by Mary Brendan
The East End of London was home to commerce of every description. Bawdy houses and gambling hells rubbed shoulders with office buildings bearing brass nameplates of the educated fellows trading from within. After dark, gentlemen sought diversion in the neighbourhood. He was one of them, although he housed his mistress in a superior street to that in which he’d spotted her. It wouldn’t be the first time that a genteel woman, fallen on hard times, used whatever assets she possessed to stay afloat. And without a doubt Emma Waverley had something worth selling. For all his outrage, it was possible her father was aware of what she got up to, because he had survived bankruptcy courtesy of it.
Emma was aware of the subtle change in him. She’d encountered that shrewdness before in the faces of gentlemen ruminating on her unenviable situation of shabby gentility and fast-approaching old maidhood.
‘I see no reason to detain you further, sir,’ she said crisply. ‘My sincere thanks for your assistance, but it is still uncommonly early and my father should get back to his bed.’
He was being dismissed and that made the Earl of Houndsmere’s smile deepen. Only his mother and sister had ever sent him away when he upset them.
He picked up the pistol from the table. ‘If you intend to threaten somebody again with an unloaded gun, avoid pointing it into the light. A military man will know you’re bluffing.’ He returned the weapon to its owner.
Mr Waverley’s cheeks became puce. He wasn’t used to being corrected in his own home, in front of his child. He turned to her. ‘You have some explaining to do, miss, and I would hear it directly.’ He stomped to the door, gun in hand. ‘If what you’ve said is true, you do owe him a debt of gratitude.’ He jabbed the gun in emphasis. ‘I see no reason to stand on ceremony now you have already been private with him. Oh, see the fellow out, then I will expect you in my study.’ The door was banged shut.
Emma was aware that it wasn’t only her father who wanted to know what she’d been up to. For all his air of ennui Mr Harley was also curious about her risking her life and reputation in a slum in the early hours of the morning. She did owe him more than her thanks and her apology. But that was all he would get. She couldn’t tell the whole truth to anybody she didn’t trust. And she didn’t trust anybody other than her father with this news. He would be shocked to the core when she told him why she had gone to a squalid lodging house at dead of night.
‘I believe you will do me the courtesy of keeping this episode to yourself, sir.’ Her edict emerged rather more forcefully than she’d intended.
A dangerous spark lit his night-blue eyes. She imagined nobody told him what to do. Worryingly, he looked as though he’d shaken off his weariness and was paying great attention.
‘And I believe you will do me the courtesy of telling me why I should,’ came his drawled response.
She swung to face him. ‘Common decency springs to mind, Mr Harley.’
‘Common decency appeared to be sadly lacking in your behaviour earlier, Miss Waverley. What were you doing in that dive?’
‘I might ask you the same thing,’ she shot back. ‘I’m sorry...that was very impertinent. It’s none of my concern why you were in a neighbourhood populated by low life.’
His mouth twitched at that backhander. ‘I wasn’t in that neighbourhood. I happened to pass close by when I heard you scream and drove into it. Do you go there regularly?’
She sent him a fiery-eyed look. If he believed her to be a harlot who’d got out of her depth, then let him say as much.
‘Are you going to answer me?’
‘I’ll tell you this, sir, and no more. I was not in the neighbourhood on business, but to meet somebody.’
‘I believe it amounts to the same thing, my dear.’
‘A relative,’ she snapped, hating him for his lazy sarcasm.
‘Distasteful...but not unheard of, so I understand,’ he returned in the same mordant tone.
‘My brother,’ she burst out. Horrified at what she’d divulged, she pivoted away from him, blood draining from her cheeks. She had allowed him to goad her and fallen into his trap.
‘Your brother?’ he repeated after a brief silence.
She said nothing and inspected the dust on the tabletop with her fingertips while her mind whirred and she tried to think of a way to distract him until she could show him out, hopefully to then forget all about what she’d just let slip.
