Tempted by the Roguish Lord

by Mary Brendan

  Sonia dropped the paper to the table. For a moment she was too stunned to concentrate. Then pieces of a puzzle slotted into place. He’d given up his other women not for her sake, but because he was enamoured of Emma Waverley! Sonia jumped up and paced about. She snatched up the letter to reread it. There was little else in it to interest her. She had no wish to know her daughter was increasing and had been affected with biliousness! Sonia knew she was feeling jealous and annoyed...but most of all she realised she was intrigued. Who was this temptress who had done what no other woman had managed to do? Had he bedded her already? Or had he simply settled on a compatible chit with whom to set up a nursery and get heirs? He might improve his behaviour while he did his courting, but Sonia was sure he would revert to womanising once the honeymoon was over.

  After some moments of intense thought, Sonia concluded that it didn’t matter a jot if he got married. He’d still want a mistress and she still intended that role to be hers.

  She’d never heard of the Waverleys. Before things had turned sour for her she had been exceedingly sought after as a guest by top hostesses. None of those people now had anything to do with her, and her stepdaughter wouldn’t give her the time of day. Ruth had always hated her.

  But Sonia had one friend in London. The woman was much like herself and had risen from nothing to gain a title and the heights before dropping back to somewhere in between the two on her husband’s death. She was sure to have heard of the Waverleys and know where they lived.

  Sonia sailed out of the room, calling for her maid to attend her because she was going out.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘Has the post arrived?’ Bernard had heard voices in the hall and had come out of his study to investigate. His daughter was closing the front door and he approached, eager to see what she held in her hand.

  ‘It was a fellow delivering leaflets, Papa.’ Emma proffered it. ‘The Horticultural Society of London is opening a new garden in Kensington.’

  Bernard tutted disappointment. ‘I hope Robin will write...but I must count my blessings. It is enough knowing my son is safe. I’ve been expecting Houndsmere to come, but I expect such an important chap has been busy. Now I feel better I should call on him. He deserves our humble thanks for all he has done. He is the finest of fellows.’

  ‘I have thanked him, Papa. Why not send a note?’ Emma speedily suggested.

  ‘I will never commit to paper another word about Robin!’ Bernard declared. ‘I have deduced how that devil gained my friend’s trust.’ A gnarled forefinger assisted in making his point. ‘Gresham was spying on my work on the last occasion he called. I suspect he remembered what he’d seen and tossed out words as bait. Alas, Roland bit. But I don’t blame him and I wish I hadn’t shouted at him. It was my fault for blabbing in the first place.’

  ‘Don’t upset yourself over what’s done, Papa,’ Emma soothed. ‘We have survived to fight another day.’

  When she let herself in after the Earl brought her home she had been relieved to find her father still slumbering. The powder he’d taken had done its work and had allowed her to immediately seek the sanctuary of her own chamber. A restless night had followed for her, but in the morning she had adopted a bright face. Her father had been overjoyed with the tidings she had given him at breakfast, listening intently as she related that Robin and Augusta had left town, courtesy of the Earl’s generosity. Bernard had assumed Houndsmere had briefly called upon them and, finding him abed, had told Emma instead about developments. Thus, it had been easy enough to shield the true nature of the information’s receipt during that bittersweet carriage ride.

  She was more impatient than her father for his visit. The short while that had elapsed since they’d been together had seemed an age. Now she felt as though she were in limbo. Waiting...waiting...for something to happen. She’d advised her father not to go to see him, yet was tempted to do so herself and propriety could go hang. He must have read her letter by now. What had been his reaction? Perhaps he had thrown it away and gone to Haymarket...no, she knew him better than that. She was sure she might burst if she didn’t discover his intentions and how they might affect all of them...her in particular. She had grown more selfish since falling in love. She had been selfish when infatuated with Simon, and underhand—just as she was now, sneaking about with Lance Harley. Had she been open with her father all those years ago...trusted him more than Simon, a man she had known just a few months...then the elopement and the tragedy that had followed would have been averted. The madness of passion made one do silly, shameful things—

  ‘Ah...perhaps this is the post,’ Bernard interrupted his daughter’s pensiveness as another loud rap on the door was heard. ‘I’m sure Robin will send me a note in code to put my mind at ease.’ Bernard opened up and stared at the fancily dressed lady stationed on his front step, a maid hovering behind her.

