by Mary Brendan
‘Who stood second for you?’
‘Gordon Rabley...good friend of mine at the time...heard he died of smallpox while I was in France.’
‘Anybody else present?’
Robin shook his head. ‘Wanted to keep it as quiet as possible...delicate situation...’
‘Quite...’ Lance said.
Robin turned the spotlight on to his interrogator. He was interested to know his lordship’s intentions towards Emma, although he doubted he’d get an answer. It didn’t really matter anyway; he could guess exactly what a renowned rake saw in a ruined, raven-haired beauty. ‘So what are your plans in that respect? As her brother I’m entitled to know...’
‘Very good...’ Lance drawled damningly. ‘Rather late with your righteous outrage, but I understand you’ve been busy with my stepsister.’ A sardonic black brow was raised in a pregnant Augusta’s direction. She had curled up against Robin’s side and seemed half-asleep, sucking her thumb.
‘My twin’s a grown woman, not a silly girl, and doesn’t need mollycoddling. On the shelf she may be, but I can tell you straight that what you’ve in mind for her...’ He inclined forward to hiss quietly, ‘You’re wasting your time.’
‘Well...perhaps I’ll think of something else,’ Lance growled. ‘Now rest your tongue.’ He gazed out of the window, frowning.
He’d never before wanted a wife. When Sonia had tried to force him to have her he’d been ready to dash for the hills and that had been before he’d uncovered all the lies she’d concocted about her past and her little daughter. No man should take vows at eighteen, before he’d lived, he’d told her. He’d grown older, but never changed his mind about marriage. Over time he’d watched Sonia reveal her true colours and realised what a lucky escape he’d had. Or perhaps his reluctance to settle down had just been that he’d never really been in love. Now he was and he realised it hurt like hell. He might have laughed at the awful irony of it. After years of skirting around mentioning anything a woman might misconstrue as a proposal, he was now desperate to find the right words to say to the woman he wanted to spend his life with. What would he do if she spurned him? Go away quietly? Was he capable of doing that? He knew she didn’t hate him...might even like him...but was Simon Gresham’s ghost still locked in her heart?
‘Where are we going, Lance?’ Augusta broke into her stepbrother’s brooding with a bright enquiry. She was enjoying the adventure, gazing out of the window of the plush coach. The blackened chimneys and narrow dirty streets were getting fewer and the trees and open spaces more abundant.
‘I’ve a hunting lodge in the Dales. It’ll shelter you for now until something permanent can be sorted out.’ He plunged a hand into his pocket and pulled out a roll of banknotes, tossing them on to Robin’s lap. ‘There should be some provisions in the larder and that should see you through for anything else you need. There is a retained housekeeper at the lodge and you can keep my coach and manservant. He’ll get word to me if anything is in urgent need of attention. Other than that stay low until I send word.’
Robin stared at the carelessly given cash on his lap, running his thumb over the edges of the notes. It would have taken him a lifetime of toil as a lawyer to earn such an amount. Why had it been given? For Augusta’s sake or for Emma’s? Augusta had said that her stepbrother had washed his hands of her the last time she ran off. Considering the trial she had been to him it wasn’t surprising the man was fed up with her, in Robin’s fair estimation. He looked up, meeting a pair of cool blue eyes. Emma had attracted admirers when younger—none as illustrious as this man, though. Nevertheless, it was a tragedy that she had thrown away her future on a good-for-nothing like Simon Gresham when she might have been a wife and mother by now.
Lance watched Robin’s expression turning cocky. The fellow thought he was home and dry now his sister had the Earl of Houndsmere wrapped round her finger. And she had...so he’d allow her brother his smirk. ‘Get some sleep...we’ve got an hour’s drive in front of us.’ He rested his head back against the upholstery and closed his eyes, a smile slanting his lips as immediately a heart-shaped face set with a pair of reproachful golden eyes filled his mind.
* * *
When Emma got home from her trip to the East End she unfastened her bonnet and cloak and then threw them to the floor in frustration. She felt like weeping, but knew that would do her no good.