‘I won’t pretend complete ignorance of your family’s misfortune, Miss Waverley. Surely your brother is dead and has been for quite a time.’ His voice sounded clipped, unemotional. He’d just recalled more of the family’s misfortune when she’d mentioned her brother. Waverley Junior had duelled over a woman, then fled abroad after killing his adversary. It was the sort of misfortune that would have drawn sympathy from peers who accepted that there but for the grace of God went they. Lance had himself participated in more than half a dozen such dawn meetings; thankfully, none had ended in a fatality.
‘I never discuss our family’s private affairs, Mr Harley. I’m sure you understand. Thank you for all the assistance you gave to me, but I must insist you leave. My father is waiting for me.’
‘I wouldn’t want to outstay my welcome,’ he said drily. ‘May I call another time to speak to you?’ He came closer as though to prompt her agreement.
‘Why?’ Emma’s gaze raked his face and she instinctively took a pace backwards. She wasn’t happy to continue this conversation now or in the future. ‘I’m sorry if I sound ungrateful, but I see no reason for us to renew our acquaintance.’
She had eyes in her head and could tell that they were poles apart. He had plenty of money, whereas her father had none. And Mr Harley would know that, simply from having entered a house that was in a state of disrepair. She’d never before felt ashamed of the faded wallpaper and threadbare armchairs, but now she did. Even without those clues he had made it plain he remembered the scandal that had decimated their family. Emma and her father had remained in their home courtesy of others’ financial support. Those people had dwindled and now only one remained. The very one that Emma had hoped would be first to abandon them. She knew that if she continued to refuse Joshua Gresham’s terms, they would have no option but to pack up and leave this house.
The Earl propped a hand on the mantelshelf, a polished top boot on the battered fender. Emma found her eyes drawn to his crusted knuckles. He had been injured on her behalf. Now that she was closer to him she could glimpse the graze on his unshaven jaw, too, slivers of raw flesh beneath dense stubble. He seemed unaffected by the wounds got from defending her. Perhaps he was used to participating in brawls in seedy parts of London in the early hours. As she slipped another glance up at his concave cheek and thin, almost cruel, lips, she could believe that to be true. And now they were again just inches apart, with no breeze between them, she could sense the warmth of his body and the scent of dissolute living. It reminded her of her twin brother: a sweet reek of alcohol, overlaid with tobacco smoke and a woman’s perfume. Robin had been drinking whisky when she’d been with him about an hour ago, yet he hadn’t held so strong a whiff of liquor. She hadn’t asked her brother why he smelled of violets. She knew. Robin had been keeping company with the petticoat set from his late teens. He had been a reprobate the whole of his adult life, but she sensed this man’s habits could be worse than her twin’s. She blushed and stepped away as he turned his head and caught her studying him.
He smiled. ‘Do I disturb you, Miss Waverley?’
‘Not at all,’ she retorted, although her colour had heightened.
‘You disturb me.’
‘What?’ Emma said under her breath.
‘I want to know why you were out risking all manner of peril when, as your father rightly said, you should have been in bed.’
Emma felt a sting of heat in her cheeks. His eyes had taken on a rather sultry gleam when he’d said that.
&nb
sp; ‘I have not quizzed you over your nocturnal habits, sir; please accord me a similar courtesy.’
He smiled. ‘Well, let me volunteer some information, then, in the hope you’ll do likewise. I was visiting a friend.’
‘As was I.’ She boldly met the dare in his vivid eyes.
‘His name?’
‘Is none of your concern. Her name?’ Emma challenged, wondering why when she was tired, emotional and way out of her depth, she was engaging in this game with him. She’d wanted this stranger gone just moments ago, and now...he didn’t seem a stranger.
‘I forget...’ he said and smiled because it was almost the truth. The only woman on his mind now was the one he was with. Miss Emma Waverley had captured his attention and sobered him up faster than a dousing with a bucket of water.
