by Mary Brendan
Emma swerved away as the sour smell of his person infiltrated her nostrils. Joshua Gresham and Lance Harley had both brought the whiff of licentious living inside the house. But her rescuer hadn’t turned her stomach. A hint of sandalwood soap had emanated from Mr Harley as well as the night-time aromas gathered from hours of revelry.
‘I would remind you that you had your answer many months ago. I have nothing else to say about it, sir.’ Emma was relieved that she’d managed to sound polite when what she really wanted to do was curse him as a devil.
He returned to pose against the mantel and a set of stubby fingers commenced drumming out a tattoo on the oak shelf. ‘You are intending to hold fast to that decision, are you, and put your father in jeopardy in his twilight years?’
‘I would also remind you that I have asked you before not to blackmail me.’ Outwardly, Emma retained her icy aplomb. Inside, she was anything but calm. Joshua’s detested proposition had been issued after it became apparent that her father would struggle to repay him his money. Her tormentor had been biding his time, believing eventually his threats of retribution would make her submit. She could tell he was done with waiting. His eyes were on her bosom and his tongue was slithering about his lips like an excited worm.
‘I have it within my power to finish the Waverleys once and for all,’ he growled. ‘Don’t think me bluffing!’ He strode up to her so fast that Emma put a chair between them, fearing he might here and now attempt to assault her as he had before. But on that occasion she hadn’t been in her own home!
When the knock came at the door, Emma managed to keep her gasp of relief barely audible. Her friend had fortuitously turned up early.
‘I told you I was expecting company. I must insist you leave as I am going out shopping.’ Emma hurried into the hallway, and when Mrs O’Reilly, who was a little hard of hearing, didn’t immediately appear to answer the knock she did so herself, impatient to let Dawn in and vile Mr Gresham out.
‘My apologies for turning up unannounced...’
Emma’s lips parted in astonishment. Quickly, she pressed them together and closed the door. A heart-stopping second later she realised she had not only been unbelievably bad mannered, but most unwise. She jerked open the door. He was still there as though he’d expected her to reconsider once her reflex to put a barricade between them had been overtaken by common sense.
‘May I come in?’ the Earl of Houndsmere asked with barely a hint of amusement lurking in his voice.
‘Yes... I’m sorry, sir... I... I...’ There wasn’t a plausible reason for her rudeness that she could quickly think of so deemed it best to stay quiet rather than stutter nonsense like a fool.
He seemed to understand in any case, judging from his half-smile. Having the door shut in his face didn’t appear to have bothered him.
But Emma was bothered; instead of being annoyed that he’d returned when she’d told him not to, a sweet, joyous feeling was unfurling within. She banished it. Explained it away. It was simply that of the two men presently bedevilling her peace of mind, Mr Harley was easily the nicer to deal with.
Or he had been so far.
She knew nothing about him and he could yet turn out to be an equal threat to her family. She’d not forgotten mentioning her brother to him. That foolish slip was again pricking at her conscience, but she gave thanks for the fact that at least Joshua couldn’t molest her in another man’s company.
‘So this is your companion, is it?’ Unbeknown to her, Gresham had come out of the parlour. A moment later he got a proper look at the gentleman and his disbelief caused him to gawp for some silent seconds. ‘Houndsmere?’ he eventually burst out in a tone that mingled awe and disbelief.
Joshua Gresham was on the fringe of society, not the exalted inner circle this fellow occupied. Nevertheless he knew him by sight, as most people did who coveted being permitted entry into his glamorous world. ‘I’m surprised to see you here, my lord.’ He executed a stiff bow.
‘I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I can’t remember your name,’ Lance returned, looking at the florid-faced fellow and then at Emma.
Her tawny eyes had widened on him in surprise before narrowing in suspicion. So he’d concealed his true identity. She couldn’t be sure who her Good Samaritan really was.
‘Joshua Gresham, at your service, my lord.’ The introduction was barked out and he jerked another bow, smarting at the inference he was beneath the Earl’s notice.
