Regency Mistresses: A Practical MistressThe Wanton Bride

by Mary Brendan

  Emily felt her heart slow to a painful thud. She had hoped to avoid any mention of Tarquin, for she didn’t want to lie. Stubbornly she clung to a forlorn hope that a mistake might have been made. Perhaps things were not as bad as they seemed, and she would do anything rather than unnecessarily upset her parents with a false alarm. ‘Mr Hunter has not finished his investigations, Mama. We will know more soon, I’m sure.’ With a murmured ‘good night’, Emily quickly slipped from the room.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘I think you owe me profuse thanks … but I will settle for a full account of what went on.’

  Sarah had teasingly uttered that as soon as Mrs Beaumont closed the parlour door behind her. Moments before they had all enjoyed tea and ginger cake, whilst savouring every aspect of Lady Gerrard’s magnificent party. But Penelope had now quit the room so the young ladies might enjoy a private cose.

  Emily sent her friend a repressive look as she laid aside her napkin.

  Undeterred, Sarah continued to grin mischievously at her whilst collecting spicy crumbs from her plate. ‘I’ve been dying to know … did he kiss you?’ She popped a sticky finger in her mouth.

  Emily’s cheeks grew rosy but she managed an insouciant little chuckle. ‘I take it you are referring to my walk on the terrace with Mr Hunter last night.’

  ‘Of course! It was good of me to divert Stephen, was it not?’ Sarah arched an eyebrow. ‘You did not seem put out to be left alone with Mark. I don’t think you take against him as much as you would have me believe,’ she slyly added.

  Emily had mixed feelings about that! But it was true that she owed Sarah her thanks for having commandeered Stephen. Hot on the heels of that thought came another that made her ruefully acknowledge she was a coward. She would rather still be in blissful ignorance of her brother’s calamitous mésalliance, and her own shameful behaviour.

  ‘What happened?’ Sarah insisted on knowing. ‘That’s the second time I’ve noticed Mark Hunter pay you particular attention. And he gives you the most smouldering looks. I wish a rich, handsome bachelor would stare at me like that.’

  ‘You would not if you knew his reasons,’ Emily returned pithily and then regretted having further whetted her friend’s curiosity.

  ‘Did he take shocking liberties with you in the dark? I’ve heard he’s a rakish character.’ Sarah settled comfortably into the sofa, eyes round as saucers. She shivered, massaged at gooseflesh on her arms. ‘What did he do … say?’ Sarah persisted with her inquisition. ‘Is he angling to pay court, do you think?’

  ‘Don’t be a henwit! You know very well that Mr Hunter is already spoken for.’ Emily scolded lightly. ‘He spent more time at his mistress’s side than he did at mine.’

  ‘Perhaps he did. But his eyes were on you most of the while. And I’m sure she knew it,’ Sarah said with a gleeful chuckle. ‘I doubt you’ll be receiving an invitation to Mrs Emerson’s soirées!’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief!’ Emily muttered seriously. The thought of attending a salon hosted by Mark’s mistress made her feel quite ill.

  ‘We are friends! You must have something a bit outrageous to tell me.’

  ‘If I did, it would concern Tarquin.’ Emily gave her friend a rueful look. ‘There is only one reason Mr Hunter and I need to converse in private, to discuss my troublesome brother! They are friends, and Mark has been good enough to try to find out what the miscreant is now up to.’

  Sarah looked genuinely disappointed at that explanation. ‘You don’t think he might be more interested in you than your brother?’

  Emily flapped a hand, outwardly dismissing the notion as absurd. But she averted her face to shield her expression. Although Mark had declared he wanted nothing from her for his services as detective, it seemed that he always did get a sensual reward … and with very little coaxing …

  Sarah sank back into the cushions, contemplating her clasped hands, her mood now oddly subdued.

  Emily took the opportunity to steer the conversation to another gentleman. ‘Thank you for keeping Stephen company yesterday.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mind at all,’ Sarah glanced up. ‘In fact …’ A grimace turned up her snub nose and she simply shrugged.

  ‘Go on,’ Emily gently prompted. It had never before occurred to her that Sarah might hold a torch for Stephen.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Sarah muttered.

