Tempted by the Roguish Lord

by Mary Brendan

  Emma knew her father was utterly distracted to have come out with something like that in front of her! And still he seemed preoccupied.

  ‘Joshua Gresham hinted he might forward more cash. But will it be enough to set things straight?’

  ‘Not him, please, Papa,’ Emma interrupted. ‘You know he is two-faced.’

  ‘I do know and, in truth, neither do I trust him.’ Bernard got wearily to his feet. ‘But beggars can’t be choosers, my dear.’ He frowned. ‘Should we just tell the Earl what we know?’ he ventured. ‘He is a magistrate, but might concentrate on saving his stepsister’s reputation and think my son beneath his notice.’

  ‘I fear it is too great a risk, Papa...’ Emma paused, noting that her father’s limp was more pronounced since she’d upset him with this news. ‘You must rest now; we can talk of it again at dinner. Perhaps in the meantime an idea might come to us.’ She tried to sound optimistic before quitting the room. She hadn’t mentioned the child. She had intended to, but just knowing about Augusta had immediately overset her father. He was a man of the world and could work out for himself the possible consequences of his son cohabiting with a woman.

  For the first time she felt a surge of real anger towards Robin for having turned up out of the blue, bringing troubles aplenty with him.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Welcome home, my lord.’ The Earl of Houndsmere’s butler took his master’s coat, draping the costly garment over his arm with a flourish. ‘Your morning post has been put in your study. This letter has just arrived. A maid delivered it.’

  Wilkins proffered a silver salver he’d picked up from the hall table. Lance pocketed the note, having identified Jenny’s tiny script on the parchment. Sealed within would be a complaint about his absence, he imagined, or a request for cash because she’d run through her allowance. Either that or she’d got wind that wagers were being put on an opera singer deposing her. Whatever it was, it was of little consequence; he’d already asked his lawyer to deal with her severance pay. Aware that Wilkins was waiting to be dismissed, he gave a nod and the elderly fellow immediately withdrew.

  Lance proceeded to the stairs, intending to change out of his dusty clothes and then visit his sister and brother-in-law. He might have an irritating stepfamily, but he was very fond of his elder sister and her husband and children. Besides, he wanted to check on forthcoming social events.

  He entered his chamber to find Jack Valance stretched out on the counterpane of his bed.

  ‘Hell’s teeth, Jack,’ Lance said, veering between exasperation and amusement, but his pace towards the huge clothes press didn’t falter. He flung open the doors and pulled out a pristine lawn shirt. ‘Haven’t you got a home to go to?’

  ‘I believe not,’ Jack declared dramatically. ‘My landlady’s thrown me out. Can I move in here until my father forwards me something and I can pay the old harridan her rent?’

  ‘No,’ Lance said.

  Valance came upright in an athletic forward roll. ‘Can you loan me ten pounds, then? I need to pay some bills that won’t wait.’

  Delving a hand into a pocket, Lance pulled out some notes that were dropped on to the bed.

  ‘Much obliged.’ Jack grinned. ‘My sweet Becky will be obliged to you, too. The little minx has been complaining that her room in Barrow Lane is cold and damp and she won’t receive me until I pay her fuel bill. I’ve been promising to fill her scuttle to warm her up.’

  ‘Is that a euphemism?’ Lance shrugged out of his tailcoat so Reeves, hovering at his elbow, could take it.

  From the side of his mouth, Reeves muttered, ‘I tried shifting him by telling him you’d not be back for days, but he wouldn’t have it, my lord.’

  Lance knew that his valet wouldn’t have tried too hard to rid himself of the interloper because he liked him. Reeves might adopt a po-faced disapproval of Jack’s bawdy tales, but he often forgot himself and chortled at them when believing himself unobserved.

  The dresser bore a few depleted decanters and a tray filled with a variety of used crockery and cutlery, evidence of the hospitality Jack had enjoyed in his host’s absence.

  ‘Have you been eating me out of house and home, Valance?’ Lance asked, unbuttoning his shirt.

  ‘Only took a bit of bread and cheese and a sup of porter, m’lud.’ Jack tugged his forelock and winked at Reeves when that man snorted at such a blatant lie.

