If I Loved You (Regency Rogues: Redemption Book 2)

by Rebecca Ruger

  The earl waited at the bottom of the stairs, resplendent in his all-black formal wear. His gaze warmed—indeed, thrilled—Emma even more so than her own finery did. Yet the sheer splendor of the gown enlivened her, and she danced around the earl when she reached the first floor.

  “Isn’t it lovely? I’ve never worn a gown so beautiful.”

  She was very pleased with the fabrics she and Mrs. Shabner had chosen, and as lovely as she had thought her gown to yesterday’s dinner, she imagined this one more fairy-tale like, with its round Circassian robe of pale blue crepe over a white satin slip, fringed full at the feet with blue satin tassels. A peasant's bodice of blue silk, laced in the front with silver gave way to capped, Spanish slash sleeves, embellished with white crepe foldings, and finished at its edges with bands of silver. It was ridiculously gorgeous, and Emma had been happy to have her hair arranged to do it justice, and the spare ringlets left outside the bundled chignon, bounced near her cheeks and forehead as she danced around the earl.

  He did not turn as she glided around him, but she caught his grin as she twice twirled around his front.

  “Very lovely, indeed,” he said.

  “I have also never had another person attend my hair,” she said, her smile infectious. “It’s terribly boring, just sitting there, but look at the darling curls they managed.” She stopped in front of him, and gave her head a little shake, making the curls move still.

  The earl was kind enough to smile indulgently at her devotedness to her entire costume, but then he ruined everything with his next words.

  “While this prancing is indeed graceful, Miss Ainsley, I fear I must ask, are you acquainted with the dances likely to be employed at tonight’s gala?”

  Emma went completely still and stared at him. “Oh bother.” Aside from being silly with Gretchen, and that had been years ago, Emma had never truly danced. “Perhaps we should have spent more time in preparation for this ruse we’ve brought to London.” Her shoulders dropped, the smile left her face. “I’m so sorry. You should have chosen someone who knew better how to go about in society. You should have—”

  “I wanted you.”

  Emma’s breath stopped coming right then.

  The earl cleared his throat. “I wanted you to see London, and you were conveniently at hand,” he clarified to great effect.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Too late to worry about dancing—”

  “But it’s a ball.”

  He allowed only a slight and momentary frustration to cross his features. “Lady Marston will give us an assist, I’m sure.”

  “Lady Marston?”

  “Yes.” He glanced at the tall clock near the pillars of the staircase. “She will arrive at any minute. She will escort you, as it would be unseemly for me to do so.” At Emma’s blank look, he explained, “Essentially, you need a sponsor. You may not simply crash into the ton with neither an invite nor a supporter.”

  “Oh.”

  “The dowager countess’s carriage has just pulled up, my lord,” said the butler, near the door. He grabbed the handle but did not pull it open immediately.

  The earl stepped around Emma and received her cloak for the evening, which the butler had been holding.

  Emma stared rather blindly at the stairs she’d cavorted down only moments before. How could she not have considered that she didn’t know the first thing about dancing?

  The earl, laying her cloak about her shoulders just as the aged butler pulled open the door, caused Emma to startle. He turned her around to face him and left his hands on her arms, over the soft velvet of the cloak. “I am not concerned, and you shouldn’t be either. We’ll figure it out.”

  Emma was sure her expression conveyed adequately her disbelief in this, but as she supposed it was too late to bow out, she smiled grimly at the earl and allowed him to lead her outside and to the matron’s shiny black carriage.

  “There she is,” said Lady Marston, from within the vehicle as the door was opened, “the extraordinary chit who dragged the jaundiced Lindsey into the park only two days ago.”

  “Be kind, my lady,” the earl chided with a grin as he passed Emma into the carriage.

  “You can count on it,” said the lady in such a way that Emma thought she should not count on this at all.

  “I’ll see you within the hour,” he promised to Emma, and closed the door.

  Emma faced the dowager countess and gave her a nervous smile, before she thought to thank her for her sponsorship.

  Lady Marston spoke up as the carriage rolled away from the earl’s home. “Jaundiced, as in cynical, my dear,” the lady explained.

