by Allison Lane
“Some things can’t wait.” She glared at him.
“Oh. Uh.” He actually blushed. “Very well. I’m sorry to scold, then. But I was concerned when I found you gone.”
“Then I forgive you.” She turned to the ring, where another horse cantered around the ring, its rider doing a handstand on its back.
Jacob returned some time later, his face twisted in frustration. Whatever had sent him rushing away had not been concluded to his satisfaction.
He took the seat behind Lady Hughes. When Harriet beckoned him closer, he moved behind her, laying a hand on her shoulder as he leaned forward to exchange confidences.
Emily didn’t see the pantomime at all, despite staring at it with great determination.
* * * *
The next afternoon, Jacob turned his horse through the gates of Hyde Park, joining the press of carriages and horsemen jostling for position on the narrow road. He generally avoided the fashionable hour, for he had long since wearied of matchmakers assaulting his bachelorhood. But today he’d had no choice.
Maybe he should find that insipid wife and surrender. He could then concentrate on Parliament and whatever affairs took his fancy, safe from pursuit.
But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet.
Maybe never.
The thought shocked him, for he hadn’t considered abrogating his responsibility to the title.
Yet why couldn’t he? The next in line was a cousin who would carry on at least as well as he. The family obsession would remain a problem no matter who held the title, but leaving the succession to others would at least remove his mother’s influence.
Lost in thought, he barely noticed Lady Marchgate sweep past.
Harriet’s arrival had forced him to examine his childhood through adult eyes. It was just as sordid as he expected, but his analysis cast troubling doubts on his plans. If he wed only to produce an heir, then walked away, was he any different from Mrs. Nichols? The woman had acted solely to improve her social and financial position, ignoring honor, duty, and any other virtues that stood in her way.
Wedding with the intent of walking away was equally selfish. He expected to choose a wife he despised, then abandon her. Granted, he would leave her with a title and wealth instead of a gravestone, but the plan was just as cold. And what if she formed an attachment? Could he risk hurting another? Yet could he live with someone he despised?
He would be better off avoiding marriage altogether.
The decision should have buoyed him, but instead it triggered surprising melancholy. He had actually looked forward to rearing a son, helping him in all the ways his own father had never done. But it wasn’t possible. He was too much a product of his breeding, his quick temper and sudden lusts confirming the worst of both parents. He would spare future generations at least part of that.
A shout jerked him from his reverie. He was blocking the road. Setting heels to his horse, he looked around, hoping to spot Sir Bertram. Last night’s search had failed.
According to the baronet’s best friend, Sir Bertram rarely missed a sunny fashionable hour – he was a dandy to the core and needed an audience to admire each day’s sartorial creation.
Lady Beatrice rarely made mistakes, so suggesting Sir Bertram as a match for Harriet meant the man must be seeking a wife. To a dandy of his caliber, sporting an Exotic on his arm would improve his credit. Harriet fit the bill quite well, and she should jump at the chance to wed a full-fledged baronet.
That presumed Jacob could introduce the pair. So far, Sir Bertram remained elusive. It seemed that everyone had seen him but Jacob.
As usual, the park was jammed with open carriages of every description as the ton took advantage of the warm sunshine. Young ladies strolled across emerald lawns, their bobbing parasols forming a field of exotic flowers. Dandies strutted alongside, waving scented handkerchiefs languidly before their faces.
If Jacob hadn’t been on horseback, he would have made no progress at all. But even his mobility didn’t help when Lady Debenham gestured imperiously.
“You weren’t at the Marchgate Ball last night,” she accused him the instant he reached her side.
“My apologies, my lady.” He doffed his hat. “The Beaux took our charges to Astley’s.”
She harrumphed. “That’s another thing, Hawthorne. Where did that ward of yours come from?”
“Bombay.” He sighed. Lady Debenham sought sensational scandal even when it didn’t exist. If he didn’t bury her in details, she might think he had something to hide. “Captain Nichols served in my father’s regiment and was also a close family friend. I still grieve over his death in action. Thus it was no surprise that when Mrs. Nichols remarried, she suggested Hawthorne as her daughter’s guardian in case anything happened to her.”