  Lance didn’t begrudge his friend a crumb of the roast meats, pies and pickles he could see remnants of. He could be generous to those he was fond of or felt indebted to and Jack fitted the bill on both counts. His best friend was an impecunious baron’s second son, and had only his allowance to live on. Lance had attempted to school Jack into making sound investments to boost his income, but the spendthrift had frittered the profit without reinvesting a penny of it. Jack had little prospect of improving his lot unless he married an heiress adept at keeping him beneath her thumb. That apart, their army careers had seen them come through many perils together, watching each other’s backs. Those harrowing days alone made the taking of a few liberties barely worth a mention. The two men were closer than brothers.

  ‘Who’s taken your money this time?’ Lance enquired as he divested himself of his cravat before Reeves could start fussing at his neck. He lobbed the length of lawn on to the bed and his valet went after it like a terrier.

  ‘My sister.’ Jack sighed and helped himself to a glass of port. ‘I promised Bella I’d take her to the theatre in a new dress and she wouldn’t let me forget it.’

  ‘That’s sisters for you.’ Lance chuckled.

  ‘She was pleased as punch with her frock. She wore it to your sister’s salon last week and swears that a baronet noticed her because of it. This fop told her the blue silk matched the colour of her eyes.’ Jack narrowed his gaze. ‘I’m keeping an eye on him from now on.’ He took a gulp of his drink.

  ‘Ruth’s holding another tea party soon. I’ll watch out for the baronet. Or you could do it yourself if you feel like turning up.’

  Jack choked on his mouthful of port. ‘You’re not going, are you?’ He spluttered, thumping his chest, eyes popping in astonishment.

  Lance grimaced an affirmative.

  ‘Perhaps I should come, too,’ Jack said dolefully. ‘Now I’m reduced to begging a bed for the night I’d better find an heiress to sweet talk.’ He swiped the banknotes from the coverlet and pocketed them. ‘I’m off to run my errands and pay for Becky’s coal. No wonder it’s so blasted expensive with toffs getting their hands dirty. I might apply at Milligan’s for a job.’

  It took a moment for his friend’s grumbling to sink in, then Lance turned to stare at him. ‘What toffs are you talking about?’

  Jack came to a halt by the door, looking surprised at his friend’s interest in his throwaway remark.

  ‘You said a toff’s getting his hands dirty delivering coal,’ Lance prompted.

  ‘That’s what Becky told me. She said last time she ordered a sack a fellow with a posh voice and nice manners delivered it. She’s a cat...probably said it to make me jealous.’

  ‘And this gentleman works for Milligan?’ Lance strode closer, his eyes raking his friend’s face.

  ‘I imagine so. Becky’s a good girl and always searches out the best deal. She said the others pack in too much slack...why...what’s the matter?’

  ‘Just curious...’ Lance said, but a smile was tugging at a corner of his mouth. ‘You’re right, coal is damned expensive stuff. I wouldn’t mind shares in black gold.’

  ‘You’re never just curious, Houndsmere. You’re not thinking of buying Milligan out and putting me to work on a coal cart to get your ten quid back?’

  ‘Maybe...’ Lance said, chuckling, as Jack went out of the door. He slipped out of his shirt and thrust a muscular arm into the fresh one Reeves was holding up. He walked to the mantel and stared into the mirro
r, doing up his cuffs. ‘A coalman, eh?’ he muttered, then started to laugh.

  ‘Penny for them, my lord?’ Reeves had been watching his master talking to his reflection.

  ‘They’re worth more than that, Reeves. I’m not sure even I can afford them.’

  * * *

  ‘My! How grand it looks.’ Mr Sanders turned to the two young ladies squashed beside him on the narrow seat of his gig. ‘You’ll have a fine time, I’m sure, and make lots of new friends.’ He beamed, then carefully clambered down from his perch. He helped the girls alight outside the town house in Belgravia, giving them each an encouraging pat on the arm before releasing them. ‘What a wonderful day this is! Mrs Booth is convinced she will receive an invitation soon. And in case she does not, she told me to remind you she’d happily attend with you next time.’

  ‘If there is a next time, Papa,’ his nervous daughter whispered.

