by Cheryl Holt
“Why have people thinking the worst of you? Under all the bluster, you’re actually a fine person.”
“My little champion,” he murmured, and he kissed her again.
This time, as he pulled away, she extricated herself and moved to put the table between them as a barrier. If he touched her, she couldn’t concentrate, and she definitely needed to focus.
She was tumbling down a slippery slope. He insisted on being kind to her, but she misconstrued his generosity, imbuing it with a significance she was positive he didn’t intend.
In her mind, she’d built up fantasies where he was helping her because he was smitten, which had to be nonsense. He wasn’t the type to bond in any abiding way, and she wasn’t worldly enough to separate their physical attraction from the emotional one she was developing for him.
“Why are you bothering with me?” she queried.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t be alone with you for two seconds without you making advances.”
“Are you complaining?”
“No, I’m just puzzled. I don’t understand why you’d involve yourself.”
“You amuse me. You’re so entertaining.”
“That’s it?”
“If you consider how easily I’m bored, I’d say it’s quite a lot.”
“You don’t envision anything…more happening, do you?”
“What more could there be?”
“Do you fancy me?” she humiliated herself by asking.
“Yes.”
His torrid gaze took a leisurely trip down her body, stopping at all the pertinent spots.
“But…it’s not me precisely, is it?” she pressed. “You could dally with me or it could be any woman.”
He snorted. “I’m a bit choosey. I wouldn’t take up with any old shrew.”
“I see.” Feeling like a fool, she started for the door.
“Where are you going?” he inquired.
“I can’t continue on with you. I don’t know how.”
“What’s to know?”
“How long are you planning to be here?”
He shrugged. “A week? Maybe two?”
“You’d never make…a…commitment to me, would you?”
“No.”
He said it gently, but still, it hurt.
“We’d flirt and play and then you’d leave for London without looking back?”
“You’ve pretty much covered it.”
“Will you ever visit Stafford again?”
“Not if I don’t have to.”
She reached for the knob.
“It’s just kissing, Em.”
“It’s more than that, and you know it.”
“I agree.” He grinned his devil’s grin. “It’s a tad more than that.”
“You’re very experienced at amour, aren’t you?”
“Not at amour. At lust. You shouldn’t confuse the two. Lust is what’s flaring between us, and I’m very adept at satisfying it.”
“I’m not experienced, and I don’t care to be.”
“I’ve told you not to lie to me. You’re so bad at it. You like what we do together. You’re simply too prim to admit it.”
“You’re correct: I’m much too prim, and you’re much too sophisticated.”
She walked out, and he snarled, “Emeline!”
“What?”
He was irked that she’d depart, and she wasn’t surprised by his spurt of temper. He liked having his own way too much.
“Were you expecting something else from me?” he asked.
Yes, yes! “No. I merely like to be clear so that I remember my place.”
“I don’t grow fond of women. I don’t bond with them. Not even when it’s one whose company I enjoy. I don’t have that type of stable character.”
“I understand.” She nodded. “You mentioned to Mr. Jenkins that you’d hired me as your secretary.”
He made a waffling motion with his hand. “I don’t need a secretary. I have an office full of clerks in London to chase after my paperwork.”
“I’m happy to help you. I’m skilled at writing and factoring.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Otherwise, I won’t be able to attend you anymore.”
“There are plenty of single females in the area. I’m sure I can find someone to divert me for the remainder of my stay.”
Turning to the pot of tea, he poured a cup, then heaped another plate of food. He began eating. He ignored her completely, as if he’d forgotten she existed, as if she’d become invisible.
She panicked. Did she really intend not to see him again? It was too sad to imagine.
Frantically, stupidly, she was ready to rush back in, to snuggle herself on his lap and tell him she hadn’t meant any of it. But she couldn’t. By its very nature, an illicit liaison was a recipe for disaster, and she hadn’t the detachment required to pull it off.
She would hope for his continued kindness and compassion. She would pray that she hadn’t misjudged him and that he would assist her in the end, but she couldn’t seek more.
She trudged down the hall, all the while wishing that he would call to her, that they might have a different conclusion, but silence dogged her every step.
Benedict Mason rode up the lane toward the manor. After meeting with Nicholas Price the previous afternoon, he’d been in a foul mood so he’d fled for a few hours. He couldn’t have gossip spreading that he was no longer in charge or that his prior actions were being reversed, but he wasn’t certain how to regain his advantage.
Emeline Wilson and her sisters had been moved into the mansion. Evictions and other cost-saving measures were on hold. Nicholas and Stephen Price hadn’t left.
It was annoying, having them underfoot and undermining his decisions. And he was most especially unnerved by their examining the account ledgers. Not that he thought either brother was particularly literate. They’d been raised in an orphanage, so he doubted they could add and subtract.
Yet it couldn’t hurt to be cautious, and Benedict was nothing if not wary.
Up ahead, he saw Widow Brookhurst. She was carrying a large package. He approached, hailed her and reined in.
“Good day, Mrs. Brookhurst,” he greeted.
“Mr. Mason.”