  “I gathered,” Emma announced, though wouldn’t exactly have said the earl was cynical. Not all the time. “My lady, while I thank you for your support for me this evening, I fear I must reveal to you what I’ve only now shared with the earl, that I haven’t any experience or knowledge of dancing.”

  Lady Marston, cane in hand and wearing a matronly gown of royal blue, made a noise that seemed to have no purpose, or rather none that Emma might interpret.

  “This comes as no surprise, Miss Ainsley. At least less so to me than to your very benevolent earl.” Her shoulders lifted and fell.

  Emma liked her somehow, despite the tinge of sarcasm that seemed to never be far away and now surrounded the word benevolent. She smiled prettily at the matron, even as she lifted a brow at the woman’s words. She knew her not at all, but suspected Lady Marston did not fret about many things in her life.

  “My godson tells me you were acquainted with his father,” she said.

  As Emma had to assume, by virtue of her personality, that this was not a woman you lied to, she imagined the earl had laid out the entire truth. “I was. He was a wonderful man.”

  “Yes, he was. And I’ve been told that you have a child, as well.”

  Ah, so it was to be an inquisition. Having just learned that the earl was her godson might explain this present line of questioning. Emma would not presume outwardly to know where it was going, but privately thought she had a pretty good idea. Indeed, the suspicious and knowing tone, which Lady Marston bothered not to hide, said nearly as much as the words themselves.

  “I do. Her name is Bethany.”

  “Charming,” was replied in such a way that Emma was convinced that the lady did not actually think so. “And what is it you hope to gain, if you should find your efforts to keep the very sharp and unpleasant claws of Lady Prudence out of Lindsey’s person are actually or somehow successful?”

  “Gain? I haven’t anything to gain, but that I’ve helped the earl, as he—by way of his father—has helped me.”

  “And now you’ve made your presence known—driving in the park, dinner with the Kingsleys, and tonight the Clarendon ball. Made your presence known amazingly. The drive through Hyde Park alone has the tongues wagging. Tonight ought to send them into a lather.”

  Emma bit her lip, unsure what the good lady expected as a reply.

  “Do I misspeak, Miss Ainsley?” Lady Marston queried, pressing her hands upon the top of her cane, which she employed more as an affectation, Emma was sure. “Perhaps you are unused to being the subject of so many rumors, but then your unprecedented descent into the park rather contradicts that, does it not?”

  Emma demurred, her smile intact, “You do not misspeak, Lady Marston. The truth never upsets me. But rumors... how is that even possible?” She tilted her head, not daring so much as to point out to Lady Marston that she was the only person they’d spoken to inside the park.

  A sly grin twisted the old woman’s mouth. “You were seen, and by hundreds. Or rather, Lindsey was seen, and your presence was noted. Rumors abound.” She leaned forward, her eyes begging Emma to do the same, which she did. “And it is more than probable that I was not the only one who made note of how his gaze all but devoured you. A dog salivating after his bone.”

  Emma sat straight, removing her eyes from the woman, with a great lack of appreciation for
the correlation. When she faced the woman again, she realized some bit of her apprehension about the woman had slipped, as had some of her respect. “What is it you would like to say to me, my lady, that has you beating around the bush so poorly and with such crass comparisons?”

  Lady Marston arched a thin brow.

  “He is toying with you, nothing more. He won’t marry you. He cannot marry you.” She let that settle before adding, “It’s just the way it is, girl. I tell you that not to upset your dreams, but to bring reality to the fore. He just cannot. He and I have already discussed it, and he knows his career is too promising, too important, to trifle with, and certainly not for something so fleeting as lust. And with that said, I think the following less necessary, but I’ll drive the point home regardless—he won’t marry you, so do not allow him any opportunity to make you promises he won’t keep. He’ll say he will, or would, wed with you, of course; that’s part of the game. Do you understand me? Yes, I can see that you do. That’s a pretty flush, Miss Ainsley. It comes with innocence and naivete and hope, all dangerous things to possess in a city teeming with dissolutes and bounders.”

