by Mary Brendan
Mickey felt uneasy, for he twice had seen this gent talking to Miss Beaumont and it seemed an odd coincidence that he should turn up just after the Viscount had been by with a wicked suggestion concerning that very lady.
The fellow was getting closer and Mickey cursed again that he had ever got involved with Tarquin Beaumont. He was beginning to think Jenny was right: they should have forgotten all about him and moved on to someone with deeper pockets. Beaumont was of good stock and looked flush, but nevertheless Mickey was coming to fear the wastrel might not have two ha’pennies of his own to rub together.
The Viscount was a better class of nob; he’d seen the proof of his quality bulging in that silk bag. And there was a way he could get his hands on the cash. If Tarquin turned out to be a dud, he’d have to make sure that his sister made up for the loss …
But now this damnable fellow was prowling about. Mickey felt his hackles stir and belatedly tried to slip out of sight through the gate. If he’d discovered what the Viscount was about he’d be here to do battle for the lady’s honour.
As Mark watched the pimp scuttling away, he felt a side of his mouth tug into a smile. So Riley had guessed what he wanted and it didn’t look as though he was willing to provide any answers to his questions. Mark quickened his pace, following Riley through the gate and into the alley.
‘You need us, Mickey?’
The bellowed offer of assistance came from the street where a couple of strapping young men stood belligerently eyeing the casual interloper.
Mickey slid a nervous glance up at his stalker. In an odd way he found him more intimidating than Devlin. He was taller and broader, but he sensed in him a power that was not just about physical strength. ‘Do I need ’em? Or are you here tonight just fer business, sir?’
‘I’m here for information. I’m willing to pay for your time.’ Mark gave a slight smile. ‘So … business it is …’
Mickey’s eyes narrowed in admiration. He was a courageous nob, he’d give him that. He didn’t seem at all put out on knowing that, with a click of his fingers, Mickey could set a couple of his hounds on him.
‘I only got to shout and they’ll be back.’ Mickey flicked a hand, dismissing his associates. The fellow didn’t look as though he’d come for a brawl. His manner was straightforward and his rig-out expensive. Besides, the promise of payment always mellowed Mickey’s misgivings. He turned and opened the door, mockingly inviting his elegant visitor to enter.
As his eyes flitted over squalor, lit by a solitary oil lamp, a faint frown was all that betrayed Mark’s distaste. He launched straight away into, ‘I should introduce myself. I’m Mark Hunter and Tarquin Beaumont is a good friend of mine. Why have you been bothering Mr Beaumont’s sister, and asking after her brother’s whereabouts?’
Mickey cocked his head to an insolent angle. ‘Not been bothering her, been trying to help,’ he contradicted.
‘In what way?’
Mickey turned a sly eye up to a hard, shadowy visage. ‘Well, now … that’s private and confidential … just between me and the Beaumonts.’
Mark reached into his coat and withdrew a bank note. ‘They don’t want to be bothered with it all.’ He waved the money held in thumb and forefinger. ‘I said I’d pay for your time and information.’
Mickey reflexively stuck out a hand, his eyes fixed on the plentiful cash.
Mark lazily crushed the paper in a broad palm. ‘First answer me—and give me the truth, or you’ll get nothing.’
‘Beaumont’s acted foolish, and I reckon if I can find him, and make him pay what’s necessary, it’ll save the family being made a laughing-stock. That’s all I wanted to see Miss Beaumont about. You can ask her.’
‘I don’t need to. She has already told me what you spoke about. You haven’t told me anything I, or any one else, doesn’t already know about Tarquin Beaumont. The family’s reputation will survive another tale of him losing his shirt at the tables.’
‘Ain’t gaming.’ Mickey’s voice was sulky.
‘What, then?’ Mark purred. ‘Has he been keeping company with your whores, and not paying you fast enough for their services?’
Mickey gave a lopsided smile. ‘Well, now, Mr Hunter, you’re getting closer, but I can tell you, you still ain’t quite right.’
‘And I can tell you, I’m getting tired of playing games.’ The hand holding the cash was thrust impatiently into Mark’s pocket. ‘Have you set your bully boys on him and he’s fled?’
