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

by Lynna Banning

  Her heart was thudding so fast she felt sick. She tried to resist, but he was too strong. ‘Do not do this, Devlin,’ she said. ‘Please.’

  He swallowed, glanced away, then back again. ‘Just a kiss, Emma. Nothing more, I swear. Do not be afraid.’

  He slid an arm around her waist. As he shifted his grip, she managed to break free and began to run, but he grabbed her shoulder and wrenched her back to him.

  ‘No! Do not!’ She fought him, but he was too tall and powerful.

  He pulled her into his arms once more, holding her there as he looked into her eyes. ‘I am sorry, Emma,’ he said before his mouth closed over hers.

  She kicked against him, fought harder. But none of it made any difference. All she knew was his overwhelming strength and the smell of his cologne and the possession of her mouth by his and a raging fear and anger at what he was doing.

  She was struggling so hard she did not hear the opening of the study door. But Devlin did. He released her so suddenly that she stumbled back against the fireplace wall. She stayed there, her spine pressed against the wallpaper. She was breathing hard, shaking with shock and panic and fight. Devlin stood where he was facing her, his eyes cool and focused upon hers. But she was not looking at Devlin, only at Ned standing there in the door frame. So silent and still and with a calmness that was a promise of something very different. He stepped across the threshold, closed the door with careful control. The quietest of clicks in the silence.

  Only then did Devlin glance over his shoulder and the expression on his face changed, so that she saw it for the mask it was. Shock flitted in his eyes.

  Ned’s eyes held hers for a moment. She saw them drop to the neckline of her dress and only then did she realise that it had been ripped in the struggle. Something changed in Ned’s eyes. Something so dark and dangerous slipped into them that it frightened even her. His gaze swivelled to Devlin. She had thought him powerful when he had fought Black-Hair in the Red Lion, and that night in the Botanical Gardens. But this was different. Everything of his stance. Everything of his being. The very air around him. All of it shimmered with a dark deadly promise. The quiet before the worst thunderstorm. The promise to death.

  ‘Ned.’ It came out as a whisper. Husky. Broken. Part relief, part plea. ‘Stop. Wait. It is not...’

  But her words died away as she realised that Ned was not listening. He did not shift his gaze from Devlin. And she knew in that moment that Devlin’s fate was sealed. That Ned was going to kill him.

  Devlin must have known it, too. He faced Ned. Tense. Moving ever so slightly. Ready to meet what was coming. Ready to fight for his life.

  She saw the subtle gearing of Ned’s body, the ripple and movement of muscles, the slight shift in balance, the honed deadly focus.

  ‘You’ve crossed a line from which there’s no retreat, Devlin.’ Ned’s voice was low and quiet. ‘You may do what you wish to me. But Emma...’ He shook his head.

  Devlin stood his ground, a barrier between Emma and Ned. ‘I will not let you have her, Stratham.’

  ‘Step away from her.’ Almost a growl.

  Devlin shook his head. ‘I’ll see you in hell first.’

  There was a moment, just the tiniest moment of silence. And then everything exploded with a speed and violence and fury as Ned ran full tilt at Devlin. The collision seemed to reverberate through the room, but Ned kept on going, the force of the momentum carrying both men across the room to land with an almighty thud on the floor. Then fists were flying, punches landing hard, feet kicking, as the two men struggled and rolled and fought. A round mahogany table was thrown over, its crystal decanter and glasses crashing in a mess of broken glass upon the hearth. One minute Ned had the upper hand, the next it passed to Devlin.

  ‘Stop it, both of you!’ Emma cried, but it was as a whisper against the roar of a hurricane. She could not even begin to get close.

  Both scrabbled to their feet. The white of their shirts, cravats and waistcoats was speckled red with blood. Devlin’s lip was burst. Ned’s cheek was cut and the sleeve of his jacket was torn.

  Devlin moved in fast, landed a blow in Ned’s stomach, then, as he doubled over, Devlin let loose a series of punches to his face.

  Ned staggered back.

  Devlin came after him, with his fists.

  Ned smiled. Caught Devlin’s fist as it came again. Crushed it.

  Like some kind of arm-wrestling game, the men’s eyes held and their bodies strained motionless. Then Ned twisted Devlin’s arm and slammed him hard face first into the wall. Devlin began to crumple, but Ned grabbed him by the neck, hauled him upright, put a hand round his throat. And squeezed.

  ‘Ned!’ Emma ran to him. ‘Stop! Think what it will mean, for us both, if you kill him.’ She laid her hand on Ned’s arm and could feel how hard he was breathing. ‘Please, Ned. Do not do this.’

  He slid his eyes to Emma’s and in them was such love and fierceness that it took her breath away. Their gaze held for a second longer, then he gave a nod and returned his focus to Devlin.

  ‘If you ever touch her again, I will kill you. Regardless of anything else that is between us. Do you understand?’

  Devlin’s face was turning purple. He managed a gesture of agreement.

  Ned released him and Devlin sagged, catching his breath.

  ‘Oh, Ned,’ she whispered and only then realised that she was crying.

  ‘Emma.’ Ned swept strong arms around her, moving her away from Devlin’s reach.

  He gathered her to him, held her. She could feel the hard beat of his heart, feel the strong pump of his blood, feel all that was between them; this warrior of a man who had saved her so many times; this man who would kill to protect her.

  She tilted her face up to his, looked into his eyes, as his hand cradled the back of her head.

  ‘I am done with pretences. Things cannot go on the way they are, Emma. We must speak in earnest.’ He caressed a thumb against her face. ‘But not here, not now. First things first. We need to get you tidied up and back to the ballroom before your absence is noticed.’

  She nodded, knowing he was right.