  ‘I would speak to Miss Emma Waverley, if you please.’

  Emma had been heading towards the parlour when she heard that authoritative announcement. She retraced her steps and joined her father at the door. ‘Might I ask your name?’ Their visitor seemed more interested in boldly looking her over than giving an answer.

  ‘Are you Miss Waverley?’

  ‘I am. And this is my father.’ Emma didn’t like her attitude. The woman seemed slyly amused because she had assumed the door had been attended by a menial. From the way Emma’s plainly styled hair and dress was being studied it was obvious she was also deemed to be as dowdy as a servant.

  ‘I am here to discuss a delicate matter and must come in.’

  Curiosity overcame her pique and Emma stepped aside, allowing the two women into the hall. She’d have their caller’s identity before inviting her any deeper into the house. ‘If you would please introduce yourself?’ The woman was flamboyantly dressed and carried herself haughtily; yet something about her wasn’t quite as regal as she would make out.

  ‘I am the Countess of Houndsmere. Augusta is my daughter. I believe we have a lot to talk about as your son, sir, has seduced her and carried her off out of town.’

  Bernard’s jaw dropped and he shot an aghast look at his daughter.

  Emma had also been astonished to know who they were dealing with. But now apprised of the connection she could see a likeness between Augusta and her mother. She guessed that the Countess had been as pretty as her daughter in her day. Now she was rather too painted and plump.

  ‘It is a matter for you to bring up with your stepson rather than with us,’ Emma said coolly and took a step towards the door to see her out of the house. She knew now why the woman had scrutinised her from top to toe: the Countess had somehow found out she had a new rival for Lance’s affections and had come to take a look at her.

  ‘I will discuss this with you,’ Sonia returned determinedly. ‘Of course, the Earl is greatly concerned at this upset your family has caused me. But he has more pressing things to attend to.’ She gave Emma a challenging stare. ‘In future you will not bother his lordship with any of it, but will deal with me. Augusta is my daughter and I know what is best for her.’

  So, there it was, Emma thought. The warning signal to her to withdraw and leave his lordship alone. Well, she’d not solicited his help in the first place. And when he eventually showed up again she’d tell him so and to keep this vulgar woman at a distance from her!

  ‘Let us sit in the parlour,’ Bernard announced hastily, having recognised the combatant glint in his daughter’s eye. He wasn’t sure what was amiss, but sensed there was more to it than the ill-starred lovers who had bolted to Yorkshire.

  Bernard ushered their visitor into the room. Having glanced distastefully at the shabby chairs, Sonia brushed the seat of one with a gloved hand before settling on it.

  ‘Some tea?’ Bernard suggested, darting an enquiring look his daughter’s way.

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Papa. The Countess will not st
ay long as there is no benefit to be had in saying more than this: Augusta has not been abducted, she has left town of her own volition and with her stepbrother’s help.’

  ‘I know more of Houndsmere’s ways than you do,’ Sonia snapped. ‘Although you’re angling to know him very much better, aren’t you?’ She was worried. This was no nubile debutante. Emma Waverley was shabby genteel and past her prime. Her impoverished father doubtless intended shifting the expense of keeping his refined daughter to another man.

  ‘I believe you do know him better than I, my lady.’ Emma was unable to prevent a trace of sarcasm. ‘Thus I can only repeat that you direct any questions about your daughter to him. So, if you will excuse us...’

