most pigheaded,
hot-tempered man Jared knew beside himself. And honor demanded that Jared keep
his distance from Emily, attraction or not.
"Crack
shot indeed, Aunt. Let us make a day of it and forget about this little
incident. What say you to that?"
Forgetting
would be impossible. It was hard enough for Jared to forget the sweetness of
Emily's body when she was pressed beneath him. But the kiss had been heaven.
She was no longer a seventeen-year-old girl.
Agatha
strode ahead of him. "I daresay, I will forget about the matter entirely.
Depend upon it."
Jared
let out a small smile. Ah, she had no wish to see him killed by the duke.
"Put away your worries, Aunt, I won't be meeting the duke on the dueling
field. You can rest your little head about that."
"Can
I?" she said, glancing over her shoulder.
The
question simmered in Jared's mind all the way to the fair.
A cool
breeze brought the smell of cinnamon and butter to Emily's nostrils, and her
stomach growled. The fair had drawn a huge crowd in the town square. Jugglers
performed their entertaining feats, and jesters had the gatherers roaring with
laughter. Wagons filled with hay escorted groups of excited children on a
thrilling trip back and forth to the Red Knight Inn. Food vendors with their
heavenly scents of meat pies, scones, buns, and other delectables, filled the
jammed alcoves surrounding the square.
Emily
had barely eaten anything all day, but she would be the last one to ask the
earl for a turn toward the vendor's booth nearest them. Since Agatha and Jane
had insisted she stay and watch the entertainment, she was determined to wait
in silence until the two ladies returned with the famous meat pies Agatha so
loved. But to Emily's displeasure, that particular food was located the
farthest away from them, across the square.
Staring
straight ahead, Emily kept her gaze focused on the juggler tossing three red
balls into the air, yet all her thoughts were on the man standing stiffly
beside her. It was obvious he was not pleased after their encounter in his
bedchambers, and neither was she. Dwelling on the compromising position brought
an embarrassing heat to her cheeks, and that unforeseen kiss made her feel all
too vulnerable to his charms.
Sliding
her gray cloak off her head, she let the cool breeze caress her face, hoping
Jared would remain silent. She needed to sort her emotions, because she had no intention
of letting the recent incident in his bedchambers scatter her wits like the
balls bouncing in front of her.
The
raucous laughter of a group of young boys filled her ears, reminding her of her
brothers when they had been drinking. Inwardly she smiled. Did all men turn
into such ninnies when they had their spirits?
At that
moment she could not help but sense Jared's gaze on her. She glanced over her
shoulder. His steely glare bore into hers, and she bit back a sharp retort. She
would never have ventured into his chambers if that dog of his had any manners
at all. Refusing to be drawn into an argument, she turned back to the juggler
and forced herself to laugh and clap her hands along with the crowd, praying
that Agatha would come along soon.
Her eyes
followed the shiny red ball flying high in the air, but like her heart, it came
falling to the ground with a plop. If she ever heard another Wordsworth poem
again, she would curl up and die. How could he have laughed at her book? Their
book? She would prove to him that he meant nothing to her. She was immune to
him. She was.
"Agatha
adores the meat pies," she said, staring ahead. "I hear Mr. Gimby
comes all the way from London. His brother owns the Red Knight Inn, you
know."
Jared
stepped closer to her, the energy between them crackling like the sparks from a
blazing fire. "You should never have come into my bedchambers. Roderick
would have my head." His sharp response was nothing at all what she had
expected.
She
refused to flinch at the accusation in his tone. "Ah, then am I to believe
honor is your
hot-tempered man Jared knew beside himself. And honor demanded that Jared keep
his distance from Emily, attraction or not.
"Crack
shot indeed, Aunt. Let us make a day of it and forget about this little
incident. What say you to that?"
Forgetting
would be impossible. It was hard enough for Jared to forget the sweetness of
Emily's body when she was pressed beneath him. But the kiss had been heaven.
She was no longer a seventeen-year-old girl.
Agatha
strode ahead of him. "I daresay, I will forget about the matter entirely.
Depend upon it."
Jared
let out a small smile. Ah, she had no wish to see him killed by the duke.
"Put away your worries, Aunt, I won't be meeting the duke on the dueling
field. You can rest your little head about that."
"Can
I?" she said, glancing over her shoulder.
The
question simmered in Jared's mind all the way to the fair.
A cool
breeze brought the smell of cinnamon and butter to Emily's nostrils, and her
stomach growled. The fair had drawn a huge crowd in the town square. Jugglers
performed their entertaining feats, and jesters had the gatherers roaring with
laughter. Wagons filled with hay escorted groups of excited children on a
thrilling trip back and forth to the Red Knight Inn. Food vendors with their
heavenly scents of meat pies, scones, buns, and other delectables, filled the
jammed alcoves surrounding the square.
Emily
had barely eaten anything all day, but she would be the last one to ask the
earl for a turn toward the vendor's booth nearest them. Since Agatha and Jane
had insisted she stay and watch the entertainment, she was determined to wait
in silence until the two ladies returned with the famous meat pies Agatha so
loved. But to Emily's displeasure, that particular food was located the
farthest away from them, across the square.
Staring
straight ahead, Emily kept her gaze focused on the juggler tossing three red
balls into the air, yet all her thoughts were on the man standing stiffly
beside her. It was obvious he was not pleased after their encounter in his
bedchambers, and neither was she. Dwelling on the compromising position brought
an embarrassing heat to her cheeks, and that unforeseen kiss made her feel all
too vulnerable to his charms.
Sliding
her gray cloak off her head, she let the cool breeze caress her face, hoping
Jared would remain silent. She needed to sort her emotions, because she had no intention
of letting the recent incident in his bedchambers scatter her wits like the
balls bouncing in front of her.
The
raucous laughter of a group of young boys filled her ears, reminding her of her
brothers when they had been drinking. Inwardly she smiled. Did all men turn
into such ninnies when they had their spirits?
At that
moment she could not help but sense Jared's gaze on her. She glanced over her
shoulder. His steely glare bore into hers, and she bit back a sharp retort. She
would never have ventured into his chambers if that dog of his had any manners
at all. Refusing to be drawn into an argument, she turned back to the juggler
and forced herself to laugh and clap her hands along with the crowd, praying
that Agatha would come along soon.
Her eyes
followed the shiny red ball flying high in the air, but like her heart, it came
falling to the ground with a plop. If she ever heard another Wordsworth poem
again, she would curl up and die. How could he have laughed at her book? Their
book? She would prove to him that he meant nothing to her. She was immune to
him. She was.
"Agatha
adores the meat pies," she said, staring ahead. "I hear Mr. Gimby
comes all the way from London. His brother owns the Red Knight Inn, you
know."
Jared
stepped closer to her, the energy between them crackling like the sparks from a
blazing fire. "You should never have come into my bedchambers. Roderick
would have my head." His sharp response was nothing at all what she had
expected.
She
refused to flinch at the accusation in his tone. "Ah, then am I to believe
honor is your
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