Another wasted journey! Mr Perkins had left and taken his things with him, the landlord had told her. And that was all he would say. Despite her hammering on the door he’d refused to open up again, so she’d set off round the corner to Milligan’s. He had remembered her and had said he didn’t know where Charlie was, but if the fellow didn’t turn up on time on the morrow, he’d be out on his ear.
Emma went to the kitchen and listlessly stirred the pot of mutton stew. It had thickened to a rich brown gravy and smelled appetising, but though she was hungry she didn’t feel like eating a morsel. She feared that her brother wouldn’t turn up for work at Milligan’s because Joshua had caught up with him. Had the swine had her brother arrested? Had the landlord seemed flustered and reluctant to talk to her because he refused to get involved in it?
She stirred faster while questions to which she had no answer whirled dizzyingly in her mind. Finally, she flung down the utensil and gave herself a stern talking to. Moping would do her no good! She needed to act so must go out again and hope that her second trip of the evening would eventually bring a halt to it all. Lance Harley had promised to put things right and she trusted that he could actually perform that feat. And in return she must uncomplainingly keep her end of the bargain.
First she had to see if her father was awake and could be persuaded to eat some dinner. Approaching his chamber door, she was relieved to hear the sound of his snores. She peeked in, then withdrew noiselessly. The powder was giving him the rest he needed and by tomorrow she might have good news for him.
She stood on the landing, bolstering her courage to set off straight away to Grosvenor Square. The matter wouldn’t wait and it was better she deliver her letter at twilight than in the full glare of the morning sun and his servants’ scandalised eyes. Should she manage to summon up the sauce to ask to see the Earl, she doubted she would be admitted, even if he were at home. And why would he be? Dissolute bluebloods didn’t spend their evenings indoors, twiddling their thumbs. With a pang, she realised this must be how mistresses conducted their liaisons with eminent gentlemen: inconspicuously...at a distance...melting into the background when they were not needed.
She had no wish to see him, she impressed upon herself, and would be mortified if she inadvertently bumped into him. Far better that he read about her consent than she embarrassed herself trying to find the words to express it.
She went to her room and collected the letter she’d written earlier, then went downstairs. Gathering her cloak and bonnet from the floor, she gave them a cursory shake before donning them. About to leave the house she hesitated, returned to the console table and, by the light of a solitary candle flame, examined her shadowy reflection in the mirror. She put up her chin, rubbed some colour into her wan cheeks, then encouraged herself with a fierce frown before heading for the kitchen door.
Chapter Sixteen
Emma was turning out of the square when she became aware of fast approaching hooves and the clatter of wheels on cobbles. She tweaked forward her hood to shield her features and hurried on without turning around. An infinitesimal peek over a shoulder revealed the bulk of a coach and a male figure jumping from it. A lone woman drew the wrong sort of attention from gentlemen seeking diversion after dark and Emma suspected he might be up to no good. The sound of heavy masculine footsteps in pursuit made her gather her skirts in her fists and run as fast as she could. There was a narrow lane up ahead and she hoped to hide there. She didn’t feel up to a fight. The last time she’d been set about she’d stood her ground. But then she’d been feeling
more robust in spirit.
‘Damnation, Emma, what do you think you’re doing?’ was rasped out by a familiar voice as two hands fastened on her.
She twisted about in a pair of strong, imprisoning arms, panting for breath. Before she’d properly glimpsed his face the scent of smoky sandalwood was tempting her to throw her arms about him. She had raised her fists to defend herself, but let them fall and gazed up at him with huge soulful eyes. The stroke of his fingers on her cheek was lulling her and as she relaxed she realised just how dear he had become. And that wouldn’t do. Not when she had in a pocket her terms for their business arrangement.