Mickey crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Ain’t done that at all,’ he said airily. ‘But he has taken off and all ’cos of a woman.’
‘Go on.’
‘Not until you pay, and I want that and another the same.’ He nodded his head at the pocket hiding the banknote. Mickey’s ferreting brain had realised that there was indeed a way to make money from the Beaumonts. He could recoup his losses twice over. Devlin would pay for fun with the sister, and Hunter would pay for information about the brother’s folly.
Mark gave him the cash with a perilous glower that made Mickey quickly blurt out, ‘Her name’s Jenny and he took a real shine to her right from the start …’
Fifteen minutes later Mark was striding back along the slimy cobbles with an expression as dark and forbidding as his environment. Tarquin, you bloody fool! was the thought rotating in his mind as he vaulted into his carriage and gave directions for it to head home.
‘You look like an angel.’
Emily gave her ardent-eyed admirer a smile and absently smoothed her fingers over the ivory silk of her skirt. It had been her mother’s idea that she wear the pale, dainty dress; Emily had favoured wearing blue satin, which she thought suited her colouring and looked less … virginal. But she had not felt inclined to argue over something trivial when so much that was serious was occupying her mind.
Despite still having had no news of Tarquin, she considered her mother to be right in one respect: they rarely were invited to be entertained at such a fine address.
Before leaving the house this evening she had dashed off a concise note to Nicholas and, when handing it to Millie to take to the post, had felt pleased that she had allowed it to take up so little of her time. Emily felt lighter in spirits than she had in a while. She looked about at her scintillating surroundings. They ought to enjoy the outing and forget their woes for a few hours.
Stephen politely held out an arm to her, then one to her friend Sarah. ‘We must find some chairs in the music room before the orchestra starts. There is sure to be a crush later.’
As they walked, Sarah whispered, awestruck, ‘I’m so glad you asked me to come with you. This is quite the most impressive place I have ever entered.’
Emily gave a slow nod as her eyes flitted over the opulent appointments of Lady Gerrard’s drawing room. ‘Indeed it is wonderful.’
‘Her late husband died five years ago and left Fiona very rich indeed,’ Stephen contributed to the conversation. ‘But she has a host of influential friends to ease her pain at his passing.’ He nodded to Sir Jason Hunter, who was just entering the room with his wife. ‘Here is one of the most distinguished, just arrived.’
‘Oh, Helen is here,’ Emily said, with a pleased smile, on seeing her friend. ‘Let’s go and say hello.’
Barely a moment after they had joined Sir Jason and Lady Hunter, Emily’s eyes were drawn away from the handsome couple and to the doorway. Framed in the aperture and, she had to admit, looking quite magnificent in a slate-grey tailcoat and buff trousers, was a tall dark-haired gentleman she immediately recognised. But what caused her to quickly blink and look away was not the fact that the paragon’s eyes were steadily on her, but that his presence had caused her stomach to somersault.
Noting Emily’s slight flush, Helen casually turned her head. ‘Your brother has arrived,’ she told her husband while giving Emily an astute look.
As Emily was murmuring about moving on to the music room with her friends, Mark joined their group.
‘We were ju
st off to listen to the concert,’ Jason told his brother, his hand welcoming his wife’s delicate fingers on his sleeve.
Sarah suddenly took Stephen’s elbow and, ignoring his rather startled expression and reluctance to go, steered him to follow Sir Jason and his wife.
When the couples had moved away a few paces, Mark looked down at the top of a shiny crown of blonde hair. ‘Am I forgiven yet?’ he asked huskily.
‘I’m afraid not, Mr Hunter,’ Emily said stiffly. Her elbow-length lace gloves were smoothed over shapely arms and she made a move to follow her friends.
‘Perhaps if I tell you that I have come here just to see you, and have some news of Tarquin, you might think more kindly of me.’
Emily immediately pivoted back to face him. She tilted her chin to a confident angle, but her hands were tightly clasped to still their quivering. ‘Is that true, or just a ruse to make me stay a while longer with you?’
