Free His Dark Enchantress (Books We Love Regency Romance) by Victoria Chatham Page A

been invited?” Emmaline asked as she removed her hat.
    “The first is to a soiree with Countess Esterhazy, who writes she is sending her carriage with a chaperone, a Miss Stevens who is a distant relative, and that is to be followed by a dinner party with Lady Darnley.”
    A groan of dismay escaped Emmaline’s lips and she was immediately reprimanded by her aunt.
    “Enough of this, Emmaline,” Mrs. Babbidge snapped, her patience exhausted. “You are being granted an opening that many a young lady would wish for.”
    It was a truth with which Emmaline could not argue. She handed her hat, riding crop and gloves to Annie and then followed her aunt into the parlour. A pitcher of lemonade and several glasses sat on a tray on the sideboard. She poured herself a glass of the refreshing beverage and sipped on it as she turned to stare out of the window. It overlooked a small garden at the back of the house and, though the borders were prettily planted with a colourful array of flowers, her thoughts were in too much turmoil to take comfort from it.
    Mrs. Babbidge, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval, seated herself and took up her knitting from the basket on the floor beside her chair. The needles clicked furiously as the yarn sped through her flying fingers.
    With a sigh Emmaline took a seat opposite her.
    “How can I do this, Aunt?” she pleaded. “How can I hide who and what I am? It appears I am unforgettable yet I wish to be forgotten. My education and experience is beyond most of my peers and because of that many would consider me an unsuitable prospect as a wife.”
    “You remember what your grandpapa told you?”
    “Yes.” Emmaline hung her head with a sigh. “Pretend I am just another beautiful face until there is a ring on my finger.”
    “Well, then.” Mrs. Babbidge laid her knitting in her lap. “Em, it has to be done.”
    “But it is so dishonest, Aunt!”
    “ If you had more of your mama in you perhaps you wouldn’t find it so hard.”
    At Emmaline’s gasp of dismay Mrs. Babbidge looked up .
    “ Are you saying my mother was dishonest?”
    “No, silly.” Mrs. Babbidge thought for a moment. “Only that your mama had the knack of fitting in wherever she went. Now your papa was bull headed from the start, but he learnt from her and that enabled him to, well . . to do the things he did.”
    At the mention of her papa Emmaline fell silent. She missed him so. It was he who first taught her Greek and Latin, had shown her books on animal husbandry and, with her grandfather away, allowed her to practise the economies she gleaned from them without hindrance. Using an atlas, he explained Napoleon Bonaparte’s progression through Europe, taught her the history and politics of the countries ravaged by war. She was educated even before she went to Miss Fotheringay’s School for Young Ladies in Bath.
    “I do understand, Great- Aunt, I really do.”
    “There, my lamb. It will work out for the best, you’ll see.”
    Thoughtfully Emmaline went upstairs. If she had to marry there was only one name that came to mind.
    Lucius.
    Of all the men she had ever met only he set her limbs and lips trembling. Only he who sent the blood racing through her veins and made her heart thump so loudly she could hear it in her ears.
    What little conversation th ey had engaged in intrigued her for he was as quick witted as she. And beneath his gruff exterior there was real kindness. She had heard it in his voice when he spoke with Juliana, had seen it in the way he cared for his lame horse.
    Intelligence , which she was sure matched her own, shimmered like quicksilver in his eyes. And, most unnerving of all, he seemed to have an instinctive understanding of her, knowing when to tease to his best advantage and when to leave her quietly fuming.
    There was no denying it. He was the most attractive, infuriating and possibly dangerous man with whom to consider marriage. She was sure he was not averse to her. And he was