“Whether or not you leave is your choice.” He studied her for a moment. “This gentleman friend of yours? He is of some…interest?”
“He is,” she replied in a whisper. What business was it of his to ask such a question? However, she was not in a position to argue with him, not a baron, and certainly not the man to whom she paid her rent.
“Here is what you must know,” he said as he glared down at her. “Go to him, break your promise to me, and I wish you no harm in life.” A grin spread across his face, an evil grin that brought a shiver to Emma’s spine. “However, if you do so, our arrangement will be forfeit.” He took a hefty drink from his glass. “Or remain here as my guest tonight per our agreement, and I will do as I promised.”
He brushed a finger across her cheek, his touch cold and unpleasant, making Emma’s stomach tumble and churn. Everything inside her screamed to run, to go to Lucas and tell him what had transpired. However, as the baron let out a heavy sigh, worry gripped her. She needed the baron’s account, and he was her landlord. To upset him now just as she was getting the business out of debt would ruin her.
As the man’s eyes bored into hers, she reached up and touched her cheek, expecting to feel a scar left behind by his caress.
“This is purely a business arrangement, correct?” she asked in a near whisper.
“Of course,” he replied as if his intentions should have been clear. He pulled his hand behind his back. “I am but an old man in need of the company of a lovely young woman. You have nothing to fear.”
She thought on his words. In all honesty, she had no other option than to agree. She still did not have the money for the past rent, for, although she had gained new clients, it would take a month at the soonest to receive payment. If spending a few hours with the baron kept him at bay in turn, she would do so. Lucas would understand.
Offering Lord Miggs her best smile, she replied, “Thank you, My Lord, I will stay.”
“Good,” the man replied with a wide grin. “It is the best decision you could have made.”
Chapter Seventeen
The storm Lucas had kept so well under control simmered in the back of his mind as Walburg stood before him.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” the driver said, “She wasn’t there. A man named Stephen said she had left an hour before, but he was as confused as I.”
Lucas released a heavy sigh as he shook his head. None of this was making sense! If she had left an hour earlier, she would have been at Bonehedge Estate already. And why would she hire her own carriage when she knew he was sending one for her. “Did Stephen say where she went?”
“No, Your Grace,” Walburg said, visibly shaking. “He thought it was your carriage that collected her.”
“Did the man say anything else?” The driver seemed to hesitate, and Lucas glared at him. “Speak, man! This is important!”
“He asked me if I need, or knew anyone who needed a bookkeeper,” Walburg said. “Promised the best rates and services.”
Lucas snorted and dismissed the driver. He had learned what he would from the man. Walking over to the cabinet, he took out a bottle of brandy and poured himself a measure. Something was not right, yet he could not place it. The manner in which Emma had looked at him, how she had shared such intimate details of her life with him at the church. Revealing the secret of her father’s passing had to have been difficult. Not only because she had lost her father but because Lucas was an important client.
Tonight was meant to be wonderful, for he had meant to share his feelings for her. He would have fulfilled any request she made; no cost was too high.
Then an unsettling feeling coursed through him as rain began to dance against the window. Was she with another man? And if so, to what purpose? He shook his head in an attempt to dismiss the thoughts, but it did no good. Rather than dissipating, they solidified and became clearer, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not rid himself of them. Images of her in the arms of a faceless man as he held her close and kissed her. Of her dancing with him. Of her in his bed. With each image, his rage grew, and when Goodard came to the door and asked if dinner should be held, Lucas had to control his tone.
“I do not believe that will be necessary,” he replied. “It appears Emma has chosen another over me this evening.”
“Are you certain?” the old butler asked.
“I see no other possibility. Another carriage collected her, and I cannot see any other reason for her absence.”
Goodard took the now empty glass from Lucas’s hand and refilled it. “Your Grace, if I may offer my advice?”
“Please,” Lucas replied. “For I feel that my temper may get the best of me, and soon.”
“I have seen the manner in which Miss Barrington looks at Your Grace. Although I do not know the woman well, perhaps a great emergency has sent her away. I do not believe she would do anything to upset you purposefully.”
Lucas took a sip of his brandy and thought over the man’s words. “Perhaps you are right,” he said with a sigh. “I will eat now. I hope she sends word as to why she did not come, and then I can learn the truth.”
“As you wish,” the butler replied.
Lucas made his way to the dining room and took a seat at the table. He closed his eyes and listened to the drumming of the rain on the window. Emma must have had a good reason for not joining him for dinner, but no reasonable explanation came to mind.
However, the more he turned it over in his mind, the stronger the storm inside him became, and if he was not careful, it would match the one that raged outside his home.
***
Three times Emma thought the baron had made an attempt to kiss her. The first was when he had helped her remove her wrap. His mouth had come dangerously close to her ear, and she covered her shock by commenting on and walking over to a vase that sat on one of the nearby tables, although she found it gaudy and out of place.
