Regency Mistresses: A Practical MistressThe Wanton Bride

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Regency Mistresses: A Practical MistressThe Wanton Bride Page 35

by Mary Brendan


  With a sigh Emily proceeded to do so.

  ‘Violet Pearson! Of all people!’ Tarquin snorted in disgust. ‘I don’t socialise much with you ladies, but even I know that the old hag will go out of her way to stir the cauldron where our family is concerned.’ The palms of his hands made forceful contact with his thighs. ‘What the deuce was Hunter thinking of, taking you, unchaperoned, to an inn where you might be spotted together? I’ll have something to say to him when I see him, I can tell you.’

  A gasp of astonished laughter was Emily’s first response to that. ‘You will have something to say to him?’ she echoed incredulously. ‘It might have slipped your mind that in fact Mark was doing you and me a very great favour by getting involved in any of this. If you think sensibly on it, you will understand that pulling in to the Rose and Crown was a necessity, not an indulgence. Mark had risked the health of his animals by travelling many miles at full pelt. The poor things were on their last legs and, had we continued, I might never have been safely returned home at all.’

  ‘Calm down!’ Tarquin muttered. He knew he had deserved her tirade. ‘I’d not see you overturned in a ditch rather than compromised.’ Suddenly he gave a knowing chuckle. ‘For a lady who, as I recall, didn’t have a good word to say about a certain gentleman, you jumped to his defence pretty quickly and fiercely.’

  Emily felt blood sting in her cheeks at that shrewd observation. ‘And I have good reason to do so, as do you. Had Mark not turned up when he did, I might still be at Devlin’s mercy, and it would be your fault!’

  ‘Nothing for it, then,’ Tarquin suddenly proclaimed in ringing tones. ‘Hunter must marry you.’

  Emily’s gasp of bitter laughter was drowned by the sound of the door opening. Millie was hovering on the threshold of the morning room.

  ‘A visitor for you, Miss Emily,’ the maid advised, her tone displaying her surprise that a caller had arrived at such an unfashionably early hour. ‘Mr Hunter is in the hall.’

  After a moment of breathless indecision Emily shot a fleeting glance at Tarquin. Her brother had a smug grin on his face. ‘Show him in please, Millie,’ she said faintly.

  On learning the identity of her visitor Emily had sensed her heart cease to beat. Now it began to throb alarmingly. Of course, she had expected he would come today to speak to her about what had happened at the inn, but she had not expected him yet and was certainly not ready to receive him.

  She crossly reminded herself that, had she not made that stupid remark last night, when tired and hysterical, she might not be so flustered by his arrival.

  Mark had received her impulsive jest with unsmiling gravity. His taciturn visage had remained unflinchingly facing the road ahead as he urged the horses to increase pace. The final leg of the journey home to Mayfair had passed in virtual silence.

  Surely he had not thought she seriously expected him to propose marriage? As though she would! She knew he was in love and spoken for. The attention he had paid to her was simply opportunistic flirting … she knew that too …

  What had alarmed him, and turned her weak joke sour, was that they both had known she had voiced what others would think. If a genteel spinster were to be unfortunately compromised by a gentleman, polite society would deem it his duty to protect her reputation with an offer of marriage. But of course it was different with them. The gentleman had already guessed that the spinster was not as virtuous as polite society assumed her to be, and was loath to make the sacrifice.

  ‘He’s here to rescue your reputation, I’m sure.’

  Tarquin’s hissed encouragement caused Emily to cast on him a frown. Far from being here to ask her to be his wife, Emily guessed Mark Hunter’s early arrival was due to his keenness to impress on her he knew the phrase about closing the stable door after the horse had bolted. And how could she blame him for that? For his pains, he risked being vilified as her heartless seducer rather than her saviour.

  Looking quite heartbreakingly handsome, and the epitome of composure too, Mark strolled in to the room. He was so elegantly groomed—charcoal tailcoat, snow-white cravat and top boots gleaming like glass—that it was obvious he deemed this visit a matter of grave importance. His immaculate appearance reminded Emily that she had been too agitated by recent events to take much time with her toilette that morning. Tendrils of blonde hair were quickly smoothed back from her pearly brow and her pink dimity skirts were given an unobtrusive shake to neaten them.

