by Anna Bradley
Emma frowned. “A marquess, risking his life on board a Navy ship? That’s rather unusual.”
“It is, yes. Lord Lymington’s father died when he was very young, and his Uncle Lovell came to Lymington House to see to the estates. He and Lord Lymington never got on. The previous Lord Lovell was…rather a difficult man.”
“He must have been difficult indeed, to chase Lord Lymington from his own estate,” Emma said, eager to hear more.
But Lady Flora seemed to realize she’d said too much, and changed the subject. “Well, Lord Lymington is back now, in any case. He resigned his commission upon his uncle’s death, but he was meant to be quite good at it. Captaining, I mean. He’s very brave, by all accounts.”
A captain, was he? Well, no wonder he was so curt, so presumptuous. Such a man would be accustomed to giving orders, and having them obeyed. No wonder he’d taken an immediate dislike to her. She’d never been good at following orders.
“What of Lord Lovell, Lady Flora? You must know him well, if you were childhood friends. Is he as charming as everyone says?”
“He’s, ah…he’s a charming gentleman, yes. Rather like a brother to me, you know.” Lady Flora dropped her gaze. “My grandmother is fond of Lord Lovell, and won’t hear a single word against him.”
Lady Silvester must be partial to Lovell, indeed. Even leaving aside the thorny questions of kidnapping and murder, there was plenty to say about Lord Lovell that was less than flattering. His family had gone to a great deal of trouble to bury his scandals, but you couldn’t hide everything.
From some people, you couldn’t hide anything.
People like Lady Clifford, for instance.
England was full of sinners, and Lady Clifford knew all their ugliest, filthiest sins. Adultery, bastard children, ruined daughters, clandestine lovers and their secret sexual proclivities…
Seductions, ruinations, kidnappings, murder…
“I’m certain Lord Lovell is every bit as charming as you say.” Emma rose to her feet. “He must have got the lion’s share of charm in his family, because there doesn’t seem to have been any left over for Lord Lymington.”
Lady Flora slapped a hand over her mouth, but not before a giggle escaped. “Oh, dear. Poor Lord Lymington. That’s quite wicked of you to say, Lady Emma.”
Wicked, yes, and only the merest ripple on the surface of the deep, dark pool of Emma’s wickedness. If Lady Flora knew how awful she really was, she’d fall into a swoon.
But until then…
Emma held out her hand to Lady Flora. “Shall we go into supper? I fancy a plate of dry cake, and a glass of sour lemonade.”
Chapter Four
“How long do you intend to keep us wandering about this dreary old place, Lymington? I’ve never known you to give a bloody damn about Sir Joshua Reynolds before today.”
“My goodness, Lancelot.” Lady Lymington turned on her nephew, her eyes wide with reproach. “I can’t think what poor Sir Joshua’s ever done to make you curse so wickedly. Do guard your tongue, won’t you?”
“I beg your pardon, Aunt Sophronia.” Lovell cast a guilty look at his aunt, then pressed his lips together, as if the only reason he’d spoken at all was to curse, and he might as well remain silent now.
And he did remain so—for precisely four minutes, when he let out a heavy sigh. “You may stand there gaping up at that monstrosity for as long as you like, Lymington, but you’ll never convince me you admire it.”
“Certainly, I admire it.” Samuel clasped his hands behind his back and adopted an appreciative pose. “The, ah…richness of the colors, and the, ah…the subjects. Very vigorous, indeed.”
“Vigorous!” Lovell snorted. “Do you call the Ladies Waldegrave vigorous?”
“The Ladies Waldegrave?” Samuel focused on the portrait he’d been pretending to admire and stifled a groan. Damn it, when had they moved on from Sir Tarleton? There was nothing vigorous about three ladies gathered around a table doing…what were they doing? Tatting lace? Spinning skeins of silk? “Did I say vigorous? I meant domestic. Er, an impressive representation of domestic bliss.”
Behind him, Lovell snickered. “Do try and keep up, eh, Lymington?”
Samuel smothered a sigh. In truth, he couldn’t work up any more enthusiasm for Reynolds’s portraits than Lovell could. He’d suggested they visit the Royal Academy because Lady Flora had mentioned she intended to attend the exhibit today.
