floor and stared until she realized that he was studying
her
as if he had no idea who she was.
Was this to be another act on his part? If she were in his place, she’d refuse to become implicated in her fall. What was he doing in her house? Why didn’t he leave awful enough alone? She would never have accused him or dragged him into her affairs.
She begged him silently to go. Nothing good could come of him confronting her father. What could he be thinking? She couldn’t guess, even though he hadn’t taken his eyes off her.
He closed the door and walked quietly into the hall. Michael either sensed his presence or was alerted by the dread on Emily’s face. Her father appeared too deeply in his cups to detect the sudden menace in the air. His voice shook when he resumed his tirade.
“This is the last time,” he said. “Lucy and her young stepmother might think I’m
“Innocent?” he said slowly, opening his fist to unravel the red satin ball gown she had hoped to wear when Camden asked her to dance. How naïve her masquerade seemed now. Yet even if she hadn’t believed in her heart it would lead to a marriage proposal, she could not have imagined the dark turn it had taken.
“You were with a man tonight,” he said in disgust. “I forbade you to attend that dance, and not only did you defy me, but you apparently met a man alone in the tower and spent the evening with him and without your clothes.”
Emily shook her head, realizing he would never believe the truth. To all appearances the red gown condemned her. She would need hours to explain the sequence of events, and even then she couldn’t deny that she
had
deceived him.
“Who found the dress?” she whispered.
“I caught young Lucy trying to sneak it past her father.”
“She was not with a lover,” Michael said, his voice low and furious. “I took her there and made sure she came safely home.”
The baron held up the evening dress by its rumpled sleeve. “Then explain this.”
She stared past him to Michael. “I took it to Lucy’s house and intended to change there before the dance. I made Iris come with us. She didn’t want to be part of it. I’d no idea you wanted to go, too, or we could all have traveled together.” Which would have crimped her plans for romance, but in retrospect that might have been better for everyone involved.
“You are a liar. Like your mother,” he said, his voice hoarse with drink and disillusionment. “I’ve confronted you with the evidence, Emily, and you are still lying to me. You never went to the party at all. No one saw you there. Not one person witnessed your appearance.”
“That’s because I—” She lifted her hand to the atrocious wig and tugged.
Her father stared at her. He was too upset to even comment on—or notice—that her hair was not its usual style or color. “I’ve always known you were a hoyden,” he said. “But I would never have thought you would become loose.”
“That’s enough,” Michael said, coming forward to place his hand on the baron’s shoulder. “We can discuss this with cool heads in the morning.”
The baron shrugged off Michael’s hand. “What do you say for yourself?” he asked Emily, blocking Michael from her path.
“We
did
go to Lucy’s. But—”
She read the warning in Michael’s eyes, the reminder that if she mentioned the word
gypsy
in her father’s presence, he would only blame her brother for encouraging her unladylike attempt to impress a man. She couldn’t admit the truth.
The baron threw her dress back across the hall. It slid into the path of the man who stood in the doorway, unnoticed until Emily looked past her father to the spot where her dress lay.
Him
again. Back to bring her more bad luck.
Was he out of his mind? Did he hope to see her banished from her home? He must have heard her father shouting. He had to understand his appearance would only make her dilemma worse. He lifted his gaze from the floor and stared until she realized that he was studying
her
as if he had no idea who she was.
Was this to be another act on his part? If she were in his place, she’d refuse to become implicated in her fall. What was he doing in her house? Why didn’t he leave awful enough alone? She would never have accused him or dragged him into her affairs.
She begged him silently to go. Nothing good could come of him confronting her father. What could he be thinking? She couldn’t guess, even though he hadn’t taken his eyes off her.
He closed the door and walked quietly into the hall. Michael either sensed his presence or was alerted by the dread on Emily’s face. Her father appeared too deeply in his cups to detect the sudden menace in the air. His voice shook when he resumed his tirade.
“This is the last time,” he said. “Lucy and her young stepmother might think I’m
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