She did not want to admit to herself how disappointed she was with the marquess. She realized now that she had been deceiving herself all along. She had thought, when she offered to marry the marquess in her sister’s stead, that she was being practical and reasonable. Now she realized that she had been hoping the whole time that the marquess would turn out to be someone she could love and respect. “A knight in shining armor,” she muttered disgustedly to herself. She had been as impractical and unreasonable as it is possible for a silly, romantical nineteen-year-old girl to be.

She knew as soon as she saw the marquess that she would not marry him. And she knew Lydia should not be forced to do so, either. So they were in a proper fix. Lydia, if she were allowed, would marry a vicar, and Emily would be maiden aunt to all their little blue-eyed babies. That was a far cry from the life of travel and excitement she’d dreamed of for herself. Unless, of course, she were to marry a certain curate . . .

Emily shook her head. He was a dastardly knave, toying with her affections and who knew what else. She was convinced he was not a curate at all. He wore a ring on his fifth finger that was probably worth a curate’s salary for the entire year. She didn’t know what he was up to, but the more she thought on the matter, the more she was convinced there was something not quite right about Mr. Williams. Unfortunately, there were times when she felt that there was everything right about Mr. Williams.

She sighed and, looking up, saw the man she had just been daydreaming about walking toward her. It was the first time she’d encountered him since their kiss, and she felt her cheeks coloring in memory. He smiled at her; really, it was almost a smirk, as if he knew what she was thinking.

“May I walk with you, Emily?”

Emily nodded, although all her instincts were telling her to flee, to run away as fast as she could from this man, with his twinkling brown eyes and mysterious behavior. She noticed he had called her Emily more than once now, and although she had not given him leave to call her by her first name, she had to admit she enjoyed hearing it on his lips. She would have also felt quite ridiculous making an issue of it, when she had allowed him the greater familiarity of embracing her.

“I wanted to apologize for my abrupt departure the other evening.”

Although Emily’s cheeks now felt as if they were on fire, since his words could not help but recall their actions directly prior to his departure, she felt this would be the perfect opportunity to get some answers to the questions that were plaguing her. “It did seem rather sudden. I could not help but think you were avoiding Lady Cynthia for some reason.”

“Now what reason would I have for avoiding such a beautiful young lady?”

“That is exactly my question, sir. She said afterward that she thought she recognized you.” Emily looked up at Alexander, fixing him with an accusatory glance she felt sure would signify to him that she knew he was up to something. To her dismay, he just laughed, and said, “My nanny always told me that everybody has a double somewhere. It appears Lady Cynthia has encountered mine. Now let us quit this subject. I find that when I am with you, I have no desire to discuss other young ladies. Do you not have any shopping to do, so that I will be forced to carry your parcels for you?”

“No, I should really be returning home.”

“Yes,” Alexander replied, removing a speck of lint from his sleeve, “I hear you have a guest in residence.”

“How did you—”

“News spreads quickly in a small village such as this. So what did you think of the marquess?”

Emily found herself reluctant to discuss the subject with Mr. Williams. “He seemed polite enough, I suppose. He certainly did not fit your description of him.”

“I was not aware that I gave a description of him.”

“Well, perhaps not, but you could have at least mentioned his tendency toward—” Emily paused, seeking the most politic word.

“Yes?” Alexander prompted.

“Well, he seems to be rather given to dramatic effect.”

“Perhaps you are right. I thought you were more interested in his pocketbook than his character.”

Emily looked reproachfully at Alexander, the hurt evident in her expression. “I think I would prefer to walk alone.”

“Emily, I am sorry. I did not mean that. I was just jealous. It was a rotten thing to say, and I apologize. Can you forgive me?”

The word “jealous” had the amazing effect of making her forget that he was hiding some dreadful secret and was a dangerous man. She just knew that she, Emily Smithfield, was capable of making this gorgeous creature jealous. It was a delightful sensation, and in the afterglow of that remark she would forgive him practically anything. However, in the next moment he did something that brought all the doubts and anxiety rushing back.

They had neared the end of the High Street, when they heard the sound of a carriage approaching. Emily, looking over her shoulder, noticed the coat of arms was the same as that on Lord Wesleigh’s carriage. However, before she had an opportunity to say so to the gentleman walking beside her he had disappeared. She looked all around, but she did not see him anywhere. In desperation, she called to her maid: “Bess, did you see where the gentleman I was walking with went?”

“No, miss, I was watching the carriage. Did he go off and leave you?”

“It appears so. Never mind, let’s go home.”

Alexander did not know what course to take. His initial reaction was to hide, lest his father recognize him, but as he recovered from his surprise, he wondered if he should just confess all and call it quits. Then again, he was no longer the only one involved in this masquerade—there was Reddings to consider as well. Alexander walked back to the vicarage slowly, weighing his options. When he arrived, he was handed the message from Reddings informing him that his father was on his way to Stonehurst.