Emily's Beau

by Allison Lane

  He smiled at the memories, for he’d not thought of Coocoo in years – his infant tongue had stumbled over Miss Cotherington, and the name had stuck. There had been but one way to do anything – hers. And while she could be kind and loving to well-behaved boys, woe betide anyone who flouted her orders.

  Once he’d learned to control his temper, they had got on quite well, remaining inseparable until her death on his sixth birthday condemned him to a series of lazy or incompetent tutors who had let him run wild. How much easier would his life have been if Coocoo had been there to keep him at home? He would not have witnessed Mrs. Nichols’s many transgressions, would not have known of his father’s mistress or heard him plot his mother’s murder, would not—

  He cut off the pointless speculation. Without those years, he would also be ill-equipped to deal with Harriet. But his ward was now Miss Beaumont’s problem, and she seemed capable of handling it.

  “Come along,” Miss Beaumont ordered, gesturing to Harriet. “We will look at your invitations, then discuss what you will wear.”

  Before Harriet knew what hit her, she was hustled out of sight.

  Thanking Lady Inslip, Jacob headed for Jackson’s Boxing Saloon. Tonight he would begin courting Emily. It shouldn’t take much effort. Not only had she no serious suitors, but she’d responded to his kiss as hotly as he could desire.

  * * * *

  As the first act of the opera drew to a close, Emily shifted her chair closer to Charles. The box was crowded with all the Beaux, their charges, Lady Hughes, Lady Inslip, Miss Beaumont, Ashington, and an elderly gentleman who had arrived too late for introductions.

  She had maneuvered Charles to the opposite corner from Sophie and Ashington – which also separated them from Jacob and Harriet. Charles had been furious to discover his enemy consorting with his sister. It had taken all Emily’s skill and a glare from Lady Inslip to keep him quiet, but if he cared enough to tolerate an enemy for her sake, she could surely wrest a declaration from him.

  Concentrating on that goal made it easier to ignore Harriet’s whispered confidences with Jacob and forget the way he’d kissed her last night. It was another reason to press Charles. She could not risk Jacob using her to ease his frustration with Harriet’s manners. Once she was safely betrothed, that danger would fade.

  “Who is the lady in yellow?” Laying her hand on Charles’s arm, she nodded toward a lord’s box across the way. “I don’t think I’ve met her – or anyone else in that box, for that matter.”

  “Lady Wrexham rarely visits London. Lord Wrexham is beside her. The couple behind them is Colonel and Mrs. Caldwell. They only returned to town yesterday and have yet to accept invitations. Caldwell is one of Wellington’s aides and heir to the Earl of Deerchester, though he refuses to use his courtesy title.”

  “Mrs. Caldwell looks familiar.” She frowned. “I believe she was coming out of Blackthorn House when I passed this morning.”

  “Quite likely. They are great friends. I must introduce you. You will like them immensely.”

  The final aria concluded in a flurry of notes.

  “Thank you.” She let her hand slip slightly, caressing his arm. “Lady Wrexham is so attentive to the stage, she must enjoy music, so why would she remain from town?”

  “Because she is a devoted wife and mother.” His eyes gleamed as he covered her hand. “Wrexham adores her and keeps her very busy.”

  “Doing what?” The question was unnecessary, for his tone told her exactly how Wrexham busied his wife.

  “I will explain another time when we don’t have an audience,” he murmured into her ear.

  That audience grew as three cubs crowded into the box to greet Harriet. Two more followed, looking for Sophie.

  “It is a bit of a crush,” she agreed, smiling as she plied her fan. “A stifling crush, I might add. Perhaps you know of a cooler spot where I might catch my breath. You know how crowds bother me.”

  His eyes brightened. “Of course, my dear.” He led her away as yet more gentlemen descended.

  “What a relief,” she murmured, borrowing one of Harriet’s tricks by snuggling closer. “All those voices quite drowned out your words. You were describing how Lord Wrexham occupies his wife.”

  “I was explaining that some topics are inappropriate in crowds.”