‘Why are you afraid of staying a while longer with me, Emily?’ Mark asked softly. ‘Do you imagine I might try to kiss you in Lady Gerrard’s drawing room?’
Emily blushed to the roots of her golden hair, but managed to say, ‘Not at all. I’m sure in company you adopt the manner of a perfect gentleman.’ Her silver eyes flashed at him. ‘Besides, why would you bother when you’re sure to again be disappointed?’
Mark’s soft laugh was directed over the top of Emily’s head. ‘Ah … so that still rankles, does it?’ he murmured. ‘I explained at the time why I said it, and paid you a compliment in the process. Which reminds me that you still owe me an explanation for finding fault with my praise.’
Emily felt her heart jump to her throat. She knew exactly to what he referred, and had no intention of resuming that conversation. She quickly changed subject. ‘I had no idea you would be here tonight.’ A hint of blame sharpened her tone.
‘I gather you would rather I was not.’
‘You overestimate the matter, sir,’ Emily returned coolly. ‘You may stay or go and it will make no difference whatsoever to me.’
Mark’s eyes held hers until Emily flushed and looked away. ‘Is that so?’ he softly drawled. ‘Well, as I came solely to see you, I think I shall go.’ With a slight nod of his dark head he turned and was soon strolling towards the door.
In mortification Emily watched his broad back. He was actually going to leave, and she had not yet discovered what news he had of Tarquin. She bit down on her lower lip to control herself, for she was tempted to call him back. She had been so disturbed by those silly emotions that came to the fore when in close proximity to the dratted man that she had not quizzed him over her brother. And now she might have lost the chance.
She was obliquely aware that more people were moving away towards the music room. Strains of a melody reached her ears, but her eyes were focused on an athletic figure that would be soon lost from sight.
With an indrawn breath, and her pearly teeth clenched together, she went in pursuit of him, weaving nimbly through guests who were, in the main, proceeding in the opposite direction.
‘Mr Hunter!’ She was sure he had heard her call his name, but was ignoring her. With tears of frustration spiking her eyes, Emily yanked on one of his elbows, then quickly stumbled back a few paces as he turned about.
‘I can’t believe you would actually go before telling me what you have discovered about Tarquin,’ she gritted out in an undertone. ‘Your pride is too easily wounded, sir.’
‘Is that an apology?’
She had expected Mark might look smug at having humbled her into chasing him, but his expression was remarkably grave.
‘If you require I give one … yes … it is.’ Emily tilted her chin and squarely met his vivid blue eyes.
A corner of Mark’s mouth tilted and an idle glance swept the sparsely populated room. ‘I don’t require anything from you not freely given, Emily.’
Emily felt herself heating beneath his steady regard. So he couldn’t resist reminding her that she had willingly participated in that kiss.
‘You look a little flushed. Let me accompany you to the terrace for a breath of fresh air.’ A nod of Mark’s head indicated doors that were adjacent to them.
Emily looked to the right and to the left. The room was almost deserted. ‘It is private enough here for you to tell me what you have discovered.’
‘I think the terrace might be a better place. What I have to report is quite bad news and it is amazing how walls can sprout ears.’ As though to prove him wise a young lady obligingly emerged from behind a marble pillar where she had been adjusting a bow on her bodice. She sent them a sly look before gliding away towards the music room.
‘You have nothing to fear from me, Emily.’ Mark’s voice was husky with sincerity, although a vaguely mocking light was in his eyes. ‘I shall do nothing to displease you.’
Emily snapped her eyes from his. He knew very well that another kiss from him was likely to have the reverse effect! Just as her defences were beginning to crumble she had a glimpse of someone who made her determinedly put back the barriers.
Mark’s mistress was just taking a seat in the music room, near to the doors. Barbara didn’t appear to have noticed that her lover was conversing privately with another woman. Or perhaps she had seen them talking together, but didn’t care. The sophisticated brunette was undoubtedly confident enough of her position in Mark’s life to ignore silly women like her who secretly found Mark Hunter fascinating.
If Mark had noticed his mistress he gave no sign. His attention remained steadily on Emily while he patiently awaited permission to escort her to the terrace.
