Page 13 of To Have & To Hold

Emilia knew that they could not possibly be entirely hidden, but perhaps the darkness would prove merciful enough if the strolling couple passed without looking too closely. Emilia tried to steady her breathing, but with her face buried so near his neck, every inhale filled her with the scent of him.

That morning on the Thames, when he had carried her from the river, he had smelled of salt and summer rain. Now, all she could smell was spiced soap clinging to his freshly washed skin.

The world began to tilt, and Emilia knew she had to steady herself before she was lost beyond hope. Her senses always acted as her anchor, and if she could focus her mind on what was tangible, it would help quiet the mounting chaos inside.

She breathed in again.

Bay. Rum. Cinnamon. Clove.

She took in another breath and smelled the bright notes of orange that clung not only to his coat, but to the loose locks of hair that had fallen just below his ear.

Emilia had never tasted wine, but she imagined this must be what it felt like—this dizzying warmth and slow unfurling of the senses that made the world feel softer and far too vivid all at once. She held in her next breath before it completely overwhelmed her. She must anchor herself in something else.

Another sense.

Touch.

Her back pressed into the hedge, twigs biting through her skirts and pricking at her skin. She was certain there would be bruises by morning. How she would explain those, along with whatever damage Louisa’s gown sustained from the snaring branches, she could not begin to imagine. The thought knotted her stomach, and she forced her mind onward.

What else could she feel?

Strong arms around her back. The solid breadth of his chest rising and falling against hers. The faint brush of his jaw against her forehead as he shifted with each breath.

This was decidedly unhelpful.

It was time to move on to sound.

All she could hear was the thunder of her own heart and the slow, even cadence of his breath near her ear.

How was he so calm?

Her trembling worsened, and her breath caught painfully in her throat as she swallowed a sob. They would be discovered. Ruined. And it would be entirely her doing.

His arms tightened around her.

“Shhh…” he murmured against her temple. The sound drifted over her like a wave of warmth and her body relaxed almost at once.

She listened to his breathing again, but this time instead of fighting it she matched it, slowing her own to follow its rhythm. The frantic pounding in her ears eased, and air began to fill her chest without resistance.

But the murmured voices grew louder. They were so close Emilia could hear the rustle of skirts brushing against the gravel path and the soft, breathless laugh of a young woman.

They were almost past them. If only they would keep walking. If only they would not glance this way.

“Mr. Huxley…”

The girl’s flirtatious whisper was immediately stolen with a gasp. Emilia felt the arms that held her begin to tremble as his entire body tensed against hers. Before she could fully understand what was happening, he stepped back from the hedge, completely exposing them.

The girl turned first, pulling out of a young man’s embrace. She was roughly seventeen with golden hair, and her face flushed either by the cold, excitement, or embarrassment.

The gentleman was the same one Emilia had seen speaking with Lady Charlotte at the refreshment table. His eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. His gaze darted between the two of them—Emilia with her hair falling from its pins, wrapped in a gentleman’s coat, standing alone in a secluded garden with said gentleman, who was dressed in only his shirtsleeves and waistcoat.

She would not survive this.

“Your Grace!” The young man’s words pulled forth the truth she had been trying to ignore. But there was no denying it now.

The man whose coat she wore...

The man who had pressed her into a hedge and shielded her with his own body...