  ‘Ah...that surely must be the post now.’ Bernard gratefully headed back into the hall as another knock was heard. He pattered towards the door, leaving his daughter with the dragon who could be his son’s mother-in-law. He dredged from his memory what he’d heard of her. She had been a courtesan before snaring the old Earl, yet she had the cheek to come here, peer down her nose and accuse them of sucking up to his lordship! On passing, Bernard glanced at the mousy maid who was perched on a hall chair.

  Almost before the door had closed Sonia was again on her feet and circling Emma.

  ‘He favours blondes. His last fancy was blonde. She didn’t last long.’ Sonia fingered a piece of Emma’s faded skirt with a scornful tut before its wearer snatched the material from her fingers. ‘He likes a novelty, but you won’t keep him beyond six months. He is as hard-hearted as he is handsome, my dear.’

  ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ Emma lied, subduing her wrath that the awful woman could speak to her like this. ‘And I have nothing further to say other than you have outstayed your welcome, madam, so please leave immediately.’

  ‘Don’t get uppity with me,’ Sonia scoffed. ‘I tell you this for your own good. He has his doxies, but he always comes back to me in the end. I was his first love, you see.’ She proudly tossed her head, setting flaxen ringlets dancing. ‘I chose to marry the wrong man...the father rather than the son. But being Lance’s lover has its compensations,’ she ended on a bawdy chuckle.

  ‘I’ve no idea why you think I would want or need to hear that.’ What I want or need... The words circled her mind, bringing heat into her complexion as the memory of him uttering the phrase crowded in on her.

  ‘My daughter has written to me from Yorkshire. She tells me you set out to gain the Earl’s protection for yourself and for your coalman of a brother.’

  ‘I will listen to no more of this!’ Emma’s temper flared out of control. ‘You will leave this instant or I will throw you out of the house.’

  ‘I’d do as she says. She can swing a good right hand. I can vouch for it.’

  Emma twisted around to see her father just inside the door, fidgeting nervously. And behind him stood the man who’d spoken.

  Sonia immediately swept towards the Earl to clutch his arm, but he brushed her off his sleeve as though she were an irritating fly. ‘You heard Miss Waverley. Go. Now.’ He didn’t bother glancing again in Sonia’s direction. Neither did he look at Emma. He studied the shine on his Hessians, his cruelly thin mouth thrust aslant while he waited for his stepmother to obey him.

  For a moment it seemed she might not. Being rejected had caused her eyes to resemble slits. She turned that hateful expression on Emma, then jerked up her chin and flounced to the door.

  Bernard spluttered, ‘I’ll see you out, my lady.’ He trotted after the Countess’s rigid-backed figure, closing the parlour door behind him.

  A silence ensued that throbbed with more intensity than the clock on the mantel.

  ‘My apologies. I’d no idea she would resort to troubling you—’

  ‘She hasn’t troubled me,’ Emma cut across him in a glacial tone. ‘She’s of no consequence. Neither are...’ She pressed her lips together before agonising jealousy spurred her into being childish and foolhardy. Her father would be back soon and want to speak to him about vital matters. But humiliation and hurt had mingled into a potent force that raged in her chest like fire. The Countess might have been consumed with malice, but how much truth was in what she’d said? He was hard-hearted and wouldn’t want her long. Emma had already pondered on that herself. He always returned to his first love when done with his doxies...was that wishful thinking on the Countess’s part? Emma composed herself enough to unclench her fingers and raise her eyes. She’d guessed his expression would be ironic and so it was.

  ‘Come...finish what you were about to say,’ he invited with specious softness. ‘Neither am I important.’ A hollow laugh barely left his throat. ‘A visit from a bitter scorned woman is all it takes to make you despise me.’ He came a step closer to her. ‘In which case I have to accept that it would be best if you were not important to me, Emma.’

  ‘I have never fooled myself about that,’ she returned. ‘Oh, I know you will dance attendance while this squalid game we play is still underway. But what of when it is over? How important will I be then?’

  ‘We won’t know that until it is over. What did she say to you?’

  ‘You should ask her that.’

  ‘I’m asking you. You’re more likely to tell the truth than a resentful harlot.’