Now he knew she wasn’t about to struggle Lance loosened his grip on her. ‘Were you off to visit your brother? If so, you’re on a fool’s errand.’ His exasperation at seeing her once more chancing ravishment and robbery by being out alone at night wasn’t easily curbed. But he thanked his lucky stars that he’d managed to apprehend her before she’d got too far.
Emma shook her head then found her tongue. ‘I went there earlier. Are you also aware they’ve fled?’
‘Yes... I know...’
She realised he was waiting to hear where she had been heading in that case, so she took a steadying breath then blurted, ‘I was going to Grosvenor Square.’ She pulled an edge of parchment from her pocket to display the letter. She met his eyes proudly, but nevertheless was glad of the gloom concealing her blush. She knew he’d guess why she’d written to him, but she hadn’t discerned triumph...or pleasure...in his face. In fact, she couldn’t read his expression at all now his thick black lashes were low over his eyes. Her heart continued its rapid thud beneath her cloak; she was desperate to know that he still wanted her after their frosty parting in Hyde Park. For if he didn’t...what then?
‘Come...we can’t talk here.’ Lance caught her wrist, leading her towards the vehicle.
‘I... We don’t need to talk. Please just take this. I can walk home...it’s not far.’ She pulled away, thrusting the letter at him. He barely glanced at it and made no attempt to take it.
‘Don’t you want to know what’s happened to your brother?’
‘Do you know where he is?’ she demanded, approaching him.
‘Yes... I know where he is.’ Lance caught at her hand again. ‘Come, get in...please,’ he coaxed. ‘We’ve a lot to discuss.’
‘Have you seen Robin? Spoken to him?’ Emma rattled off.
‘Yes...’
‘When?’
‘This afternoon. Get in the coach, Emma, and I’ll tell you more.’
‘If I come with you, will you take me to him? I’ve so much to tell him and none of it good. He is in danger of being apprehended because that devil Gresham has found out he is alive and in London...’ Her voice cracked in anguish, preventing her carrying on.
‘Your brother already knows all of that, as do I.’ He cupped her soft, cold cheeks between his palms, tenderly brushing his thumbs on her skin to soothe her. ‘I can’t take you to him, but I can assure you he’s safe. And so are you. Get in the coach, Emma.’
A sigh of sheer relief escaped her. ‘He is truly out of harm’s way and your stepsister, too?’
‘Yes... I swear. Now I am done asking nicely. Get in the coach or I will put you over my shoulder and bundle you in.’ Lance jerked a nod at the vehicle, in a final, implacable command that she alight.
She gave him a mutinous look, wondering if he was joking. Something in the way his dark eyebrows were elevated convinced her he was not. She knew it was unwise to stand talking like this, so close to home. The wonderful news he had given her she believed to be true and she was desperate to discover more about it. His letter was deposited back in her pocket and she held out her hand to let him assist her into the carriage.
Lance leapt aboard, then slammed the door, rapping for the driver to set off as he took the seat opposite her. ‘You will never again go out alone at night.’ His tone was controlled, but when she didn’t answer—although it had seemed at one point that she would snap her defiance at him—he turned her face so she couldn’t avoid looking at him. ‘I want your word on it, Emma.’
Their eyes clashed through the murk before she jerked back against the squabs so his hand dropped away. ‘You have no right to tell me what to do,’ she replied coolly.
‘Is that so? I’ll wager that letter in your pocket gives me every right.’
She felt horribly hot and put into her place by that trenchant remark, but retorted, ‘I will not seek your permission for anything, at any time. If we come to...an arrangement...then I will demand certain rules be observed.’
‘Will you?’
Emma swung her face away, staring sightlessly at a sombre sky. A throb of tension was now between them and she was as keenly aware of that as she was of him. Shadows had obscured his expression, but she knew a glimmer of amusement would be in his eyes and shaping his mouth. He believed he would be the one setting the rules and she would obey them all without question.
It would be as well to act quickly, while you are still in a position to dictate terms.
So he had told her when propositioning her. It was strangely fair advice and she rued having ignored it. But he’d known all along he had the upper hand and could afford to dispense favours. Now things were so much worse for her family, was he conscious he no longer needed to?