“That Hawthorne died nineteen years ago.”
He shrugged. “Captain Nichols was my friend, too. I’ll do what I can for her. With her looks, I expect an offer soon.”
Lady Debenham frowned. “She has looks enough, and you must be commended for making the most of them. But it might have been better to polish her manners before bringing her out. Her breeding’s too close to the line to tolerate rudeness.”
“Perhaps I rushed,” he admitted, adding the smile that generally charmed older ladies. “But she should settle in another day or two.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” She met his gaze. “Girl’s got a sly look I’ve seen before. Miss Parker comes to mind.”
He nearly groaned. Miss Parker had come out two years earlier to minimal fanfare. Dull was the best way to describe her. She’d done everything right, deferring to the matrons, listening politely to the other girls, smiling sweetly at eligible gentlemen while avoiding rakes like Devereaux – and the Beaux. Everything had seemed perfect until the morning her parents awoke to discover that she’d eloped with a here-and-therian she’d met on one of her clandestine late-night excursions to a gaming hell.
Jacob shuddered. “You really think—” The idea was too awful to put into words.
“I don’t know.” Her ignorance clearly annoyed her. “But she has a look in her eye I don’t trust. Settle her before she ruins herself.”
He thanked her, wondering how Lady Debenham would have described Mrs. Nichols. Captain Nichols should have requested that a London gossip pass judgment on his bride before she left for Bombay.
He would have to warn Richard and Charles to watch Harriet more closely. And this made it even more urgent to find Sir Bertram.
But the baronet was nowhere in sight.
Half an hour later, Jacob gave up and headed for the gates. Perhaps Sir Bertram was at his club. Or maybe he’d joined a party for Richmond. It was early for picnics, but groups sometimes drove out to eat at the Pig and Whistle.
He spared a passing landau only the briefest nod, then froze.
This stretch of road was momentarily empty, giving approaching drivers a chance to show off their skill. A high-perch phaeton raced along at a dangerous pace, Larkin at the ribbons. He nearly overturned as he swung around the knot of gentlemen admiring the newest diamond, then skidded precariously when his horses shied at a squirrel.
Emily clutched the low rail of the unstable seat. She looked lovely today in a dark green pelisse, her tawny curls framing her face. But even at twenty paces, he could see her white cheeks.
Fury licked his veins. What the devil was Richard thinking to let his sister drive out with a ham-fisted cawker as likely to overturn as to breathe? Insanity! Phaetons were notoriously unstable, especially the high-perch variety. Emily might be injured – or worse. Larkin had no more sense than a rock to risk her safety.
He was also a blatant flirt who should avoid impressionable girls. If Larkin was the best candidate Richard could find, Jacob would have to take charge of judging her suitors.
The phaeton flew past as he sat staring. Larkin sawed on the ribbons when a loose stone pushed the carriage off course – no wonder his horses tried to escape. Their mouths must
be in shreds.
Instead of exiting the park, Jacob turned to catch Larkin, coming up on Emily’s side, where the phaeton’s high seat left them eye-to-eye. At least Larkin had the horses under control for the moment.
“Larkin. Miss Hughes.” He nodded.
“Lord Hawthorne,” she acknowledged coolly.
“Is Richard here today?”
“I doubt it.” With the phaeton now stopped, she relaxed her death-grip on the side. “He mentioned going to Jackson’s, then to his club. But that might have changed. I’ve not seen him since Astley’s last evening.”
Lady Cunningham paused on the other side to greet Larkin, letting Jacob lean close so only Emily could hear. “Didn’t Richard warn you to stay out of phaetons, Miss Hughes? They are unstable and fast.”
“The horses might be skittish – I’m not impressed with their training – but we can rarely move quickly in this crush.”
“Don’t pretend ignorance, Tadpole,” he snapped. “You know I meant the disreputable sort of fast. Your reputation is too important. Don’t risk it.”
