equally uninteresting colors: Edmund had not liked her to wear anything that drew attention to her or her appearance.
The purple gown would do to wear for dinner this evening, but her wardrobe really was not sufficient for her to dine with Lord Whitney every evening. She would make a point of telling him so this evening.
Besides, it really would not do. It was disturbing enough she was expected to spend every day of the next week in Whitney’s study with him.
Aware of him in a way she could not remember being with any other gentleman.
Chapter 4
She strolls about the gardens of Whitney Park as if she owns them. Touching this or that late blossom, even pausing to remove her glove and run her bare fingers through the fountain in the center of the rose garden. The roses have mostly gone now, but she finds one still in bloom and bends to smell its perfume.
Happiness radiates from her smile and the pleasurable glow in her eyes.
She, who has nothing but the scandal of murder in her past.
I watched her this morning, in what looked to be Lord Whitney’s study. The two of them were there alone together. He working at his desk. Mrs. Marsden climbing up and down a ladder, supposedly collecting books, but drawing attention to herself each time she did so.
I observed Lord Whitney’s gaze following her several times when he believed she was unaware of it.
Of course she was aware of it. A woman such as she is always aware of a man’s admiration. No doubt she deliberately set out to tempt Lord Whitney by her actions. To flaunt herself. In the same way she flaunted herself before Edmund Marsden in order to secure him in marriage. A man so many years older than she, he might almost have been her grandfather.
Lord Whitney is neither old nor grandfatherly. Indeed, he is a fine specimen of a gentleman. Far too aristocratic for the likes of one such as Emily Marsden.
Pride is a sin, and there is no doubting she possesses it in abundance.
This too I have learned from diligent observation.
Just as I know the only way to deal with unwarranted pride in a woman is to beat it out of her.
Chapter 5
“Your walk in the garden does not seem to have had the desired effect?”
Emily raised her lackluster gaze from the barely touched bowl of soup on the table in front of her.
She and Whitney were dining in what appeared to be a smaller family dining room, the table nevertheless big enough to seat twelve people comfortably. Only the two places had been set this evening, Whitney’s at the head of the table, with Emily seated to his left. The elderly butler, whom she had met upon her arrival yesterday, stood at attention beside the sideboard from where he was serving their meal.
As might be expected, Whitney looked magnificent in his evening attire, further adding to Emily’s misery, dressed as she was in one of her two mourning gowns, pale purple this time.
“Mrs. Marsden…?”
“I… No,” she answered Whitney dully. “In fact, I have a headache, so perhaps it might be best if I excuse myself—”
“Leave us, Clarke,” Xander dismissed distractedly, barely aware as the elderly man left the room, his concerned gaze fixed on the pale face of Emily Marsden. “Emily?” he prompted again.
Those dark green eyes filled with tears. “I… Please excuse me.” She pushed her chair back noisily to rise abruptly to her feet before turning and hurrying toward the door.
Xander moved across the room quickly enough to clasp hold of her arm before she could open the door and leave. He turned her to face him. “Tell me what has happened,” he encouraged gently. “Was it… Did my behavior this morning upset you?”
She blinked up at him. “This morning?”
He nodded. “I behaved inappropriately.”
“Oh. That. No.” Her brow smoothed, indicating it was not the reason for her emotional misery this evening. “Please do not give it another thought. You are not the first gentleman to behave inappropriately in my
Arnold Nelson, Jouko Kokkonen