  ‘Was she always so, or is she what you made her?’

  ‘She was always so and went to some trouble to hide her true nature from me.’

  ‘But still you loved her?’

  ‘I thought I loved her...when I was eighteen, as I told you. Now I am thirty-one and I have a clear idea of who she is. More importantly I know who I am...and what I want and need.’

  Emma turned from his subtle smile as he deliberately chose words to remind her of the passion they’d shared in his carriage. ‘I also now know who she is as she was at pains to impress on me her status. She is your father’s widow and your mistress.’

  ‘Indeed, she is my father’s widow, but she hasn’t been my mistress for over a decade. And never will she be again.’

  ‘I’ve said before there is no need to explain yourself to me.’

  Unable to dampen down the furnace bubbling within, Emma made to march past him and from the room. He caught her arm as she drew level and dragged her in front of him.

  ‘I wish to explain myself and you will listen. And if after that you tell me to go, I will and I won’t return, that I swear.’

  Behind them, Bernard had entered and cleared his throat. ‘Um...some tea for his lordship, Emma?’ He imagined his daughter had confronted the Earl about his rude stepmother and that was why they stood so close together and the air was thick enough to slice with a knife. He had to admit that the Countess was unpleasant and he’d been glad to see the back of her. Nevertheless, his daughter’s angry eyes were just visible over the Earl’s shoulder and he sent her a most reproving look. The last thing they wanted when all was coming right was to upset the fellow working the miracle.

  ‘The Earl can’t stay, Papa...’ Emma said, discreetly wresting her forearm free of five steely fingers.

  ‘He can for a few minutes,’ Lance drawled with a sardonic look for her. ‘He has something to say. But no tea is required, thank you.’

  ‘Sit down, sit down, my dear fellow.’ Bernard wedged himself between them, ushering his esteemed guest towards an armchair. ‘You have my greatest thanks for all you have done. Emma has told me how you have sent the couple to safety.’

  ‘Are they safe?’ Emma asked quietly, feeling calmer now there was space between them and talk had turned to business. ‘Will the Countess be discreet about what she knows?’

  ‘You needn’t fret over anything she says or does.’ Lance moved away from the chair he’d been corralled to and gazed out of the window, cursing Sonia Peak to hell beneath his breath. ‘Your brother can return to London now if he wishes. He will no doubt be questioned by the authorities
, but runs no risk of arrest.’

  ‘How so?’ Bernard had scuttled up behind him and was tempted to yank on his sleeve to gain his attention.

  ‘Your son wasn’t responsible for Simon Gresham’s death. Others were. I’ve given a report of my investigation to the local court and it shouldn’t take long to clear Robin’s name.’

  Emma frowned, wondering what to make of that riddle. Her father also appeared mystified, staring at the Earl’s broad back as though he’d spoken in a foreign tongue. ‘No...the duel did take place,’ she blurted, having quickly regained her wits. ‘Simon was hit in the arm.’

  Lance turned about, gazing over the elderly man’s head at his daughter. There could be no easy way of telling her what had happened to the man she’d hoped to marry. He desperately didn’t want to hurt her, but the whole damnable affair had been mired in subterfuge for too long and it was time the truth was known. Perhaps hearing her brother was no killer would compensate in some small way for knowing that Simon Gresham would have survived but for lethal sibling rivalry.

  ‘The injury your brother inflicted wasn’t fatal,’ Lance explained gently. ‘The treatment Simon received afterwards was his downfall. I realise the information has come as a shock and it is a great pity that it has taken so long to be revealed.’

  The momentous news started to filter into Emma’s mind, causing her face to slowly drain of blood. She swished her hand to and fro behind to locate the chair for its support as she felt her legs weaken.

  Lance strode to put an arm about her and urge her to sit down. Bernard continued quietly brooding, a finger at his mouth, as though he still struggled to make sense of it.

  ‘But my boy fled abroad because his opponent died,’ he insisted. ‘I haven’t seen or spoken to Robin in years.’