Page 141 of A Foolish Flirtation

“Oh, he was,” Jeremy agreed affably. “He no longer exists. Just this paragon of rectitude who stands before you.”

“I don’t know about that…” she teased, reaching for her bottle of French perfume. Removing the glass stopper, she ran it over her wrists. “I was hoping for a glimpse of him before the evening’s out.”

“Really? To what end?” he asked with a flicker of interest.

She replaced the stopper. “I want us to sneak down together. Before our guests arrive. The ones who aren’t staying here, I mean. The others will all still be in their rooms getting ready for at least another half an hour.”

“And what will we be doing downstairs?” he persisted, a pucker between his brows.

“Well…” Emmie took a deep breath. “I want you to take my hand, like you did at the Hawfords’ ball.” His head shot up, but he did not speak, just stared at her. “And then,” she continued steadily, only the faintest tremor to her voice, “I want you to say ‘How about I give you something to remember me by, Ballentine?’ and—and take me into the new conservatory.”

He was up and off the bed in an instant. “Emmeline—” he began in a shocked voice.

“No, Jeremy,” she said, holding up one hand to forestall him. “You said we would have this ball exactly how I wanted, and this is what I want.”

He looked conflicted. “This is not quite how I envisaged us unveiling the new conservatory, my darling.”

“Isn’t it? But it’s how I imagined it,” she admitted.

“I was not nice to you that night, Ballentine,” he said in a strangled voice.

“You were not nice to yourself either,” she replied quietly.

He huffed. “You’re saying you want me to take you into the conservatory, shove you against the wall, and kiss you so hard I bruise your lips?” he asked disbelievingly.

“Yes, please.” Her answer seemed to confound him. “I think you would like it too,” she added firmly. “I think it would, well, be like lancing a boil.”

“Lancing a boil?” he repeated with horror.

“I think we should have done it months ago,” she said earnestly. “Only we did not have a conservatory then. I suppose we could have used Hudgins’s glasshouse but I did not want to upset the old dear. He was so wounded over the failure of that pineapple he tried to grow.”

“Emmeline, are we doing this now? Because if so, time is of the essence,” he said, consulting his pocket watch.

“I just need to put on my evening gloves and I’m ready.”

“Well, then I just need to fetch something.” He held up a finger. “One moment.” To Emmie’s surprise he headed back through the connecting door, into his own room. When he reappeared he held a slim cardboard box in his hand, tied up with ribbon. “Here,” he said a trifle awkwardly, coming right up to her and handing it to her.

“It’s not jewelry, is it?” Emmie asked with trepidation. “Because it’s not Christmas yet and—”

“It’s not jewelry.” He was watching her with an oddly expectant air.

Emmie undid the ribbon and removed the lid to find an expensive-looking fan. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she said, lifting it out of the box. “I love the detail—” Her words died on her lips. “But this…this is…”

“Your fan,” he said simply. “The one you broke that night.”

“At the Hawfords’ ball,” she whispered.

“Yes, I had it mended.” When she could not speak, he started, almost awkwardly, “I hope you don’t mind—”

She hugged him fiercely and after a moment, Jeremy’s arms encircled her back. “You mended everything!” she sobbed.

“Emmeline…” They stayed as they were for a good long moment before Jeremy kissed her brow. “We’d better hurry if I’m to kiss the hell out of you in our conservatory.”

She gave a watery laugh. “Yes, let’s hurry. Now I have my fan, where’s my gloves?”

“You’re not using that fan tonight, are you?” he asked with surprise.

“How could I not?”