Not because Lady Emma had mentioned she might visit, as well.
He’d dragged Lovell through nearly every room in the place this afternoon, hoping for a chance meeting with Lady Flora, but when they’d come across her at last, she and her grandmother hadn’t been alone. Lord Barrett and his sister had been with them, his lordship with Lady Flora on his arm, casting openly admiring glances at her.
Lovell had stared at them in confusion for a moment, then his face had gone darker than a thundercloud. Since then, he’d been muttering to himself about upstart lords, and capricious young ladies who’d do well to be more particular about their escorts.
Samuel might have been cheered at this sign of Lovell’s attachment to Lady Flora if Barrett had been a less desirable suitor, but he was a pleasant, handsome young gentleman, just the sort any young lady would be thrilled to have courting her.
“Would you call this one vigorous as well?” Lovell paused in front of Reynolds’s sedate portrait of the Countess of Warwick. “Perhaps her hat might be referred to as vigorous. What do you think, Lymington?”
Samuel gave his cousin a dark look, but he bit back the ill-humored retort on his tongue. Lovell was still annoyed with him over the scene at Almack’s with Lady Emma last night, and Samuel, knowing he deserved some of Lovell’s ire, wasn’t inclined to defend his behavior.
The rest of the ball hadn’t gone as Lovell had hoped. Lady Flora had been claimed by one eager gentleman after another, and had hardly spared Lovell a glance all evening. That alone had been enough to put Lovell into a mood, but then he’d also never gotten his two dances with Lady Emma, who’d left Almack’s with her grandmother soon after the supper was finished.
For his part, Samuel was relieved at their abrupt departure, as it seemed to indicate his warning to Lady Emma had had the desired effect. Yes, he was certainly relieved at it—of course he was—except now he’d succeeded in chasing her off, just the merest sliver of doubt over his behavior had begun to plague him.
Perhaps he hadn’t needed to be quite so blunt with her. It wasn’t as if she’d done anything wrong. Hers hadn’t been the only pair of blue eyes that looked upon Lovell with admiration.
Just the prettiest pair.
Still, she certainly had been the lady he’d overhead at the Pink Pearl the other night. He couldn’t think of a single innocent explanation for her presence at an infamous brothel, but he also couldn’t banish the memory of her wide eyes gazing up at him. For a lady engaged in some sort of mischief, Lady Emma contrived to look as guileless as a newborn fawn.
That, more than anything else, made him wonder about her.
Samuel paused, frowning at the Countess of Warwick in her monstrous hat. Lady Emma was…intriguing. Of all the young ladies he’d danced with last night, she was the only one of them who hadn’t scurried away after their dance as if rabid hounds were nipping at her heels.
Which was curious indeed, given she was the only one who had reason to.
She hadn’t appeared alarmed by him at all. He’d caught her watching him more than once throughout the remainder of the evening, her expression speculative rather than terrified. He couldn’t make sense of the girl, but then he couldn’t make sense of most ladies.
Why Lady Emma’s reaction mattered to him one way or the other, Samuel couldn’t say. All that should matter was that she stay away from Lovell for the rest of the season, so he could get on with the business of capturing Lady Flora�
��s heart.
Really, there was no reason for Samuel to spare Lady Emma another thought. He drew in a calming breath, and vowed for the fourth time since he’d woken this morning to forget about Lady Emma.
The trouble was, he’d kissed her hand.
He shouldn’t have kissed her hand. Why had he kissed her hand? He’d lain awake half the night trying to explain it to himself, but he couldn’t come up with anything satisfactory.
He was only certain of one thing.
It would be madness to touch her again. Whatever else he did, he had to remember that.
Don’t bloody touch her again.
The kiss had been an impulse, a momentary lapse in logical reasoning. He wasn’t a reckless man, or a spontaneous one, but one moment he’d been warning her away from Lovell, and the next thing he knew he’d been kissing her hand. If he’d managed to show even the slightest hint of restraint last night, he wouldn’t be cursed with the memory of the warmth of her fingers under her smooth kid gloves—
“If you’ve quite finished with Lady Warwick, Lymington, might we move along? It makes perfect sense that you’d find a portrait of a lady lounging in a chair beside a window fascinating, but since we’re here, I’d like to see the rest of the military portraits, if we may.”
