“Hmph.” Mrs. Babbidge settled herself back in her chair. “I’ve never known you to act like a schoolroom miss, young lady. Now, tell your Great-Aunt Babbidge what’s amiss. Might it be that you do not welcome his Lordship’s attentions?”
Emmaline jerked upright. “Welcome his attentions? It is nothing like that. And he is not paying attention to me.”
“That’s not what it looks like to me.” Mrs. Babbidge watched as Emmaline sipped her tea. “Give him the nod and you’d have a ring on your finger in no time. And what could please your grandpapa more than to engage yourself to a member of the ton?”
Emmaline pushed her chair back and got to her feet, her fists clenched.
“Aunt, I cannot do it. It is monstrous that I should have to look for a marriage that I do not want, simply because I cannot inherit Baymoor. I do not understand why Grandpapa put the property in trust.”
Mrs. Babbidge got out of her chair and took Emmaline in a comforting embrace.
“You know why, my love. Your father showed no interest in managing the estate. Your grandfather did what he thought was best, and now that he hasn’t much time left he wants to know that you are settled and will be cared for.”
“It is so unfair!” Emmaline was close to tears again. “I have managed Baymoor for three years. It is my home, Aunt, I have the right to it.”
“No, Em, you don’t. Not under the terms of the trust.” Mrs. Babbidge took her by the arms and gave her a gentle shake. “The only way for you to maintain your status is to marry and to have a son, you know that.”
Emmaline set her jaw and raised her chin.
“Which gives me the same status as my mare,Sadie.” Bitterness echoed in her voice. “I will stay with grandpapa until the end. When he no longer needs me, I will open a school. There are people who will help me, and Lord knows the parish needs it.”
The rap of the knocker on the front door prevented her great-aunt from further comment. Emmaline’s heart leapt in her chest and battered against the cage of her ribs. She raised her trembling fingers to her lips to catch the name she was about to utter, but was too late.
Her aunt heard it. Mrs. Babbidge opened her eyes wide with pleasure and a smile split her face, making rosy round apples of her cheeks.
“See? I knew you were not averse to him.”
“Nonsense, Aunt.” Emmaline straightened her back. “He is merely being polite for Juliana’s sake. And I bear with him for the same reason.”
Giles opened the door.
“His Lordship has arrived, Miss Em.”
Mrs. Babbidge continued to beam at her. “Come along, you goose. I’ll help you with your hat, that’s all you need this fine morning.”
Her aunt hurried her into the hall, where she set Emmaline’s blue silk shako hat on top of her dark curls.
“Now you just behave like a proper lady should,” she said. “Here’s your gloves and riding crop. Let me look at you.”
Pride shone in her eyes and she nudged Emmaline towards the door.
Emmaline took a deep breath and stepped out into the bright morning to meet the tormentor of her soul.
CHAPTER 6
“Good morning, Miss Devereux.”
“Good morning, my Lord.”
Lucius chuckled and at the sound Emmaline set her jaw and lifted her chin.
“Does it kill you to be polite to me?” Lucius asked, his voice as soft as the silk lavender gown she had worn to Almack’s.
“Cuts me to the core,” Emmaline responded promptly.
He laughed at that and escorted her to the waiting riding party.
“I hope you find Psyche to your liking,” he said, indicating the perfectly groomed dark brown mare that Noble held.
“She’s very pretty.” Emmaline patted the mare’s neck before allowing Noble to assist her in to the saddle.
Lucius mounted his own horse and with a clatter of hooves they made their way towards the park. Beamish rode ahead with Lucius while Noble brought up the rear.
“Is all well?” Juliana reached across from her horse, caught Emmaline’s hand and gave it a little squeeze.
Emmaline returned the pressure. “I’m so sorry, Juliana, but I’m afraid your brother appears to bring out the worst in me.”
“Don’t feel badly about that, it is a reaction many people experience.” Juliana smiled a little as she thought of how best to explain her brother’s behaviour. “Lucius can often be overbearing. I think it stems from him having inherited the title at such a young age. He was but fifteen when our Papa died and I think losing him greatly affected Lucius.”