  ‘I think it does,’ Emily countered softly.

  ‘I just think Stephen is very nice,’ Sarah self-consciously admitted whilst twirling a chestnut curl about a finger. ‘And if I thought he might stop vainly pining for you … for I know you will never want him … I might tell him so and see what happens.’ She clucked her tongue. ‘How daft I must sound! You are blonde and beautiful and I am dark and plain.’

  ‘You are not plain, you are pretty!’ Emily stressed. ‘You are younger than me by three years, and have a fine complexion. You never blush an ugly red as I do. Brunettes are the rage this season, too,’ she added with an emphatic nod.

  Sarah seemed deaf to her friend’s compliments. ‘Besides, if Stephen gave up the chase so easily, when he is obviously in love with you, he wouldn’t be nice at all, would he?’ she reasoned.

  ‘Yes, he would!’ Emily forcefully begged to differ.

  ‘He would be a fickle character and not to be trusted.’

  ‘I don’t think Stephen loves me. It is an infatuation. And we all are entitled to be in thrall to that, at least once.’ Emily gave her friend a twinkling smile.

  ‘Are you hinting that I have an infatuation for Stephen?’ Sarah asked, rather sharply.

  ‘No! I am saying that I understand how easily one might confuse the two emotions, for I believe I did. For a long time I thought I truly loved Viscount Devlin. Now I am not sure whether it was love or infatuation. I know I found the idea of being in love very appealing, perhaps very deluding too …’

  ‘You don’t know how it feels to be in love?’

  About to answer in the negative, Emily hesitated—her mind had veered to the memory of being enclosed in Mark’s protective embrace. That recollection led to another: the sensation of a sultry warm mouth moving on hers and firm, confident fingers arousing her body. ‘I’m not sure,’ Emily blurted, her cheeks pink.

  It seemed too absurd that she had immediately associated a gentleman she didn’t know very well, or like very much, with love. But perhaps she was coming to know Mark, an inner voice whispered, and perhaps because of that she didn’t dislike him as much as once she had. Heaven only knew he had been of immense help so far in piecing together the puzzle surrounding Tarquin’s disappearance. It would be an ingrate indeed who would still disapprove of a gentleman who had gone to so much trouble for her family.

  ‘Perhaps Stephen is not wasting his time waiting for you, then,’ Sarah said stiffly, having stabbed a guess at the identity of the fellow occupying her friend’s thoughts. ‘Please forget I told you I liked him, which I do, of course, but not in that way. I would not want you to think you have a rival, or that I was presumptuous.’

  ‘I was not thinking of Stephen just now. He is not the one … that is … Oh! Don’t be like that, Sarah,’ Emily pleaded as her friend got quickly to her feet.

  ‘I must be going,’ Sarah said tightly. ‘I told Mama I would accompany her to Baldwin’s for some velvet.’ With no more ado she stepped briskly to the parlour door and quit the room.

  Emily felt quite melancholy as she walked with her friend to the vestibule. A tension now existed between her and Sarah and yet there had been no real disagreement between them, just talk of gentlemen. As Emily watched her friend descend the steps and turn towards home, without a backward glance, she sighed and wondered if finding a husband was really as beneficial as their mothers would have them believe.

  Sarah Harper was not the only young woman who was, that morning, despondent in the knowledge that a gentleman did not reciprocate her feelings.

  Barbara Emerson had just received a message from her maid that
Mr Hunter had called and was waiting below. Mark never waited below. He had for many years visited her at this house and, whatever the hour, had felt comfortable coming to her boudoir. Whether he arrived to talk or to make love, he never before had stood on ceremony. Now he did, and she feared she knew why.

  She had been aware for a while that his ardour was cooling. When he had brought her home last night, despite her best efforts to lure him indoors, he had gone off without even giving her a proper kiss.

  Before Claudine’s gaze darted away, Barbara had seen the mingling of pity and embarrassment in the girl’s eyes. Even her French maid knew Barbara was about to be cast off. She trusted Claudine to be loyal and discreet, but soon it would be all over town that she was no longer Mark’s mistress, or his future wife. Speculation would start as to who had usurped her, but they would not guess. Only she knew the identity of the brazen hussy who had stolen Mark away.