The second had come when he showed her a rare coin he had acquired at some point Emma could not remember. As she pretended interest in the coin, he had moved in to point out what he said was the head of Caesar Augustus, although she saw nothing of the sort. To her, it appeared more a peacock than a human head, but what did she know of coins? In her shock, she dropped the coin and used that as an excuse to move away from him in order to retrieve it.
The third suspected attempt had been when he insisted on pulling out her chair at the dining table. She had shied away when he had leaned in to retrieve the napkin she had not seen fall to the floor.
She was not able to ease the tension in her shoulders until the man was safely in his chair at the head of the table, far enough away she did not have to worry he would overstep his bounds. Why she suspected such a violation on her person, she did not know, but simply being in the company of the man made her uncomfortable.
By the end of dinner, however, the tension was gone. The baron proved to be a good conversationalist, had read many books on various subjects that Emma found interesting, and had seemed interested in her opinions on a variety of matters. When he invited her to see his library, far away from the ears of the servants, concern returned, but to her surprise, he only boasted of his books and did nothing that would have been thought as inappropriate. Perhaps she had misjudged this man after all.
“One more glass of sherry before you leave,” he insisted as he took her empty glass from her. She was not accustomed to alcohol, and the room was already moving on its own accord, but she did not protest. “I have bottles brought back from France twice a year. The French may not have much in the way of manners, but when it comes to liquor, they do produce the best.”
“I would not know, My Lord,” Emma replied. “However, what we have had tonight has been very nice.” She accepted the new glass from him. “Thank you for your kindness.”
He smiled at her, but this time, rather than the pleasant grin she had seen him wear throughout dinner, this smile seemed devilish. “I am kind,” he replied. “It is why I have decided to
inform you now of a surprise I meant to keep from you.”
“A surprise?” Emma asked suspiciously. “What sort of surprise?”
“Allow me to show you,” he said.
Her heart seized as his cold, bony hand clamped around hers. Rain pounded on the windows, although she could barely hear it over the pounding behind her ears. As they walked, fear constricted her breathing. What a fool she was! The man was leading her to his bedroom where no one would hear her cries, and if they did, they would be servants who would do nothing in order to keep their positions in his household.
However, rather than going up the stairs that led to the second floor, he walked past them and into his study. “You look frightened,” he said with amusement.
“Not at all,” Emma said, glad her voice did not shake, although her legs did. Thank the heavens for skirts! “I believe the wine has dulled my senses somewhat.”
His eyes flickered for a brief moment, and Emma thought she saw a hint of evil in them. No, that could not be, for he had been nothing but kind and generous all evening. Despite this fact, she could not stop the feeling of impending doom that settled on her. Yet, that was silly; she had misjudged him several times. As an old man, perhaps having a young woman to dinner and being able to boast about his books made him happy.
“Good,” he said. “This is your surprise.” He patted a stack of letters, perhaps six in total, that sat on a table.
“Forgive me, My Lord. I do not understand.”
The baron laughed, and lightning flashed behind him, increasing that uneasy feeling she wore like a cloak. “Before I left for my trip, I sent out letters to ten men of wealth. I informed them of your business, or rather, your father’s business.”
Emma smiled. What a kind thing for him to do.
“Of the ten, six have replied with great interest in securing a bookkeeper. They shall also be in attendance at the ball Lord and Lady Gates will be giving in two weeks’ time.”
Relief washed over Emma, as did regret for her suspicions. “I cannot thank you enough for your kindness,” she said. If she could secure those accounts, her business would be out of debt within the month, two at most. She could finally purchase her new dress and perhaps new furniture for the office.
“Like most men,” the baron said, reaching for her hand once again, “these men are not enthused to do business with a woman.”
Emma felt her heart sink.
“However, I shall tell them we are courting. This will only be an act, of course,” he assured her. “However, I suspect it will be enough to gain their confidence. I believe it will bring you the business you need and therefore you will be able to pay what you owe me. Do you not agree?”
“It will,” she said in a near whisper, referring to the accounts and not his proposal of courting. Once the words left her lips, however, she realized her mistake too late.
“I would like you to come to dinner again on Friday,” the man said.
The last thing Emma wanted was to spend too much time with the man. “I would love to, but…”
“Excellent!” he said before she could object. “I believe a nice partridge is in order. I will inform the cook once you have left.” He raised his glass, and Emma forced herself to do the same. As the storm outside raged, she wondered at the same storm of worry that brewed inside her.
Chapter Eighteen
Emma entered the office of the business that had once belonged to her father more confused than any time in her life. Her mind was in such a muddle, she was unsure what agreement she and the baron had made. Lord Miggs had continued his conversation about their supposed courting, and she had done nothing to ask for clarification because she had been under such a confused fog, thinking had been difficult. The man had spoken as if the courtship was more than a sham, and now that her head was clearing, she hoped she had not agreed to something more.