She recoiled, raising an urge to smooth the shock from her forehead. He suppressed it. He hadn’t meant to scare her, but that might be a good idea. Larkin wasn’t suitable.
Yet the urge to soothe remained. He actually tugged at his glove – stroking her brow without removing it might abrade her tender skin. It glowed even in the shade of her bonnet. Satin. Smooth. The perfect place to drop a row of gentle kiss—
He jerked back, appalled at the images forming in his head. Emily was no courtesan. She was Richard’s sister, for God’s sake.
His horse pranced, sensing his agitation. He took a moment to bring it under control.
Emily was staring as if she’d never seen him before. Larkin waved Lady Cunningham on, then laid a hand over Emily’s before taking up the ribbons. The possessiveness of the gesture was clear, as was the lust heating Larkin’s eyes.
Jacob snapped out a farewell that probably sounded like a threat, then left before he could choke the life from Larkin. Richard was insane to trust his sister to the idiot. Emily deserved better than a man who was only mildly intelligent and would expect his wife to accept his brood of by-blows.
He would watch until Emily returned home, then warn Larkin away. She was too sheltered to handle the man’s flirtation and too naïve to know that some men could never become loving husbands.
* * * *
Emily was glad the crush of other vehicles kept Mr. Larkin busy. She needed a moment to settle her senses. Jacob’s appearance had cracked her armor, and his anger still rattled her nerves.
Not that she could blame him. London had more rules than she’d expected. Richard’s lectures to Harriet had revealed several new ones. Now here was another.
She quickly reviewed his exhortations, wondering if she’d missed something. But she could recall nothing about phaetons. Avoiding gallops, yes. Avoiding Bond Street after two and St. James’s Street anytime, yes. Avoiding intimate walks in dark gardens, yes. Avoiding phaetons, no. He must have forgotten.
She couldn’t blame Jacob for being furious over her faux pas. Everyone knew she had charge of Harriet, so her behavior would reflect on his betrothed. Jacob would hate her if she besmirched Harriet’s reputation. It was fragile enough already.
She must be more careful about accepting invitations without asking about the details. And she must share all her invitations with Richard instead of assuming that a ride in the park with one of his friends was all right.
Had Mr. Larkin deliberately jeopardized her reputation to repay Richard for forcing him to dance attendance on his sister? She didn’t want to believe it, but why else would he court disapproval?
She concentrated on keeping her smile in place as the real ramifications of this confrontation burst through her head. Richard must think she was hopeless if he’d asked the Beaux to watch her as well as Harriet. Jacob had the afternoon shift today. Charles would likely appear next.
Sophie’s words suddenly sounded ominous. They will smother you while assuring themselves that they are protecting you from harm.
That did not bode well for the future. Unlike Sophie, she would have no second chance if she failed to wed this Season.
Yet she couldn’t regret being the focus of Jacob’s attention, even for such an unromantic reason. This would be the last time he would pay her any heed at all.
He looked magnificent on horseback, his legs rippling with muscle as they’d controlled the beast’s restlessness. Anger darkened his eyes, but that made it easier to drown in them. His head had bent so close she could have cupped his cheek—
Thrusting the memory from her mind, she concentrated on Mr. Larkin’s chatter. At least he was entertaining. This might be the best hour of her day.
Once she returned home, she would again face Harriet’s megrims – the girl had thrown a fit because Emily was driving out without her; she refused to understand that society would not treat her like a countess until Jacob made their betrothal public. This evening Emily would have to watch Jacob monopolize Harriet and pretend that her heart didn’t crack deeper with each intimate smile.
Chapter Seven
Jacob ducked into the card room that night, hoping a few moments of peace would settle his temper. Nothing was going right today. Or almost nothing – he’d succeeded in steering Larkin away from Emily. But he’d still not found Sir Bertram. The man might have disappeared from the face of the earth.