  Barbara paced to and fro, her face set in rigid lines, her lacy negligee sailing out from her voluptuous body with the vigour of her movement. She could plead an indisposition. Of course he would not believe her, for not once had she refused him an audience. Either he would leave or he would relent and come up to find her. And then she might be able to use her wiles to stop the awful words in his throat, before he could utter them.

  ‘Madame is indisposed, sir.’ The petite maid peeped at a hard, dark face, then quickly her eyes sought the floor.

  ‘In that case, convey my commiserations to madame,’

  Mark said quietly. ‘And tell her I will return tomorrow.’

  If Mark was aware that he was being observed from between the curtains in the window above, he gave no sign. Springing aboard his curricle, he set the fine animals to a trot. His flinty demeanour was not caused by the woman he anticipated might not gracefully accept he no longer wanted her, but by the friend who was creating havoc in the lives of so many people.

  With an effort he banished Tarquin, and his exquisite … captivating … sister from his mind and forced himself to concentrate on what was to be done to make the break with Barbara as painless as possible. If she continued to try to delay the inevitable by refusing to see him, then he would send her a note. But that seemed the coward’s way and he would sooner act honourably. He didn’t want to hurt her, but neither could he continue to condone her fantasy that they had a future together.

  After Barbara’s husband had died, and they had resumed their affair, he had bluntly told her that he could not again promise her his fidelity or his love. There had been a tacit understanding between them that he would want his liberty, and from time to time, other women. He had appreciated that Barbara was too proud to nag him over those liaisons. For his part, he had never mentioned those special gallants who escorted her home, then discreetly slipped out in the small hours.

  Despite their passing fancies, they had continued to share mutual pleasure, and Mark had not previously wanted to put an end to something that suited them both. But lately her hints that they should marry were becoming less subtle and were apt to grate on his nerves. She had become disturbingly possessive, and kept him under surveillance when they were out. He knew it was not a coincidence that she had come on to the terrace at Lady Gerrard’s. She had probably been stalking him for a while before she showed herself. His tolerance of it all was spent, and he realised that his desire for her was too.

  To safeguard fond memories, and Barbara’s dignity, he had hoped to end it without rancour. Mark sent a rueful look skyward. Worthy sentiment … but would he be as determined to act with such ruthless efficiency if it wasn’t for the matter of Miss Emily Beaumont?

  Emily knew of his long-standing relationship with Barbara, and he imagined she deemed him a faithless rogue. But she still responded to him sweetly, despite her misgivings, and he was encouraged to believe she might yet grow fond of him.

  Stolen kisses were one thing, but she would shun his formal courtship unless he honestly declared Barbara was out of his life. His smile turned wry as he realised he was gratified to know Emily considered Barbara her rival. And she did; he had noticed a decidedly antagonistic glint in her silver eyes as Barbara had made her appearance on the terrace with Stephen Bond. That conceit caused Mark to choke a laugh. Of course it was possible the cause of her pique was seeing her beau escorting another woman.

  Musing darkly on that particular admirer—a fellow who had done nothing to merit uncharitable thoughts—made Mark grudgingly acknowledge he was jealous. Stephen Bond had a tendresse for Emily. Tarquin had told him so some months previously. His friend had also helpfully imparted the news that Emily liked the fellow, but was not expected to accept his proposal even if, at some time, Mr Bond found the temerity to issue it. Stephen was beneath his grandmother’s thumb. The woman held the purse strings, and her grandson’s inheritance, in her grasp.

  With that thought encouraging him, Mark flicked the reins over the greys’ backs, urging them to a faster pace. His concentration returned to Emily’s brother. It was high time he had a few strong words with Tarquin, and he had a good idea where he might find him.

  Emily restlessly paced the floor of her chamber. She had been feeling odd since Sarah had left. Although she could settle on nothing specific that she had said or done wrong to cause a rift with Sarah, none the less a pang of guilt would not be banished. With a final tug of the brush through her thick hair she tossed it, in a glint of silver, on to the bed. Aimlessly she went to the dressing chest and peered in the glass at her reflection.

