His choice to fiercely defend her against Dora and Aaron.
His idea to cradle her in his arms while she slept.
His decision to come after her when she ran down the drive.
Mayhap last night he hadn’t been the one to close the distance between them, but he certainly seemed to enjoy himself once they were plastered together. Was it because he’d been thinking of Mattie while he was kissing her?
A mewling cry escaped from between Emily’s lips. Horrified she would be found out, she sprang to her feet and ran blindly around the back of the manor towards the pond. The ducks scattered as she approached, quacking and flapping their white feathery wings. Ignoring them, she sat at one end of the bench and stared blindly out across the water.
What a fool she’d been for ever thinking someone like West could love someone like her. He was a man of intrigue, a man who craved a life of excitement, a man who desired the dangerous, while she… she was nothing more than a boring, practical lady with an overactive imagination.
West had never wanted her. She’d dreamed it all up in her head and made a right ninny of herself when she revealed her true feelings. What a struggle it must have been for him not to laugh! Or perhaps – even worse – all he’d felt was pity.
Emily’s shoulders slumped. What a mess she’d made of things. How could she possibly face him now that she knew how he truly felt? How could she talk to him again, knowing her feelings would always go unrequited? Knowing that what she felt for him he felt for another. Knowing that she would never be anything more than a job to him. After all, that is exactly what he had said.
…the only thing I know about you is that you made an easy mark. You’re a job, Princess. You’ve always been a job, and you will always be a job. Nothing more…
She repeated his words in her mind. Repeated them until the tears stopped. Repeated them until her heart grew hard. Repeated them until the thought of him and Mattie together didn’t invoke hurt.
It brought rage.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Sullivan, have you seen Emily?”
“No.” The gambler shrugged and did not bother looking up from the book he was reading. “Then again I didn’t know I was her keeper.”
West grinded his teeth and reminded himself for what felt like the thousandth time that killing his best friend would require far too much effort. “You’re not,” he said shortly. “It’s just that no one seems to have seen her since this afternoon and she is not in her room.”
“Oh really?” A hint of interest glimmering in his eyes, Sullivan closed the book with a deliberate snap and sat up a bit straighter in his chair. “And where do you suppose the lovely Lady Emily has gotten herself off to?”
Tugging at the untended hair at the nape of his neck, West paced across the length of the drawing room and back again. He glanced out the window and his mouth set into a firm, unyielding line when he saw the sun was beginning its descent. It was half past six, which meant nearly four hours had passed since Emily was last seen. A gardener claimed to have spotted her by the pond, but when he went for a drink and came back she was gone.
West would have thought nothing of it… if not for the way things had ended between them in the horse field. Guilt gnawed at him like a sore tooth. Guilt for the things he’d said. Guilt for the way he’d acted.
“I do not know.” He went to the window, eyes narrowing as he looked through the glass, gaze sweeping the front lawn for any sign of her, but like the last ten times he’d checked there was nothing. Just as there’d been nothing in her room. Nothing in the stables. Nothing by the pond. It was as though she’d simply vanished and as worry surfaced to join the guilt he turned to Sullivan and said, “I am afraid something might have happened to her.”
“Happened to her?” Sullivan echoed. He rolled his eyes. “What on earth could have happened to her in this godforsaken place? You’re in the middle of nowhere, in case you’ve forgotten. Unless a savage deer came out of the woods and carried her off the only thing that’s happened to her is she’s run away.”
West shook his head. “No. No, she would not do that.”
“Why the hell not?” Sullivan said incredulously. “I certainly would, especially if I was being held captive by the likes of you.”
“Because she promised she wouldn’t.” The instant the words were out of his mouth West heard how ridiculous he sounded. He didn’t need Sullivan’s laughter to confirm it, although laugh his friend did. Again he gritted his teeth, this time hard enough to hear a resounding pop in his jaw. “I see nothing amusing here.”
