"Pray, forgive my clumsiness. I have not hurt you, have I?"
Her blood tingled from his touch. "I'm f-fine."
But she was not fine at all. Shock had paralyzed her. He was supposed to be in India. Agatha had mentioned that very fact in a letter posted only two months ago. Why was he here? Now of all times?
The scent of soap from his morning bath filled her senses, reminding her of the last time she saw him, the last time she rested her head against that broad chest when he had promised to come to Elbourne Hall and claim her as his own. But he had not come. He had broken her heart, and now she felt as if a thousand pins were pressing into it.
"I cannot say the pleasure is mine, Lord Stonebridge," she said stiffly, lifting her gaze to meet his.
He seemed to ignore her jibe and continued his lame apology. "I missed you coming around the corner. You startled me." He watched her intently, as if waiting for her to answer.
He finally broke through the unbearable silence, ripping her composure in two. "How long has it been, Lady Emily?"
How long? The man must be mad? Did he not hear her rebuff? "How long?" she asked tartly, inwardly shaking with fury. How long does it take a heart to heal? Did he believe for one minute she had forgotten? Did he believe she had pined for him all these years?
"Let me see . . ." She tapped a stiff finger against her chin. "How long since you broke your promise? Tricked a naïve young girl into dreams of a future? Made her see the true meaning of cad? Hmmm, how long ago was that, pray tell?"
"I had obligations," he said harshly, his eyes turning swiftly to anger. "You were . . . young."
"Young?" she snapped, ignoring the thin layer of ice wrapping around her heart. "You were a coward. Could you not have written once? Or were you too afraid to tell me the truth? Perhaps it was my father you were afraid of?"
A muscle jumped in his jaw. "One, I am not a coward. Two, I wrote. And three, fear is not a quality I have ever admired." He paused. "Situations occurred that altered my plans."
Emily stared, dumbfounded. Oh, why had not Agatha told her that he was staying at Hemmingly? She would have rather remained with Uncle Cathaven up north than have had to endure this torture. Of course, dear Agatha had no inkling of her attachment to Jared, so why should the older lady even care to offer the information that her long-departed nephew was making an unexpected trip to Hemmingly?
"You're bleeding," he said, grabbing her hand.
She jerked away from his touch. His closeness was like a magnet, pulling her to him, but she needed to keep her distance, needed to think. Needed to keep away.
"I have no designs on you, my lady." His mocking smile only angered her further. "Only look at your finger. I daresay, it is bleeding."
She dropped her gaze to her hand. A bead of blood fell from her pinky finger to the floor. At that precise moment something in her chest tightened painfully. Seeing this man again crumbled the armor she had erected so carefully around herself for the past three years. It galled her that one look, one word, from Lord Stonebridge tumbled her back into a blithering fool of emotions.
"Don't ever touch me again." Her words were a bare whisper, but he immediately dropped his hand to his side. Head held high, she gave him one last glare and spun on her heels to leave. But a viselike grip wrapped around her arm, holding her in place.
"Emily, stop this nonsense. We are adults now, not a pair of cow-eyed youths. We need to put the past behind us."
She whirled around to glare at him. Cow-eyed youths? Was that what he thought of their relationship? "I asked you not to touch me, my lord," she countered icily.
"You've changed, little one." His short bark of laughter held no amusement as he released his hold on her.
Of course she had changed. She was no longer an innocent girl who believed in love at first sight, and he was no longer her knight in shining armor. The thought brought a lump to her throat, making her all the more determined to choose her own future. She fought her swirling emotions trying to calm herself. "As I see it, Agatha and Jane have no reason to believe we have had any past history except being mere acquaintances. I, for one, would like to keep it that way."
His dark eyes sharpened like the points on the end of a quill. "I, too, have no wish to dredge up the past, Emily."
Her gaze met his in a battle of wills, and she fought the need to ask him why he had done this to her. Why had he made such a fool of her? Why had he made her fall in love with him and then vanish with another woman, without a word? He had never written to her. Never.