At least Harriet was settled for the evening. The Cunningham ball included many men from the gentry – having ten daughters kept their dowries small, so the Cunninghams welcomed anyone respectable. By the time Jacob had arrived, every one of Harriet’s sets was taken. So were Sophie’s.
But Emily’s card had been only partly full. He’d had to claim a second set to keep Connoly from annoying her. The cub was too green.
Now he cursed himself roundly. The first set had been a sprightly country dance that should have meant nothing. Yet that spurt of lust he’d felt in the park had returned, stronger than before. Annoyingly out of place for Richard’s sister, especially considering his decision to die unwed, but he couldn’t seem to shake it.
At least Emily neither noticed it nor shared it. She was still wary, flinching when he’d touched her unexpectedly. His fault, of course. He’d hurt her worse than he’d expected all those years ago. By striking out to cover his shock, he’d broken something precious. It was a mistake he ought to repair.
He’d been twenty, plenty old enough to control his passions. With years of liaisons behind him, he’d been experienced enough to keep the situation under of control. Instead, he’d stepped well beyond honor, then ruthlessly blamed her for enticing him.
It was too late for an apology, but he had to eliminate her fear. If he could reestablish the friendship they’d shared that summer, it would be easier to guide her toward a husband who would care for her as she deserved.
The latest Parliamentary debates would have to wait, he decided. Keeping unacceptable men away from Emily would require much of his attention. With his course set, he returned to the ballroom.
For two hours he hovered on the fringes of the crowd, discussing upcoming debates with other lords, deflecting an offer for his bays from a drunken Easley, and flirting lightly with Lady Jersey.
This was why he attended Parliament most evenings. Every year the social banter seemed more insipid. Who cared whether Shelford broke another of his own racing records? Why did it matter that Lady Willingham was leaving widowhood behind for Lord Hanson? Her liaisons wouldn’t stop. Nor would his.
Emily was enjoying herself hugely, yet it became more obvious with each set that Richard was not paying attention to her.
“Sanders and Bradshaw danced with Emily,” Jacob murmured as he and Richard filled plates at supper. Sanders was an increasingly jaded rake, and Bradshaw an inveterate gamester.
“Thank you. I’ll deal with it.” Richard shook his head. “Bringing out a sister is
one headache after another. I had no idea what I was in for. How has Charles managed all this time?”
“Lady Inslip kept a sharp eye on Sophie that first year, and we had only one chick to watch instead of three. Too bad your mother isn’t stronger.”
“That was a nasty surprise. I’d always thought she exaggerated to keep Emily at her beck and call. Now I find out she’s seriously ill.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
He nodded thanks for the sympathy. “By the way, I saw Harriet flirting with Featherstone. Probably nothing in it, but—”
“I’ll warn her.” Featherstone was another rake, older than Sanders and even less caring of propriety. Rumor credited him with three seductions of wellborn innocents. The Cunninghams would not have invited him, but that never stopped him from going where he pleased.
In addition to chastising Harriet, he must speak with sober-sided Sir Thomas Eaton and the frivolous Lord Ross. Each had danced attendance on Emily at Lady Penleigh’s, remained close at Lady Horseley’s rout, then claimed sets tonight. Another encounter any time soon would draw notice. Neither was worthy of her.
* * * *
Harriet smiled as Mr. Phillips escorted her to the ballroom after supper. He was a dead bore, but at least he treated her well.
She couldn’t say the same for Jacob. What was wrong with the man? She’d been the belle of every ball she’d ever attended. There wasn’t an eligible man in India who hadn’t been panting at her door, including Wentworth’s second in command. Yet Jacob didn’t look at her. She’d tried to save him two sets tonight, but Richard had filled them with dolts before Jacob even arrived.
She plied her fan to hide her fury. She would have to work harder to bring him to heel. He was hers, though he’d yet to admit it. His only comment all evening had been an admonition to stay away from Featherstone, the only man here who wasn’t dull.
“Is anything wrong?” asked Mr. Phillips.
“A slight chill. I’m not yet accustomed to the English weather.” Batting her lashes restored vapid infatuation to his face. Fool.