‘And your business here, Gresham?’
‘Mr Gresham has come to see my father,’ Emma interjected quickly when it seemed that Joshua might explode in indignation at being cross-examined. ‘Now he knows Mr Waverley is not at home, he is about to leave. I believe you are here for the same reason, so will bid you good day also, sir,’ Emma said.
Lance didn’t look at her or acknowledge his dismissal in any way. He merely opened the door and pushed it wide with a finger flick so that the other man could pass on to the step.
Joshua snapped a curt nod from one to the other of them, then strode from the house.
Emma had believed she’d contained her relief in seeing the back of him, but she must have been mistaken.
‘Has he been troubling you?’ Lance asked.
Emma’s wary gaze darted to him, then lingered. It was hard to believe that this startlingly handsome and elegantly attired gentleman was the rumpled rogue who had driven her home in the early hours of the morning at breakneck speed. But indeed it was he. His long chestnut hair was no longer tousled, but neatly styled. The hard blue eyes and cruel mouth were complemented by a clean-shaven jaw and a fresh set of expensive clothes.
She parried his question with one of her own. ‘Shall I tell my father you called, sir?’ Her heart felt as though it were beating furiously enough to burst through her bodice as she moved to the exit. She waited, as she had earlier that day, to see him out of the house. This time he was not so easily despatched.
Lance moved her aside, then shut the door and leaned back against the timber panels. ‘There’s no need to mention my visit if you don’t want to.’
‘I will not, then, as I’m not actually sure who you are,’ she said acidly.
That prompted another smile from him, but he didn’t rectify matters. ‘I’m here to see you, Miss Waverley, as I think you already know. You look well... That reassures me that you suffered no lasting damage after your ordeal last night.’
That took the wind out of her sails. Had he really come simply to check on her welfare? ‘I am very well, thank you, sir,’ she said carefully.
‘Good...’ Under the guise of his concern he took the opportunity to study her from top to toe. She was small and slender yet curvaceous enough to make his hands itch to run from her tiny waist over the swell of her hips. Her heart-shaped face was slowly gathering colour along its sharp cheekbones as she became aware of his scrutiny. Her chin was tilted, her soft pink lips pressed together. She might look fragile as a china doll, yet there was a spark in her feline eyes and steel in her tone when she spoke.
‘You know my name, and you are in my house. I think it only fair you properly introduce yourself, sir.’ She walked away a few steps to break their entangled gazes. Her hand was raised to rub the place where his hold had scorched her forearm. She abruptly placed those fingers back at her side. She wasn’t going to let him fluster her by look or touch.
‘My name is Lance Harley, though some people just call me Houndsmere.’
‘Or they call you my lord.’ She swung about to face him, delicate eyebrows arched enquiringly.
‘I’m an earl so I can claim the privilege if I wish. I don’t expect you to use my title, Miss Waverley.’
‘Thank you,’ Emma said with muted sarcasm. ‘I shall not then. Now formalities are over with I will let my father know you called. I’m sorry, but you have to go, sir, as I am expecting my friend soon.’
/> ‘I won’t take up too much of your time. I also have an appointment to keep. Is Joshua Gresham related to Simon Gresham?’
Again, their eyes clashed in the dim hallway and Emma moistened her lips with a slip of her tongue. He wasn’t one for beating about the bush, then. ‘Yes...they were brothers,’ she said and tilted her chin. ‘Have you been checking up on me?’
‘Yes...’
‘Why?’
‘I’m curious about you.’
‘Why?’ Emma demanded with more feeling. She was alarmed as well as baffled by his persistence. Peers of the realm didn’t bother themselves with spinsters sullied by scandal. She’d noticed Joshua Gresham’s deference to Houndsmere. The moment he’d understood that the Earl expected him to go, he’d complied with that unspoken command. But both men were privy to shameful secrets about her behaviour. And aristocrat or no, Lance Harley might not be above using what he knew against her in the same way as Simon’s brother intended to do. Perhaps in that they were equally base.