“What have you there? Is it a parcel for the housekeeper? I’m happy to take it the rest of the way for you.”
Benedict had assumed it was mended tablecloths or some such, so he was stunned when she replied, “It’s not for the housekeeper. It’s for Emeline Wilson.”
Miss Wilson was destitute. How had she bought anything?
“Really? What has she purchased?”
“She hasn’t. It’s a gift from the earl.”
“What did you say?”
“He sent his brother to my shop early this morning with an order for a wardrobe of clothes.” She hefted the bundle. “This is the first installment.”
“An entire wardrobe?”
“Yes.”
“What have you provided?”
“Three dresses and some undergarments.”
“Undergarments!”
“There’s more coming from London, too. For her and her sisters.”
Benedict kept his expression blank, but his mind raced with speculation. As for the widow, she looked eager to spill all, and Benedict wasn’t about to discourage her.
“Why would the earl buy her clothes?” he queried. “Did his brother divulge the reason?”
“No, and it’s not my place to comment, but…”
“Comment away. Your opinion is safe with me.”
She frowned. “I wouldn’t want my remarks getting back to the earl. I’d hate to upset him or to have him presuming I’m not grateful for his favor.”
“You have my word: I won’t tell a soul.”
She studied him, her distrust obvious, but she was too keen to tattle. “I can’t fathom why Miss Wilson would receive such a boon.”
“Neither can I.”
�
��It’s not any of my business how the earl chooses to spend his fortune. I recognize that. Still, I’m asking myself why he’d spend some of it in this fashion.”
“It’s a valid question.”
“It couldn’t have been free, with no strings attached. What did she do for him? Or what did she agree to do in the future? I can’t come to a good answer. Can you?”
“No, I can’t.” Benedict reached out a hand. “Give me the package. I’ll have it delivered for you.”
She lifted it up. “Thank you. Saves me the trouble.”
“You’re welcome.” She started off, and he called, “Widow Brookhurst?”
“Yes?”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this conversation to anyone.”
“Believe me, I won’t. I’d rather not know about any of this. I always liked her parents. Her mother must be rolling in her grave.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he murmured as she continued on.
He proceeded to the manor, the illicit parcel balanced on his saddle, as he methodically reviewed the situation.
Had Emeline played the whore for Captain Price? Was she that low of character? Would she abandon her morals for a handsome face and a fat purse?
Benedict had proposed an honorable courtship to Emeline, with marriage as the goal at the end, but she’d spurned him.
Had she now surrendered her virginity for a few paltry trifles?
If so, she wouldn’t be the first female in history to trade chastity for security. At the notion that she might have—that she had indecently granted to Nicholas Price what Benedict had decently sought—he rippled with outrage.
He would watch and listen. He would spy and investigate. If he ultimately learned that Mrs. Brookhurst’s suspicions were true, he didn’t know what he might do.
But Emeline would be very, very sorry.
Chapter Eleven
“I don’t know what will happen now.”
“What would you like to have happen?”
Josephine glanced over at Emeline. They had finally crossed paths in the village, and Jo was walking her to the manor. She should have been returning home, but after Oscar’s recent outburst, she was extremely distraught and in no hurry.
Emeline looked healthier than she had in ages. Her cheeks were rosy with color, her hair clean and shiny. She was wearing a new dress, sewn from a flowery print that brought out the emerald in her eyes.
It was a beautiful afternoon. The sky was so blue, the woods so green, the birds singing in the trees. She was happy to be chatting with a friend, but wished she had more opportunity to become better acquainted. Oscar kept her so confined, and she was never allowed to socialize.
She’d like to unburden herself to a confidante, would like to seek advice about her affair with Mr. Price, about her problems with her brother. But she never would. Some things were meant to be private, and certainly an illicit liaison and an abusive brother had to be at the top of the list.
“I want to stay at Stafford,” Emeline said, answering Jo’s question. “I want to start the school again.”
“It was such a marvelous benefit to the neighborhood.”
“I always thought so. If only I could convince the earl.”
“You’ve discussed it with him?”
“On numerous occasions.”
“Really?”
“He’s not the ogre he’s reputed to be.”
“Which indicates you’ve spent enough time with him to have formed an opinion.”
“He’s actually quite an interesting person.”
“I’m surprised you’d say so. Considering how he treated you the day he arrived at the estate, I’m amazed you have a civil word to offer.”
“He enjoys being difficult, and he goes out of his way to be obnoxious. He thrives on it.”
“Are you sure it’s deliberate behavior? In light of the troubles he’s caused, I’m more inclined to believe that cruelty is his genuine nature and not an act.”
“He has a compassionate streak a mile long, but he hides it.”
“I’ve met his brother.” Jo was careful not to reveal the merest hint of the conflicted feelings roiling through her.
“Have you? What do you think of him?”
“He’s very cordial, compared to his older sibling. He, too, claims the earl is wonderful—once you get to know him.”
“That’s the tricky part, I suppose,” Emeline said, “getting to truly know him. He doesn’t let anyone close except Mr. Price. Have you heard what he did for me?”
“No, what?”