  “But we are quite alone.” He’d led her away from the refreshment room where gentlemen could purchase lemonade for their ladies. Now he slipped into an alcove screened from the passage by a heavy curtain.

  “Persistent, aren’t you?” He grinned his lopsided rake’s grin. “Very well. He touches her. Quite lightly. Like this.” He ran a finger along her jaw and down her throat, not stopping until he reached the bodice of her gown and tugged her a step closer.

  “Mmm.” His touch lacked the spark Jacob raised, but it was warm and not at all unpleasant. “I suppose she touches him back.” Her hand cupped his cheek, her thumb rubbing his lips.

  He turned to place a kiss on her palm. “Careful, little one,” he murmured. “Such provocation is dangerous.”

  “But not with you, Charles. You would never hurt me.” She let her hand slide down his chin. “How else might a man entertain his wife?” Her face heated at so forward a question, but perhaps he would attribute it to passion.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking.” His voice sounded strained. “This was a bad idea, Em. We’d best return.”

  “No.” She boldly met his eyes. “I want some time with you, away from jostling crowds and prying eyes that prevent us from speaking plainly.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course I do, so stop changing the subject. How else does a man occupy his wife?”

  “Like this.” Heat flared in his eyes. Before she realized his intent, his finger skimmed beneath her bodice, hooking around a nipple to stab such pleasure through her that she nearly shrieked.

  “Oooh,” she sighed, watching his eyes darken with satisfaction. “Do that again.” She slid her hands into his hair.

  “Emily, I—” He paused as if undecided what to say – which was not at all like him.

  She smiled encouragement, arching against the finger still in her bodice.

  “I shouldn’t be touching you,” he groaned, but his finger tightened. His other hand closed around a breast. “Richard will call me out.”

  “No, he won’t. I want your touch.”

  “You do?” At her nod, he dragged her against him, crushing her close from shoulder to knee. Words poured out as he nuzzled her hair and dropped kisses down the side of her neck. “Dear God, Em. I wasn’t sure— You seemed so— I love you. Madly. Passionately. Eternally. I want you. Need you. Forever. Marry me, my darling. Give me the right to show you more.” He flexed, sliding his male flesh against her stomach, though she could hardly complain after her own forward behavior.

  “I am honored, Charles,” she said, smiling even as that dratted voice in her head screamed NO! “I accept.”

  “You do? Thank God! It will have to be soon. I’m going crazy wanting you.”

  “Very soon,” she agreed.

  His eyes blazed, then went hazy as he dragged her onto her toes and kissed her. The moment she parted to his tongue, he thrust hotly inside, licking and stabbing as if at war. Very like Jacob had done last night.

  Forget Jacob, she ordered herself, curling her hands around his neck. This was her future. So she sparred with him, reveling in every sign that he wanted her. He was an experienced rake who could teach her much about the sensual world he loved – and was already teaching her, she realized when his hand again moved to her breast, calling forth an interesting tingle.

  Charles didn’t release her until the bell sounded for the second act. “We can announce our betrothal at Mama’s ball tomorrow evening,” he panted as he smoothed her skirt and his own coat. “I will call on your father in the morning.”

  “I will tell him to expect you.”

  “In the meantime, say nothing, not even to Sophie.”
He grinned. “For once in my life, I intend to surprise her.”

  You won’t. But she didn’t say it. Instead, she argued with that stubborn voice all the way back to the box.

  The second act might have included the sweetest music ever written or a chorus of mating cats. She was too busy waging war with herself to listen.

  His kiss had raised less excitement than she’d expected – and she hadn’t expected much. Oh, she’d enjoyed it well enough, for his response affirmed his love, and his offer meant she’d achieved the goal of every aristocratic young lady, marking her Season a success. If she’d never kissed Jacob, it would have seemed wonderful, the culmination of the most romantic of dreams. He was very skilled. But—

  It would get better, she assured herself. Charles was a good man. She would come to love him in time…

  Soon. It had to be soon. A one-sided relationship could not satisfy him for long, so she had to catch up. And she must never let thoughts of Jacob intrude on an intimate moment again.

