Page 12 of Not Just Any Earl
Emmeline stared dumbly at Juliet, uncomprehending, her heart still pounding.
“Emmeline! Quickly, dearest, before I collapse.”
Juliet was tearing at the neckline of her gown, panting, her cheeks flushed with hectic color. Emmeline, recalled to her senses, turned Juliet around and began attacking the long row of silk-covered buttons on the back of the gown. “I told you this gown was too tight, Juliet!”
“It wasn’t too tight yesterday.” Juliet was still trying to catch her breath.
Emmeline wrestled with the delicate violet silk until at last she managed to loosen a half-dozen buttons. “You didn’t consume four cream cakes at tea yesterday, as you did today. Dash it, these buttons are as slippery as those treacherous satin slippers you’re wearing. I’m shocked you didn’t turn an ankle.”
“The heat nearly finished me, if that gratifies you. The corset, too, please. Oh, I wish I could do without one, as you do!”
“I wasn’t graced with your curves.” Nor would she have known what to do with them if she had been.
Once she’d freed Juliet from the gown and corset, her sister fell onto the bed with a theatrical flop. “Thank goodness! You’ve no idea what a narrow escape I’ve had, but I simply refuse to swoon at my first ball of my very first season.”
“It’s fashionable to swoon.” Emmeline leaned over the bed, flapping Whateley’s Observations on Modern Gardening—which she’d somehow miraculously held onto during her encounter with Lord Melrose—in front of Juliet’s face to cool her.
“If one is a delicate, tender young lady in modest ivory silk, which I most decidedly am not.” Juliet plucked fretfully at her damp cotton shift. “Oh, dear. I’m all sticky.”
Emmeline peered down at Juliet’s face, an anxious frown on her lips. “Why didn’t you call a servant to help you unlace?”
“I expected you’d be here, and I thought once I’d caught my breath, I might go back down.”
“You can’t go back down, Juliet. Indeed, there’s no question of it. You’re far too warm, and you don’t look well. I advise you to go to bed at once.”
“But I haven’t danced with Lord Melrose yet! How am I meant to marry the man and win our wager with Lady Fosberry if I never even dance with him?”
Warmth seared Emmeline’s cheeks at the mention of Lord Melrose. The better question was, how was Lord Melrose meant to dance with Juliet when he was kissing Emmeline in Lady Fosberry’s library?
Dear God, what have I done?
“There will be other balls,” she managed to choke out.
“Yes, you’re right. I’m wrung out, I’m afraid.” Juliet pushed a straggling lock of hair from her forehead, and grimaced at her wrinkled gown. “Where did you run off to, Emmeline? I thought you meant to remain in your bedchamber all evening.”
“I was just…er, I was…”
Kissing Lord Melrose in the library. Yes, the same Lord Melrose you’re meant to be betrothed to by the end of the season, only it wasn’t just kissing, there was touching, too, and—
Juliet’s eyes narrowed on her face. “Why are you so flushed and out of breath?”
“Flushed?” Emmeline gulped. “Who’s flushed? Not me, I assure—”
“Never mind,” Juliet said, waving a hand. “I know where you’ve been.”
“You do?” Emmeline’s voice was little more than a panicked squeak.
“Of course.” Juliet gave her a puzzled look. “You’ve been down in Lady Fosberry’s rose garden, haven’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, indeed, I have!” It wasn’t a lie, after all.
“I do wish you’d changed your mind about attending the ball tonight, Emmeline. You will come to the next one, won’t you? You’re such a graceful dancer.”
Emmeline recognized Juliet’s best wheedling tone, and let out an inelegant snort.
“You can’t come to London for a season and refuse to dance a single dance, Emmeline.”
“I can, quite happily, and anyway, I don’t imagine the circumstances of my not dancing would have changed if I had gone to the ballroom.”