“I’m sorry, I did not know that.”
“Well, it was a long time ago. Caroline tells me they were on very good terms and she would remember, being the eldest of us three. Lucius tried very hard to be responsible but became quite wayward after he went to Oxford.”
“I remember you telling me he was considered quite the rake. But, rake or not, you are so lucky to have a family.” A wistful tone twisted in Emmaline’s voice.
“Not all the time.” Juliana checked her mount which showed signs of wanting to forge ahead. “Both Lucius and Caroline, who I know mean well, are doing their best to marry me off to gentlemen who do not inspire me in the slightest.”
Emmaline took note of the words but didn’t miss the softness with which they were spoken.
“Mr. Beamish has still not spoken to your brother?” she whispered.
Juliana shook her head. “The opportunity has not yet presented itself.”
“How did you come to know Mr. Beamish?”
“His father’s estate borders Avondale Park and he and Lucius practically grew up together. They are close in age, you know, and went up to Oxford within a term of each other.”
“Oh, I see.”
Juliana shot her an amused glance. “They are opposites, are they not?”
Emmaline smiled at her friend’s perception.
“Maybe that’s what makes them friends,” she said.
Once in the park and trotting smartly along Rotten Row, Emmaline silently agreed with Mrs. Babbidge that it was, indeed, a fine morning. Sunlight glinted off the waters of the Serpentine, a light breeze tweaked the leaves on the trees and the green turf beside the tan-covered ride stretched invitingly before her. A little demon of daring whispered in Emmaline’s ear but was drowned out by a question from Juliana.
“Did you enjoy last evening?”
Emmaline bit her lip. There was no way she could tell Juliana the truth, that her feelings for Lucius had grown more quickly, more deeply than she could have ever believed and that, when she stepped into his arms, she had not wanted to step out of them.
“It is a long time since I have been in the company of so many people,” she said. “I was simply overcome by it all. I am so sorry I spoiled your evening.”
“You did not spoil my evening, silly.”
“No?” Emmaline gave Juliana a sideways glance.
“Well, maybe a tad,” Juliana admitted with a smile. “I enjoyed Mr. Beamish’s company very much.”
“Aha – now comes the truth of it!”
“As does my brother.”
Emmaline looked up to see Lucius trotting towards them. He sat his horse in perfect balance. Beneath lowered lids she glanced at the long, firm muscles of his thighs, imagined his slim fingers that were even now encased in black leather riding gloves, closing around hers. She swallowed hard.
“Juliana, I have to ask you quickly – have you divulged any information from my letters to your brother?”
“None. You know I would not.”
Emmaline cast Juliana a grateful smile but Lucius was too close for her to say more.
“I trust the air has revived you this morning?” he asked of her as he drew alongside.
“Indeed, my Lord, I am now feeling quite well,” Emmaline acknowledged. The little demon was back, its voice stronger now. She turned her head and looked Lucius directly in the eye. “The only thing that could p
ossibly make me feel any better would be to race you to the end of the ride, for I know I would win.”
As soon as she uttered the words, Emmaline could have bitten her tongue. Why had she let that demon spur her to issue such a challenge? She gulped. Too late now to retract it.
“That is an offer I cannot refuse,” Lucius said with a slow smile. “But what should be the prize to the winner?”
Momentarily flustered, Emmaline sought for an answer.
“Admission,” she said finally. “Admission that the winner is the better rider.”
“A bold statement from one who has only today met her mount.”
“She is female, is she not?”
Lucius nodded and the smile continued to play across his lips. The mare’s prancing and Emmaline’s spirit would make for an interesting combination.
“Which means we will fare very well together.” Emmaline gathered up her reins and steadied the mare who was already snatching at her bit with anticipation. “Mr. Noble, please give us a count of three.”
