Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Lone SheriffThe Gentleman RogueNever Trust a Rebel

by Lynna Banning

  ‘Miss Northcote was speaking of the good weather,’ a man’s voice said from close behind. It was a voice that Emma recognised: aristocratic, educated, with a slight drawl of both careless sensuality and arrogance. She stiffened.

  ‘Splendid weather indeed,’ agreed Lord Soames with a nod and sat back in his chair to await his dinner.

  ‘Good evening, Miss Northcote,’ the voice drawled and its owner sat down in the vacant chair to her right.

  The blood was pounding in her temple. She felt a little sick. Took a deep breath to steady herself before she looked round into the classically sculpted face of Viscount Devlin.

  ‘I think you are mistaken in your seat, sir.’ Her eyes looked pointedly at the small white place card with the name of Mr Frew written upon it.

  Devlin lifted the place card and slipped it into a pocket of his dark evening tailcoat. ‘I do not think so, Miss Northcote.’

  Emma blinked at his audacity, met his gaze with a fierceness and flicked her focus a few seats along to where Mr Frew was sitting meekly. The gentleman had the grace to look embarrassed before rapidly averting his eyes.

  She returned her gaze to Devlin, her face as much a mask as his, even if her heart was still pumping hard with anger and loathing beneath. She knew that she could not start causing a fuss, or refuse to sit beside him. Guests were already sliding sly glances their way. Everybody would be watching to see her reaction to him. Everybody remembered her mother’s very public castigation of him and his friends. Everybody knew the history of him and her brother.

  So she smiled, even if her eyes held all the warmth of an arctic night, and kept her voice low. ‘What are you doing, Devlin?’

  ‘Enjoying an evening out at dinner.’ He smiled, too. That lazy charming smile of his she had once thought so handsome.

  Across the table Lord Fallingham had taken the seat beside Mrs Morley. His eyes met hers. He gave a nod of acknowledgement before he turned to Mrs Morley and engaged her in a conversation that had no room for anyone else.

  She did not glance round at Lord Soames. She could hear Mrs Hilton on his left shouting a conversation with him.

  Devlin smiled again as if he had known her thoughts.

  She did not smile, just held his gaze and waited.

  ‘So how have you been, Miss Northcote?’

  ‘Never better...’ Her mouth smiled. Her eyes did not. ‘Until a moment ago. And you, sir?’ A parody of politeness and sincerity.

  His smile was broader this time, lazier, more charming. ‘All the better for seeing you.’ And yet there was something in his eyes that gave lie to his words.

  ‘I cannot think why. Given your interchange with my family before we left London, I did not think that there was very much we had left to say to one another.’

  He made no reply, just leaned back in his chair, and took a sip of his champagne as he watched her. ‘How did you find Hawick’s ball the other evening?’

  By its own volition her gaze moved to Ned further down the table. His glance shifted to hers at the very same time. She looked away. Lifted her glass with a rock-steady hand.

  ‘It was a pleasant enough affair.’

  Devlin flicked a glance towards Ned before coming back to her. ‘Pleasant enough to tempt Mr Stratham on to the dance floor so I hear. A hitherto unheard-of feat.’

  ‘I would not know, having been absent from society for so long.’

  He smiled at the barb, a smile that did not touch his eyes. Took another sip of his champagne. ‘It is quite the accomplishment, I assure you.’

  ‘I will take your word for it.’

  He smiled again.

  ‘He’s new money,’ he said in that same disparaging tone with which all of the ton viewed self-made men.

  ‘So I have heard.’

  ‘Men like Stratham do not play by the rules of our world. Some of them do not play by any rules at all.’ He paused, then added, ‘Especially when it comes to women.’

  ‘That is rather rich coming from you.’ The whole of London knew that Devlin was an out-and-out rake.

  ‘Maybe.’ Devlin smiled. ‘But my affairs are conducted with those who know the score.’

  There was a silence and in it lay his unspoken insinuation over Ned. He held her gaze.

  ‘Why are you telling me?’

