“You look ravishing tonight, Mrs. Sutherland.”
She inclined her head, forcing the bile down her throat. The man truly was a blackguard.
“I’m extremely excited you chose to announce your betrothal at my father’s ball.”
Alarm seized her heart, making it skip a few beats. Her betrothal. To a viscount. Nicholas’s hand came up and touched her fingers as a warning to keep her mouth shut. Surely they weren’t announcing their betrothal at the ball. She’d assumed … Hell, she didn’t know what she’d assumed. No, that’s not right. She’d assumed this was all a farce. Lansing had told them he planned to do this, but Emmaline ignored it, thinking Nicholas would get them out of this mess. Quickly, she looked at Nicholas, but he was smiling at Lansing and she had a feeling the damn cat ate the damn mouse. Only Lansing wasn’t the cat, rather, Nicholas was.
“I’m thrilled,” Nicholas was saying. “I’m a lucky man, Lansing. A lucky man.”
Lansing’s smile turned brittle. His gaze swept over Emmaline, hot and hungry and angry.
“When shall I tell everyone the happy event will take place?” Lansing asked.
Newcomers piled up behind them, muttering in exasperation. Emmaline fairly quivered with the need to escape. Already the walls were closing in on her and they hadn’t even made it to the ballroom.
“We were thinking a few weeks from now,” Nicholas said.
She glanced sharply at him. A few weeks? Was he mad?
Lansing rocked back on his heels and eyed them. “Why wait so long? Why not sooner? Hell, man, if it were me, I’d be running to the chapel.” Lansing laughed, a sick, hollow sound that made her insides crawl with loathing.
Nicholas’s face was all granite hardness, the humor gone and in its place something deadly she’d never seen before.
She tried to tug on his arm, to move him into the ballroom so the newcomers had their chance to speak to Lansing. Her hand went to the outside of her thigh again and fingered the stiletto beneath. “Mayhap I will,” Nicholas said, a smile playing around his mouth, triumph in his eyes. “You are correct, Lansing. ’Twould be foolish for me to waste even a moment’s time, eh?”
Lansing’s smile vanished. Emmaline sucked in her breath. No, no, no. This was not how the evening was supposed to go. They were to play their parts. Pretend they loved each other, act like a newly betrothed couple to assuage Lansing’s suspicions, then move on to what was important. Like Blackwell.
“Nicholas,” she whispered, hoping to coax him away.
Those navy eyes were hard as stone and his jaw was set. She tilted her head toward the ballroom in a silent plea. He nodded stiffly and walked in with her, leaving Lansing to stare at them in thinly veiled triumph.
“You let him get to you,” she whispered. “He wanted a reaction and he got one. What the hell was that all about? You can’t be serious …” She looked around. People were staring, women with avid eyes waiting for the next bit of gossip and damn it, she was giving it to them. She tried to smile, tried to appear calm.
The muscles beneath Nicholas’s fine coat were like rock and fury radiated from him, enough so that people walked a wide circle around them.
“Let’s go home,” she practically begged, hating this ball and hating Lansing.
“No. We will stay and we will dance.”
Dance? Oh, hell. She hated to dance.
“I knew this wasn’t a good idea. Lansing wants to goad you into telling the truth.”
“He won’t get the truth out of me.” Nicholas stared at Lansing, and Emmaline tugged him toward the punch bowls. She didn’t want watered-down punch. She wanted rum, but sadly rum was not allowed for ladies.
She directed them to a place where the wall was at their back and they had a good view of the ballroom. No one could approach them without decent notice. Mayhap this ball wasn’t so much different from a battle. Pick your position and defend yourself as best you could.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were a viscount?”
He eyed her before turning his gaze back to the people entering the ballroom. “Would it have made a difference?”
She opened her mouth to say that of course it would have made a difference, but thinking back on it, she knew it wouldn’t. She still would have taken him from Alphonse’s ship and put him on hers. Her livelihood and her plans depended on him not revealing her identity.
