by Mary Brendan
Emma plunged her mouth up desperately, seeking his to demand he kiss her back. The slide of his hands on her feverish skin had kept at bay the memory of her family’s problems. He’d been right to tell her they should concentrate on themselves; when webbed in sensuality like this it was hard to remember she had a twin brother at all. Shyly, she strove to entice him with little kisses until she sensed his lips form a smile against hers.
‘Are you trying to seduce me, Miss Waverley?’
His teasing was tender, but nevertheless chagrin cluttered Emma’s throat. ‘If I am, it seems I am unsuccessful,’ she uttered in a suffocated voice.
‘If only that were true,’ he murmured in a velvety growl. He was tempted to kiss her again to reassure her, but knew that if he did all his honourable intentions were doomed. Five fingers threaded through tresses that looked like sable and felt like silk skeins. ‘Damn our families for miring us in this.’
A faint hope that had valiantly flickered in Emma’s breast that they might find peace together extinguished as she listened to his gruff regrets. He wished he’d never met her, just as, not so long ago, she, too, had cursed fate for putting him in her path. But not now. Fool that she was, she had allowed him to mean everything to her.
Her eyes closed and she garnered strength enough to swiftly sit upright, then steal away to the opposite seat. She clutched her cloak tightly about her open bodice rather than fumble with its fastenings. ‘Please tell him to turn back now.’
‘Emma...’
‘Please don’t say anything more,’ she curtailed him sharply.
He rapped out an instruction for the driver to take them to Primrose Square.
A murmur of thanks escaped Emma. She could not soon enough escape the crackling tension that once more had wedged them apart.
‘I think what you want and need is to marry and have children.’ He broke her embargo on their silence. ‘Am I right?’ Never before had he felt so anxious to have a woman say yes.
‘I was resigned to remaining a spinster after Simon died.’ It wasn’t a complete falsehood. She had imagined that would be her future so thoroughly compromised had she been.
Lance uncrossed his arms and leaned towards her. He planted his forearms on his knees, then raised his eyes, locking their gazes. ‘I’m not sure I believe you, unless you’ve never got over that dolt you eloped with. Do you still love him?’
‘Believe what you want,’ she whispered and refused to let him see her raise a hand to wipe a tear from the corner of an eye. She allowed it to slide down to settle on a ridge of pale cheekbone.
He touched her face, gathering the brine on a fingertip. ‘He can still make you cry. Why don’t you just tell me the truth? You still love a dead man, but you think you owe it to your brother and your father to sleep with me.’
‘Yes!’ she cried. ‘I do. I owe it to them. It’s all my fault!’
‘No...it’s not...and I’m not a rapist. I don’t want your gratitude or your duty, Emma. You’re home.’ He got out and helped her down right outside her door. He watched her anxious expression as she saw where they were. Her flitting gaze was inspecting the windows of nearby houses.
‘It’s too late to worry about what the neighbours think.’ He turned her towards her door, then sent her towards it with a gentle push. ‘Goodnight, Emma.’
She ran up the steps with a murmured, ‘Goodnight.’ She let herself in with shaking fingers, then quickly closed the door and leant back against the panels with tears blurring her vision. A moment later she heard the vehicle clatter away.
Chapter Seventeen
‘I’m here to speak to your husband, madam.’
Veronica goggled at the visitor before an undignified gulp caused her throat to bob, rendering her incapable of replying.
A moment ago, she’d been seated at her embroidery when she’d heard the door knocker. She’d not been expecting a caller and, to her knowledge, neither had Joshua. He hadn’t left the house in days, instead shutting himself in his study with a bottle of port. That had been his routine since the afternoon he’d returned home with his face cut and bruised.
The post had already been delivered and their housemaid had appeared to be dithering at the door so Veronica had sailed up to take charge. She’d proved herself no more adept at dealing with the distinguished gentleman on her front step than the servant.
‘Do you want me to repeat myself?’ Lance clipped out. Either she moved aside or he’d barge past her. He knew Gresham was hiding somewhere within.