Lucius, smiling widely now at the seriousness of her expression and not her challenge, expertly manoeuvred his bay thoroughbred beside Psyche. Noble steadily counted to three as instructed and the two horses sprang forward.
Focusing her gaze over the mare’s head, Emmaline ignored the sound of the horse beside her and closed her ears to the outright laughter of the man astride it. She turned her head to look over her shoulder.
“Don’t you dare let me win!” she shouted.
“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Lucius returned as he edged ahead.
Allowing him to take the lead by half a length, Emmaline loosened her hold on the reins. Psyche surged forward, her legs reaching, hooves pounding. She heard the sharp, snorting breath of Lucius’ horse as she passed it.
The wind rushed in her face, brought spots of high colour to her cheeks and a smile to her lips as she now drew ahead of her competitor. She urged Psyche onward, relishing the freedom and power of the headlong gallop.
It wasn’t until she reached the end of the Row that she realized she was alone. She reined in and cantered in a slow circle, looking back to see where Lucius could be.
He had dismounted and together with Noble was inspecting the bay’s foreleg. Beamish held Noble’s hack while Juliana leant forward in her saddle, a concerned frown upon her face. Emmaline rode towards them.
“What happened?” she asked as she drew rein beside them.
Lucius looked up. In spite of his concern for his horse’s wellbeing, one glance at Emmaline’s flushed face and brilliant eyes were enough to start that slow, familiar surge in his lower belly. He groaned inwardly.
What was it about her that elicited this response in him?
One look from her, he thought angrily, one thought of her and his body responded like an adolescent. He collected his thoughts and answered her question.
“I believe Archer has strained a tendon, poor fellow. He’ll be sore for a while.”
Emmaline watched as Lucius ran his hand down the horse’s leg, his long fingers gently probing for the injury. Satisfied, he stood up and patted Archer’s neck. The horse nudged his shoulder.
“Juliana and I will return Miss Devereux to her home,” Beamish offered.
“Not without Noble, you won’t,” Lucius countered. He stood up, his face stern. “I will walk Archer home. Noble can ride with you and then bring Psyche along.”
“I don’t like leaving you, my Lord,” Noble protested.
“The choice is not yours to make, Noble. You have an order.”
“That’s as maybe,” responded Noble stoutly, “but Archer should be in my care. You take my hack, my Lord.”
“And have my peers see me astride that nag?”
Noble puffed out his cheeks and looked down his nose in disgust. “That nag, as you refer to him, took care of you well enough in the hunting field when you were wet behind the ears so don’t insult him now.”
Emmaline, expecting that Noble’s retort would earn him a stern rebuke, was amazed to see a wide grin split Lucius’ face. “You keep my cattle so well, Noble, I had almost forgotten that. Very well. Beamish, hand me those reins.”
Lucius quickly mounted and the party returned to Montpelier Street at a sedate walk.
Giles had been watching for them and came forward to hold Psyche’s bridle while Lucius helped Emmaline dismount. He offered Emmaline his arm to escort her to her front door. After a moment’s hesitation, she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow.
“While you are in London please ride Psyche as often as you wish. The more exercise she has the better behaved she is. Just send word to Noble when it suits you.”
“You are very kind, my Lord.” Emmaline stopped on the top step and turned to face him, a question on her lips. “Just how many horses do you keep in Town?”
“Oh, a dozen or more,” Lucius replied carelessly.
“You must be very rich.”
“Disgustingly so.” Lucius caught her hand, his grey eyes teasing her as his lips brushed the backs of her gloved fingers.
A tremor of desire shimmied through her frame and Emmaline knew he heard the hitch in her breath. He was like a cat playing with a mouse and she pulled her hand quickly from his grasp. How dare he!
“Until our next meeting, Miss Devereux.”
He bowed to her and Emmaline stood in the doorway and watched with her heart in her mouth as he strode across the pavement, took his reins and mounted his horse in one fluid, powerful movement. Juliana lifted her hand and waved goodbye as the group of riders moved off in a clatter of hooves.