"So we are agreed, then?" she asked.
He nodded silently, his expression tight.
"Very good," she continued, her heart thudding. "When we meet upon further occasion, which we will since you are Agatha's nephew and I am to be staying here indefinitely . . ."
"Indefinitely?" He raised an inquisitive brow as if he could only hope her stay was of short duration.
She boldly met his gaze. "Yes, indefinitely, and as such, I will remind you that I have not given you leave to use my Christian name. I am Lady Emily to you, and I always will be."
The corner of his lip twisted upward. "Direct hit, my dear. I daresay, we might have won the war quicker if we had you firing the cannons at Waterloo."
Emily felt her cheeks warm. The insolence of that man. How dare he!
Feeling there was nothing more to say, she pivoted on her heels and started down the hall, her slippers thwacking the marble hallway with every angry step. She would have made a dignified exit if her feet had not met the water spill trailing along the hall from the cracked vase, but the next thing she knew, her legs lifted out from under her and she hit the floor with an undignified plop.
She was more embarrassed than hurt since it was the second time she fell that day. However, when the sound of clamoring footsteps closed in behind her, she flinched at the thought of the man touching her again and raised her hand in warning. "I will be quite all right. Just stay away."
The clack of heels stopped abruptly, and she could feel Jared's withering glare burning into her back. His presence had shaken her more than she wanted to admit. Heavy footsteps retreated down the hallway, followed by a curse. Tears of frustration filled her eyes. He meant nothing to her now. Nothing at all.
She took a deep, consoling breath and started to rise only to be startled by a loud bark. Heart thumping, she raised her blurry gaze and immediately locked eyes on a colossal brown ball of fur racing toward her as if she were a piece of raw meat for the taking.
The scream died in her throat. She whipped her hands to her face, curling into a ball, and waited for the bite. She waited for the end of it all when something slimy pressed against her face. Letting out a squeak of protest, she stiffened while the hot, pungent breath of the massive dog almost made her swoon.
"Nigel!"
The shouted command came from behind, and the creature gave one last lick to her face, whimpered in her ear, and pulled away. With a shaking breath, Emily dared to look up, realizing that it was Jared who had given the firm order for the dog to retreat. As for the enemy, Nigel had moved away from her, taking a grand seat in the small alcove of the hallway where a knee-high statue of some Greek goddess watched the scene with glaring eyes.
Except for the earl's command, she had never heard the man approach. "Nigel is your dog?" she asked, looking up.
To her dread, the corner of those beautiful golden eyes crinkled with amusement, and he nodded. "Brilliant creature. However, Nigel can be a bit overbearing sometimes, and even a bit playful with the ladies when I'm not around to supervise."
"Playful? Your dog came at me as if I were a huge bone!" She loved dogs, but that beast was a menace.
The earl's mouth twitched upward as his gaze roved slowly over her person. "Must be that scent you're wearing. Nigel rather enjoys the smell of rose water and lavender." The smile in his eyes grew. "Adores the ladies who wear it, too."
She avoided his steadfast gaze, but there was almost an inexplicable
note of tenderness in his voice that unnerved her, and she slapped a hand to her skirt. "Well, I daresay, as long as Nigel roams the halls of Hemmingly, I will make a point of wearing nothing at all then."
Too late, she realized her mistake.
Jared's deep laugh rumbled down the hall. "I do not believe that would be a deterrent for anyone, Lady Emily. You might receive more than dogs licking at your face."
His meaning was quite clear, and she clamped her mouth shut. There was nothing she could say that would save her dignity, so she said nothing at all. Needing to separate herself from this disagreeable man as soon as possible, she pushed to stand, but before she could protest, he reached beneath her arms and gently pulled her upward . . . again.
Except this time she stumbled into his chest, and his warm breath pressed upon her cheek, doing silly things to her stomach. The heat of his firm fingers lingered on her skin, and her heart skidded to a halt. Horrified at her body's treacherous behavior, she stepped back, her slipper crunching against the broken vase. "You sh-should teach that dog of yours some manners."
