My Scoundrel

by Cheryl Holt

  He’d tried to warn Emeline that she shouldn’t grow fond of him, but he hadn’t tried very hard. He’d relished her affection, and he’d encouraged her when he shouldn’t have.

  At being confronted with how he’d deceived her, he was mortified by his contemptible conduct. He had to fix what he’d done, but he wasn’t sure how.

  He wasn’t an erudite man. What words could possibly smooth over his horrid betrayal? And it was a betrayal; he couldn’t persuade himself that it wasn’t.

  “Would you girls check her room for me?” he asked. “I stopped by a bit ago, but she wasn’t there. Maybe she’s returned by now.”

  They stared at him, but didn’t move.

  “Are you two fighting?” Nell inquired.

  “No,” he scoffed. “Why would you think that?”

  “Emeline is very sad, and we don’t know why.”

  “You’ve talked to her this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  He was so relieved! He’d been afraid that something might have happened to her. Yet he couldn’t run around, demanding information as to her whereabouts. He was supposed to simply be her boss, with no deeper connection.

  “I’m glad you’ve seen her,” he said. “I was getting worried.”

  “She told us that we’re leaving Stafford, but we don’t want to go.”

  “You’re not leaving,” he insisted. “You’re staying right here. She’s being silly.”

  They kept staring at him, and their big green eyes—Em’s green eyes—made him fidget with guilt. He nodded toward the upper floors. “Find her for me. I haven’t had any luck. Tell her I’ll be in the library.”

  They trudged off, and he watched them climb the stairs, then he spun and went to the library to wait for her.

  It was only nine o’clock but, needing to quell the shaking of his hands, he poured himself a brandy and downed it in a quick gulp.

  He never examined his behavior or fretted over his motives. He barged through the world, positive of his goals and confident of his place in it, but now, he was questioning everything.

  Why had he forged ahead with her? Why had he proceeded—when he’d known there would be a bad end? Why had he hurt her?

  He was so fond of Emeline, and he felt so close to her. He liked that they were friends, that they had bonded in a fashion he never had with another. For once, he was ashamed of himself, and remorse was eating him alive.

  Booted strides sounded in the hall, and his brother peeked in.

  Stephen had abruptly decided to return to London, and Nicholas had no idea why. In light of Nicholas’s maudlin mood, he was eager for the company.

  “The horses are ready,” Stephen said. “Let’s go.”

  “I still have to talk to Miss Wilson.”

  “You haven’t yet?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” Stephen grumbled. “Make it fast. Make it blunt. I don’t want her languishing, assuming you’ll change your mind. She’s a romantic at heart. She has to understand that you’re a complete ass and will never renege on your engagement.”

  “Don’t tell me how to handle this.”

  “Someone should.”

  “And that would be you?” Nicholas snidely retorted.

  “Yes. So far, you’ve done nothing but spread chaos and confusion. Clean up after yourself. Have mercy on her. Cut your ties. Be brutal if you have to, but finish it.”

  “I will, I will.”

  Stephen scowled, convinced that Nicholas wasn’t wise enough to say what needed to be said, and Nicholas himself wasn’t certain he was up to the task. He’d harmed Emeline in so many ways, and there was no recompense that could repair the damage he’d inflicted.

  Ultimately, Stephen shrugged. “I’ll check the horses. Don’t dawdle. I want to get out of here.”

  He stomped off, and Nicholas sat, brooding and alone. He gazed out the window, at the manicured park stretching to infinity, the woods and rolling hills off in the distance.

  There was a peaceful ambiance to the estate that he enjoyed, and he had to admit that—when he was mired in the hectic city, then his hectic army camp—he would miss the slow serenity.

  Out in the hall, strides echoed again. They were a female’s softer tread, and he would recognize it anywhere.

  Suddenly panicked, he rushed to the sideboard for a second shot of liquid courage. Then he seated himself behind the large desk.

  She entered, looking beleaguered, as if she’d fought a battle and lost. She was very pale, and she appeared smaller, as if his duplicity had shrunk her. Or perhaps—on learning of what a treacherous bastard he was—some of her vitality had drifted away.

  They stared and stared, and obviously, she expected him to begin. He’d planned out exactly what he’d tell her, but with her arrival, his speech seemed frivolous and wrong. He couldn’t start.

  “You asked to speak with me, Lord Stafford?” she finally inquired.

  “Please come in.”

  He pointed to the chair across, and she walked over and sat.

  As he studied her, it occurred to him that this might be the last time he ever saw her. There was a sharp pain in the center of his chest, but he ignored it.

  “We don’t have to be so formal, do we?” he said. “Call me Nicholas.”

  “What did you want?” she coldly replied, and he sighed with regret.

  The distance she was determined to impose was probably for the best, but it didn’t mean he had to like it.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I just want you to know how sorry I am that I—”

  She cut him off. “I’m very busy today. Was there something you needed?”