  By the second interval, she had herself firmly in hand. So when Jacob suggested that they promenade, she declined with a smile. This was no time to be alone with him. She did not yet trust her emotions. Thus she remained in the box and encouraged Charles to repeat the gossip he’d heard at his club that afternoon.

  * * * *

  Jacob left before the third act. He’d never enjoyed the opera less. Emily was in a strange mood, and Harriet clung like a limpet. It had been a mistake to include her in the party, though excluding her would have drawn speculation from every gossip in town.

  But it was Emily who worried him. He was very much afraid that last night’s kiss had shattered her trust. She’d fled his embrace, left the ball before its end, and now refused to walk with him along a corridor thick with people.

  She must fear him.

  And why not? He’d treated her shabbily. Attacking her ten years ago. Forcing her to share her crowning moment with another. Attacking her again. He’d saddled himself with a huge handicap.

  Harriet wasn’t helping. Her blatant flirtation made him look interested, discouraging other gentlemen from courting her and likely raising questions with Emily, too.

  All in all, this was the worst Season in memory.

  He considered showing up at Hughes House tomorrow to take Emily driving in the park, but she might already have plans. And he was supposed to meet Wrexham to discuss an upcoming vote in Parliament. After dragging the man to town, he could hardly ignore him.

  So his best course was to arrive early at the Inslip ball, claim two waltzes so he and Emily could talk, then begin that talk by telling her he planned a courtship. He would not press for an immediate answer, but she needed to know his intentions.

  * * * *

  Emily arrived early for the Inslip ball. Charles immediately whisked her into the garden, where they could celebrate his news. “You won’t believe it, but Mother managed to reserve St. George’s of Hanover Square for June the seventh.”

  “That’s in three weeks!” Her mouth dropped open. “She is amazing.” St. George’s was the most desirable venue for society weddings, thus was never available on such short notice during the Season. Shivers raced down her spine. Events were spinning out of control, giving her no chance to think.

  “Three long weeks, though. I would wed you tomorrow if it wouldn’t look too havey-cavey.” He pulled her close as they passed beyond the terrace lights, out of sight of the guests already streaming into the ballroom. She was still trying to catch her breath when he changed the subject.

  “I wish my brothers were here so I could show you off. George will attend the wedding, of course, but I doubt Andrew will even make that.” George was Inslip’s heir. Andrew captained an East India Company merchantman, but wasn’t due in port until midsummer.

  “I would have expected George to be here for the Season,” she said. “I know his wife is with child, but it is early days yet.”

  “True. And she’s never let her condition interfere in social affairs in the past. But this time, the midwife ordered her to rest.”

  “Complications?”

  He nodded.

  “I hope it isn’t serious.”

  “George said something about twins, though it is far too early to tell. But he’s not taking any chances.”

  “Did you tell Sophie about our betrothal?” she asked. Discussing children made marriage seem too real.

  “I haven’t seen her, but Papa claims she already knows. I swear she can read minds.”

  “Gossip rarely surprises her,” Emily agreed, grinning for the first time all evening. “She even stole a march on Lady Debenham yesterday. I thought the woman would expire on the spot.”

  “Why?” His green eyes glowed in the fading light.

  “Sophie mentioned Miss Towhay’s less than stellar behavior at Richmond Park last Tuesday, hoping Lady Debenham could add details Sophie didn’t know. But Lady Debenham hadn’t heard a word of it.”

  “You cannot mean it!” Charles roared with laughter. “So Sophie beat the old bat. I always suspected she would prove as formidable as Lady Beatrice one day.”

  “I—” A swell of voices from the ballroom cut her off.

  Charles glanced at the house. “It is nearly time, my love,” he announced, drawing her against him. “I can’t believe you are mine.”

  “Forever,” she murmured, meeting his eyes.

  “And I am yours, only yours, forever.” He raised her hand to his lips, then dropped a light kiss on her nose and a longer one on her mouth. Much longer.

  “Come, love,” he murmured when he finally pulled away. “They are waiting in the library. It’s time to shout our news to the world.” Grabbing her hand, he headed toward a French window.