"Nigel would never hurt you."
She said nothing as he stared at her, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something more. A hollow silence swept through the hall like the echo of a cold arctic wind.
"Jane is expecting me in the drawing room," she finally blurted out, and without waiting for his reply, grabbed hold of her skirt and turned blindly down the hall, walking with as much dignity as she could gather.
Why did he have to come back into her life? She was a silly twit. Every fiber of her being had wanted to cling to him, and it had taken every bit of resolve to pull away. He was dangerous. Dangerous to her heart and to her future. What had happened to the independent, confident woman she had become?
For the first time since her brothers returned home, she wished they were there beside her, spouting their little speeches and watching her every move. But most of all she wished they were protecting her from the world and all the disagreeable baggage that went along with it, including a certain earl that could do more damage to her heart in five minutes than an entire army of suitors could do to her in one day.
Jared purposely missed Emily's arrival the previous evening at Hemmingly, but he was not ready for the bitterness that radiated from those violet eyes when he literally ran into her this morning. She was no longer the slim, dark-haired girl he remembered. She had grown into an independent beauty who challenged his resolve to stay away. Dash Roderick and his plans! If the duke had not rescued him from a French prison, Jared would not be put in this position in the first place.
Honor, of course, demanded that Jared do as his friend asked and watch over Emily until her brothers found a suitable husband for her.
Yet as Jared strode back toward the library, he realized he could make a list a mile long of the very reasons he should leave Hemmingly . . . and Lady Emily. Reasons that would set the duke and his brothers onto him like hounds to a fox.
Naturally, Jared would never run from them if he had his mind set on their sister, but Lady Emily was no longer part of his plans.
His thoughts turned to his daughter and his reunion with her as he stalked past the maid brushing up the shattered vase in the hallway. By chance, he dropped his gaze to a small black book resting at the foot of the Greek statue. It looked oddly familiar.
"Wordsworth," he said, picking up the book and opening to the first page. To the woman closest to my heart. He cringed.
The written words had come back to haunt him like a ghost from the past. So the little spitfire had kept the book he had slipped to her in Hyde Park the last afternoon they had been together. Did she still love him? No, impossible. What the devil was he thinking? Their love had been but a fleeting emotion of youth.
Slapping the book closed, he strode into the library and slammed the door. Whether she carried the book in her heart or in her hands, it mattered not. He had no right to her now. No right at all.
Hours later Jared raised his cool gaze over a cup of tea and greeted his aunt as she joined him for an impromptu nuncheon, a spread consisting of hot croissants, rolls, ham, cheese, grapes, and biscuits. Breakfast had been missed by all for one reason or another, and Agatha had asked Cook to set a small meal for her and her nephew. It seemed Jane and Lady Emily were preoccupied with an invitation at the local vicarage.
Jared thought the trip to the village an innocent excursion, but in the event the legitimate outing turned into something havey-cavey, he secretly conveyed to James, one of Agatha's new footmen and Jared's former aide, that should any eager gentlemen present themselves to the ladies for want of closer acquaintance, James was to hasten the ladies back to Hemmingly as soon as possible.
Using James as an extra pair of eyes had made guarding Lady Emily much easier, Jared decided. He put down the tea and gave the newspaper he was reading a determined snap. Much easier indeed.
"It appears Lady Emily is quite good friends with Jane," he said, making small talk.
Agatha leaned her plump body forward, setting her trusty parasol, a handy weapon she carried everywhere, beside her chair, and deliberately folded her chubby hands onto the lap of her green morning gown.
Jared's brain instantly registered the militant expression. Two salt-and-pepper brows arched above steel gray. Blast. He was going to have another setting down by his aunt. These little talks were becoming most intolerable.
"If you would have deemed to come home for a while instead of spending your time in India, you would have known that Lady Emily has been a frequent guest here the past three years."
Jared swallowed his ham. "I had obligations to my wife and my country, madam. I was a major, if you do remember, and was stationed in India."