  ‘For the sake of my friendship with your brother.’

  ‘Friendship? Is that what you called it?’ She raised her brows.

  ‘And even if it were not so, given Stratham has expressed such an...interest in you, I would not be a gentleman were I to keep quiet and say nothing.’

  ‘One dance does not constitute an interest.’

  ‘I think, in this case, it rather does.’

  ‘I am sure you are well intentioned, sir.’ She kept her voice quiet and light, as if they were in truth discussing nothing more than the weather or the latest summer theatre show. ‘But what I do, and with whom, is not your concern.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ Devlin’s gaze flicked down the table to Ned and when he looked at her again there was a strange, almost possessive expression in his eyes. ‘And then again maybe it is more of my concern than you realise.’

  The expression was gone so quickly that she doubted she had really seen it. She stared at him, wondering if he had just actually said those words.

  He smiled again, that charming smile that had so many women fluttering their eyelashes and hoping to be the one that tamed him.

  There was the clatter of dishes, the scrape of cutlery, the chink of glass and glug of wine being poured as the meal was served. Footmen were moving between them, offering dishes for their serving. All around was the hum of conversations and small laughter.

  Emma felt the slink of unease in her stomach.

  But when the footmen moved on, Devlin’s attention was across the table. ‘How was your chicken, Mrs Morley?’

  ‘Superb as ever can be expected from...’

  The conversation played on. The seconds ticked slow.

  Emma’s eyes moved down the table to where Ned was talking to Mr Jamison. He glanced up and met her eyes with cool speculation, before returning his focus to whatever it was Mr Jamison was saying.

  Chapter Seven

  The morning sky was a yawning blue. The air was fresh and perfect. Ned’s gig, sprung for sport and speed, and dark and sleek as the panther rumoured to be kept by the Prince Regent in his Tower menagerie, skimmed smooth and light over the roads towards Hyde Park.

  ‘Did you see that Devlin was seated beside Miss Northcote?’ Rob spoke loud enough to be heard above the noise of both the gig’s wheels and the horses’ hooves.

  ‘Devlin was not seated there. He intimidated Frew into swapping seats.’ Ned kept his attention on the four matched-black horses trotting smartly before them.

  ‘I wonder why.’

  ‘I would guess that he wished to speak to Miss Northcote.’

  ‘You think he’s sweet on her?’

  ‘Maybe. But she’s sure as hell not sweet on him.’ Whatever it was Emma felt for Devlin was more akin to dislike and anger judging by the look on her face when Devlin had first sat down. Certainly not a prearranged meeting and not one she wanted to be a part of. It shouldn’t have made any difference. She was nothing to him. But it did make a difference.

  ‘She does not like him. That’s why he had to wait until she was at the dinner table before he approached. Because she would have walked away otherwise,’ Ned said.

  ‘Strange that she should dislike him so much.’

  ‘Is it?’

  He could feel the glance that Rob flicked his way. ‘Maybe he didn’t like you dancing with her.’

  Ned smiled. ‘I’m sure he didn’t like me dancing with her.’

  Rob chuckled.

&nb
sp; There was the whir and rumble of the wheels, the clatter of the horses’ hooves, the noise and hubbub of the traffic all around them. They stopped at the junction behind a queue of carriages and waited while a road sweeper darted out ahead, sweeping the fresh pile of steaming horse manure up into his shovel ahead of the two city gentlemen who followed and receiving a tip for his trouble.

  The carriages in front moved off. Ned gave a flick of the rein and his team followed.

  ‘You’re getting too good at this carriage driving,’ observed Rob with a grin. ‘Lessons paid off well.’

  Ned smiled.

  They lapsed into silence as they sped past the buildings.

  When Rob spoke again it was in a voice not to be heard by any others. ‘Do you think Devlin said anything to her about...?’

  ‘No.’ Absolute. Categorical. ‘Whatever Devlin feels about me, he will not drag Emma Northcote into it. It’s more than his honour is worth.’

  ‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t set so much store by gentlemen and their honour.’