‘Of course not, sir,’ Veronica burst out, colour rising in her cheeks. His brusqueness hadn’t dampened her delight in having such a worthy fellow call on them. She noticed his crested curricle and the tiger at the reins, resplendent in the black and gold Houndsmere livery. The neighbours would be green with envy. ‘I’m so sorry...a surprise...a great honour...’
‘If you would tell your husband that Houndsmere is here.’
‘I believe I recognised you, my lord. Please do come in and you are most welcome.’
Lance stepped over the threshold with a nod for her.
‘I shall see if my husband is available,’ Veronica said breathily, hoping Joshua would be sober.
‘There is no need to, ma’am. I can see for myself that he is.’ Lance was staring past the nervous woman at a pasty-faced individual who had stumbled out of a doorway further along the corridor. He set off determinedly towards him.
Joshua turned tail and tried to escape up the back stairs. In his inebriated state he didn’t make more than the first few treads before his arm was gripped and he was unceremoniously hauled back down.
‘No need to invite me to the drawing room,’ Lance snarled close to Joshua’s ear. ‘In here will do.’ He shoved his host back towards the doorway from which he had emerged.
Once inside the wood-panelled den, Lance closed the door and lounged against it.
Joshua eyed him malevolently, rubbing a hand over the graze beneath the days-old bristle on his chin. It was an involuntary sign of resentment that elicited a slight smile from the man who’d caused his injury. Joshua’s guts squirmed at his adversary’s attitude and he wished himself a pugilist. He’d love nothing better than to batter this man to the ground before kicking him out. The humiliation of being tossed down the front steps of Houndsmere’s mansion in Grosvenor Square would always haunt him.
‘I’ve the deeds here,’ he muttered, yanking open the drawer in his desk, then hurling the parchment at the Earl’s feet. ‘Take them!’ He had been holding on to the document in the vain hope that Houndsmere would change his mind about doing a deal once he’d had time to ponder the seriousness of it all.
But no such luck! Joshua’s scheming had come to nought. He had gone to the East End seeking the couple and had been told by Milligan that he’d no idea where Charlie Perkins had gone off to and neither did he care. Joshua reckoned that this man knew exactly where Robin was. He’d admitted he was protecting the Waverleys as well as his own family and had moved him into hiding. With no way of catching up with his quarry, Joshua knew he couldn’t do more. Without proof, any report that he made to the authorities would be thought fantastical.
In a lithe swoop, Lance retrieved the deeds, then placed them in an inside pocket of his coat. ‘Here...fair exchange...’ He approached to drop a piece of folded paper on to the desk.
Joshua could glean no emotion in the Earl’s face, but aggression had been evident in every measured step that had brought him within punching distance. Joshua knew that being in his own home wouldn’t save him. Having sidled out of immediate danger, he picked up the paper, curious to know why it seemed familiar.
He’d scanned just a few words when a furious glow spread upwards from beneath his collar. ‘What else did Waverley give you? As though I couldn’t guess!’ The paper was screwed up and sent the same way as the deeds, but the Earl left that where it fe
ll.
Bernard was trusting Houndsmere to get him and his son out of trouble in exchange for his daughter’s virginity. Joshua was sure that was the deal they’d struck and it was making him seethe. He still couldn’t accept letting Emma slip through his fingers. He had been obsessed with her for years and now railed at himself for missed opportunities. He’d been too lenient with the little vixen. He should have finished what he started when he’d tricked her to meet him at Vauxhall Gardens. But for the lack of a few more uninterrupted minutes he would have.
‘Fortunately for you, I’m aware that letter was sent before you came to see me the other day. I’m prepared to believe it wouldn’t have been written after we’d had our talk. You remember our talk, don’t you?’
Joshua swiped up a dirty glass from his desk and downed the dregs of port in it before pouring another hefty measure. Had he not been so far in his cups, he might have proceeded with caution. As it was he slurred, ‘I’ll do as I damned well please. Now get out of my house.’
‘Indeed I will when I’ve done what I came for.’
‘I’ve given you the deeds.’ The back of Joshua’s hand was swiped over his wet lips.