“Well I certainly do.” Bounding to his feet Sullivan crossed the room and slapped a hand on West’s shoulder. “If you are looking for an answer, there it is. She’s run off, my friend. Should have kept her tied to the bed. That’s what I would have done. ‘Course a woman would never run from me.” He grinned wickedly. “Usually I find I suffer from the opposite problem. Can’t keep the wenches off.”
“She made a vow she would not try to escape.”
“A woman breaking a promise… Now that’s something I’ve never heard before.”
If Emily had broken her promise, it would only be because he’d broken his first. This afternoon in the field he’d treated her with neither respect nor fairness, but with a blatant disregard for her tender heart that made him cringe now to think of it. She’d offered herself to him with all the innocence of a lamb, and he had walked away without looking back.
Never mind that it had been for the best. If there were to be no possibility of a future between them he would never want to chance ruining her present. And that is precisely what would happen if they indulged in a night of reckless passion. Emily’s virginity was for her husband, not for the likes of him. The last thing he wanted was to give her a regret to live with for the rest of her life. Still, he should have handled it better. He should have let her down with kindness instead of coldness. Now they would both pay the consequences for his callous behavior.
“You care for her, don’t you?” Sullivan’s eyes narrowed as he studied West. “You bloody bastard,” he said, unknowingly repeating Emily’s exact thoughts, “you’ve gone and fallen in love with her, haven’t you?”
Why, West wondered irritably, is that word suddenly on the tip of everyone’s tongues? “Do not be a tosser. If I lose her I lose the thirty thousand pounds her ransom will bring.”
“Still hung up on the ransom, eh?” A faint smirk toyed with the corners of Sullivan’s mouth. “I take it she hasn’t told you, then.”
“Told me what?” West asked irritably as he walked out of the drawing room and into the front parlor. Picking up his coat from the brass hanger in the corner, he tucked his arms into it but left the front unbuttoned. The air was balmy, and with the sky clear and no threat of rain imminent a chill would not set in until the wee hours of the morning. By then he planned to be fast asleep in his bed with Emily tucked safely away in her room across the hall. Tomorrow morning they would exchange apologies and it would be as if today never happened.
“I don’t rightly know if it’s my place to say.” The gambler leaned a shoulder into the doorway and crossed his arms. “But maybe I can be persuaded… for a price.”
A man would be safer entering in a deal with the devil than with the Prince of King Street. Still, if Sullivan had information pertaining to Emily he wanted to know what it was. “Tell me what you know,” he said curtly, “and I will decide if it is worth anything.”
“Agree to a favor,” Sullivan countered smoothly, “and I’ll tell you, even though you are not going to like it.”
Ignoring the whisper of unease that trickled down the back of his neck, West nodded. “Fine. What do you want?”
Sullivan blinked. “Well I do not want it now. I will let you know when the time comes. Until then, don’t forget that you owe me.” He smiled, a predatory show of teeth and a reminder no matter how close their friendship, Eric Sullivan trusted nothing and no one. He relied on his damnable barg
ains to get what he wanted, never stopping to think that if he simply asked West for a favor outright it would be freely granted. But as the saying went, you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks. Better men – and women – than West had tried. None of them who had remained in the gambler’s tight knit inner circle.
“I won’t,” West growled. “Now tell me what you know, and be quick about it. Every second you waste of my time is a second I could be out looking for Emily.” Not that he thought she could get very far, which was the only reason he still remained in the parlor. Blooming Glen was a full day’s walk from Rosemore… if she went in the right direction. Even then the only coach that came and went from London had left yesterday morning at dawn and would not be returning until tomorrow at dusk.
“Very well. Although, as I said, you are not going to like it.” Sullivan rubbed his chin where he’d allowed a scruff of beard to grow since his arrival. “It is ironic, really. I am sure, once a few years have gone by, you will even find it amusing. In fact, I would be willing to bet—”
“Get on with it!”