  Ned smiled a hard smile.

  ‘Miss Northcote—she’s not what I thought she’d be. Not spoiled and pampered like the rest of them.’

  Ned made no comment, but he thought of her in the red tavern dress dealing with the men in the Red Lion. He thought of her in his arms in the darkened alleyway, her mouth meeting his with passion and sweetness. He thought of the warmth of her smile, of her irrepressible spirit and strength of character. And how he had wanted her in his bed, in his life...in his future. He pushed the thoughts away with a will of steel. ‘Whatever she is makes no difference to us.’

  Rob smiled and leaned back in his seat to enjoy the view of the fine town houses.

  Ned drove the carriage onwards to Hyde Park.

  * * *

  Emma stood alone by the window in the dining room of the dowager’s Grosvenor Place town house, watching London wake to another day.

  The Fortnum and Mason cart was passing, the delivery boy perched high on the back ready to spring down and run in with the groceries ordered by housekeepers and wives. Two milkmaids were on the other side of the road, wooden yokes across their shoulders, balanced like a weighing scale with large wooden churns. There seemed a never-ending stream of coaches and carts and gentlemen on horseback taking their mounts for exercise in the park. A clamour of activity, which was the reason that Lady Lamerton had chosen the house.

  The sky was blue, but mired with that slight haze that would burn off as the earliness of the morning advanced and the sun climbed high in the sky. It was going to be another hot day. Emma could feel the clammy warmth in the air already. She massaged a hand against the tightness nipping the nape of her neck.

  She was thinking about last night and Devlin...and Ned.

  An uneasiness still sat upon her over Devlin’s veiled suggestion that he had an interest in her and over his implication about Ned and gentle-born women.

  How Devlin could even think that there could be anything between them... Devlin, after all, was one of the men responsible for Kit’s downfall and the financial ruin of her family. And even were he not, he was a rake, a man who lived a life devoted to empty hedonism and lavish luxury. He had no thought for anything serious or meaningful. He spent his time bedding women of the demi-monde, gaming and drinking. After her months in Whitechapel she could not like a man like him.

  She thought of Ned seeking his pleasures on the other side of town as much as Devlin. She thought of Devlin’s hints and wondered what it was Ned had done with another gentle-born woman. The thought made her chest tighten with a heavy rawness and sent a bitterness pumping again through her blood. Had he lied to her as he had lied to Emma? Had he deceived Emma as to what was between them? And over his offer to help her father? She closed her eyes at the thought of that small unnecessary cruelty.

  And in her mind she saw again her father that day at the warehouse.

  ‘Oh, Papa,’ she whispered soft as a breath and that ever-present nagging sense of worry over him stole out from where it lurked in the shadows to fill her mind. And she thought, too, of what he would say if he ever discovered what she had done with Ned Stratham.

  ‘Ah, here you are, Emma.’ Lady Lamerton’s voice made her start. She hid away those feelings. Took a breath and turned to face her employer.

  ‘I did not mean to startle you, my dear.’

  ‘The fault is all mine. I was wool-gathering and did not hear your approach.’ She smiled and, moving from the window, directed the dowager’s attention elsewhere. ‘Cook has quite surpassed herself with the ham and eggs this morning.’

  ‘She has a temperament that requires handling with kid gloves, but...’ Lady Lamerton smiled and lowered her voice to share the confidence ‘...she is worth her weight in gold. Worked for the royal household for years. When she left, Amelia Hilton tried to snaffle her, but I got in first.’ The dowager leaned on her walking stick and gave a very satisfied cat-that-got-the-cream smile that made Emma smile in earnest.

  Emma lifted a plate from the heater and helped Lady Lamerton to a selection from the breakfast dishes before they both took their seats.

  Lady Lamerton peered at the empty space before Emma. ‘I trust you have eaten?’

  ‘I have, thank you.’ She knew how precious food was. How hungry a person could get. So she had eaten whether she had appetite or not.