“It’s merely a courtesy title. Given after a battle.”
What the hell kind of battle was he in that he was awarded the title of viscount?
“Now is not the time to discuss this, Emmaline.” He kept his gaze fixed on the other attendees. Some were casting them curious glances, some watched them avidly, just waiting for the moment to pounce on the viscount and the widow. “I can’t believe you told him we might marry earlier than planned. There is no plan.” She kept her eyes on the crowd, searching for the enemy, except they all were the enemy.
“Keep your voice down.”
“What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking,” he said between clenched teeth. “The man is a …”
“All the more reason we shouldn’t be here.”
“Well, we’re here now, and if we don’t smile people will think something is amiss.”
She smiled, but feared it came out more grimace. “Mayhap because there is something amiss.” Like a pretend betrothal and an unforeseen enemy who might look too deeply into her life and discover things better left alone. And a betrothed who kept secrets from her, like that he had a title recently bestowed upon him. How in the hell did she get herself into this tangle in the first place? She should have sent Nicholas back to England with his crew.
Of course that could never have happened. He would have reported to Kenmar and her life would have become far more complicated.
Yes, yes all true, but it’s not the complete truth, is it? If you hadn’t kept Nicholas with you, you would have never discovered the joys he’s brought you.
“My lord.” A gentleman broke away from the crowd and headed toward them. Tall and angular, he had an open, kind face and a head full of white hair.
Nicholas straightened from the wall as the man stopped before them. “I am George Lansing, governor of Barbados. Welcome to our island, my lord.”
So this was Peter’s father. Nicholas smiled and the two shook hands.
“I wasn’t aware you had arrived, or I would have invited you for dinner sooner,” he said.
“I only recently came to be on your island, and I’ve been a bit preoccupied.” Nicholas turned to her. “May I present Mrs. Emmaline Sutherland, my betrothed.”
Her insides jumped at the introduction. She would never get used to being referred to as Nicholas’s betrothed. Of course, she shouldn’t get used to it, since it wouldn’t last.
She held her hand out and George Lansing bowed over it. “Mrs. Sutherland, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I’ve heard much about you.”
She raised an eyebrow, hiding her concern. “Indeed?”
His smile was devoid of artifice. “There aren’t many women who can run a plantation as you have.”
She smiled in relief. “Ah. ’Tis no secret when one has good men helping.” She knew enough of the other sex to stroke their egos and let them think a woman couldn’t actually do anything on her own. She slid a sidelong glance at Nicholas, who seemed to be biting back a laugh.
“Well, you’ve done an admirable job choosing the right men,” George said.
“Indeed I have.”
He turned to Nicholas, summarily dismissing Emmaline, which set her teeth on edge but didn’t surprise her. Men of George and Nicholas’s caliber preferred women as adornments, another piece of property to showcase their wealth and virility.
All right, Nicholas was not like that, but George Lansing seemed to be.
“Lord Addison, if you would do me the favor, I would like to introduce you to some of the other plantation owners. Since you will be marrying Mrs. Sutherland a
nd taking over the care of the plantation, you should become acquainted with them.”
Emmaline bristled at the implication that she would simply hand her plantation over to her new husband. Nicholas slid a bit to the left to block her. A warning, no doubt, to keep her scathing comments to herself.
“Of course,” Nicholas said. “Mrs. Sutherland will not mind in the least.”
Oh, yes she would. She did not want to be left alone to drift about by herself, but before she could make some sort of protest, George turned to her. “My wife will be along shortly. She’s beside herself to be able to introduce you to the other ladies.”
Emmaline tried to turn her grimace into a smile. “Lovely. I simply can’t wait.”
Nicholas shot her a warning glance before George ushered him away to introduce him to the upper crust of Barbados society.
“Mrs. Sutherland.” A matronly woman stepped into the void the elder Lansing and Nicholas left in their wake. Emmaline sighed. This was why she hated balls—well, another reason she hated balls. She had to talk to people. Conversation beyond ships and wind conditions confused her. She was forever searching for something to say and trying to mind her manners, which were sadly lacking, much to Aunt Dorothy’s horror.