Emmaline waited until they disappeared from sight before entering the house to find Mrs. Babbidge in a fine fluster.
“You have not one, but two invitations,” she announced. “I said you would be in demand.”
“And to where have I been invited?” Emmaline asked as she removed her hat.
“The first is to a soiree with Countess Esterhazy, who writes she is sending her carriage with a chaperone, a Miss Stevens who is a distant relative, and that is to be followed by a dinner party with Lady Darnley.”
A groan of dismay escaped Emmaline’s lips and she was immediately reprimanded by her aunt.
“Enough of this, Emmaline,” Mrs. Babbidge snapped, her patience exhausted. “You are being granted an opening that many a young lady would wish for.”
It was a truth with which Emmaline could not argue. She handed her hat, riding crop and gloves to Annie and then followed her aunt into the parlour. A pitcher of lemonade and several glasses sat on a tray on the sideboard. She poured herself a glass of the refreshing beverage and sipped on it as she turned to stare out of the window. It overlooked a small garden at the back of the house and, though the borders were prettily planted with a colourful array of flowers, her thoughts were in too much turmoil to take comfort from it.
Mrs. Babbidge, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval, seated herself and took up her knitting from the basket on the floor beside her chair. The needles clicked furiously as the yarn sped through her flying fingers.
With a sigh Emmaline took a seat opposite her.
“How can I do this, Aunt?” she pleaded. “How can I hide who and what I am? It appears I am unforgettable yet I wish to be forgotten. My education and experience is beyond most of my peers and because of that many would consider me an unsuitable prospect as a wife.”
“You remember what your grandpapa told you?”
“Yes.” Emmaline hung her head with a sigh. “Pretend I am just another beautiful face until there is a ring on my finger.”
“Well, then.” Mrs. Babbidge laid her knitting in her lap. “Em, it has to be done.”
“But it is so dishonest, Aunt!”
“If you had more of your mama in you perhaps you wouldn’t find it so hard.”
At Emmaline’s gasp of dismay Mrs. Babbidge looked up.
“Are you saying my mother was dishonest?”
“No, silly.” Mrs. Ba
bbidge thought for a moment. “Only that your mama had the knack of fitting in wherever she went. Now your papa was bull headed from the start, but he learnt from her and that enabled him to, well . . to do the things he did.”
At the mention of her papa Emmaline fell silent. She missed him so. It was he who first taught her Greek and Latin, had shown her books on animal husbandry and, with her grandfather away, allowed her to practise the economies she gleaned from them without hindrance. Using an atlas, he explained Napoleon Bonaparte’s progression through Europe, taught her the history and politics of the countries ravaged by war. She was educated even before she went to Miss Fotheringay’s School for Young Ladies in Bath.
“I do understand, Great-Aunt, I really do.”
“There, my lamb. It will work out for the best, you’ll see.”
Thoughtfully Emmaline went upstairs. If she had to marry there was only one name that came to mind.
Lucius.
Of all the men she had ever met only he set her limbs and lips trembling. Only he who sent the blood racing through her veins and made her heart thump so loudly she could hear it in her ears.
What little conversation they had engaged in intrigued her for he was as quick witted as she. And beneath his gruff exterior there was real kindness. She had heard it in his voice when he spoke with Juliana, had seen it in the way he cared for his lame horse.
Intelligence, which she was sure matched her own, shimmered like quicksilver in his eyes. And, most unnerving of all, he seemed to have an instinctive understanding of her, knowing when to tease to his best advantage and when to leave her quietly fuming.
There was no denying it. He was the most attractive, infuriating and possibly dangerous man with whom to consider marriage. She was sure he was not averse to her. And he was rich. That would satisfy her grandfather.
But, if she could contrive to seduce and marry Lucius, would that satisfy her?
CHAPTER 7
Lucius closed the library door and went to the table that served as his desk. The discarded edition of Plato that Emmaline clutched to her breast the first time he saw her lay on its scarred surface.
His Dark Enchantress (Books We Love Regency Romance) Page 6