  Mark looked straight at her and she gave him a small smile, hoping to reassure him that he would not suffer on her account. He was a kind and decent man, she knew that now, and she would set him free to marry the woman he loved.

  Emily’s smile faded away for, far from being well received, her wordless welcome had caused his expression to become faintly ironic.

  Tarquin immediately strode towards his friend and stuck out a hand. ‘Good to see you, Mark.’ The greeting was stressed in throbbing tones that conveyed a multitude of gratitude.

  After a momentary hesitation Mark met the proffered hand. ‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t return the compliment.’ He managed to extricate his hand from being vigorously pumped. ‘In fact, it would not bother me if I never set eyes on you again, Beaumont.’

  Tarquin had the grace to turn florid. ‘Caused a bit of trouble, I know …’ he mumbled and hung his head.

  ‘You have a nice way with understatement.’ Mark’s response was silky with sarcasm. ‘Jenny?’ It was a blunt question.

  Tarquin’s chin dropped further towards his chest. He shook his head.

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ Mark said quietly. Within a moment he followed that with, ‘I would like to speak privately to your sister.’

  Tarquin’s lowered eyes batted between the couple and he cleared his throat. ‘Yes … of course … understand …’ he mumbled, backing towards the door. Emily received a sly wink from her brother before he slunk into the corridor.

  ‘Ah … I see he does understand,’ Mark commented drily as soon as the door had closed.

  Emily nodded jerkily, inwardly cursing her brother for having made it seem that there was a conspiracy between them. ‘I’ve just told him about the unfortunate meeting with Mrs Pearson …’ Her voice faded into awkward silence.

  ‘My apologies for calling at such an ungodly hour,’ Mark said. ‘I hoped to catch your father at home. I know he rises early.’

  ‘He rises very early,’ Emily echoed faintly.

  Mark walked closer and Emily felt her stomach somersault, for his presence held undeniable allure. She had grown used to being welcomed into his arms, kissed and caressed until her worries evaporated and he was the mainstay of her existence. She clasped her hands tight behind her back, though she ached to rush to him, have him again make everything right. She backed away a step on realising with anguished sorrow that there was actually nothing she would like better than to become Mark Hunter’s wife.

  ‘You know why I am here, Emily,’ Mark began levelly.

  ‘Yes …’ Emily began. ‘And before you say more, there is something you ought to know …’

  ‘Indeed there is,’ he confirmed quietly. ‘A couple of my questions remain unanswered. I have managed to work out the answer to one of those myself. When you first arranged to meet Riley on Whiting Street you were loitering in the lawyer’s office to avoid Devlin, were you not?’

  Emily merely gave a little nod. ‘And the other?’ she asked quickly, keen to get to the crux of the matter and set him free.

  ‘I asked you once why you rebuffed my compliment on your innocence. I’m still waiting for your explanation.’

  She had not at all anticipated that abrupt demand. The words that had been ready to release him blocked her throat. Her small tongue tip darted to moisten lips that felt arid. ‘I think you know why I said it,’ Emily blurted. Silver eyes that had been shielded by twin fans of dusky lashes suddenly sparked at him, proud and challenging.

  ‘I imagine it is to do with the, passionate fondness that Devlin says
you shared.’

  Emily tilted her chin a little higher. ‘You are very astute, sir.’

  ‘How passionately fond of him were you?’

  ‘As passionately fond as it is possible to be,’ Emily answered in a hoarse little voice. ‘And we need not speak in riddles. You will not offend my delicate sensibilities by speaking of carnal love.’ She suddenly unclasped her hands and brought them in front of her, flexing fingers that felt stiff with cramp. ‘I think you have guessed that I lay with Nicholas when we were engaged. I am not a virgin,’ she quickly continued in a whisper, ‘And I do not want you to feel obliged to protect me with an offer of marriage … if indeed that was your intention.’ She slid him a fleeting look and noted his expression was unreadable. His stillness, his silent unflinching regard, made her desperately seek something else to say.