  “’Tis a good thing then, that after tomorrow I shall likely never see it again, this city.” Fairly seething now, for the woman’s obvious judgments and false assumptions, Emma informed her, “As I’d said to the earl only a few days ago, my lady, people like me aren’t afforded the privilege of dreams. Your godson is safe from any manipulations by me.”

  The carriage slowed then and lined up in the queue at the grand house of Lord and Lady Clarendon.

  “See that it remains so,” Lady Marston said after a long silence, and only seconds before the door to the vehicle was pulled open.

  Emma, then, was prepared not to enjoy herself at all, Lady Marston having stripped her of all giddy anticipation for the evening. And yet, once they stepped inside the home of the Duke of Clarendon, Lady Marston’s demeanor toward Emma changed. Perhaps having said her peace, having gotten that out of the way, the matron did what the earl obviously had asked of her: introduced Emma prettily, as if she were someone of no small consequence; smiled at her at times as if she’d known her forever and actually enjoyed her company; and once, even commented that, “If not for the fact that you depart London tomorrow, I’d put odds on you becoming the taste of the season. But damn that Lindsey, I’ll not know a moment’s peace tonight.”

  Having followed Lady Marston through the foyer and around the first floor, they had eventually found their way up to the second-floor ballroom. Emma gasped and twirled around, taking in the splendor of the room. The ceilings were so high, the room so large, she thought the entire structure of the King’s Arms Inn might have stood inside it. Curious paper lanterns were strung all about, many potted greens and fresh flowers were grouped all around the room, and Emma’s jaw dropped when she realized the floor had been painted with a chalk picture. The room was crowded already, leaving Emma only to guess what the entire sketch might have been, but she saw clearly several spots that showed trees and a setting sun and a mounted horse, and the figure of a man gallantly depicted in an English military uniform.

  She frowned, though. As lovely as the chalk art was, she watched several women with longer trains sweep across the floor, disturbing and blurring the scene with the hems of their gowns.

  “Expensive, but wasteful,” Lady Marston commented at her side, seeing where Emma’s gaze had been. “Ah, here comes your new friend, Lady Prudence,” she said then, lowering her voice. “She thinks I enjoy her, hopes to gain favor with Lindsey by way of my appreciation. Will never happen.” And when the lady stood before them, garbed resplendently in a frothy pale-yellow confection, Lady Marston smiled widely and said, “You’ve met our sweet Miss Ainsley, I am to understand.”

  “I have,” said Lady Prudence, literally looking down her nose at Emma, her gaze raking over Emma’s gown as if she found it distasteful.

  She might have said more, but a young man approached them, his gaze on Emma with a lavish amount of appreciation, his mouth opened to speak before Lady Marston said sharply to him, “Off with you, Yeardley. You can make your exceptional presence known to Miss Ainsley when she is available. Presently, she is occupied.”

  Thus thwarted, and gape-jawed still, the man sent one last glance to Emma, who offered him a sympathetic smile, before he pivoted and skittered away.

  Lady Prudence said then to Lady Marston, “At some point, I should like to have discussion with you about—”

  Another man stepped within their small circle, bowing politely to the matron, ignoring the Hindrance, and smiling eagerly at Emma.

  “Hullo,” said Emma, when he seemed intent only on staring at her, and not actually presenting words.

  “God’s wounds, Rutherford, say something to Miss Ainsley, lest she think you a bigger idiot than this lousy first impression,” Lady Marston barked with no small amount of impatience.

  The man, with beautiful, large blue eyes, stuttered, “I—that is...how do you do?”

  Emma smiled at him and his face all but melted. “Very well, kind sir.”

  “He is the Marquess of Dorcester,” snapped Lady Prudence, “hence, my lord.”

  “I will be whatever the fair Miss Ainsley wishes me to be,” he said, having composed himself, and proving himself a fine gentleman for having staved off Emma’s blushing embarrassment that had accompanied her regretful gaffe. “First, I am hoping to be a partner this evening for a dance.” His eyes never left Emma’s.

  “Quite so,” Lady Marston said smoothly, “but return later, Rutherford, for that honor. Miss Ainsley has many introductions to make first.”

  Lord Rutherford bowed, his eyes only for Emma still, and backed away.