  Large silver eyes darted from pert nose to wide mouth to sharp little chin. She frowned as though she might find the answers she sought in her features. Was she being cruel to Stephen? She certainly liked him … but as a friend. Would she ever accept being a true wife to him? Bearing his children? Perhaps if he knew how she felt he might declare her a fraud, and their friendship a sham.

  Augusta Bond knew the truth. Since the woman had first met her she had been adamant that she was not right for her grandson. Did Augusta consider her a heartless tease? She didn’t want to hurt Stephen any more than she had wanted to upset her friend Sarah.

  With a sigh Emily tipped the glass away from her and went to the door. She had been selfish in keeping Stephen dangling on a string … in reserve, her mother would put it, in case no better bachelor could be found to take her from the shelf. It was time to set him free to make an attachment with someone else … someone like Sarah.

  ‘I was hoping to bump into you again, miss.’

  Emily spun about at that sibilant hiss to see Mickey Riley peering in her direction from a nearby shop doorway. Once certain that she had noticed him, and in a scene that Emily felt she had played out before, he sloped nonchalantly along the pavement a yard or two, then darted into an alley.

  After a moment Emily followed him, her expression grim.

  Although she had hoped to quickly deliver the letter in her pocket to Stephen, it was opportune that Riley had accosted her. She would dearly love to give him a piece of her mind! She suspected that Tarquin’s marriage had not been an unlucky aberration, but had been plotted in advance. It might not have come about but for this avaricious fellow.

  ‘We ought to stop meeting like this, Mr Riley,’ Emily said with harsh sarcasm.

  Riley’s lips pulled into a sideways grin. ‘I’m flattered yer took the trouble to find out me name.’

  ‘Please don’t be. It was no trouble at all,’ Emily returned icily. ‘I do know who you are and much more about you besides.’

  Riley cocked an insolent eyebrow at her, daring her to voice what she knew.

  ‘You go first, and make it quick.’ Emily crossed her arms over her waist in a display of impatience. ‘I have no intention of spending more than a minute or two with you.’

  ‘Well, that’s a fine way to greet a feller who’s been stood around hoping to give yer some news about yer brother.’

  ‘I already have some news about my brother, Mr Riley,’ Emily snapped in an underbreath. ‘Believe m
e, I would rather not know it. So, if you are about to tell me that he has been coerced to wed one of your …’ Emily swallowed the vulgarity. ‘One of your female associates,’ she resumed stiltedly, ‘you may save your breath.’

  ‘So you found out about Jenny, did yer?’ Riley cupped his stubbly jaw in a hand and glanced at her from beneath lowered lids. His devious mind turned over recent events. He came to the swift conclusion that Mark Hunter had relayed to Miss Beaumont the unsavoury news. In which case that gentleman and this lady were very close. It was hardly a topic of light conversation. Riley had thought that if Mark Hunter were to babble to anyone about it he would have chosen old man Beaumont. Mickey gave his chin a final tickle. He’d need to tread carefully if he was to successfully play all sides against the middle or he’d risk losing a tidy profit.

  With a careless gesture he said, ‘Now yer know why I was keen to find Tarquin. Don’t fret now. There’s a way to square it afore all hell breaks loose.’ He gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘’Course yer won’t want to worry yer ma and pa with it all. But keeping it quiet and putting it right’ll cost.’ Riley snaked his tongue over his lips.

  ‘And how exactly are you going to put it right?’

  ‘Well, now—that’s for me to know, and for you to pay to find out, ain’t it?’

  Emily gave a little scornful laugh. ‘You fool! Are you about to ask for payment for a silly scheme to pretend the marriage didn’t take place? Jeremiah Plumb performed the service and is a bona fide clergyman, so I understand. What will you do? Bribe him to delete the records and in doing so embroil my brother in yet more trouble?’

  Mickey gave her a startled glare.

  ‘It was your intention to do that, wasn’t it?’ Emily said with quiet incredulity.

  ‘You think you’re pretty clever, don’t yer, miss?’ Riley hissed. ‘But that ain’t what I wanted to speak to you about, although it do concern your brother.’ Mickey felt cheated. He had thought his plot quite ingenious, yet it had taken her no more than a few minutes to unravel it.