‘What did Gresham want?’
‘I think that is none of your business, sir,’ Emma spluttered.
‘I could ask him. I’d sooner you told me.’ He paced away from her and every slow measured step echoed on the hallway flags like a drumbeat.
‘I’ve no intention of satisfying your inquisitiveness, sir,’ she said stiltedly.
‘That’s a pity...my need for an answer is in no way altered by your refusal to do so.’
Emma made a small exasperated noise. How dare he treat her like this! A stranger she’d known not yet one full day! The arrogance of the man!
But Joshua might tell him all he wanted to know and disparage her in the doing of it. He would brag about his intentions towards her, especially to a superior who’d seemed to strike admiration into him.
Gentlemen who were married still kept mistresses. Simon had told her that when the whole sordid story of his duplicity had come out and he’d tried to justify what he’d done. He would have gone through a sham marriage for her sake, he’d said, as though that were enough to appease her outrage at his appalling betrayal. Joshua had proposed to her after Simon died, saying his conscience wouldn’t allow him to see her spurned and ruined. She had turned him down immediately and made it clear she would never again want to hear him martyr himself by repeating his offer. And he hadn’t. He’d married Simon’s widow and some years later had offered Emma a position as his doxy. Joshua had since proved many times that his claims to want to help the Waverleys were spurious. She understood now that he had always desired her, even when Simon had been alive, and her continual rejection had made him bitter and vengeful.
The silence in the hallway throbbed with tension. Slowly, Emma came to the conclusion that my lord was expecting her obedience as well as Joshua’s. Well, loathsome Mr Gresham might have bowed and scraped to Houndsmere, as he’d called him, but she’d never do the same.
She jerked open the door and said stiffly, ‘If you wish to speak to Mr Gresham that is your own affair, sir.’
‘Are you his affair?’
‘He would like to make me so,’ she hissed and banged shut the door in a temper. Why had she given in and let him goad her into telling him that? She tilted back her head, exasperated with herself.
Lance felt his hands balling at his sides. So he’d been right in thinking that Gresham had been here with lechery on his mind. He’d seen the possessive way the fellow had looked at her. ‘I could quite easily make him leave you alone. He would never come here again if I told him not to.’
‘No!’ Emma swiftly approached him. ‘You must never do that.’ In her agitation she had come too close and her hand had raised as though to shake an immaculately sleeved arm in emphasis.
‘Why not?’
She gestured hopelessness, but avoided the two blue eyes that were boring into her. She could properly see the damage to his jaw now that it was no longer covered in stubble. A wound he’d got protecting her. She realised they ought to go somewhere more private to finish this conversation. She trusted Mrs O’Reilly not to gossip, but even so discretion was called for and he’d not leave until he had an answer of some sort. She gestured at the parlour, then rapidly entered the room confident he’d follow without waiting for more of an invitation.
He closed the door, stationing himself against it with his hands plunged into his pockets. He watched her as she paced back and forth across the rug, her countenance bearing an expression of fierce concentration. He imagined she was trying to decide whether to dissemble or blurt out the truth.
‘My father owes lots of people money,’ Emma informed him very quietly. She’d concluded that she was divulging nothing that couldn’t easily be found out from any fellow at any gentlemen’s club. ‘Papa’s main creditor is Mr Gresham. If you meddle, he will call in the debt from spite and take this house. He has the deeds as security and has threatened to make us homeless, and he will.’ She lifted proud amber eyes to clash on his steady blue stare. ‘Now are you satisfied? I have admitted we are beggarly, but you already knew that, didn’t you? You just wanted to hear me say as much.’ She walked closer to him, gazed at him accusingly. ‘What I can’t understand is why an earl would bother with any of it. Unless of course you and Mr Gresham are of a kind and both see an opportunity to be had in being privy to my misdemeanours.’ She detected a slight reaction to her accusation; an increased slant to his mouth and a spark of something far back in his eyes. Perhaps he deemed risible her hint that he found her desirable.