  “I won’t have a moment’s peace tonight, will I?” Asked Lady Marston, her smile indicating something akin to a motherly pride, even as it did not quite reach her eyes. All for show, Emma suspected.

  Lady Prudence was not to be deterred. “As I was saying, I would like—”

  Turning her wrinkled face to the Hindrance, Lady Marston lifted a hand from her cane and waved it dismissively. “It appears, my dear, that there will be no time this evening for any dialogue that is not directly related to the uproar caused by Miss Ainsley’s debut.” Even as she said this and noted the frown of disfavor upon Lady Prudence’s pinched face, two more men strode with purpose toward the trio.

  Lady Marston discouraged or outright denied any request for a dance with Emma in a similar, near discourteous fashion for the next half hour. Lady Marston did generously and favorably introduce her to ladies of consequence, having escaped the watchful eye and dour company of Lady Prudence. The ladies did not go out of their way to know or make conversation with Emma, but rather talked around and about her, as if she stood not so close to them. She smiled politely, the expression becoming rather stiff after some time, until she spied finally the arrival of the earl.

  “And here is Lindsey now,” said one of the women currently gossiping with Lady Marston. “I see the rumors have not misspoken. Like a bird of prey, the way his gaze found your Miss Ainsley with such fantastic haste.”

  Emma straightened and cast her eyes toward the door. Yes, there he was, in the company of two men, both of whom put forth a practiced posture of boredom, while the earl’s gaze was indeed fixed upon Emma, though she could ascribe no emotion to the slight frown that accompanied his regard. She gave him a smile, tinted with some exasperation and a dramatic rolling of her eye, to give her opinion of all the tedious chatter, tucked as she was in the bosom of Lady Marston and her cronies. She turned back to the women, but not before she caught sight of the barely discernable loosening of his frown. Just briefly, the dark eyes lightened, his lips twitched as if they might lift.

  Emma grinned at the ladies around her, while several brows were raised at her, though no questions attended these curious looks. Not too many seconds later, several sets of eyes widened and stared over Emma’s shoulder. A prickle of awareness, a warming tingl
e caressing her neck, told her the earl was moving her way. Squaring her shoulders, she rolled her lips inward, tamping down the smile that wanted to come.

  Emma did not turn, just stared ahead at Lady Walcott, an immense woman both in height and girth, whom she would forever recall as the Gray Lady, her gown, her complexion, her hair all a similar shade. The Gray Lady’s eyes moved swiftly under her lowered brows, back and forth from Emma to whom she assumed was the earl standing behind her now.

  “Lady Marston, Lady Walcott, Lady Chester.”

  The earl indeed. His voice warmed her as she was sure no other person’s ever would. Finally allowing the smile the come, she turned, finding him to be very close, that her hand brushed his while he held a fluted glass of some dark liquid.

  “Miss Ainsley,” he greeted, as if he had not tucked her into Lady Marston’s carriage just over an hour ago.

  “Lord Lindsey.” She detected a hint of a smile within his gaze, which struck her as unlikely, as if ever she’d read something hidden deep in his gaze, it was more often than not anger or one of a host of likewise dark emotions.

  Later, she would blame his decadent and good-natured gaze for putting her in the position of having to dance at this crush of a ball, in the arms of the man she was very afraid was stealing her heart, and without a hint of knowledge about the steps of any dance, least of all a waltz.

  As it was, he said simply, holding her gaze, “You will dance with me, Miss Ainsley.” Not an invitation, not with any hopeful expectancy, but delivered as a statement, as if only inevitable, which had Emma swallowing and nodding against the onslaught of so masterful and confident the persona of Zachary Benedict, Earl of Lindsey.

  And then her hand was in his and he turned her toward the dance floor, where only small colorful patches, hazy and lightened, remained of the pricey chalk painting.

  Walking away from the not-quite-pleasant matrons brought about a sense of calm that was immediately disrupted by her recollection that she still did not know how to dance. She brought this to the earl’s attention. “I hope you are not under the erroneous assumption, that between the time I stepped into your godmother’s carriage until this moment now, I had somehow managed to acquire any skill that might be useful upon the dance floor.”