‘I didn’t come for that. Or for the other documents pertaining to Waverley’s debts. You haven’t delivered them as stipulated so a court summons will shortly follow. I warned you I’d take this house.’ Lance sounded quite unconcerned. ‘Not that you’ll need it yourself. I anticipate that very soon you will be residing at his Majesty’s pleasure. If you escape lightly, that is. If not...’ Lance grimaced. ‘Let’s discuss another matter that goes back many years. The duel that supposedly was responsible for your brother’s death.’
Joshua had adopted an insolent expression, but it vanished and the glass of port hovering by his mouth found the desk with a crash. ‘There’s no supposedly about it!’ he bellowed. ‘Waverley shot him and killed him!’
‘Ah...now there I believe you are wrong. I believe a court would come to the same conclusion once presented with the facts.’
‘What facts?’ Joshua’s glassy eyes became fixed on the Earl’s face.
‘Facts given by the surgeon who attended that day. After some persuasion Applegate eventually imparted some interesting news...not that it’s news to you. You already know that it was you who killed your brother, don’t you?’
Veronica had been just outside the door with her ear pressed to the panels. Her complexion had been steadily blanching and her stomach curdling in anxiety as she’d listened to the hostile conversation within. Now she gasped and clamped her fingers over her mouth in dread.
From the moment she’d watched her husband attempt to bolt from the Earl, she’d known something bad was about to happen. She’d guessed that Joshua hadn’t taken a tumble when tipsy—his explanation for his injuries—but had been in a fight...possibly over a woman. Never would she have imagined her husband’s enemy was a powerful man like Houndsmere. Neither would she have guessed that the Earl was in league with the Waverleys. She suspected that the common link in it all was Emma. Veronica twisted about on the spot in consternation, trying to make sense of it all. Soon she was concentrating on the most pressing aspects: how had the details of Simon’s passing got out after all this time? Why would the Earl bother to track down Applegate and question him?
Now Applegate had blabbed Joshua could end up in gaol or on the gallows. And Houndsmere had said he’d take this house...her house. It had been part of her marriage settlement when Simon had been forced to wed her. When she became Joshua’s wife, the property had transferred to him. But Veronica still considered it to be hers. Yet whatever mischief had recently gone on could rob her of it. She and her children would be homeless when they were the innocents in it all!
When Simon lay wounded she’d allowed his brother to take over his care, unable even to be in the same room as the man who had hurt and humiliated her in the worst possible way. From the start Joshua had told her the wound was mortal. Veronica had had her suspicions when Joshua banned the doctor’s visits and dosed her husband with opium himself. But she’d believed she’d hated Simon on learning of his betrayal with Emma Waverley and had screamed at him that she’d wished Robin Waverley had finished him off. In the weeks that followed his death she came to realise she would have forgiven him in time. It was that little harlot who’d tried to steal her husband who was at fault. Veronica had gained nothing from Simon’s death, other than a consolation prize of a reluctant second husband. But by forcing Joshua to marry her in return for keeping quiet about her suspicions over Simon’s treatment, she had escaped widowhood and Yorkshire. And she had her sons.
Harsh male voices were again audible so Veronica ceased her jigging and again put an ear to the door, straining to hear every word that was said.
‘You’ve no evidence, Houndsmere.’ Joshua’s voice squeaked with nerves. ‘Neither has that sot Applegate. He can barely remember his own name.’
‘A fistful of gold can be remarkably sobering, as can a threat of a prosecution. He remembers enough: your vows to ruin him when he discovered what you were about and wanted to report it.’
‘I wanted to report it!’ Veronica burst into the room. ‘It was Applegate’s idea at first to hush it up. He wanted to save his own skin after butchering Simon’s arm when all the wound needed was a stitch or two and a dressing.’
‘Keep quiet, you stupid bitch!’ Joshua strode to his wife and shook her until her head wobbled on her neck. ‘Can’t you see he knows nothing? He’s just fishing.’
‘Well, if I was, I’m not now,’ Lance said. ‘So you might as well let her finish.’