  ‘It is as well you have not found my father at home, if indeed your intention was to discuss a marriage contract. But you have not wasted your time in coming here,’ she intrepidly continued, despite his refusal to participate in the conversation. ‘You no doubt feel an unwelcome duty has been thrust upon you. Rest assured it has not, and speaking to my father is quite unnecessary.’ Emily walked to the breakfast table and began to stack the used crockery. A fork escaped her nervous clutch and clattered on to mahogany. She gave up the task and gripped the table edge instead. ‘It was most unfortunate that our brief rest at the inn was witnessed, and by such a spiteful person. But there is no need for you to feel you must act to protect my good reputation.’ Emily closed her eyes, willing him to speak. Any reaction … even a scornful observation that she had no good reputation to lose … would be better than his wordless audience. ‘I have a gentleman friend,’ she battled on. ‘And he reciprocates my fond feelings. It is now the right time for things between us to be made official.’ Her silver-blue eyes were slowly raised to Mark’s face.

  ‘And you think that Stephen Bond would take to wife a wanton?’

  Emily felt her complexion heating beneath his potent blue gaze. ‘I do not think that our being spotted together will merit such harsh gossip being bandied about.’

  ‘I think you know I didn’t mean that.’

  Emily’s pink cheeks darkened to scarlet. ‘Stephen will never know about that … unless you or Nicholas tell him.’

  ‘Of course he will,’ Mark jeered softly. ‘He’ll know the first time he lays with you …’ He suddenly shot her a fierce look. ‘Or perhaps he already has,’ he murmured. ‘Do you have a similar passionate fondness for Mr Bond? Or was it simply the thought of being a Viscountess that excited you?’

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘How dare you!’

  Emily felt her stomach writhe with humiliation, but stalked away from the table to face him indignantly. ‘I was very young when I first fell in love and allowed Nicholas to seduce me.’ She gulped in a steadying breath. ‘I bitterly regret being duped by his lies, but I am no longer that silly, naïve child.’ Her blonde head was flung back and she levelled on him quite a haughty look. ‘You are hardly a model of virtue, and have a devil of a nerve to moralise! I wonder if Mrs Emerson realises how fickle you are.’

  ‘Whether she does or not is of no consequence,’ he coolly replied.

  ‘And that validates my opinion of your character,’ Emily breathed. ‘That you would show so little respect for the feelings of the woman you love is disgraceful.’

  Mark laughed, a guttural sound of raw sarcasm that sent a shiver through Emily.

  ‘You have no idea what you are talking about, Miss Beaumont, and I suggest you leave alone the matter of my love affairs.’

  ‘Gladly!’ Emily snapped, but still smarting from his rebuke. ‘If you will do the same for me.’

  Their combative gazes locked for an infinite moment. Emily looked away first when he made no move to take his leave.

  ‘There is no need for you to stay longer,’ she said stiffly. ‘If a shred of conscience over my future is delaying you, let me put your mind completely at ease. I think you know I have little liking for you. I would not marry you if the only alternative was earning my keep on the streets.’

  ‘I’m sure Devlin would be your keenest customer. He knows you suit the work,’ Mark drawled, a twitch of a smile his only reaction to her gasp of outrage. But beneath his blasé exterior bubbled uncontrollable jealousy. His fears had been realised: the woman with whom he’d fallen in love had slept with a man he detested. But even if mild-mannered Stephen Bond had taken her virginity, he would have liked it no better. A primeval need to have been the first to possess her would not be denied, and was making him callous. ‘You might not like me, sweetheart,’ he said, ‘but what does that matter? We both know we can forgo fondness and concentrate on passion.’

  Emily felt her skin heating and she swung away from him, desperate to formulate a rebuttal. What he’d intimated about their compatibility was cruel, but none the less true. Even before she knew her feelings towards him were changing, she had sensed the potent allure of his virility. His mocking eyes were scorching her profile, his scathing words were echoing in her ears, yet still she craved the relief of the bittersweet sensuality he could arouse in her.

  She was the one who hadn’t been entirely honest. At one time she might have persuaded herself she did not like Mark Hunter; but she could not do it any more. Despite his insults, she knew she most certainly did like him. In fact, she feared she had fallen in love with him. But she’d never accept being Mark’s despised wife any more than she had once wanted to endure the humiliation of Nicholas marrying her under duress. Before Mrs Pearson returned from the music festival, another solution must be found.

