Then his eyes moved to Emma and lingered.
She held her head high. Feigned a calmness she did not feel. Inside her heart was beating nineteen to the dozen, but she met his gaze coolly.
‘I do not believe you have met m’companion, sir.’
‘I have not had that pleasure,’ he said. ‘I would have been sure to remember.’
No insinuations that they had met before. No hints over Whitechapel.
Their eyes held.
She swallowed.
‘May I introduce Miss Emma Northcote,’ Lady Lamerton said.
Ned seemed to still and for the flicker of a second Emma saw something that looked like shock in his eyes. Then it was gone and he was once more his quiet assured self.
Only then did she remember that he knew her as de Lisle.
Her eyes held his, waiting for him to make some comment on her change of name. Her breath held, waiting as that tiny moment seemed to stretch. The atmosphere between them was obvious.
‘I am pleased to meet you, Miss Northcote.’ His voice was as cool as his gaze. He gave a curt bow.
‘Likewise, Mr Stratham.’ She dropped the smallest curtsy.
There was a deafening silence, which Ned made no effort to fill.
‘We are for the circulating library, sir,’ said Lady Lamerton. ‘Are you?’
‘No.’ He did not elaborate.
The dowager inclined her head, dismissing him.
‘Your servant, ma’am.’
His eyes moved to Emma’s again.
This time there was no perfunctory smile on his lips and the look in his eyes made her shiver. ‘Miss Northcote.’ The slightest emphasis on her name.
She gave a nod and turned away to escort the dowager into the library.
There was no sound of his footsteps upon the pavement and she had the feeling that he was standing there, watching her. It made her feel nervous. It made each step feel like an eternity. But she did not yield to the urge to glance behind. Not until Lady Lamerton was through the door and Emma, too, was safe inside the library.
He was still standing there, just as she had thought. And there was something in the way he was looking at her, something focused and hard, as if he were seeing her for the first time, as if he were scrutinising her. Something of accusation that made her uncomfortably aware that she had not been entirely honest with him.
Only then did he dip his head in a final acknowledgement and turn and walk away.
* * *
Rob was waiting for him in his study when Ned got back to the mansion in Cavendish Square.
His friend and steward glanced round from where he was examining the arrangement of swords and sabres mounted upon the wall. ‘I came early. Wanted to check over a few things before we left for Misbourne’s.’
Ned gave a nod, and passed his cane and hat to Clarkson. Then peeled off his gloves and did the same.
The door closed with a quiet click behind the departing butler.
Ned walked straight to his desk and, ignoring the crystal decanter of brandy that sat there on the silver salver, opened the bottom drawer and took out a bottle of gin. He poured two generous measures into the matching crystal glasses. Passed one to Rob and took a deep swig from the other.
He could feel his friend’s eyes on him and knew it didn’t look good, but right at this minute he didn’t give a damn.
‘You all right, Ned?’
‘I’ve been better.’
‘You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’
That was certainly one way of putting it.
‘Business deal gone bad?’ Rob asked.
Nothing so simple. ‘Something like that.’
‘Not Misbourne. Not the—’
‘No.’ He cut Rob off. Took another swig of the gin, relishing the raw kick of it. ‘Not Misbourne.’
‘That’s a relief, at least.’
‘Yes.’
There was a silence. Ned’s mind was whirring. His blood still pumping hard as if he’d just floored ten men. He could feel a cold sweat on his upper lip, a clamminess on the palms of his hands. He took another gulp of gin to numb the tremor of shock that still ran through him.
‘If you need to call off with Misbourne...’
‘I don’t.’ Ned met his friend’s gaze. ‘I need Misbourne on board. And missing a lunch he’s arranged will set him against me.’
‘It’s just a lunch.’
‘Nothing with these men of the ton is just a lunch.’
‘If he asks about any of the details...’
‘Leave the details to me.’
Rob gave a nod.
Ned finished the rest of the gin and set the glass down on the desk.