  Mr Sanders wasn’t to be denied his optimism. ‘Oh...this is the start of many such outings, I’m sure.’ He clasped his hands, almost in prayer. ‘Now off you go and enjoy yourselves.’

  Emma’s pensive gaze darted to the line of smart carriages at the kerb that had doubtless conveyed guests already within the house. She inwardly chided herself for feeling tempted to run away. But it had been years since she’d encountered malicious stares and whispers. Only Veronica Gresham now went out of her way to be spiteful. Others simply ignored her or had forgotten about what had happened. But her appearance in such exalted company might give rise to talk and refresh memories. She didn’t want that. She had been living a quiet life with her papa and, although it wasn’t what she once would have chosen or expected, she had settled into it now. Yet even that modest existence was now under threat since Robin had turned up like a bad penny.

  ‘Ready?’ Dawn whispered.

  ‘As ready as ever I will be,’ Emma declared and took a deep breath. She’d noticed a liveried footman stationed at the head of the sweep of stone steps and for all his poker face she knew he was watching them. Unobtrusively, she brushed down her creased skirts and straightened her shoulders.

  The girls waved to Mr Sanders as he called a farewell, then flicked the reins.

  ‘I wish I had worn something not quite so heavy and dark.’ With so little time to prepare an outfit, Emma had simply stitched pretty pearl buttons on to the bodice of a blue-cotton day dress to brighten it up. Her bonnet had received a new trimming, too, but of the two of them Emma knew she looked the dowdier—not that she begrudged Dawn her pretty sprigged muslin or her opportunity to enter a new social circle. But in a corner of her mind lurked understandable envy and a sadness that her friend might soon move away from her.

  ‘I told Papa we would hail a cab to take us home. Don’t worry, Em, if we don’t want to stay long then we will not.’

  ‘We shan’t leave until we’ve found you a fine gentleman to marry who will whisk you away from your future stepmother’s clutches.’

  ‘We are about to attend a tea party, my dear, not Almack’s,’ Dawn returned wryly.

  ‘Of the two I think I’d sooner be here,’ Emma said. ‘At our age we’d be seated with the chaperons in the assembly rooms.’

  ‘What a relief to put the marriage mart behind us.’

  ‘It isn’t behind you. You said you’d take any man rather than live with Mrs Booth after your father marries her. Michaelmas is fast approaching.’

  ‘Enough!’ Dawn groaned.

  Emma knew they were bantering to gain some time. She wasn’t alone in feeling overawed, or in having butterflies circling her stomach. Even in her heyday, she had never received an invitation to socialise at such an address and, to her knowledge, neither had Dawn. ‘Come! We can’t dither out here.’ Emma gave her friend’s gloved fingers a squeeze. ‘They’ll all be very nice to us, I’m sure.’ Linking arms with her friend, they approached the grand portal and mounted the steps.

  ‘Miss Dawn Sanders and Miss Emma Waverley,’ Emma announced clearly when her friend appeared tongue-tied in front of the servant and simply thrust her invitation at him.

  Joshua Gresham had been approaching in his carriage at the very moment Mr Sanders had been helping his daughter and Emma Waverley alight from his gig. So astonished was Joshua by what he saw that he slid forward on his seat to press his nose against the window and get a better look. As Mr Sanders set off, Joshua rapped urgently on the roof of the vehicle to bring it to a halt. Before the wheels had stopped turning he jumped in an ungainly fashion to the pavement, twisting his ankle in the doing of it. That was no deterrent to him rushing back along the street. He concealed himself behind an overhanging branch of a mulberry bush and watched the two young women ascending the steps to the Sweets’ mansion.

  Joshua’s eyes popped in rage. So he was right in thinking that there was more going on between Bernard Waverley and the Earl of Houndsmere than a financial deal. But if Houndsmere had lecherous intentions towards Emma he’d be a fool to introduce her to his sister. Something odd was afoot and Joshua was determined to get to the bottom of it.

  Having limped back to his carriage, he moodily banged his spine into the squabs, grimacing as his sprained ankle throbbed. But what pained him most was the idea of losing his grip on the Waverleys. At the moment he had Bernard pinned beneath his thumb, but that could change if Houndsmere became his ally.