“Yes?”
The older woman, plump, and with the kind of red hair that faded over time to strawberry blond and then gray, smiled. “I am Charlotte Lansing.”
“Oh.” Peter’s mother. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Lansing.”
The lady’s eyes fairly twinkled, and she spoke so softly and hesitantly Emmaline found herself leaning forward in order to hear her. “I’ve been wanting to make your acquaintance for some time now, but rumor has it you don’t accept many visitors.”
Emmaline’s cheeks heated at the suggestion that she was a recluse. “I’m afraid I don’t. I’m very busy with the plantation and my travels.”
“Well, I’m pleased you’re able to make it to our ball. I was very pleased when Peter told me you would be announcing your betrothal tonight.” Like the matrons in London, Charlotte’s eyes glowed at the thought that such a thing would forever be connected to her social event. People were not much different around the world.
Against her will, Emmaline’s gaze went to Nicholas.
Everyone seemed happy to meet him, and Nicholas seemed at ease with these people. People who made Emmaline decidedly uneasy. Women hovered around him—the young and simpering, and older matrons searching for a husband for their daughter.
Yet it underscored every reason nothing could come of this fake betrothal. She was not of this world, and Nicholas had been born to navigate in this world. Poor Charlotte Lansing. She would be devastated when the betrothal was called off.
“He’s a handsome man. And a viscount as well. You’re one lucky woman, Mrs. Sutherland, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Yes,” Emmaline said absently. “Very lucky.” Good Lord, if she married him, she would become a viscountess. From pirate to viscountess. How utterly ridiculous.
“Oh, dear. I’m afraid I’m being summoned to the kitchens.” Charlotte put her hand on Emmaline’s arm. “Please accept my apologies. I will return shortly and will introduce you. Don’t move.” And she was off, swallowed up by the crowd, leaving Emmaline alone once again. Nicholas had disappeared as well, but it wasn’t hard to pick out where he was, because a crowd followed, mostly landed gentry who owned a fair share of the sugar crops on the island. More than likely they would pick his brain and ask him questions. She hoped he would be able to answer halfway intelligently. They’d never once talked about her crops, and she had no idea what he knew of them. But knowing Nicholas, he would survive. Like her, he always did. At least they had that in common.
Conscious of standing by herself, Emmaline moved in the direction of a hallway, in search of a ladies’ room. Or a door leading outside. Except, she feared if she reached the outdoors she’d keep walking. But definitely she didn’t want to stay in the stifling ballroom where curious eyes watched her every move. Finding a deserted hallway, she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Mrs. Sutherland.” Peter Lansing appeared beside her, and Emmaline silently cursed for allowing herself to be broadsided by a well-timed attack.
“Mr. Lansing.” She deliberately made her voice cool.
She glanced around but there was no one in sight. Lovely.
“You look beautiful tonight.” His eager eyes devoured the low cut of her gown. She had an urge to yank her bodice up.
“Thank you, sir.”
He moved in closer, crowding her against the wall. From far away she heard the butler announce dinner.
“It appears dinner has been called, sir. Mayhap we should make our way into the dining room.” She tried to step around him, but he didn’t move. Short of shoving him out of the way, she was stuck.
“In a moment. If I might have a word with you?”
“Surely we can speak after dinner. I find I am famished.”
“I find this is the most opportune time.” His eyes shone with something that made a shiver of apprehension tingle up her spine. This definitely was a well-aimed attack.
She thought of the stiletto strapped to her thigh, but she may as well have not been wearing a weapon, it was so far out of her reach. Besides, Peter had done nothing to warrant her pulling a weapon on him. Yet.
“What is so pressing, sir, that you keep me from my dinner?” She infused as much frost in her voice as she was able.
“I merely want to warn you of something.”
She stilled. “That sounds ominous.”