‘Let’s walk. I could do with some fresh air.’ To calm the pound of his blood and shutter the disbelief that was coursing through his body.
Rob nodded.
Ned rang the bell for his butler. There would be time to think later and there was much riding on Misbourne.
Ned was well practised at putting emotion aside. He did it now, coldly, deliberately, and got on with the task in hand.
* * *
‘More tea?’ Emma asked, teapot poised in hand to refill the dowager’s delicate blue Sèvres teacup.
The afternoon sunlight filled Lady Lamerton’s little parlour, making it bright and warm. Dust motes floated in the sunbeams to land on the circulating library’s latest romance novel on the embroidered tablecloth of the tea table before them.
On the sideboard at the other end of the parlour, a book on antiquity and a heavyweight tedious literary novel had been discarded until they were required for next week’s return visit to the library.
‘Thank you, my dear.’ Lady Lamerton gave a small nod.
Emma poured the tea.
‘So what did you make of our Mr Stratham?’
‘Tolerable enough, I suppose.’ Emma managed to keep her hand steady and concentrated on adding a splash of cream and three lumps of sugar to the dowager’s cup, just the way she liked it.
‘Tolerable?’ The dowager looked at her aghast as she accepted the cup and saucer from Emma. ‘With those eyes?’
‘A pair of fine eyes do not make the man.’
‘So you did notice,’ said the dowager slyly. ‘And I must say he seemed rather struck by you.’
‘Hardly.’ Emma took satisfaction in her calm tone as she topped up her own teacup.
‘Indeed, I do not think I have seen any woman make such an impression upon him.’
Emma remembered again that expression on his face outside the library. The intense scrutiny in his eyes. The force of something that seemed to emanate from him. Something angry and accusatory that he had no right to feel. She took a sip of tea and said nothing.
‘I wonder if he will be at Hawick’s ball tonight,’ the dowager mused.
Emma felt a shiver ripple down her spine. ‘Is it likely?’
‘Most likely, indeed.’
We will talk, Emma. She thought of the cool promise that had been in his eyes and the utter certainty in those quiet words. She swallowed and resolved not to leave the dowager’s side for the entirety of the evening.
* * *
The Duke of Hawick’s ballroom was heaving. It seemed that the entirety of the ton had returned early to London, and were here, turned out for the event since the rumour had got out that the Prince Regent himself might be present.
It was as warm as an evening in the Red Lion, even though there were no adjacent kitchens here that fanned the heat. No low ceiling or small deep-sunk windows, and bricks that held the heat in summer and the cold in winter. It was a huge room of wealth and opulence that would have been beyond the imagination of most of those who frequented the Red Lion Ch
op-House. The massive chandelier held a hundred candles whose flames made the crystals glitter and sparkle like diamonds. The windows were numerous and large, the sashes pulled up to allow a circulation of fresh air. At the back of the room were glass doors that opened out on to a long strip of town garden similar to that at the back of the mansion house in Cavendish Square. All of that open glass and air and yet still the place was too warm because of the throng of guests.
‘Another fine evening,’ Lord Longley said and lifted a glass of champagne from the silver salver that the footman held before him.
‘Indeed.’ Ned accepted a glass of champagne, too. Took a sip without betraying the slightest hint that he hated the stuff. He was all too aware of the way Longley ignored Rob’s presence. ‘You have met my steward, Mr Finchley.’
Longley could barely keep the curl from his upper lip as he gave the smallest of acknowledgements to Rob before returning his attention to Ned. He thought Rob beneath him. And Ned, too, but swallowed his principles for the sake of money.
‘Harrow tells me you were at Tattersall’s saleroom the other day looking at the cattle.’ Tattersall’s was the auction house where the ton went to buy their horses. Ned could hear the slight sneer that Longley always had in his voice when he spoke to him. Felt the edge of anger that he always felt amongst these men born to titles and wealth and privilege and who lived in a world far removed from reality.