“Emily’s father is completely and utterly bankrupt. He couldn’t pay a ransom of a ten pounds let alone thirty thousand. You’ve reached beyond your means this time, old friend. Shame you didn’t realize it earlier.”
“The devil you say.” A rush of heat filled West’s veins; followed immediately by an icy cold so shocking he could barely breathe. His first instinct was to deny the truth of Sullivan’s words, but he knew the gambler had no reason to lie.
Emily, on the other hand…
He’d thought she was hiding something. Thought it, and then dismissed it. But why would she hide such a thing as this from him? Why not tell him straight away her father would never be able to meet his ransom demands? Two answers came to mind, neither of which settled well with him. Either she did not know her father was bankrupt, or she’d deliberately kept the truth from him for reasons he could not begin to fathom.
“How do you know this?” he gritted out.
Sullivan pushed away from the doorway and wandered into the parlor. Picking up a small crystal decanter off a side table, he tossed it up in the air and caught it without looking. “You know I make it my business to know things, particularly things of a financial nature. The Duke of Brumleigh has never sat at one of my gambling tables, but a man he was foolish enough to borrow money from came in two weeks ago.”
And that would have been all Sullivan needed. Even though he rarely interacted with his customers and clients, he had spies everywhere, paid to listen for any hint of scandal.
West rubbed his jaw. His gaze flicked to the door. None of it would matter if he didn’t find Emily and bring her back. That would be his first objective, getting the truth out of her the second, deciding what to do about it the third. “Keep an eye on things while I am gone,” he said curtly. “I won’t be long.”
Waiting until West was gone and the parlor empty, Sullivan gave the decanter one more careless toss before he set it back on the table. He stared at the door, the hint of a smile toying with the corners of his mouth. “I would not be so sure of that if I were you.”
Whistling a cheerful tune under his breath, he set off in search of the red-haired, fiery-tongued maid he’d been unable to get out of his head.
After a brief search through the manor he found her on the back lawn, her tiny hands wrist deep in dark, upturned soil. Her pert little arse was tipped up in the air as she worked, and Sullivan couldn’t help but stop and give it an appreciative study before he continued on.
“Isn’t there a gardener to do that?” he drawled, purposefully keeping his steps silent until he was right behind her, resulting in the exact response he was wickedly aiming for.
Mattie shrieked and spun, landing hard on her rump and clasping a hand against her chest, smearing dirt across the front of the white tunic she wore over a pair of oversized trousers. A brown cap was slung low over her forehead. She tipped the brim up to glare daggers at him, her stormy eyes filled with ill-disguised animosity. “You,” she hissed. “What do ye think ye are about, sneaking up on a person like that?”
“Amusing myself.” Hooking his thumbs into the front pockets of his pants, Sullivan rocked back on his heels and took a slow, deliberate study of Mattie from her freckled nose covered in dirt to the leather ankle boots peeking out beneath the bottom of her trousers. “But now I see I didn’t have to sneak up on you to do that. Just a glance at your attire would have done the trick.”
Nimble as a cat, Mattie sprang to her feet. A red curl popped free from beneath her cap and brushed against her cheek. She tucked it impatiently behind her ear, leaving yet another trail of dirt in its wake. “My attire?” she said incredulously. “Have ye not looked in a mirror recently? I’ve seen peacocks in the zoo who were less colorful.”
Sullivan glanced down at his yellow silk cravat, white lawn shirt, blue vest with gold buttons – engraved with his initials, of course – and black leather breeches. Here he’d thought his clothes were rather subdued, considering the costumes he normally wore. For that’s precisely what they were. Costumes.
While he did possess a natural affinity for the finer things in life, he could have easily gone without dressing like a preening, prancing dandy every damn day. But then extravagant clothes were expected of the Prince of King Street. As were a scathing demeanor and a razor sharp tongue.
“And here I was thinking I’ve seen pigs who were more feminine,” he shot back.
