by Liz Tyner
‘It is unlikely he will return so early should he be doing what he is doing where I predict he will be doing it.’
‘Make certain.’
Marcus touched the ashes, blackening his fingers as he brushed the darkness from his plate.
* * *
That night, Marcus sat on the sofa, arms crossed, waiting for Emilie. He would tell her, without taking care of his words, that she was courting disaster. Totally insensible. Lacking the least awareness of her reputation and a hoyden. A reckless woman with no concern for how her actions could affect others.
At one in the morning, he wished he’d not burned the paper so he could reassure himself of the assignation time. But some people were always late.
At two, he began pacing. He could hope the woman had come to her senses and that she hadn’t been attacked by a cutpurse out in the night. He wanted to send a carriage out.
That infernal woman. Lady Semple had not warned him how that spirit of joie de vivre could wear on the person watching it.
* * *
Marcus was still awake when Nathaniel returned early in the morning, complaining of the foolish errors of the staff that had got him lost and the carriage had been stuck and he could not understand how the carriage had got stuck in such a small puddle, and the men had refused—the staff had refused—to let him sully himself by helping get the carriage from the puddle or over the tiny rocks in front of it.
Nathaniel’s anger was in full swing. He wanted Robert sacked as there had been an unfortunate incident with a spot of manure on his boot and the man had acted as if he were treated abominably to lower himself to Nate’s footwear, as if Marcus’s boots had the only manure in the world worth scraping away.
Marcus half-listened and knew his valet most likely was being informed of the night’s events by the groom.
Nathaniel grumbled on, then muttered as he stalked away, still unaware of the true reason for the mishaps.
Robert entered the room. ‘The maid is cleaning your brother’s boot as he has not been able to afford a valet of quality as you have.’
Marcus reached up, touching the hair at his collar. ‘I need this trimmed,’ he said.
‘Whatever for? I have heard rumours of women running their fingers through your locks and telling you how it does not matter at all that you are in line to inherit a large estate and have a title as well—that they love you for the scoundrel you are. The jewels and riches you could provide for them are so incidental.’
‘They see beyond that. They also know that I have a valet and he livens up the household.’
Robert flicked his lashes. ‘It is my eyes. Women cannot resist such lovely blue eyes.’ He put a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. ‘Do not despair that you have not been graced so.’
‘I will have a haircut,’ he said. ‘I will put all this nonsense behind me.’
‘I’ll collect the water.’
Marcus walked to his dressing table and took off his waistcoat, cravat and shirt.
Robert returned. He took care of the clothing as Marcus sat.
Marcus’s jaw ached. It had been doing that entirely too much over the past twelve hours. He forced himself to unclench his teeth.
‘Not too much off,’ Marcus said, waving a hand towards his hair.
Robert groaned, flapping a towel, snapping it Marcus’s direction. ‘Get over her. She sent a post to your brother and she is not for you.’
‘I have never been attached to Miss Catesby. I have no need to get over her.’
‘Remember, she wrote your brother a letter.’ Robert put the towel over Marcus’s shoulders. ‘She has no designs on your virtue—only on the name Westbrook.’
‘But she didn’t show up.’
‘Not a good sign. She cannot plan a rendezvous properly.’
‘I can.’ Marcus’s jaw popped. ‘I can sign my brother’s name as well as my own. We will see what happens when Nathaniel requests Miss Catesby’s presence at Hatchards. In the bright of day. And you are not the person you profess to be if you cannot locate where she is staying and also a way to get this delivered discreetly to her this morning.’
Robert gave a slight shrug. ‘Of course.’
* * *
Marcus took pen to paper after the haircut.
He begged her apologies and sincerely hoped he had done nothing to offend her. He also mentioned that he had a very important question regarding a book of engravings he was hoping to purchase at Hatchards. He told her the hour he would be selecting it. Could she please, he begged, be of assistance?
He signed Nathaniel’s name with a flourish, then threw the pen across the room.
Chapter Seven
Emilie pulled another book into her hand, well aware that her mother refused to let her near any tome at Hatchards that had anything to do with the old masters, so she had concocted the idea of buying a novel as a present for her sisters.
Her mother gasped. Instantly, Emilie glimpsed Marcus entering the shop and searched behind him.
Marcus greeted Emilie’s mother.
‘What a shock seeing you here,’ her mother said, giving a narrow-browed glance at Emilie. ‘A total surprise to both of...us.’
‘Lord Grayson?’ Emilie asked, peering at the window. ‘Is your brother with you?’
He shook his head. ‘He was called away on urgent business today. A flower he wanted to pick or some such thing.’
‘Oh,’ she said, shrugging. ‘It is just as well.’
‘Miss Catesby.’ Marcus picked up the first book he saw, the fingers of his right hand running along the closed pages. ‘I’m searching for a volume for my dear brother. Might you help me choose one?’
Emilie demurred. ‘I must ask first to see if the task is acceptable with my mother.’