  “Let me apologize.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  He fumbled with the ink jar, tapped his fingers on the desktop, then pathetically mumbled, “I should have told you about her, but I couldn’t figure out how.”

  “I can’t imagine to whom you’re referring.”

  “I hurt you when I was—”

  “Are we finished?”

  She stood, too incensed to listen, but he was desperate for her to understand the fiasco from his perspective.

  He was perplexed over Veronica, why she’d grabbed him, why she’d kissed him. They were scarcely acquainted, and he’d been stunned by her bold conduct.

  Where once he might have welcomed what she’d been offering and taken more than he should, he hadn’t been interested. Stupid though it was, he’d felt as if he was . . . cheating on Emeline.

  The entire morning as he and Veronica had strolled through the house, she’d chattered away, but Nicholas hadn’t a clue as to her topics of conversation. He’d been too preoccupied over what Stephen might be saying to Emeline.

  Stephen had hustled her away to explain the situation, and he hadn’t glossed over the facts. Any affection she’d possessed had been drummed out of her by a harsh application of the truth.

  But what had Nicholas expected?

  Emeline was an idealist and optimist who saw the best in everyone and who worked to make the world a better place. She asked him for boons—but for the benefit of others. She presumed on his generosity—but for the sake of those less fortunate than her.

  She was decent and honorable, and he’d been redeemed by their relationship. How typical that he would wreck it.

  He gestured to her chair again. “Sit down.”

  “I must be going.”

  “Emeline—”

  “I would appreciate it if you’d call me Miss Wilson.”

  She was prepared to storm out, but he couldn’t let her before he imparted the news he was so eager to share.

  There was one thing she wanted more than anything, one gift he could bestow tha
t would solve all her problems. By his doing so, perhaps—just perhaps—she would eventually realize that he’d cared about her, despite how badly he’d behaved.

  He tried to smile, hoping to alleviate some of the tension between them, but cordiality was impossible, and he gave up.

  “I’ve made some arrangements for you,” he said.

  She eased herself down. “Your brother already informed me. We’re to be hidden away in a room over the blacksmith’s barn.” She flashed a glare so full of loathing that she could have stabbed him with it.

  “He told you that?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s not what I requested.”

  “Shortly after, we’re to leave Stafford—as soon as he can find us somewhere else to live. Heaven forbid that we remain here where our presence might upset the earl’s bride.”

  His temper flared. “Those were never my instructions.”

  “Weren’t they? What did you expect then? Were we to continue on at the manor until you came back a married man?”

  “I hadn’t planned that far ahead.”

  “Maybe your wife and I could become friends, although we don’t have much in common. I’d have to develop an interest in baubles and frippery before we could communicate.”

  His cheeks flamed with chagrin. “I guess I deserved that.”

  “Do you imagine you’ll be happy with her?”

  “Happy enough, I suppose. I hadn’t actually thought about it.”

  “You’ve probably been too busy, learning about the estate and all.”

  “Em, I wish you would—”

  She held up a hand, as if fending him off. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to have this discussion, and I refuse to bicker. Is there a point you’re trying to make?”

  “Yes, there is. You’ve been anxious to restart your father’s school, and I’ve decided to let you.”

  He’d been on pins and needles, assuming the announcement would please her, that she might even thank him, but she evinced no reaction at all. He stumbled to regroup.

  “I own a house in the village,” he said, “and the tenants will be out on the fifteenth.” When she didn’t comment, he added, “That’s in two weeks.”

  “So it is.”

  “It’s a fine residence, in solid condition. It’s furnished too. You and the twins will live in the main section, and you’ll use the extra parlor for your schoolroom.” He paused. Still no reaction. “I’ve spoken to Mr. Mason about it. He’ll order any supplies, and you’re to have an unlimited budget. Whatever you need, I intend for you to have it.”

  She assessed him as if he was babbling in a foreign language. “You mentioned that we’d move in two weeks,” she said. “Where would we stay in the meantime?”

  “Here at the manor.”

  A fleeting smile crossed her lips, then vanished. He frowned, struggling to deduce what it indicated.

  Was she glad? Was she excited? Why wasn’t she oozing with enthusiasm?

  Why didn’t she say something?

  “You won’t pay any rent,” he advised, “in case you were wondering.”

  “I wasn’t wondering.”

  “Part of your salary will be your lodging—that being the house. I’ll grant you a monthly stipend too, enough to hire a cook and a servant. Mr. Mason will deliver your wages on the first of each month.”

  “Mr. Mason will?”

  “Yes.”

  That mysterious smile flitted by again.

  “He’ll do it, Em,” he insisted. “I realize you’ve had some issues with him in the past, but he understands that this project is important to me. You’ll have his full cooperation.”

  “Then I’m certain it will be a huge success.”

  “I’m certain it will be too.” He scowled. “So . . . are you happy about this? I thought you would be.”

  “I’m absolutely ecstatic.” She was so indifferent that she might have been a marble statue.

  “Well . . . I’m . . . ah . . . relieved to hear it.”