  ‘I see Mrs Lewis seated you beside Devlin. Hardly the most sensitive of seating arrangements given the history of your families.’

  Emma made no comment.

  ‘Did he upset you?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she lied and thought of Devlin’s insinuation about Ned.

  Lady Lamerton glanced across at Emma as she ate. ‘And yet you have something weighing upon your mind.’

  The butler appeared with a fresh pot of coffee and set it down on the table between them, sending wafts of steam and its rich roasted aroma through the air. By unspoken consent both Emma and Lady Lamerton waited until he had departed again before they resumed their conversation.

  ‘I was thinking of my father,’ Emma admitted, aware that the older woman was no fool. It was the truth, just not all of it.

  ‘Wondering how he is faring in Hounslow without you?’

  In his small comfortable cottage living a quiet but respectable life in Hounslow. So many lies. Emma met Lady Lamerton’s gaze. There was a formidable kindness in it. She wondered what Lady Lamerton would do if she knew the truth? Of Whitechapel and the hardship of life there, of the dockyard warehouse and the Red Lion Chop-House. Part of her wanted so much to tell. To unburden herself. To cease the dishonesty. But Emma knew she could not. She was under no misapprehensions. Lady Lamerton had a kind heart, but she would not understand. And she certainly would not have a woman who had been a serving wench living in her house, acting as her companion. So Emma just smiled in reply.

  ‘I am taking tea with Mrs Hilton this afternoon. There is no need for you to come. Take the day off. Travel out to Hounslow and surprise your papa with a visit.’

  And discover for herself the truth of how he was coping. ‘If you are certain...’

  ‘Quite certain. I would not say it were I not. As long as you are returned before evening. Remember we have agreed to a card evening at Lady Routledge’s.’

  ‘I will be back long before evening.’ No woman wanted to be walking the Whitechapel streets at night. And that made her think of the night that Ned Stratham had stepped in to save her from the two sailors. Of his walking her home...and all it had led to. She stopped the thoughts. Closed her mind to them. Thought of her purpose in being here.

  ‘I have been meaning to ask you whether Lord Lamerton has yet had word of Kit?’ she asked.

  ‘It is early days, Emma, and m’son continues with his enquires. We must leave the matter in his capable hands.’

/>   ‘I am most grateful. My father will be, too.’ It would be the first thing her father would ask.

  ‘If there is word to be had, Lamerton will be the one to have it.’

  ‘He will.’ Emma smiled, but as she sipped her coffee the question on Emma’s mind was what that word would be.

  * * *

  It was a couple of hours later when Emma made her way across town, walking at a brisk pace. The new olive-green walking dress, cream spencer, bonnet and gloves, all part of the wardrobe Lady Lamerton had bought for her upon her arrival, allowed her to belong in Mayfair. But not so in the East End. It was only when she got into Spitalfields and then headed further east into Whitechapel that she was aware of the way people were looking at her.

  Before, in her own old and shabby attire, or the serving dress lent to her by Nancy, she had fitted in, drawn no notice. Now her new and expensive clothing proclaimed her from another tribe, an intruder from another world. The further she trod into Whitechapel the more uncomfortable she became.

  Streets that only a couple of weeks ago had been her home, her locale, seemed threatening. Men, lurking in doorways, eyed her with sly speculation. Women, sitting upon their steps, did not recognise her as Emma de Lisle, one of Nancy’s girls from the Red Lion, but as someone who should not be here, someone who did not fit in. Only two weeks had passed, but already she had forgotten the depth of the darkness, the stench of the dirt and the cutting danger of this place.

  Five miles separated Whitechapel and Mayfair. It might as well have been five thousand. They were worlds apart. Little wonder Ned changed his clothes to come here. She wished she had done the same.

  But although her clothes were all wrong, she knew these people. She kept her head up, maintained her confidence and stayed true to herself.

  It was with relief that she eventually reached the London Docks.

  In the warehouse was the same foreman she had met before. He did not recognise her at first. Did a double take when she apologised for inconveniencing him and asked him if she might speak to her father.