She forced herself to focus on Robin’s predicament and to speak about it before he asked to hear her rules for sharing his bed. ‘Have Robin and Augusta sought sanctuary elsewhere in London?’ She prayed that they had and that there was yet time to instigate a plan of action before Joshua caught up with them.
‘No...they’re travelling to Yorkshire.’
‘Yorkshire?’ Emma echoed. So astonished by that was she that she slid along the seat to sit directly across from him and gaze deep into his eyes. ‘How can that be? Robin hasn’t the means to travel to Middlesex, let alone to Yorkshire.’
‘They’ve taken my carriage and will arrive in a day or two. I imagine they’re resting at an inn now rather than journeying overnight.’
Emma continued staring at him, dumbfounded, digesting that information. The practicalities of it infiltrated her mind. ‘But my brother will have no job to go to and no way to provide for himself, let alone Augusta.’
‘He has enough cash with him to tide them over for some time. He doesn’t need to work. In fact, it would be better to keep themselves to themselves for now.’
‘You have given them money to make a new life together?’
‘Apparently so...’
Emma frowned at her fingers, laced together in her lap. She’d not missed the irony in his last remark. So what had brought about his change of heart? Had his conscience pricked him after she’d accused him of neglecting his stepsister? Had he decided to be kinder to Augusta and allow her to stay with the man she loved rather than force her home? If he had, then Emma knew her apology for calling him a callous libertine was long overdue. ‘Augusta is lucky to have your protection and so is my brother.’ Her pearly teeth nipped at her lower lip before she blurted, ‘I’m very sorry I lost my temper and spoke to you the way I did in the park. It was unforgivably rude of me.’ Flustered by his silence and steady regard, she carried on. ‘I hope Robin thanked you for what you’ve done for him. I’m grateful, too, and so will my father be when I tell him of this.’
‘Does he know why you left the house tonight?’
Emma’s wide glossy eyes darted to his face. ‘No! He must never know. He has taken a sleeping draught and I pray will not wake before I return.’
‘And if he did know? What would he do, Emma?’
‘I hope he’d buy bullets for that empty gun he has.’
He grunted a laugh. ‘Do you hate me that much? Would you not care if he shot me down?’
She gazed out into the night, feeling ashamed of herself. How could she have utt
ered such a thing when she’d just found out how greatly he’d already helped her family? ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. It was just a silly joke...’ she murmured.
‘Do you regret writing me that letter, too?’
‘No...please forget about the gun. I’m sorry...it was a stupid thing to say.’ Emma gestured weakly. ‘I’m no different to any daughter in wanting a display of my father’s love and protection, that’s all.’
‘He gave you that on the day we first met and he pulled that pistol on me,’ Lance reasoned.
‘Since then he knows Robin is alive and in need of help...from somebody like you.’ She wished she’d not uttered that either, or so sourly. ‘Sons are always the apple of their fathers’ eyes.’ It was said with finality, to let him know she’d nothing more to add.
Emma wondered if he’d heard the years-old gossip that Bernard Waverley had nothing left to sell but his daughter. Did he believe her father venal enough to do it? She wished she could stop herself wondering the same thing, because the idea of it being true was breaking her heart.
‘May I have the letter, then?’
Through the gloom, she watched five lengthy dark fingers unfurl in her direction.
‘Yes...of course...when you set me down.’ She avoided meeting a pair of black diamond eyes by peering out of the window and trying to ascertain their location. ‘Am I quite close to Primrose Square? Can you set me down now?’
‘No. You’re not close and even if you were you’re not walking home in the dark.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Round and about...the driver will keep going until I tell him to stop.’
Emma lifted her limpid eyes to a sliver of moon. That’s how he lived his life, she realised: giving orders to people to do his bidding. A servant to drive aimlessly until he’d had enough, a woman to pleasure him until he’d had enough...and he’d had the cheek to tell her to stop playing games!