  Their discussion was concluded, and he knew he should get up and leave, but he couldn’t. Something was wrong. He had the distinct impression that he hadn’t communicated his objectives very clearly, and he was baffled by her apathy.

  He was making amends. She comprehended that fact, didn’t she? This was his penance, his atonement. She wasn’t being cast out on the road, and he wasn’t abandoning her. He was providing for her financially so she would never again have to fret over money or shelter. She’d be able to support her sisters. She’d be employed at a job she loved.

  Yet she gave no sign that she viewed any of it as a benefit.

  Blasted woman!

  “I have to go,” he said.

  “Yes, you do.” She rose. “Thank you for conferring with me.”

  “I’ll miss you,” he poignantly told her.

  “I doubt it.”

  “I will. I’m glad we met.”

  “Your brother is waiting.”

  He nodded, his pulse pounding with distress. “Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye to you, and good luck with your marriage. I hope matrimony brings you exactly what you deserve.”

  At the sly insult, he snorted. “I’m sure it will.”

  She started out, and he suffered the worst moment of panic.

  When she filled him with such joy and contentment, why would he split with her? Why would he choose London and a life that offered no satisfaction at all?

  The questions roiled through him, but he shook them off. He knew why he was headed for London. He was off to wed Veronica, and he had no desire to change his path. Not for anyone.

  Still, as she stepped into the hall, he frantically called, “Em?”

  She whipped around and retorted, “It’s Miss Wilson to you.”

  Then she was gone, and it was over.

  Emeline hovered in the windowseat in her bedchamber. If she wedged herself into the corner, she could see the stables. Two horses were saddled, ready for a journey. Lt. Price was mounted on one of them, which meant the earl was about to appear.

  She was determined to watch him leave. It seemed necessary, like lancing a boil or cauterizing a wound.

  She supposed she should be weeping, but she was too numb for sentiment. Her heart was broken, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Her bones ached, and she was terribly feverish, as if she was coming down with a fatal ague.

  How much misery could a human being endure? How much despair could be heaped on a person before she simply collapsed under the weight?

  A vision flashed, of him sitting at his fancy desk, tossing her a few crumbs of remuneration, and her blood boiled with fury.

  It had been pointless to meet with him, but curiosity had goaded her into it. She hadn’t felt strong enough to face him, but she’d convinced herself there was no way he could injure her further.

  She’d been wrong.

  He’d wanted to explain himself. He wanted her to . . . understand.

  She shuddered with disgust.

  The man was insane, and she was just as mad for having involved herself with him. He’d warned her of his low character, but she’d refused to believe him.

  Well, she definitely believed him now.

  After surrendering her virginity, her payment was to be the reopening of her father’s school. At any other time during the prior year, she’d have been elated, but no longer.

  The earl thought she’d agreed to be his teacher, and she hadn’t dissuaded him.

  She smirked. As if Mr. Mason would help her! Nicholas Price was an idiot if he assumed so.

  She’d written to the school in Cornwall, accepting the post there. For the next few weeks, she and her sisters would stay at the manor, as the earl had insisted they should. But once she received the coach fare, they’d move to Cornwall. An
d they’d never return.

  Although there were many things she didn’t understand about Nicholas Price, there were many other things she understood all too clearly.

  He had cared for Emeline—much more than he’d ever admitted to himself. The depth of his affection would dawn on him when he was all alone, when the nights were long and quiet.

  He would marry his beautiful, rich Veronica, but he would never be happy with her. In the not-too-distant future, he would visit the estate, looking for Emeline and the solace she’d provided.

  Only she would be gone, and no one would be able to tell him where she was.

  She wouldn’t share her destination with anybody, not even Josephine, for if word leaked out, there would be people at Stafford who could inform him of her location. She’d spend the rest of her life, peering over her shoulder, hoping he was on his way to bring her home.

  Every time a carriage was spotted on the road, every time she learned there was a stranger in town, she would wonder if he’d finally found her.

  She wouldn’t live like that. She wouldn’t give him that much power over her.

  On the day he showed up at Stafford, eager to be with her again, he deserved to discover that she had left and was never coming back. She wanted him to feel as she did at that very moment: friendless, unloved, lost, and bereft.

  Outside, Lt. Price straightened, and shortly, Lord Stafford strolled into view. He checked the straps on his saddle, as he and his brother chatted, but they were too far away for Emeline to hear what they were saying.

  Her sisters ran up, and Lord Stafford smiled at them. He knelt down, and Nan gave him a flower. He tucked it into his coat.

  To Emeline’s great surprise, he wrapped his arms around both girls and pulled them into a tight hug. For an eternity, the three of them hovered there, then he drew away and stood. He appeared very sad, and Emeline garnered some satisfaction from the realization that he would probably return sooner rather than later.

  “But I won’t be here,” she murmured.

  He mounted slowly, as if he’d aged, and he shifted about forever, getting comfortable in the saddle. He spoke to the girls, and they replied, then he waved, and he and his brother started off.