  ‘Would you like me to prove to you how good we’d be together, Emily? It’ll be my pleasure to drive any thoughts of Devlin from you …’

  Emily felt a frisson pass through her; the imagery he’d purposely put in her mind had sent iced fire streaking through her veins. Slow footfalls approached, then firm fingers were skimming the silken skin of her arms. Warm, intoxicating lips stroked her nape, slid to the sensitive hollow behind an ear. Her head angled to accommodate him, and she luxuriated in the fever he’d so easily raised in her blood. But she steeled herself against succumbing to his practised seduction. He wanted her, but deemed her of easy virtue, and was unabashed to tell her so. Desire could be enchanting, but without love and respect it was worthless to her. She had learned that bitter lesson with Nicholas.

  Anticipating her imminent rejection, Mark released her, denying her even that small proud triumph. He moved away to brace a foot against the fender, a hand against the stone chimneypiece. With thoughtful nonchalance he steadily regarded her. ‘Once your parents discover from Violet Pearson what has gone on, they’ll be desperate to get you settled with the first man who’ll have you.’ He stooped, scooped up a log and lobbed it on to the embers in the grate. ‘Trust me, Stephen Bond won’t be applying to be your husband. He might be smitten, he might even consider a less binding arrangement with you, but he’ll not risk losing his grandmother’s inheritance by taking a discredited woman to wife. Once Violet spreads her poison he’ll be a laughing-stock, and Augusta won’t allow shame to taint their family’s name.’

  Emily flinched from the unpalatable truth. Augusta had openly told her she didn’t think her right for her grandson; and this had been whilst the woman believed her reputation to be intact! Mrs Bond would never sanction her grandson’s marriage to Miss Beaumont after she heard the scandalous rumours. Dejectedly Emily had to agree with Mark’s interpretation of Stephen’s character: he would not buck convention, or his inheritance, for her sake.

  Having rekindled the fire Mark strolled to the door, rested back against it with his arms crossed over his chest. For a long, almost unbearable moment he subjected her to his sleepy scrutiny. ‘I’ll consider marrying you, sweetheart,’ he said eventually. ‘Not because I feel obliged to do so, but because I suspect there are sweet advantages to taking a wanton bride.’

  ‘Was that Mark Hu
nter I glimpsed in the vestibule a moment ago? My, he’s quick off the mark this morning! But then I fear he must have pressing matters on his mind concerning the conduct of that scapegrace son of mine.’

  Penelope Beaumont sailed into the parlour, her pastel morning dress wafting about her trim ankles. ‘Where is Tarquin, by the by? Is he in hiding from his friend’s scolding?’

  Emily’s silence prompted Penelope to take a proper look at her daughter. Noticing the strain etched into her white features, she hurried immediately to her side. ‘Whatever is the matter, Emily? You look dreadful.’ Penelope gasped and put a hand to her throat. ‘Never say that Mr Hunter has upset you? It’s Tarquin who deserves his complaints!’

  Penelope suddenly looked askance at her daughter. Over the years she had cringed on more than one occasion when Emily had been snappish with Mark Hunter. Previously she had marvelled at the way the fellow tolerated it with equanimity. If Emily had caught the sharp side of his tongue at last, perhaps it was no more than she deserved. ‘Were you rude to him, Emily?’

  Emily was about to deny any such thing, but instead forced a fist against her mouth as she was racked with hysterical giggles.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Emily!’ Mrs Beaumont chided. ‘Is it not enough that we have a son who makes a habit of acting foolishly?’ In exasperation her shawl was yanked this way and that about her shoulders. ‘And Mr Hunter is such an influential gentleman, too. I was hoping that you might persuade him to continue to be Tarquin’s good friend. Mark always seemed to have a soft spot for you despite your petulance.’ Penelope stamped to the door, then whisked about on the threshold to deliver a parting shot. ‘I’m off to do some shopping and I’d sooner go alone.’

  Immediately after her mother went out Emily sought the sanctuary of her chamber. But even the comfort of a little nap was to be snatched away. Her brother had soon stationed himself outside the door and begun cajoling to be allowed in to talk to her. Her refusal had prompted him to direct hissed questions through the keyhole. Was he to have Hunter as a brother-in-law? he’d repeatedly demanded to know. Or was a scandal going to break next week when the Pearson woman came back to town?

 

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