One plump hand flitted in the air. "Major, Smajor. Do not deem to tell me that you could not have visited the last few years. But nevermind about an old aunt like me, it is Jane that I am concerned about. She has missed you terribly." Agatha's accusing glare reached out to him like a noose chafing about his neck. "Or did you forget that you happen to be the girl's guardian?"
Jared had never forgotten that indeed he was Jane's guardian. Harry Greenwell, the girl's father and Jared's cousin, had died in the war. The man's death had been followed immediately by his wife's suspicious drowning in the Thames. Jane was a sweet girl having lived with Agatha for the past five years, and he never doubted that his ward would not be in the very best of hands.
"I daresay, Jared, that I simply cannot fathom your reasoning forbidding me to meet your wife." Agatha gathered a croissant off the platter in front of her and lapped on some butter. "Surely you could have brought Felicia to Town before you made your hasty departure. At least have introduced her to me."
Were those tears in his aunt's eyes?
Jared hastily shook some salt on his eggs. The devil! His stay at Hemmingly was bound to drive him mad, but he refused to divulge his past about Felicia or Emily. The late duke's vehement rejection of Jared's suit to marry his daughter was not a fact for discussion. However, there was no denying the fact that when he set his eyes on Emily this morning, the painful memories of the duke's revenge surfaced as if it were yesterday.
It had been almost three years ago at Lady Rosalind's ball when Jared had been sent a letter telling him to meet Emily beyond the French doors, down the garden trail, at the birdbath near the rosebushes. However, it was not Emily he encountered, but a swooning Felicia Fairlow, ill from too many glasses of champagne given to her by her scheming, indebted father, whom Jared later realized had been paid a good sum by the duke for his role in his daughter's downfall.
Moving quickly, Jared caught the tiny lady in his arms. It was only seconds later when Felicia's father, along with the Duke of Elbourne, came upon Jared holding the limp female across his lap. With the duke as witness to the scandalous scene, Felicia's father demanded satisfaction. Deciding his honor was at stake and Felicia's as well, Jared found himself coerced into a marriage he never wanted.
"Felicia barely made the trip to India," he said calmly, avoiding his aunt's comment about meeting Felicia when he had first married. He set his fork down, watching his aunt's eyes narrow. "She was a delicate creature. I assure you another trip back home would have killed her." The words were out of his mouth before he thought twice. He had never admitted Felicia's frail health to anyone, not even Roderick.
Jared and his new wife had settled in India, where he had purchased a commission. He had hastened away to another part of the world, away from Emily, away from scandal, away from his foolish dreams.
A year after leaving England, Felicia had died of typhus three weeks after giving birth to their daughter, Gabrielle, now a two-year-old whom Agatha knew nothing about.
Immediately after his wife's death, Jared began to work for Wellington as a special agent to the War Department, working in both England and France, leaving his daughter to be raised by friends in India until he returned. Though he had sold out months ago, some of his work with the Foreign Office in Whitehall was still ongoing.
"Well, goodness. I had no idea," Agatha went on. "Forgive me, my boy. I had no wish to pry into your life. But one does wonder when one's favorite nephew does not even deem to post a single letter." The accusation hung in the air like fireworks at Vauxhall.
Jared pursed his lips at his aunt's attempt of diplomacy. He loved Agatha, but for Felicia's sake, no one but a small contingency of people had known that his marriage had been a forced union. Any communications he sent were either letters posted to Lady Emily at Elbourne Hall, all of them never received, or letters of business through his solicitor in London, hence his way of informing Agatha and Jane of his nuptials and consequent departure to India.
If he had made any contact with his aunt concerning his forced marriage, he knew without a doubt, the older lady would have crossed the ocean to ease his burden, not to mention along with sweet Jane, who would never have left Agatha to make the journey alone.
At first, Jared had been too distraught to write Agatha, and after the birth of Gabrielle, he had been too protective. Agatha and Jane had no need to know about his covert actions in the war after his wife had died, and his enemy had no need to know the soft spots in his armor either.
The Rejected Suitor (The Clearbrooks) Page 4