“Yes, do move on, Lymington,” Lady Lovell echoed, with an indulgent look at her son. “You can hardly blame Lovell for finding it tedious. Don’t you agree, Mr. Humphries?”
“Of course.” Felix Humphries, his aunt’s new favorite companion, patted her hand. “I always agree with you, my lady.”
Samuel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Humphries had been a friend of his Uncle Lovell’s, and had been hanging about since his death to comfort Lady Lovell. Samuel didn’t know Humphries well, but he seemed a sluggish, dull-witted creature. As for his Aunt Adelaide, she appeared to be perfectly reconciled to her husband’s death, and not in much need of comforting.
Together, they were the greatest pair of fools Samuel had ever encountered. He’d never been fond of his Aunt Adelaide, and he did his best to pretend Humphries wasn’t there.
Lovell made an impatient noise, and Samuel turned back to him with an irritable sigh. “For God’s sake, Lovell. What have you got against the Countess of Warwick?”
“She’s the dullest countess imaginable, that’s what. Who wants to look at a fusty portrait of a countess half smothered in blue ribbons? You may as well stop pretending you find it engrossing, Lymington. You’re not fooling anyone.”
Another retort threatened, but a light touch on Samuel’s arm caught his attention, and he looked down to find his mother gazing up at him with an anxious expression. “Why not let Lancelot move on as he chooses? I’ll remain here with you as long as you like.”
Samuel managed a smile for his mother. “Never mind. I’m perfectly willing to move on.”
They wandered through the exhibit, pausing here and there as Lady Lovell and Humphries held forth on the merits of one painting or another, without having the faintest idea what they were talking about. Lady Lymington ventured a hesitant question or two about Reynolds’s naval heroes, but despite Lovell’s insistence on seeing them, he hardly spared the paintings a glance.
“Might we go see the portrait of the Duchess of Devonshire and Lady Georgiana?” Lady Sophronia asked, once they’d made their way through the military paintings. “I haven’t had the pleasure of viewing it before.”
“Of course, if you wish it.”
Samuel turned to tell Lovell, but Lady Adelaide had stopped to chat with an acquaintance, and Humphries was snoozing on a bench in the corner.
“Go on. We’ll catch up to you in a moment.” Lovell waved them on, dropping limply onto another bench, his bad leg stretched out in front of him, muttering that he’d seen enough portraits to last him a lifetime.
So Samuel escorted his mother to the other end of the hallway, where Reynolds’s portraits of the Duchess of Devonshire were hung.
“Why, how charming!” Lady Sophronia exclaimed over the portrait of the duchess with her infant daughter on her knee. “Lady Georgiana Cavendish is such a lovely child! Don’t you think so, Samuel?”
Samuel could hardly tell one child from another, but he smiled at his mother’s pleasure. “She’s very pretty, yes.”
They went down the row, and after a while some of the tension eased from Samuel’s shoulders. He’d hardly seen his mother smile at all since his return to England, but she seemed to be taking great pleasure in their outing today.
It had been her idea to come to London for the season. She had great hopes of restoring Lovell to Lady Flora’s good graces, but she’d also delicately hinted that Samuel might pay a visit to Caroline Francis at the Pink Pearl while they were in town. That particular task had yet to bear fruit, but it would, and soon.
He would make certain of it.
Samuel listened to his mother’s cheerful chatter and the moments slid by without his noticing, until nearly half an hour had elapsed without any sign of Lovell.
When it came to Lovell, half an hour was a lifetime. If he’d been seized with one of his freaks or whims, there was no telling what he might have gotten up to in that time.
“You must be fatigued.” Samuel tucked his mother’s hand through his arm and started down the hallway. “Shall we fetch Lovell, and have tea?”
They strolled back down the hallway, and found Humphries and Lady Adelaide lounging on the bench, whispering to each other, but Lovell…
Samuel’s gaze swept from one end of the room to the other, his jaw tightening.