‘She’ll say nothing to you and neither will I,’ Joshua spat, glaring at his wife. ‘Get out of the room. This isn’t business for you.’ He shoved her away from him, making her stumble.
Veronica seemed on the point of obeying until her eye landed on the paper bearing her husband’s writing. She scooped it up from the floor and had read it before Joshua’s intoxicated brain realised what she was doing. A moment later he lunged to tear it out of her hand.
‘Leave this instant!’ he roared.
‘I knew it!’ Veronica’s eyes narrowed on him in despising. ‘She’s the reason for all of this. You just couldn’t leave her alone, could you? You fool! Why could you not stick to your cheap strumpets?’ She turned to the Earl. ‘I’ll tell you what you want to know, my lord, if you promise to let me keep this house. It is mine, after all.’ She sent Joshua a vicious look.
‘You’ll say nothing. You’re my wife and will never bear witness against me.’ Joshua grabbed at the glass of port with a palsied hand and emptied it into his mouth.
Lance pushed himself off the door jamb he’d been resting against while watching the warring couple. ‘Well, no matter, you’ve both probably said quite enough for now.’ He turned to leave. ‘You can expect to soon be answering a magistrate’s questions.’
Before Lance had got the door fully open, Veronica had flung herself at his feet. ‘I beg you will listen to me, my lord. I had no part in Simon’s treatment, I swear. I have children to care for...this is my home...’
Joshua dragged her up, spitting oaths into her face, then slapped her to the floor again.
Lance stepped back towards him in a menacing way. ‘Leave her be. It’s a shame you’re not man enough to admit your guilt and finally take your punishment willingly. But it will come, I promise.’
‘Waverley was the one who started it by calling Simon out,’ Joshua roared.
‘And you were the one who finished it because your brother’s injury wasn’t serious enough to kill him. You took advantage of Applegate’s negligence to rid yourself of the brother you hated. The brother who had won the woman you wanted.’
‘And you want her, too, don’t you?’ Joshua screamed in hysterics. ‘You might think to possess that ice maiden, but you will not,’ Joshua hissed. ‘Not up here...’ He tapped his t
emple. ‘My confounded brother ruined her for the rest of us after deceiving her.’
Veronica scrambled up, her expression a mixture of loathing and disbelief. ‘You killed my husband just to have her? You said you would put Simon out of his misery with those drugs because he wouldn’t want the life of a cripple.’ She picked up the half-full decanter and hurled it at Joshua’s head. He ducked and blood-red wine splattered the panelling and the carpet.
Lance stepped over the broken glass, went out into the hallway, then let himself out.
* * *
The Countess of Houndsmere had been expecting to receive a missive from her errant daughter at some time and it had now turned up. Sonia dismissed the maid with a finger-flick and put the letter on the table next to the breakfast tray.
Lance had told her that after finding Augusta he had despatched her out of town with her consort while matters were investigated further. He’d curtailed any questions, saying that the girl was safe and happy enough, and there was no point in rushing into a solution little better than the problem it was meant to solve.
At the time Sonia hadn’t been inclined to pursue the matter. What she was inclined to do was find a way to seduce Lance. She knew he’d never marry her, but she’d heard that he’d lost interest in the opera singer and that his erstwhile mistress, Jenny, was now being squired by Lord Stevenson. Taken together, the gossip had encouraged her to think that there was a role in his life going begging. It had also encouraged her to think that as she had recently arrived in town he had cleared that space for her to fill.
Sonia began to read about what her daughter had been up to. Before she’d got to the end of the neatly scripted paragraphs her mouth had lost its pretty bow shape and slackened. A furious glint lit her eyes.
Lance had fallen for a woman called Emma Waverley, sister of her dear Robin, so wrote Augusta, and that was why he had helped them so kindly to travel to Yorkshire. If that were not bad enough, her daughter had gone on to sing the praises of the Earl’s new fancy, saying she was very beautiful and nice and she could understand why Lance was smitten. Robin had said he wouldn’t call the Earl out for chasing after Emma, even though being her brother he probably should.