Emma had guessed he’d been with a lady friend so wasn’t sure why hearing his half-admission niggled at her. She heard her father’s study door slam shut and it brought her to her senses. The last thing she wanted was her papa returning here to drag her away for a scolding. Briskly, she stationed herself by the parlour door as though in readiness to close it after him. ‘You brought me home safely and I’m grateful. But now I must say good day to you, sir.’
He pushed himself off the oak mantel and gave her a sardonic bow before strolling into the hall. She heard him shut the street door quietly and stood with her heart racing beneath her bodice, unsure why she was regretful rather than relieved to see him go. She darted to the window and from behind the curtain watched him flick the reins over the fine-looking chestnut horse that had patiently awaited his master’s return. He seemed the sort of man to have obedience, even from his animals.
She craned her neck until she lost sight of the phaeton, then lowered her countenance into her open palms. At that moment she hated her twin brother for entangling her in his woes. But as he was wont to remind her, the problems he had were of her causing and she owed him all the help she could give.
Turning from the window, she sighed. She had an awful task ahead of her in breaking the news to her father that the son he adored and believed had perished was actually alive and living in a hovel. But the most wounding thing for Emma was in knowing that she must take the greatest share of the blame for the mess her family was in. She had hugged Robin before they parted at the top of the rickety stairway of his lodging house. On reaching the hallway she had turned back to give a final wave, but he had already disappeared inside his room. She had felt guilty leaving him in a vile place that possessed nothing in the way of comfort and stank of mould and boiled cabbage. Blinded by tears, she’d emerged into the street without her wits about her. She’d taken a wrong turn and brought herself into the territory of the two robbers. Now she must pray that this new calamity was contained and quickly dealt with and that no gossip arose from what had just happened. But one thing was certain: there were more, difficult times ahead for the Waverleys.
Chapter Two
‘Are you quite sure it is him, Emma?’
At first, Mr Waverley had gawped at his daughter as though she were talking in double Dutch. At the second attempt, he’d managed to garble out a pertinent question.
‘Yes, Papa. It is Robin.’ Emma wasn’t surprised by her father’s stunned reaction to the news that his son and heir wasn’t buried in France in a pauper’s grave after all. The same son who had recklessly caused a disaster so great that his father had bankrupted himself trying to extricate the boy from it would be welcomed back as a prince, not a pariah. Emma couldn’t help but feel a prickle of unease as she saw the burgeoning joy lifting her father’s features.
Her hedonist of a twin brother was back, expecting assistance from them, and their father would do his utmost to give it, whatever the cost to himself and his other child.
Her thoughts returned to the man she’d ejected from the parlour under an hour ago. If only she could remove him from her head as easily and fully concentrate on this family crisis. But the memory of a pair of startlingly blue eyes and long-fingered hands torn about the knuckles constantly interfered with her attempt to investigate how Robin’s return would affect them. If it were to come to light he was again on English soil, he would be arrested and the scandal would have new life breathed into it. A trial...a prison sentence...a death sentence...all were possibilities facing her brother. And much as Robin had infuriated her at times with his behaviour she’d always loved her twin dearly.
‘Oh, you are a good girl to bring me such wonderful tidings.’ Her father slumped down into the seat behind his desk, overcome. At the first mention of his son’s name he had forgotten about punishing his daughter and had listened intently to what she had to say. ‘How does he seem? Is he still the handsome boy I remember?’ Tears began trickling on to his freckled cheeks. ‘He is well? Tell me he is well with no ill effects.’ Bernard lifted his swimming eyes to his daughter’s pale, heart-shaped countenance.
‘He seems healthy, Papa. Perhaps a little thin.’
‘What did he say of me?’ Having recovered some composure, Mr Waverley eased himself up from behind his desk, keen to learn more. ‘He must come here after dark and we shall make plans to put things right so he can come home for good. He must be so eager to see his old papa.’
‘Of course he would like to see you,’ Emma fibbed when her father looked impatient for her reassurance. But she couldn’t tell the truth and break his heart.