Emily felt her temper rising. He had the nerve to say he had come simply to see her, when in fact he was here with his mistress! He had the gall to remind her of stolen kisses … to flirt with her and want to take her into the dark … despite being partnered this evening by the woman he loved!
Mark had sensed the atmosphere between them had been on the point of thawing. Now it seemed frostier than ever. He took a glance about to see what had changed Emily’s humour and glimpsed Barbara staring at them. A footman closed the doors to the music room, cutting off her view of them, as Mark’s lips formed a soundless oath. He had not imagined that his mistress would attend this soirée. Barbara and Lady Gerrard were not the best of friends, and he had felt confident that he would spend an evening free of Barbara’s constant surveillance. For some months her possessiveness, and unsubtle hints about marriage, had been irritating him.
‘It is probably best we do not talk now,’ Emily said glacially. ‘Might I suggest we meet tomorrow? I shall ensure that I am by the water in Hyde Park at about four in the afternoon. You may then tell me what you know.’ Without awaiting a reply she turned to move away.
‘If you’re expecting me to be at your beck and call, you will be disappointed. I won’t be there.’
Emily swirled about and glared at him in frustration. ‘In that case, tell me quickly now about my brother.’
‘Come to the terrace, and I shall.’
Emily stepped angrily towards him. ‘I think you know, sir, that I ought not do that. And I am amazed that you would suggest such a thing when our friends and family are close by to witness it. You might not have a reputation to keep, but I have!’ Emily felt her face becoming pink beneath his lazy low-lidded regard. In that instant she was sure they both had in mind her implication that her innocence was lost. Recklessly she added, ‘And Mrs Emerson is sure to soon wonder where you are.’
‘I didn’t know that Mrs Emerson would be here tonight.’
A huff of contemptuous laughter made a pout of Emily’s soft lips. She might have appeared insouciant, but inwardly she squirmed with embarrassment for behaving in such an unseemly manner. Young ladies did not hint they knew of a gentleman’s amours, least of all to the gentleman himself.
‘I was about to go home a moment ago. You might not consider me mannerly, Emily, but I assure you, had I escorted Mrs Emerson here, I would have been polite enough t
o inform her I was leaving.’ With that cutting remark he executed a crisp bow and walked away. When he reached the door he hesitated, then looked back to see that Emily was standing quite still where he had left her.
As though in a trance she took a small step, then another and another, until she was walking quite quickly towards the French doors.
Chapter Nine
A scent of early blossom teased Emily’s nostrils as she stepped on to the granite flags. Her eyes strained to identify shapes in shadows, for merely a sliver of silver illuminated the ebony heavens. After a moment she could see that the terrace was enclosed by stone balustrade; to one side was a little bench snugly set in an ivy-tangled trellis. A gusting breeze brought a tinkle of water to her ears, but she couldn’t locate the fountain. Emily gazed up wistfully at a few winking stars. It was an undeniably romantic setting and, had the attractive gentleman escorting her been someone she liked and trusted, she might have been tempted to let him steal a kiss … or two … Emily swiftly put such wild imaginings from her mind and paid attention to the undeniably handsome features of her companion. ‘Have you discovered Tarquin’s whereabouts, Mr Hunter?’ she asked briskly.
‘Finding him is not the problem. I could unearth him quite quickly if I wanted to.’ Mark strolled to the stone rail and, bracing a hand against it, contemplated the gardens.
‘Why on earth haven’t you done so?’ Emily demanded on a gasp.
‘I haven’t done so because at the moment it might be prudent to leave him out of sight. A scandal might break on his return home.’
Emily felt blood seep from her complexion to leave it tingling icily. His tone had been harsh, indicating that a very bleak announcement was yet to come. ‘He is in bad trouble, isn’t he?’ she murmured.
‘I suppose it could be worse. As far as I know, he isn’t dead or injured …’
His sarcasm simply strengthened Emily’s anxiety and she made a frantic guess at what ordeal they might yet face. ‘Has he duelled again and killed a man this time? Are his family out for Tarquin’s blood?’