‘Browsing the wares.’ Ned’s eyes were cool. ‘Were we not, Mr Finchley?’
‘And fine wares they were, too,’ said Rob.
‘Matters equine take a knowledgeable eye.’ Which you do not have. That patronising air that Longley could not quite hide no matter how hard he tried. ‘And experience. I would be happy to teach you a thing or two.’
‘How kind.’ Ned smiled.
The sentiment behind the smile was lost on Longley.
‘Where do you ride?’
‘I don’t.’
‘I did not know that,’ said Longley and tucked the tidbit away to share with his friends in White’s should matters not work out between him and Ned as he was hoping. ‘I suppose I should have realised, what with your not having come from—’ He stopped himself just in time.
Ned held Longley’s gaze.
The earl glanced away, cleared his throat and changed the subject to why he was standing here in Ned’s company tonight. ‘Lady Juliette is in good spirits tonight.’ Lady Juliette, Longley’s daughter for whom he was seeking a match with new money.
‘You must be pleased for her.’ From the corner of his eye he saw Rob struggle to stifle a grin.
‘Do not need to tell you that she was quite the diamond of this year’s Season. I am sure you are already aware of her.’
‘Very aware.’
Longley smiled.
‘Quite the horsewoman as I recall,’ said Ned.
Longley’s smile faltered as he realised the mistake he’d just made. He squirmed. ‘Not so much these days.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘Excuse me, sir. I see Willaston and have a matter to discuss with him.’
A small bow and Longley took himself off, leaving Ned and Rob standing alone.
There was a silence before Ned spoke. ‘There’s something you need to know, Rob. The Dowager Lady Lamerton has a new companion.’
‘You think I’m in with a shout?’ Rob grinned.
Ned did not smile. His eyes held Rob’s. ‘Her name is Miss Emma Northcote.’
Rob’s grin vanished. ‘Northcote? I thought the Northcotes were long gone. Moved away to the country.’
‘So did I.’ Ned thought of the truth of Emma Northcote and her father’s circumstance—the nights in the Red Lion Chop-House; the narrow street with its shabby lodging house; and the London Dock warehouse—and something tightened in his throat. He swallowed it down. Gave a hard smile. ‘It seems we were wrong.’
‘Hell.’ A whispered curse so incongruous in the expensive elegance of their surroundings as the shock made Rob forget himself. ‘That’s going to make things awkward.’
‘Why?’ Ned’s expression was closed.
‘You know why.’
‘I did nothing wrong. I’ve got nothing to feel awkward over.’
‘Even so.’
‘It isn’t going to be a problem. She isn’t going to be a problem.’ Not now he knew who she was.
Both men’s gazes moved across the room as one to where Lady Lamerton sat with her cronies...and her companion.
Northcote, not de Lisle, the worst lie of them all.
He looked at the long gleaming hair coiled and caught up in a cascade of dark roped curls at the back of her head, at the sky-blue silk evening dress she was garbed in, plain and unadorned unlike the fancy dresses of the other ladies and obviously paid for by Lady Lamerton. She wore no jewellery. He knew that she would have none. The décolletage of her dress showed nothing other than her smooth olive skin. Long white silk evening gloves covered her arms and matching white slippers peeped from beneath the dress.
She had seen him the minute she entered the ballroom. He knew it. Just as he knew she was ignoring him.
‘No,’ said Rob quietly. ‘Knowing you, I don’t suppose she will.’
Ned’s eyes shifted from Emma to Rob. ‘Would you hold this for me?’ He passed his glass to Rob. ‘There’s something I have to do.’
‘You can’t be serious...’
Ned smiled a hard smile.
‘Tell me you’re not going over there to get yourself introduced?’ Rob was staring at him as if he were mad.
‘I’m not going over there for an introduction. Miss Northcote and I have already had that pleasure.’
Rob looked shocked.
‘But the lady and I didn’t get a chance to talk.’