He moved closer, so that his leg brushed her skirts. She resisted the urge to twitch them away, unwilling to reveal her unease.
“Very ominous.” His gaze landed on her mouth and his lips parted. Small pants puffed over her skin. His breath smelled of rum, but his eyes didn’t have the glazed look of one who’d imbibed too much. No, Peter Lansing very much had all of his faculties about him.
“Do tell, Mr. Lansing. What is this ominous warning?” Her instincts screamed, but as yet she could not determine exactly what the man was about, only that he was threatening her in some way. Had announcing an engagement between her and Nicholas pushed Peter over the edge?
A swift jab to his Adam’s apple with the edge of her hand would incapacitate him. Possibly kill him, even. He would never expect such a move.
“I’ve heard a rumor that pirates are on the island,” he said.
She blinked, digesting his words, and her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Is that all? Pirates are always on this island.”
He ran a finger down her arm and she jumped, yanking her arm away. “Mr. Lansing, that is entirely inappropriate.” A small jab. Don’t kill him. She resisted the urge.
He smiled, his finger still roaming. Her skin prickled, but she didn’t pull away. His gaze met hers and there was triumph in the dark depths of his eyes.
“There are ships anchored on the leeward side of the island, hiding in a harbor.”
Hell and damnation. He was speaking of her ships. Panic seized hold of her, but she forced her expression to remain neutral. Bored even.
“The hidden harbor is close to your home. Have you seen anything out of the ordinary?”
She furled her brows and pretended to consider it, while her mind raced. She had to get word to Phin to move the ships. But where? She’d scouted the entire island and that inlet had been the perfect hiding place. They would have to leave. The ships weren’t ready for battle, but they were ready enough to set sail.
“No,” she said. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”
He shifted closer, forcing her to move to the side, still trapped in the small hallway. Muted laughter rang out from the dining room, along with the clink of crystal and cutlery.
Where the hell was Nicholas when she needed him? The damn man hung around all this time, an annoyance to her, a burr in her side, but when she needed him the most, he was mysteriously absent.
“I find it interest
ing that there is a sudden appearance of pirate ships at the same time a certain lord is visiting the island.”
Her mind went blank, and for a dizzying moment she feared she would pass out. Lansing suspected Nicholas of piracy? This was worse than she thought. She could handle it if he suspected her, but not Nicholas.
She laughed, forcing the sound out. “Surely, you jest.”
“No jest, Mrs. Sutherland. What do we know of him?”
She stopped laughing, anger churning through her, hot and piercing. She would not allow Lansing to besmirch Nicholas Addison’s good name. “What do we know? We know he’s the brother of the Earl of Claybrook.”
Lansing waved his hand in the air, so close to her nose she had to rear back. “A second son, of no consequence, since Claybrook is hale and hearty and searching for a wife.”
This man was ridiculous and a touch mad to suspect Nicholas of such a thing.
“He’s a viscount and a captain in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, sir.”
“Mrs. Sutherland.” He touched her arm again, and she had to keep herself from trembling in fury. One jab. That was all it would take. Hard enough to crush his windpipe and cut off his air supply. They were alone. No one would suspect the Widow Sutherland of such a deed. She would claim she had to retire to the ladies’s room to fix her hem, and when she returned she stumbled upon Lansing’s body.
“All I ask is that you look closely at the man you are so recently betrothed to. Who is he? Why is here on this island, when he has no business to conduct here? Where has he been for the last several years? Word has it he’s been absent from society for a long while.”
She drew in a startled breath. He was injured, you oaf! Her hand curled into a fist. Or she could pound him to a bloody pulp. She could do it. For all of his bold talk, Peter Lansing was a weakling, needing padding in his coats to compensate for his lack of muscle. But, no, that wouldn’t do. Noses tended to bleed and she didn’t want to get blood on her gown.
So a strike to the Adam’s apple it was, then.
“And, of course, there is the rumor of Lady Anne.”
The Notorious Lady Anne: A Loveswept Historical Romance Page 24