  Emily forced another smile, but her knees shook. Her doubts were back with a vengeance. Again Charles’s touch had stirred nothing. His kiss felt flat. His excitement made her want to flee. Yet in another minute, she would enter the ballroom on his arm and announce that they would wed.

  This is a mistake! screamed her conscience. Run!

  But it was too late. She had given her word. He had bought her a ring. He and her father had spent two hours discussing settlements. A wedding date was set. They would look at houses tomorrow.

  Richard smiled as she entered the library, then squeezed her shoulder and shook Charles’s hand. Lady Hughes fussed as she straightened Emily’s gown. Lord Hughes beamed in relief.

  “Don’t be nervous, love,” Charles whispered as his parents arrived. “I’ll be with you.”

  “I know.” Duty called. Smiling, she headed for the door.

  The ballroom was large by private standards, holding nearly two hundred people. And such was Inslip’s credit that it was already packed. Every eye turned when a fanfare announced their entrance.

  Sophie grinned, then whispered something to Lord Ashington. Lady Beatrice was already nodding, as was Lady Jersey.

  Jacob was nearly hidden by a pillar, speaking to Harriet. He seemed unaware that anything unusual was happening – unless he already knew the details; Charles must have told him by now.

  Emily returned her attention to Charles as Lord Inslip finished his speech with, “We are delighted to announce the betrothal of Lord Charles Beaumont to Miss Emily Hughes.”

  The musicians struck up a waltz. Before she could think, Charles swept her into his arms and into the dance. Their parents joined them, then gestured to the guests to do likewise.

  Knowing what people expected, Emily broadened her smile and locked her gaze with Charles’s.

  * * * *

  Jacob paid no attention to the fanfare. He was too busy glaring at Harriet. She had cornered him the moment he arrived, moaning about Miss Beaumont and swearing the woman wanted her dead.

  Jacob sympathized. He wanted Harriet dead, too.

  He finally told her to quit acting like a spoiled child. Miss Beaumont’s job was to force Harriet into obedience. Unless she cooperated, she would spend the rest of th
e Season in her room.

  Harriet was still gaping when Lord Inslip’s voice shattered the sudden silence.

  “—betrothal of Lord Charles Beaumont to Miss Emily Hughes.”

  Voices rose from all sides as Jacob’s dreams collapsed. Justice had rejected him again.

  He’d not known that Charles was considering marriage. If he had, he never would have trusted him near Emily. The thought of him leading her to bed made him ill.

  He stared as Charles and Emily took to the floor. Em gazed adoringly into Charles’s eyes, sinking another dagger into Jacob’s heart that released another burst of fury.

  Charles always discussed his plans with the other Beaux, so his secretiveness had to have been deliberate. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d sabotaged Jacob’s plans, but indulging in such tactics with Emily was intolerable.

  Incensed, Jacob slapped Harriet’s hand aside and plunged into the crowd. Every glimpse of Emily in Charles’s arms hurt, but he had to move closer and verify that his ears had actually heard aright.

  * * * *

  Emily let the dizzying whirl of the waltz put color in her cheeks.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” asked Charles, a euphoric grin stretching his face. “Catch everyone by surprise, then give them time to recover before we let them approach us.”

  “I think you did that more to save yourself than to protect me,” she dared, smiling back. “You know the gossips will descend en masse, demanding details – lots of details. Shall I tell them how you landed at my feet after falling from the dairy roof?”

  “I thought it was you who landed at my feet.”

  “Never.”

  “Certainly you did. I distinctly recall the encounter. You fell from the apple tree.”

  “No. That was you. Two years earlier. You were hopelessly graceless as a boy.”

  “Very well.” He chuckled. “But I doubt they need that many facts.”

  “Don’t underestimate Lady Beatrice. It is news when a lord takes a wife. The marriage of a noted rake is also news. Since you are both, we can’t escape. She will demand every detail of every meeting from your first visit to Cherry Hill.”

  “Let them suffer. We are entitled to our secrets.” He flashed another smile, pulling her closer than was customary. For tonight, society would forgive them.