Page 11 of To Have & To Hold

Emilia couldn’t remember if she had even excused herself before making her escape. She had seemed like a lovely girl, no older than Louisa, and Emilia’s stomach clenched at how terribly rude she must have been.

The thought nagged at her to the point she nearly turned back to apologize, but before she could even take a step back towards the drawing room, she sawhim.

Over the past two and a half years, Emilia had convinced herself that her memories of him were nothing more than embellishments of her imagination. No man could be so perfectly tall, strong, and flawlessly handsome—especiallynot men who risked their lives to pull foolishly reckless women from the River Thames in the dark hours of the morning.

Yet, the moment her eyes landed on him, even from a distance, she could confirm that her memories had not exaggerated him—somehow they had entirely fallen short.

He towered above every other man in the room. The candlelight reflected off his dark hair like a sea of ink, and even from a distance, she could see his eyes shining under the light of the chandeliers.

There were many reasons why Emilia had chosen to remain absent from society over the past two years; one very important reason was the need to avoid this man. She had been trying to forget that night since it had happened, and she couldn’t risk anyone finding out the truth of what had occurred.

She realized almost too late that the path he was on was leading straight for the terrace. Once again, Emilia felt her body carrying her away before her mind had determined where she was going. She stepped off the path leading through the gardens, hiking up her skirts to aid her as she ran straight towards the small hedge maze in the center. She would hide behind the greenery and simply wait until he left. She only hoped she wouldn’t happen upon anyone else.

It was completely silent in the maze, no sound to be heard but the gentle patter of the light rain on the path and the wind whispering through the garden.

Emilia wrapped her arms around herself, trying not to shiver. It was not often that she made decisions without thoroughly considering the consequences, but on the rare occasions she did, it had a tendency to end in disaster. It would be a miracle if she didn’t contract a cold even worse than the one Louisa had.

Emilia started to relax; it was still completely silent. Perhaps he hadn’t seen her, and if he had, he certainly wouldn’t have followed her into the dark, secluded maze. She stood from where she had been hiding, and froze at the sound of a whispered voice coming from just around the corner.

“Charlotte!”

Her heart stopped. Partially because she recognized the voice as the mysterious man, but also because of the name he had called. He must have seen her dress and had confused her with the duke’s sister.

Her blood boiled thinking about what kind of man would have sought out a girl so young and innocent in a situation such as this one. Now was not the time to confront him on his lack of morals, however. She might not be the duke’s sister, but if his attentions were as dishonorable as she assumed, she couldn’t let him find her here alone.

The lights from the ballroom barely illuminated the pathways inside the hedges, and Emilia couldn’t remember which one she had taken to reach her hiding space; and more importantly, which path would lead her away from him.

She tried to make out the sound of his footsteps and take herself in the opposite direction, but the curves of the maze were disorienting. Each turn seemed to take her in the opposite direction of which she intended to go.

The lights from the terrace lanterns glowed brighter, and the music and laughter grew louder. Emilia’s heart raced as she realized she was nearing the exit. The opening to the maze stood in front of her, and she sighed in relief as she hiked up her skirts, breaking into a run as she made her escape.

There was one thing that Emilia continually discovered about hope—the closer one came to achieving what they longed for, the sharper the sting when unforeseen barriers rose up to remind them that happiness is not meant for everyone.

No matter how many times life tried to remind Emilia that she was among those unlucky few, her heart continued to run towards hope each time it seemed within her reach. And each time, the inevitable impact with disappointment bruised her heart a little deeper.

On this particular occasion, however, the impact was less poetic and more literal—against an absurdly strong chest that left her body protesting more than her heart.

Emilia slowly lifted her head and found herself completely frozen under the man’s gaze. Even if her body had wanted to run, she couldn’t have. She couldn’t even breathe. She felt as though her limbs belonged to someone else, and it didn’t help that her arms were currently being held captive by a pair ofhands that were far warmer than they should have been given how cold it was outside.

Maybe he wouldn’t recognize her.

“It is you,” he breathed, puffs of his breath floating into the night air.

She shivered, despite the warming effect his voice had on her. In the moonlight, his pale eyes shone silver as they trailed down from her face to her arms that he still held in his grasp.

“You are cold,” he stated, taking a step back. He lowered his hands, his fingers quickly working the buttons on the perfectly pressed jacket of his suit.

“What are you doing?” Emilia whispered in shock, averting her eyes as he slid the coat from his arms. His white shirtsleeves pulled at his shoulders, and even his waistcoat couldn’t hide the breadth of his chest.

He hadn’t been wearing a waistcoat the day they had met on the Thames—and the shirt he had been wearing was soaked through, exposing her to much more of his frame than what she could see now—but that didn’t stop the blush from rising in her cheeks.

He didn’t respond to her question, but instead silently lifted his arms to drape the coat over her shoulders. She took an abrupt step back out of reach, causing his hands to brush her arms again, sending a flutter to her stomach.

“I can not wear that,” she forced the words out through her tight chest. The man looked at her with the same bewilderedlook he had on the river bank. No doubt he thought she was completely mad, considering the circumstances in which they kept continuing to meet.

“You are cold,” he said again, slowly. “I am only trying to help.” He spoke matter-of-factly, but there was an air of authority in his voice that he could not hide.

Most men of power had a cold edge to their voice, demanding attention and submission. But something about this man was warm and comforting, as if his confidence alone was what made people heed his words.