“He bought me this dress.”
“He what?” Jo stopped and pulled Emeline around to face her.
“He bought me this dress and several others. He purchased clothes for Nan and Nell, too.”
“Why?”
“When he found out that he’d had our cottage burned, he felt awful.”
“You’re joking.”
“He insisted on replacing what was destroyed in the fire. We’re so desperate; I couldn’t refuse.”
“It’s peculiar that he would bother himself over it.”
“Isn’t it, though? This is what I mean about his being kind. Who would have expected such generosity from him?”
“Not me,” Jo said.
“Not me, either,” Emeline agreed. She hesitantly ventured, “Should I keep the clothes? Especially the ones for Nan and Nell. I realize it looks bad, and I can’t have people gossiping.”
“Absolutely, you should keep the clothes.” Jo clucked her tongue with disgust. “The man is a menace, and after all the aggravation he’s inflicted on you, a new wardrobe is the least of what you deserve.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m very sure, and if I hear anybody grousing, I’ll punch them in the nose.”
They laughed, and Jo took her arm and continued on again. They strolled silently, with Jo lost in contemplation.
She wished she believed in magic. She wished she could cast a spell and become a different sort woman with a different sort of life. She’d always been a decent person. Why was there no reward for her efforts?
Down the road, horses’ hooves sounded. As they rounded the bend, they saw Lord Stafford and Mr. Price riding toward them.
Jo stifled a smile, but Emeline stiffened with affront.
“I don’t want to talk to him,” she said.
“To whom? The earl?”
“Yes.”
“Why not?”
“He exhausts me.”
“They’re heading directly for us, so we can’t avoid a conversation. Have you thanked him for the dress? It seems a safe enough subject.”
“He’ll have to brag about giving it to me. He’s insufferable.”
“Every man I’ve ever met has been insufferable. I imagine I’ll survive one more display of it.”
She patted Emeline’s hand as she braced herself, waiting for them to near. They were so magnificent, mounted on the earl’s finest horses and attired in their uniforms, red coats, white trousers, black boots polished to a dazzling shine.
“They’re so handsome,” Jo said.
“But they know they are, and I can’t abide such arrogance.”
“All men are arrogant, too. It’s embedded in their character at birth.”
Emeline chuckled. “With that attitude, you’ll never find another husband.”
“Why would I want another one?”
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Mr. Price called as they approached.
“Hello,” Jo and Emeline replied together.
The earl was silent, appearing irked that they’d delayed his passing.
“Lord Stafford”—Jo forced herself to be affable—“thank you for bringing Emeline and her sisters to the manor. Thank you for helping them. I’m very grateful.”
He frowned. “Why would you be grateful?”
“She’s my friend. I hated to see her in dire straits.”
He regarded Emeline with extreme disdain.
“She has friends?” he asked. “I’m surprised. How do you put up with her?”
“Very funny,” Emeline fumed, and she peered over at Jo. “I told you he’d be obnoxious. He assumes you’ll be impressed by discourtesy.”
“I’m an earl now, remember?” Lord Stafford sneered at Emeline. “I don’t have to be courteous. I can act however I please.”
The air was charged with an undercurrent Jo didn’t understand. The earl was scowling at Emeline, and she was scowling right back. Obviously, they were quarreling, but Jo couldn’t figure out why. They weren’t sufficiently acquainted for fighting, and Emeline possessed no status that would allow for her to chastise him.
He seemed as if he might offer another rude remark, then thought better of it. He urged his horse forward and circled by them.
Mr. Price hadn’t budged, and when the earl noticed his brother hadn’t followed, he glanced over his shoulder.
“Are you coming or not?” the earl inquired.
Mr. Price gazed at Jo. “Are you on your way home?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll walk you.”
“You don’t need to trouble yourself.”
“It’s no trouble.” He waved his brother on. “I’m going to accompany Mrs. Merrick to the village.”
“Suit yourself,” the earl said. Then he quipped to Emeline, “What about you, Miss Wilson?”
“What about me?”
“Are you capable of proceeding to the manor on your own? Or do you require an escort?”
“I can get there on my own. I’m used to taking care of myself.”
“Yes, you are, and we’ve already established what a bang-up job you’ve been doing.”
“Nicholas!” Mr. Price scolded, but the earl ignored him and kicked his horse into a trot. He kept on without looking back.
“Ooh, that man!” Emeline grumbled, but she watched him go, unable to wrench herself away.
For an instant, her mask slipped, and Jo witnessed a disturbing amount of unveiled longing.
Was Emeline infatuated? Was the earl? Perhaps there was more to his rescuing her from the market and buying her clothes than she’d admitted.
Jo knew a few things about amour that Emeline hadn’t had the chance to learn. If she’d involved herself with Nicholas Price, only heartache would result.
What was Emeline thinking? She wasn’t thinking; that was the problem. Jo’s reasoning had become muddled, too. They were two ordinary females whose lives had been turned upside down by two extraordinary males. She and Emeline resided in a small town in the country, and their backgrounds and experiences were no match for those of the Price brothers.