The music came to a halt. The dance came to an end. The figures crowded upon the floor bowed and curtsied and began to disperse.
Ned glanced across the floor to Emma once more.
‘This won’t take long.’
‘Ned...’ Rob lowered his voice and spoke with quiet insistence.
But Ned was already moving smoothly through the crowd, crossing the ballroom, his focus fixed on Emma Northcote.
Chapter Six
‘Oh, my!’ Emma heard Miss Chichester exclaim as she stared in the direction where Ned Stratham stood talking with Mr Finchley and Lord Longley. ‘You are not going to believe this, Miss Northcote, but Mr Stratham—’
Emma resisted the urge to look round. ‘I do not understand why Mr Stratham is of such fascination to the ladies of the ton,’ she interrupted. ‘He is just trade, for all his money.’ It was a cruel and elitist remark, but after what he had done he deserved it.
Miss Chichester’s eyes widened. Her pale cheeks flushed ruddy. She gave a soft, breathless gasp and pressed a hand to her décolletage.
‘Indeed I am, Miss Northcote,’ Ned Stratham’s voice said. That same soft East End accent, that same slight edge underlying the quiet words.
Emma’s heart stuttered. Her stomach turned end over end. She froze for a second before turning to look up into those too-familiar cool blue eyes.
‘Mr Stratham,’ she said with a controlled calm that belied the trembling inside. ‘You surprise me.’
He smiled. ‘Evidently.’
She held his gaze as if she were not embarrassed at being caught out and ashamed of her words, but the seep of heat into her cheeks betrayed her. However, she offered no apology.
The silence stretched between them.
His eyes never faltered for a moment. He stood there, all quiet strength and stillness, with those eyes that knew her secrets and those lips that had seduced her own. ‘I am here to ask you to dance, Miss Northcote.’
Her stomach gave a somersault.
Beside her
she heard Miss Chichester give a quiet gasp.
‘I thank you kindly for your magnanimous offer, sir.’ Emma held his gaze with a determined strength, knowing that, in this battle of wills, to look away would be to admit defeat. ‘But I am obliged to refuse. I am here as Lady Lamerton’s companion, not to dance.’
His mouth made a small dangerous curve, making fear trickle into her blood at what he meant to do. Too late she remembered that one word from his mouth could destroy her. One word and her return to the ton and all that meant for her brother would be over. Her mouth turned dry as a desert.
He turned his attention to Lady Lamerton. Only then did Emma notice that all of the ladies around them had fallen silent and that Lady Lamerton and her friends were watching with avid interest.
‘I am sure that Lady Lamerton would be able to spare you for some small time.’ He looked at Lady Lamerton with that quiet confidence in his eyes. Cocked the rogue eyebrow.
All eyes turned to the dowager, like a queen with the presiding vote over a court.
‘Mr Stratham has the right of it, Emma.’ Lady Lamerton turned her focus to Ned. ‘I trust you will return m’companion to me safely, sir.’
‘Safe and sound, ma’am.’ Ned smiled at Lady Lamerton.
Safe and sound. The very air around him vibrated with danger.
All of the tabbies watched in rapt amazement.
His eyes switched back to Emma, the bluest blue eyes in all the world, so cool and dangerous, and filled with the echoes of shared intimacies between them. ‘Miss Northcote.’ He held out his hand in invitation. ‘Shall we?’
Her eyes held his for a tiny moment longer, knowing that he had manoeuvred her into a corner from which there was no escape. Then she inclined her head in acknowledgement.
He might have won the battle but it did not mean he would win the war.
She placed her hand in his, rose to her feet and let him lead her out on to the dance floor.
* * *
They joined the nearest set for a country dance that was neither progressive nor too fast for conversation.
‘What game are you playing, Ned Stratham?’
‘No game. We need to speak with a degree of privacy. This provides the perfect opportunity.’
Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Lone SheriffThe Gentleman RogueNever Trust a Rebel Page 28