‘Every person with a memory long enough is privy to your misdemeanours, my dear.’ She’d touched a raw nerve with that accusation. He wasn’t sure himself how pure were his motives.
‘They might think they know it all,’ she said bitterly. It was an unguarded comment that she immediately regretted and tried to cover up. ‘Nobody other than you and my kin know what happened last night. I would be obliged to have your word that you will not speak of it.’
‘Your kin?’
‘My father,’ she murmured, inwardly wincing at yet another slip.
‘Why are you pretending I don’t know that your brother is alive and that you visited him? What does Gresham know that gives him a hold over you? Has he found out your brother didn’t perish in France?’
She turned from him, biting her lip in frustration. Lance Harley might have saved her life last night, but he was now proving to be a devilish danger.
‘I take it this mess springs from your brother defending your honour years ago. Is he feeling worried enough about developments with Gresham to risk breaking cover to protect you?’
‘The mess was my doing and I can look after myself.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Before she could answer he demanded, ‘Did you know that Simon Gresham was married when you eloped with him?’
‘Of course not!’ Emma sounded outraged.
‘I doubt your brother meant to kill him, just teach him a lesson. I expect his heroics have stranded him in no man’s land. And that’s a bad place to be.’
‘I’m afraid, sir, I don’t know what you mean...’ She tried to escape, but he again closed five hard fingers about her forearm, keeping her still.
‘I think you do. You know your brother is lying low, alive to his family but dead to others...especially Joshua Gresham and his vengeance, I imagine. You sought your brother to ask for his protection again. But if he’s supposed to be buried in France, how can he intervene on your behalf, Miss Waverley?’
‘Well, you’re wrong there!’ Emma sounded triumphant. ‘I did not ask him to help me!’ She swung her face up to his so violently that loose tendrils of ebony hair swung to cling to her flushed cheeks. This time she swallowed what was on the tip of her tongue. Blurting out that the boot was on the other foot would be foolish in the extreme.
‘What made you risk everything to meet your brother last night?’ His eyes dropped to h
er soft lips as she licked moisture to them.
‘I have no more to say on the matter. We are barely acquainted and I find your interference in our private business vulgar and most unwelcome.’ Boldly, she locked her gaze with his.
‘You’re in trouble, my dear, and could do with making friends, not enemies. I imagine your father will see the sense in that even if you do not.’
He was right about that! Once Bernard Waverley knew his daughter’s saviour was a powerful man he’d jump at the chance of furthering their acquaintance. Her father was quite shameless in his constant quest to borrow funds from people. Even before the scandal sent them to rock bottom, he would invest in high-risk schemes, then seem bewildered when his expectations of becoming rich floundered. It wasn’t surprising that his son had followed in his footsteps and rarely had two ha’pennies to rub together. But her father had always had good intentions, chasing a dream of financial security and demolishing what little they had along the way. Robin had squandered all his money through his addiction to the high life.
But she was right, too...about something else. Lance Harley hadn’t just returned to be inquisitive. He desired her; she’d seen the heat in his eyes, felt the fingers on her skin soften into a caress. She jerked her arm from his clutch. He’d be her friend, would he? At a price...
‘If you feel incapable of telling me the truth, Miss Waverley,’ he said, strolling away from her, ‘I’ll not waste any more of my time or yours.’
Before he could open the door she felt compelled to have the last word. Why should he demand her trust? He might be high-born, but high principles didn’t automatically follow. If only half of the tales that had reached her ears about the aristocracy were true, alley cats had better morals.
‘I have told you the truth, sir. I am expecting my friend Dawn Sanders very shortly. So I’ll bid you good day.’
He gave an ironic bow. ‘Tell your father I called to see him and will return another time.’
‘Why?’ she gestured in exasperation. ‘Why come back? What do you want with my father?’ She marched towards him. ‘Are you going to tell him about Joshua Gresham’s interest in me and cause him yet more worry and heartache?’