‘I will be right here, watching,’ her mother’s words rushed out. Then the older woman caught herself and held her head straight. Her words slowed. ‘Of course, you may consider all the volumes, as long as there are no improper engravings. I detest improper engravings.’
Marcus turned to Emilie, his view no longer in her mother’s line of vision.
Emilie touched gloved fingertips to her cheeks. ‘I could never do such a thing.’ With her mother present.
‘I am completely in agreement with your views on that, Miss Catesby.’ He spoke softly. She read his thoughts. They were in agreement.
‘Might we go and choose from the most wholesome selections, Miss Catesby?’ He pointed the book in his hand towards the art section.
‘Indeed,’ she said.
Unsurprisingly, her mother followed them, remaining within earshot behind Marcus.
Marcus put his choice on the shelf and selected another book, thumbed through it and put it back with the others, his arm moving closer to Emilie’s side. Then, his tongue pressing against his cheek, he viewed a third volume. ‘My brother would like this book.’
‘Perhaps you should purchase it for him.’
‘Perish the thought.’ He shoved the book back on to the shelf. ‘I assume he would like it because the engravings are large and the words are few.’
‘That is not a kind thing to say about your own brother.’
He remained close, their shoulders brushing. ‘Sometimes I don’t cherish him as much as others. Like last night.’
She immediately studied the book in front of her. ‘This has excellent reproductions.’
He glanced over her shoulder. ‘The words are too long for Nate.’
‘You are not being kind.’
‘I wasn’t kind to him last night. I sent him on an errand.’
She pulled another book from the shelf. ‘Why did you send him on an errand?’
‘It’s best to keep him busy. You never know what kind of trouble he might get into on his own.’ He scrutinised the cover of the one she held. ‘And he had such b
ad fortune. The carriage became stuck in the mud.’
She scrutinised him. ‘Truly stuck?’
‘Sadly, yes.’
‘You can’t blame yourself. After all, you couldn’t have known the vehicle would be mired. Particularly with not a lot of rain recently.’
‘I would never, in a million years, have guessed such a thing.’ He paused. ‘First time such a thing has happened in my lifetime with our carriage.’
‘Did you wait on him?’ she asked. ‘To arrive at your address?’
‘More or less. I waited. I was concerned. I mean, to be about on such a dark night. That did not make sense to me.’ He hefted a heavier tome close and flipped it to the middle pages. ‘What if he had been waylaid by a cutpurse, or a highwayman?’
‘I am touched that you are so concerned about your brother, but I am sure he can take care of himself.’
‘Miss Catesby, spare me. You never know what can happen on the dark streets at night.’ He snapped the book shut.
‘Perhaps he planned to take someone with him.’
‘I would certainly hope so.’
Her eyes widened. ‘That is mindful of you. And I forgive you for the unkind things you said about your brother’s preference for short words.’
‘Don’t forgive me. Please. No need. It’s true.’ Again, he tucked his tongue against his inner cheek for a half-second. ‘And, my poor, misguided, brother is also very forgetful.’
‘Well, he cannot help that.’
‘He could. In theory, he could remember the short words. Like I will. I do. I don’t. But I’m absolutely sure he will not.’ He turned from the books and directly towards her.
Her mother stared at Marcus’s back.
‘I had a lovely night,’ Emilie said. ‘I spent many hours with my mother and my aunt. We shared many stories.’ She squinted to see her mother beyond him. ‘Did we not, Mama?’
Her mother didn’t answer, just examined Emilie’s face.
Emilie turned straight into his gaze. She could see the faint hint of blue under his eyes, the dark lashes with a wisp of curl at the end, and the deep brown below them.
‘I’m glad you didn’t have to wait on an errant brother.’ His voice softened. ‘In fact, I cannot imagine you easily waiting on someone.’
Her mother humphed in accord.
Emilie swivelled to her. ‘It’s very true. And has been almost an abomination to my family. My lack of patience, for which I am very sorrowful.’ Then she turned to Marcus. ‘And for you to oversee a brother is very thoughtful. I’m sure he appreciates it.’
Marcus looked closely at her. ‘Nathaniel? My brother, Nathaniel? We love—another short word—each other devotedly and would fight anyone other than ourselves who dared to stab us in the back.’
She shrugged away the words.
Marcus considered the book in her hands. ‘You don’t seem particularly picky. Not picky at all.’
She examined the volume. ‘I’m very much so. Excessively so if you ask anyone who knows me. This is a good selection. Still, it will spend a lot of long periods on the shelf. Where I will place it when not in use.’
‘A purchase to last a lifetime, I would presume. Would it be one you would hold close to you for years upon years?’
‘Heavens, no. A few months would be the utmost of use I could get from it. Then I will put it away until I skim through it at intervals when needed.’ She turned a page. ‘My attention would probably be fleeting. That’s why it is so particularly good for me. It would improve my creations, not distract me from them.’
‘Pick a book, you two, and let us each be on our way,’ her mother grumbled.
‘I have chosen mine,’ Marcus said, raising his chin. He tapped the book he still held. ‘I have decided.’ His chin jutted out. ‘And I challenge you to pick the best and prove to yourself that your skill means more to you than a book does.’