Her brother had forbidden her to speak about their clandestine meetings to anybody, even their father. But her run-in with the footpads had changed all that. Had she managed to return home undetected, slipping in through the side door in the same way as she had left the house, then she might have been able to carry on the subterfuge a little longer. But her father’s bedroom faced the street and he was a light sleeper. He’d heard a vehicle draw up outside and had come down to investigate. Wraith-like in his nightshirt, he’d appeared on the step as she was being helped down. Quite understandably, he had been outraged to witness such a scene.
With hindsight, Emma wished she’d sensibly told her escort to stop at the corner. But from the start of their journey, when Mr Harley had lifted her as though she were feather-light and plonked her on the seat, she’d had difficulty thinking straight. He’d driven through the quiet streets like a daredevil. She had been dazed from the shock of being attacked, the journey passing in a breathless whirl. It had taken all her effort to stay upright as the vehicle careered around corners with her clinging to her hat with one hand and the upholstery with the other. She’d imagined he’d wanted to be rid of her with all due haste so he could then get about his own business.
Her father had a beatific smile on his face as he gazed into space. Then his frown took over. Emma guessed he was mulling over how to clear Robin’s name. But her poor papa was deluding himself that his prodigal son could re-enter society. A fugitive from justice would struggle to pick up the life he’d had. Neither did Robin seem to want to. All he required from his family was as much unconditional help as he could wheedle.
She had been on her way to the library a few days ago when her twin had sidled up to her, almost giving her a heart attack when she’d identified his features beneath the hat brim he’d pulled low. Taking her elbow, he had steered her towards a piece of heathland dotted with trees where once, as children, they’d spent happy hours playing. But there had been no laughter in this reunion. There had been so much she had wanted to know: how had he got back into the country? Where was he living? How was he supporting himself? But Robin had been more concerned with asking favours. He needed some money and his clothes and his books, and if they were still in his old room would she please sneak them to him under cover of darkness? Indeed, they were still in the house. Her father would never disturb any of Robin’s things and his bedchamber had been kept as a shrine.
Before they’d parted, Robin had briefly told her he wished to finish his law studies and get employment. He was
already using a false name and, although he’d been reluctant to disclose it to her, she had insisted on knowing it. Charlie Perkins was not a very camouflaging alias. Her father would immediately recognise it as Perkins had been his wife’s maiden name and Charles had been her father. But for all Robin’s talk of having missed his family, he’d made it clear he didn’t want any interference from the people he’d left behind. Now he was Charlie, he’d said, and they must help him set up afresh.
Emma glanced at her father, smiling happily to himself as he anticipated a wonderful reunion. She should tell him that Robin was determined on having a new life, not his old one back. But she couldn’t. It would only make him the more determined to go and find his son. Emma guessed her twin was cohabiting with a woman because she’d spied stockings hanging over a chair in a bedroom. But Robin wouldn’t answer questions and had slammed shut the adjoining door, cutting off Emma’s view of the clothing.
‘I’m tired and want to retire now, Papa.’ Emma knew it would be wise to remove herself from her father’s presence before he found more awkward questions to ask.
‘Yes, off you go, my dear, and rest for a few hours.’ Mr Waverley shushed her away. ‘I think I shall see about some breakfast, though I’m so excited I doubt I shall eat a morsel.’ He sat down and drew forward pen and paper. ‘I will make some notes of strategies to help our dear boy. First, a good lawyer will be needed. A top man, not a cheap charlatan.’
Emma closed the study door and set off along the hall with a lingering sigh. Top lawyers demanded top fees and the only way her father would lay his hands on more funds was to go back to the usurers to borrow them. Yet already they were being dunned. Just last week her father had let two burly men into the house to take some furniture to keep a creditor at bay. He owed Joshua Gresham the most. But that lecher wouldn’t be fobbed off with sticks of furniture. He wanted something else in settlement.