She traced a finger across the old wooden desk, and the answer came to her almost immediately. It was for the business she had agreed to that sham. The business her father had begun but now was hers. She had no intention of failing, and if the cost was high to maintain it, then so be it.
Yet, how high was too high? That question she was unable to answer.
She poured herself a glass of wine and thought about the agreement they had made. Arriving at the ball on the arm of the baron would elevate her to the ton. She had already agreed to accompany him, therefore that had not changed.
What had changed was how others would view their relationship. Now, rather than an accompanied guest, she would be something more. What would the ton think of her, the daughter of a bookkeeper who had never owned a ball gown in her life, being courted by a baron? Lord Miggs did not seem to care or he would never have made such an agreement.
It was not the baron’s wealth she coveted, however. If every one of the six men allowed her father’s business to take on the keeping of their books, she would have a respectable income, and it had been a long time since that had been the case.
She walked over to the large window that looked outside. Large puddles had formed along the edges of the footpath, and in the street rolled heavy streams of water. Would this rain never end? Would any of these storms—those that whipped up the wind and poured down rain as well as those that sent her life into turmoil—would any of them end?
How many times had Lord Miggs made to appear he would take advantage of her? Had all that been in her imagination? Yet, he had used his books and the coins he collected as ways to impress her instead. How had a man such as he remained such a gentleman? That was where her confusion lay, for it mattered not what the man owned; her heart was with Lucas.
Lucas. She would call to his home first thing in the morning and explain what had kept her away. Once she had settled everything with him, she would collect Stephen and the two would return to the baron’s home in order to clarify their agreement. She could not have the man believing there was more to their relationship than he thought. If her words angered him, she would simply explain that she would still accompany him to the ball but not as more than his guest. Courtship was reserved for Lucas alone.
The door flew open, hitting the wall with a great bang, causing Emma to yelp in surprise. The cold wind blew papers off the desk, and she rushed to close it only to encounter a dark figure in the doorway. Lighting flashed behind him, but she could just make out the face of the Duke of Rainierd. And he did not look happy.
Emma took two steps back as Lucas entered the room. Water dripped from his hat and cloak, forming pools of water at his feet, but Emma only glanced at them.
“Lucas!” she said with a gasp. Then she smiled. “I am so glad you are here. I must apologize for this evening. You see…”
“Quiet!” he said. He did not shout, but the whispered word made her take in a great breath as if he had shouted. With a kick of his heel, he slammed the door shut behind him. “You were with a man this evening. Who was it?”
“It was a business meeting,” she said. “One I had…”
“His name.” The tone struck down her back like a whip.
“Baron Miggs, a man who…”
“You have seen before?”
Emma started. “I do not know what you mean by your words, but if you are assuming…”
“Did you not go to his home before?” He took a step forward as he glared down at her. “Do not lie to me!”
“Lucas, your temper, please,” she said, although the words were choked.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do not insult me. With how many men of the ton do you spend time?”
The glass Emma held slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor. The duke paid it no mind as it crunched under his boots. “Tell me!” he said through clenched teeth.
“I have met with Lord Miggs twice,” she replied as she brought a hand to her breast in an attempt to place some sort of protection between the man who glared down at her and herself. It was a feeble attempt, but it was all she had.
“Who
else?”
“There have been no others, besides yourself, of course. I can assure you, it is not as it appears!”
The laugh he gave held no mirth. “Oh, I know how it appears,” he said. He looked her up and down. “It appears in a cheap dress. It appears with a smile and promises of better days.”
“Lucas…” she pleaded, but he ignored her.
“And it appears as though you have taken me for a fool.”
Emma could do nothing to stem the tears that fell down her cheeks.
“Do not speak to me again,” he seethed. “Nor even mention my name. I was warned about your tricks, and now I see them for what they are!” Then he turned, stalked to the door, and placed his hand on the handle.
“No!” She ran after him and caught his arm before he could leave. “I had no choice!” she wailed. “I had to do what I could to save the business! To save my home!”
Lucas stopped and turned, his face obscured by the shadow of his hat. “There are names for women such as yourself,” he said in a low tone. “But I am too much a gentleman to speak of such things.” Then he walked out of the room, the door slamming to punctuate his harsh words.
The tears increased as Emma lowered herself to the floor. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she wept. She wept almost as hard as she did the day her father died, for her heart had broken once more. Outside, the storm continued to rage. At the start of the day, there had been sunshine, a day so bright she thought it a sign of her future. However, now, lightning flashed and thunder exploded, a sign that only dark days loomed ahead.
***
“There now,” Stephen said, handing Emma a cup of tea. “That’ll make you feel better. My mother used to make me one when I wasn’t feeling well.” He draped a blanket over her shoulders, and she gave him a small smile of thanks.
Emma had not slept more than an hour, and Stephen had found her on the floor by the door where she had fallen asleep after weeping throughout most of the night. He had led her straight to her bed, started the fire, and put on the kettle before pulling a chair near and asking her what had happened. As the water heated, she told him all that had transpired the night before.
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