‘The best?’ She waited, ignoring the sounds of the other patrons.
‘Yes. The best book for you. Why settle for anything else? Pick a story that you can read tonight.’
‘Tonight? You suggest I should read tonight?’
‘Well, you didn’t read much last night.’
‘No. I didn’t.’
‘If you had planned to read last night, then you should plan the same again tonight. In the same place, at the same time.’
Her mother marched around Marcus and seized the tome in Emilie’s hands.
‘Lord Grayson,’ Lady Catesby said, and tapped the book against her palm. ‘My daughter will be with me and her aunt tonight until they creep away to pretend to read, then I’m sure they’ll talk ad infinitum about shades of sunsets and Emilie will arise in the morning with a smudge of colour on her cheek that she received from reading.’
Marcus stared at Emilie and it was as if he could see beyond her into the indecision and the woman and into the little girl she’d once been and all the moments in between, except he could see no moments that she spent with the paints.
He could see the woman she could become. The true masterpiece. The princess he would have given a kiss to freely if he had but known the possibilities of them.
The hiss of her mother shoving the book on to the shelf broke their gaze.
‘We are leaving now and we are leaving London tomorrow, Lord Grayson, so we must bid you farewell. Really, farewell.’ Lady Catesby’s shoulders rose and she scowled at both of them.
‘Miss Catesby, this is your last chance,’ Marcus said, lifting the volume in his hand.
Her mother angled her chin at Marcus. ‘I am sure there will be many, many good books in the world for my Emilie Marie. Books that she might read in the light of day. With a chaperon present.’ She grabbed Emilie by the arm and rushed her out of the shop.
Chapter Eight
Marcus felt like a virgin. One to be used for sacrificial purposes. But he could still cancel their plans. And likely Emilie would not show up, or likely she would. Either way, he lost the gamble.
He sighed. That was not the way to wager with a future. You should never stack the cards so that it would be impossible to win.
Lady Semple had agreed to hold her card game at his residence and he could send Emilie packing and tell Lady Semple not to proceed as directed.
The women were happily making wagers in the main sitting room on the floor above and he’d noticed a heightened sense of laughter in the room. The women likely didn’t have faith in Lady Semple’s excuse of rotting carcases of volumes of rats killed by arsenic and trapped in the walls of her house, particularly as they had been meeting there for years and he doubted they’d seen as much as a paw print.
Normally, such a change in plans would not have led them to Marcus’s bachelor dwelling. And when they arrived, as Marcus had requested, the ladies had fluttered like flies detecting a stench, to Nathaniel, which had removed him quickly.
Now the clock ticked and Marcus waited.
But he couldn’t postpone Emilie’s visit. He could not stop himself.
Robert leaned on the billiards table, ankles crossed, and stared at him. ‘I will be at the door to answer it for you, even if I cast up my accounts along the way and fall to the rug pained beyond belief, and have to claw myself forward, fingertips bloodied from the efforts. I will do as you ask.’
‘Go now. Before I help you obtain those bloodied fingertips. Take Miss Catesby’s bonnet when she arrives and her cloak, but don’t put them away as she may change her mind and leave. And if she does not leave, ask the ladies upstairs if they might have heard an intruder. Lady Semple will take over.’
‘I feel ill.’ Robert lightly fisted his hand to inspect his nails.
‘And if Miss Catesby leaves, you are to see her quietly and safely to her address, and perhaps warn her about the debauchery of the males in this household and every other male’s residence in L
ondon.’
‘I would die of old age before I finished that conversation,’ Robert grumbled, departing.
In the dim light, Marcus turned away from the door and lowered his shoulders, hands on the billiards table.
Minutes crawled by, much like they had the night before.
A creak alerted him that he wasn’t alone and a soft whisper caused him to spin in her direction.
‘Marcus?’ The delicate tone of her word unfurled desire deep within him.
The valet showed Emilie in and then he retreated, leaving them alone.
‘The light is dim in here. Do you have a brighter lamp—or several?’ she asked.
‘What were you planning last night, Emilie?’
‘I surmised that if I and Mr Westbrook were to be caught in an embrace, and if the entire staff were awoken, and you were told, the event would be spread throughout London. The word would then get about to your father and that could lead to a marriage. You know. Compromise him.’
‘Before he spoke the vows, he would have forgotten them. He likely wouldn’t have agreed anyway.’
‘I realised that. I also debated whether being ruined would be beneficial to me. But I could not do it.’
‘What about...a proposal from someone you’ve bewitched so that your non-existent flaws appear invisible?’
‘I have no time or patience to find that man, nor your confidence it would work easily. I must get my paints back. My mother has taken them and refuses to release them to me.’
‘Rather drastic of her.’
‘Yes.’ She turned, her focus past Marcus’s shoulder. ‘I do have a reputation to protect,’ she said. ‘Of a hoyden. Of a rebellious painter. Of a spinster. I yearn to make my mark on the world. And having a man forced to marry me would certainly embellish the reputation.’