  Veronica would be livid when he told her what he’d just witnessed. She had been unsuccessfully angling for years to procure an invitation to one of Mrs Sweet’s salons.

  Joshua bawled out an instruction to be taken to Primrose Square. He’d make a diversion on the way home and speak to Bernard in the hope of finding out what was going on.

  Chapter Eight

  In between being a perfect hostess to her guests, Ruth Sweet had been sneaking out of the graceful rose salon where she held her afternoon gatherings to keep watch for her brother’s arrival. Peering over the banisters for the umpteenth time, she finally spotted his tall athletic figure entering the house, followed by that of Jack Valance. Closing the drawing-room door, she swept down the stairs to accost him before the opportunity was lost.

  ‘Really, Lance! What is this all about?’ she hissed, trotting over the marble flags towards him.

  Sure his friend was about to be reprimanded, Jack took himself off, sliding a look of mock sympathy over his shoulder. The Earl of Houndsmere deferred to no man...but his big sister was a different matter.

  ‘What is what all about?’ Lance responded mildly. He gave his sister a peck on the cheek and fondly tweaked one of her brunette ringlets.

  She slapped away his hand. ‘Don’t mess my hair and don’t play the innocent with me,’ Ruth warned him, though she found it hard to stay angry with Lance when he smiled in that boyish way he’d had since childhood. The Earl of Houndsmere might be revered as a powerful aristocrat by others—to her, he was just her younger brother and not too important for a well-deserved thump. ‘Miss Sanders is here. She is a very nice respectable young lady and I won’t have you stalking her in my house.’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘Because I know you!’ his sister returned bluntly. ‘Why did you ask me to invite her and her friend? You said they were kith and kin of one of your acquaintances. You hinted that they were ladies of advanced years who rarely socialised, but might like to get out more.’ Ruth narrowed her eyes, giving him an old-fashioned look.

  ‘All of it true, as far as I’m aware,’ Lance replied innocently.

  ‘I concede they are not debutantes, but they are both considerably younger than you or I. Hardly the matrons I was expecting. So what about Miss Sanders interests you?’

  ‘I can’t yet say as I’ve never met her,’ Lance said truthfully, turning Ruth about and steering her towards the stairs.

  Ruth pulled away from him. ‘Never met her?’ she echoed suspiciously. A look of enlightenment lifted her brow. ‘Ah! I see.
So Miss Sanders is an unsuspecting beard, is she? You crafty so-and-so!’

  ‘Still don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you do!’ Ruth plucked at his sleeve to stop him ascending to join the others. ‘I want some answers from you and I will know if you’re fobbing me off.’ She flapped her hand in exasperation. ‘I should have known that Miss Waverley was your target. She is the prettier...a real beauty in her quiet way. She’s had problems in the past, too, hasn’t she, the poor girl? Ruined, as I recall, by an unwise love affair.’ Ruth dragged her brother down two stairs so they stood together. She went on to tiptoe to meet him eye to deep blue eye. She wanted her answers now. There wouldn’t be a chance to quiz him in company...as he well knew. ‘What on earth do you think you are doing inviting Emma Waverley to my house if you intend to—?’

  Lance put a finger to his sister’s lips to silence her. ‘That’s enough! You’re jumping to conclusions. I just want to talk to her and doing so anywhere other than in polite company such as this is damned difficult.’

  ‘Aha! She doesn’t want to talk to you, you mean. I could tell that she is nobody’s fool after speaking to her and her friend. I heard an opera singer was next on your list of conquests, not a shabby-genteel spinster with a sorry past. Anyway, good for her. I hope she holds out against you. That’ll be quite novel, won’t it, Lance?’ she archly teased him.

  Lance muttered beneath his breath and asked tonelessly, ‘Have you finished now?’

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ she retorted. ‘We’ve enough scandals to contend with already. Our wretched stepmother and her daughter are always creating a stir—’ Ruth interrupted herself to add, ‘Have you yet discovered where Augusta has disappeared to?’

  ‘No...but investigators are looking for her, for the last time. I’ve told Sonia that I wash my hands of them both.’