“And?”
“And we had a perfectly marvelous time. We traded stories about when we were children.”
“And?”
“And he kissed me! Are you satisfied?”
“He must have done more than kiss you,” Belle surmised. “You’ve kissed Alex before, and you never started crying like this.”
“Well, maybe he did a little more than kiss me.” Emma really wished she weren’t sitting right in front of a mirror, where she was forced to watch her skin color slowly redden until it matched her hair.
“But he didn’t ravish you?” Belle looked almost upset.
“Belle, are you disappointed that I made it through the afternoon with my virtue intact?”
“No, of course not,” Belle replied quickly. “Although I must admit, I’m a bit curious about ‘the act’ and all that, and I cannot get Mother to tell me anything about it.”
“Well, you won’t get any more details from me. I’m just as innocent as you are.”
“Not quite as innocent, I imagine. I may be naive, but even I know that there is quite a bit between a kiss and ‘the act’.”
To say that words failed Emma would be a gross understatement.
“Isn’t there?” Belle persisted.
“Uh, well, yes,” Emma spluttered. “Yes, there is.”
Belle plodded on. “Would it be fair to say that you did something somewhere between kissing and ‘the act’?”
“Would you stop calling it ‘the act’?!” Emma burst out. “You make it sound so sordid.”
“Would you rather I call it something else?”
“I’d rather you didn’t call it anything.” Emma’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “This is getting extremely personal.”
Belle would not be deterred. “Did you?”
“You do realize that you have no shame?”
“None whatsoever,” Belle said blithely, giving the comb an impertinent tug.
Emma winced, groaned, and barely suppressed the urge to curse. “Oh, all right,” she huffed. At this rate, Belle would have all of her hair pulled out by supper. “Yes,” she groaned. “Yes, yes, yes! Are you satisfied?”
Belle stopped combing immediately and sank down into the chair opposite Emma. “Oh my,” she breathed.
“Could you possibly stop staring at me as if I’ve suddenly been ruined?”
Belle blinked. “What? Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that—oh my.”
“For heaven’s sake, Belle. I wish you wouldn’t go on and on about this. It’s a trivial matter.” Oh, really? she asked herself. Then why were you sobbing your heart out a few minutes ago? Emma quickly stifled her inner voice. Maybe she had overreacted a little. After all, it wasn’t as if she had gotten herself (perish the word) ravished. And, she admitted with a rueful smile, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t enjoyed herself.
Belle was also weighing the matter carefully in her ever-pragmatic mind. This was big news, indeed. She had privately decided that a wedding between her cousin and the Duke of Ashbourne was imminent. A slight indiscretion before the actual nuptials could be easily overlooked. Still, that didn’t mean that Belle wasn’t intensely curious about the incident. “Just tell me one thing, Emma,” she implored. “What was it like?”
“Oh, Belle,” Emma sighed, giving up all attempts at offended maidenly virtue. “It was splendid.”
Chapter 13
For all of Emma’s determination to put her feminine embarrassment behind her, she still turned into a stammering fool the minute she laid eyes on Alex again.
The evening had started out innocently enough. After Belle had managed to pry all of the details about the picnic she could get out of Emma, the pair had decided to dress for the evening meal. Belle, however, was considerably more interested in choosing Emma’s attire than her own, insisting that she wear a deep violet gown that set off her unusual eyes.
“It’s the same color you wore when you made your debut,” Belle explained. “And Alex was so taken with you.”
“I doubt he’ll remember the color of my gown,” was all that Emma replied. Nevertheless, she allowed herself to be talked into the violet silk, hoping that the bold color might bolster her courage. Belle settled on a gown of pale peach silk, which complimented her soft pink and white complexion. When they were done dressing, Emma sacrificed herself on the altar of the hairstylist, and she allowed Meg to fuss with her tresses without the slightest complaint. After Belle’s less-than-tender ministrations, Meg seemed a veritable goddess.
As Emma sat there, watching in the mirror as Meg pulled the hairbrush through her bright locks, she had ample time to consider her situation.
Did she love Alex? Belle seemed to think so. But how could she love him when that meant abandoning her lifelong dream of running Dunster Shipping? Part of Emma wanted to throw caution into the wind and grab whatever happiness she could find with Alex. But she knew that if she let herself love him a little, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from loving him wholeheartedly, with every pore of her being. And she was terrified at the prospect of losing herself completely in that love.
As she had told Belle not even a half an hour earlier, she changed around him. One tender gaze from him seemed to banish all rational thought, and she had to struggle just to stammer incoherent phrases. If she married Alex, she could certainly forget about ever speaking in complete sentences.
Which brought her to another sensitive point. He might not even ask her to marry him. Alex had a formidable stubborn streak, and Emma couldn’t imagine him caving in to familial pressure and asking for her hand unless he was good and ready. And what if he did ask her? Would she say yes? Emma caught her lower lip between her teeth as she pondered her situation. Maybe. Probably. She let out a deep sigh. Definitely. How could she help herself? Dunster Shipping would have to survive without her because she didn’t think she could survive without Alex.