Mattie’s eyebrows arched up to the brim of her hat. An odd, unfamiliar tightness settled in Sullivan’s stomach. Was it… guilt? Surely not. He never felt guilty for anything he said. Still, there was no doubt he was usually more charming with the ladies. Only with Mattie did he speak before he thought. Her fault, he decided with a surge of annoyance. If she didn’t act like a typical woman, how could he be expected to treat her as such? She did not deserve his charm. But neither, he thought with a rare twinge of self-directed disdain, did she deserve his ridicule.
“What I meant to say, love, is that—”
Her peal of laughter cut him off. It rang in the air like wind chimes, surprising him even as it captivated. Who would have thought such a delightful sound could come from such an obstinate, stubborn creature?
She grinned, revealing an adorably crooked incisor he hadn’t noticed before. Probably because until now the only facial expression she’d worn around him had been a dark, deep-set scowl. “A peacock and a pig,” she said, still grinning. “We would certainly make a fine pair, wouldn’t we?”
“Why not give it a go?” he asked with a suggestive wiggle of his brows. “We’ll see what kind of animal noises we can make.”
“Does that usually work for ye?”
He shrugged. “Usually I don’t have to say anything a’ tall.”
“You’d have better luck with an actual pig.” Mattie popped a thumb over her shoulder. “Farmer Jenson has a few sows down the road a ways. I can give ye directions if ye like.”
For a man unaccustomed to working for a woman’s approval, Sullivan was rather surprised to discover he liked the challenge. Deciding to test where the boundary lay, he took one step forward, then two. On the third Mattie took a wary step back, her smile fading.
“Watch yourself, Sullivan,” she warned. “If it’s a quick lay that you’re after ye had best take yourself to the nearest tavern wench. I’m not interested in what ye have to offer.”
He spread his arms out to the side, palms facing heavenward, the very picture of devilish innocence. “You know what they say, love. You never know if you’ll like something unless you try it.” He sauntered closer. Close enough to smell her perfume, a subtle mix of earth and sunshine. Close enough to trail a fingertip lightly down the length of her arm. Close enough to see her pupils dilate and hear her breath catch.
“How about it?” he murmured against her ear as the pad of his thumb made lazy circles around the delicate edge of her wrist. “You won’t have any regrets, love.
I promise you that.”
Mattie swiveled her hips, angling her body towards his. Her tongue flicked out to wet her bottom lip, and it was all he could do not to groan. “Are ye certain?” she asked, her tone softly hesitant as she peered up at him.
“I have not had any complaints yet – oomph.” His breath escaped in a great rush of air as Mattie unexpectedly brought her knee up, driving it into his stomach. He doubled forward, bracing his hands on his knees as the pain of the blow slowly began to recede. Bloody hell. For such a tiny thing she certainly packed a punch. Glaring, he lifted his head just in time to receive the jaunty grin Mattie tossed him over her shoulder as she walked briskly away.
“You’re right,” she called out, batting her lashes. “I don’t regret that in the least.”
Emily still did not know why Sullivan had helped her secure travel back to London, and she did not particularly care. All in all, she wasn’t about to look a gift horse – or in this case, a gift gambler – in the mouth.
When he’d found her sniffling to herself on the bench by the pond he’d sat down and, after a bit of playful coaxing, managed to drag the whole, horrible story out of her. Cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment she quickly skimmed through what had happened in the library to get to last words West spoke to her in the horse field and the horribly unexpected scene she’d come across when she walked around the corner of the manor.
After she was finished, Sullivan looked her in the eye and asked only one question:
“Do you still love him, cad that he is?”
At her miserable nod he got up without a word and left her staring after him in bewilderment. When he returned shortly thereafter he carried the cloak she’d arrived in over one arm and a leather coin purse in the other.
“Here,” he had said, thrusting both things at her. “There is enough money in the purse to see you clear through to London. A carriage will be waiting at the end of the drive to take you there. I cannot get the rest of your belongings without arousing suspicion—”
The Duke of St. Giles Page 17