Lovell was gone.
* * * *
“Lord Lovell’s been at the Pink Pearl.”
Emma had been toying with the ribbons on her hat, waiting for Lady Crosby to appear so they might be on their way to the Royal Academy, but her fingers stilled at Daniel Brixton’s words, her heart crowding into her throat. “Lord Lovell?”
“Aye, lass.” Daniel held out a note with Lady Crosby’s direction written on the front in Helena’s familiar scrawl. “Read this.”
Emma eyed the note, unease coiling in her stomach. “We’re a single day into the season, and something’s gone amiss already?”
“Read it, lass.” Daniel pressed the note into her hand.
Emma was just unfolding it when Lady Crosby appeared in the drawing room. “Here I am, ready at last. Good afternoon, Daniel. Shall we…oh, Emma, my dear, don’t furrow your brow with such ferocity. It’s not good for your complexion. What have you got there in your hand?”
“It’s a note from Helena. It seems Lord Lovell paid a visit to the Pink Pearl two nights ago.” That in itself wasn’t so surprising. Gentlemen with the means to do so did tend to turn up at the Pink Pearl sooner or later, but Lord Lovell had hardly set foot in London before he was darkening Madame Marchand’s doorstep.
Lady Crosby’s eyes widened. “Oh, dear. He’s after Caroline Francis, already?”
Emma scanned the rest of the note. “It’s curious, but Helena doesn’t mention that. She says only that Lord Lovell is as pretty as rumor claims—”
Daniel snorted.
“—and that he behaved like a perfect gentleman.” Emma let the note drop into her lap.
“Hmm. Well, perhaps we’ll find out more at the Royal Academy. All the ton will be there, and where the ton is, there’s sure to be gossip.” Lady Crosby drew on her gloves. “Shall we go?”
“Yes, but first I want to write a quick note to Helena, and ask her if anyone heard Lord Lovell mention Caroline last night.” Emma went to a desk in the corner, wrote a few hasty lines, then folded it and offered it to Daniel. “You’ll see Helena gets this?”
“Aye.” Daniel took the note and stuffed it into his pocket.
“Thank you. I’m ready now, my lady.” Emma snatched up her hat, and followed Lady Crosby out to the carriage.
It was the opening day of the exhibit. Lord Lovell would almost certainly be there, and his odious cousin likely with him, but this time Emma wouldn’t let Lord Lymington interfere with her plans.
It was all a matter of proper coordination.
She spent the carriage ride from Mayfair to the Royal Academy coming up with various schemes to lure Lord Lovell away from his cousin, but in the end, it was the easiest thing in the world. She found Lord Lovell sitting on a bench, alone. All it took was a half-smile and an inviting glance over her shoulder, and he’d followed her down the hallway.
“Good afternoon, Lady Emma, and Lady Crosby! Such a pleasure to see you both again so soon.” He bowed over Emma’s hand, his blue eyes moving over her face with frank appreciation.
“How do you do, Lord Lovell?” Lady Crosby inclined her head, and Emma distracted him with her sweetest smile while she glanced subtly about for any signs of Lord Lymington. She didn’t see him, but he’d appear soon enough.
He wasn’t going to be pleased to find her with his cousin. The thought made Emma’s stomach clench with nervousness, but she couldn’t deny there was a thread of anticipation there, as well. She did so love a challenge.
“Will you come and join my party?” Lord Lovell asked, offering Emma and Lady Crosby each an arm. “They’re viewing the Duchess of Devonshire’s portrait in the next room.”
“Oh, how kind you are, Lord Lovell, but I’m afraid we’ve been here for some time already, and my grandmother is fatigued. We’re just going to see Reynolds’s portraits of Kitty Fisher before taking our leave for the day.”
“Er…Kitty Fisher?” Lovell asked, a flush sweeping up his neck.
“Yes.” Emma regarded him with wide, innocent eyes, but she couldn’t prevent a twitch at the corner of her lip. The exhibit was arranged by theme, which meant Kitty Fisher’s portrait was hanging with Reynolds’s other portraits of scandalous courtesans and actresses.