  But then the door opened and there was a woman’s gasp and a man’s guttural exclamation of shock. And she knew it was too late.

  * * *

  It was only when the study door opened to reveal Colonel and Mrs Morley, and Lady Lamerton, surrounded by Devlin’s tight circle of friends, that Ned saw the expression on Devlin’s face and understood what was really happening. What Devlin’s intention had been. That Devlin had expected the little party’s arrival, but not Ned’s. He shot a hard glance across at where Devlin stood.

  Emma was in Ned’s arms, her face wet with tears, the shoulder of her dress ripped, her hair tumbling awry from its pins, her lips kiss-swollen. She looked like a woman who had been ravished. And even if she had not, it would not have mattered.

  ‘Good God, Stratham!’ exclaimed Colonel Morley. ‘You have ruined her!’

  ‘No,’ Emma began to say. ‘It was—’

  Ned knew what he was going to have to do. His arm tightened around her waist, his eyes met hers in warning. He kissed the word she would have uttered from her mouth, hard and lusty, then released her and moved to stand in front of her, facing the men and shielding her from their view.

  ‘Guilty as charged,’ he said. ‘If Devlin had not interrupted us...’ He glanced at Devlin.

  The viscount’s eyes were dark and filled with loathing. But there was nothing he could do. Nothing he could say.

  ‘Emma?’ Lady Lamerton stared at her.

  Ned’s eyes met Emma’s again, willing her to understand and say what she must.

  Emma looked at Lady Lamerton and gave a nod.

  ‘Well, sir,’ proclaimed Colonel Morley, puffing himself up. He began to walk to Ned, but sto
pped when he saw the look on Ned’s face. Morley glanced around him for support. ‘Miss Northcote is a gently bred lady. There can only be one honourable outcome to this thoroughly dishonourable affair.’

  ‘There can,’ agreed Ned. It was either him or Devlin. And there was no way he could give her up to Devlin; not when he felt about Emma as he did and most definitely not after what he had just witnessed. ‘I will wed her.’ His face was grim.

  Morley gave a nod.

  There was a silence. He saw the dark expression on Devlin’s face and those of Monteith, Fallingham and Bullford. Colonel Morley looked in a state of righteous indignation. Lady Lamerton looked shaken.

  And Emma—she maintained a quiet dignity and poise, but he could see the relief in her eyes that it was him and not Devlin.

  And something twisted in his gut, because he knew she would not be relieved if she knew the truth.

  Destiny mocked him with her cold irony.

  And he stood there and said nothing, to protect the woman that he loved.

  * * *

  ‘I warned you, did I not?’ Lady Lamerton was in high dudgeon and Emma could not blame her. She had lost one companion. Now she was about to lose another. And Emma knew that Lady Lamerton had been good to her. Had treated her with honesty and kindness and ignored the scandal surrounding her family.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Emma said. And truly she was. For Lady Lamerton. For Ned. For her father and Kit. For all of this mess that had erupted around her.

  ‘I knew he was no good.’

  Emma swallowed. Pressed her lips firm so that she would not say the words she wanted to, to defend Ned. That it was not Ned with whom she had fought, but Devlin.

  Ned looked the villain when all he was guilty of was saving her.

  ‘Although none of us realised the depths he was capable of plumbing.’ Lady Lamerton swallowed and her distaste for the words she was about to say made her purse her lips. ‘To force himself upon a woman...’ She shook her head. ‘But I suppose that bad blood will always out. He is no gentleman, but a rogue in truth.’

  Emma closed her eyes at that.

  ‘What were you doing alone with him in the study in the first place? You told me you were for the ladies’ withdrawing room.’

  ‘I received a note,’ she said slowly, hating the fact she could not tell the truth of what had happened in that study. ‘It said he had information on the whereabouts of my brother.’

  Lady Lamerton’s face tightened to a scowl. ‘A dirty trick worthy of only the lowest villain.’

  ‘It was indeed.’ Except that low villain was a viscount and one of the ton’s inner circle of disreputable gentlemen, not Ned Stratham.

  ‘Thank God that Devlin arrived! I dread to think the state you would be in had he not.’

  Emma looked away, unable to bear hearing Devlin so praised and Ned so vilified.

  ‘At least he realised he could not wriggle out of doing the honourable thing. No doubt he would have tried had not so many gentlemen been present.’

  Emma could have smiled at the irony of that statement. If they only knew... If it had come to fighting, Colonel Morley, Devlin, Monteith and the rest of them would not have stood a chance. She thought of Ned’s grip round Devlin’s throat and knew that Ned would have killed him had she not intervened.

  When she gave no response, Lady Lamerton misconstrued her silence. ‘I know it is difficult, Emma, but you are going to have to marry him. You are completely ruined if you do not. And there is nothing I or anyone else can do to change that. I have asked Colonel Morley and Devlin et al. to remain silent on the matter.’

  Emma wondered if they would. She knew how much Devlin hated Ned. But after what he had done... She shuddered at the awful memory.

  ‘And I have told Mr Stratham in no uncertain terms he is not welcome here. Damnable cheek of him to think he could call this morning.’

  Emma thought of having had to sit with Lady Lamerton in the upstairs parlour and keep on writing the dowager’s letter while Wilcott informed Ned that neither Lady Lamerton nor Miss Northcote were at home to him. ‘What harm would there have been in admitting him?’

  ‘What harm indeed?’ Lady Lamerton snorted.

  ‘We will be married come Friday.’

  ‘Let us just hope that Mr Stratham has learned enough about being a gentleman to keep the appointment.’

  Ned Stratham was the most honourable man Emma had ever known. It killed a part of her to have to sit quiet and let him be so unjustly maligned. ‘He would not—’ she began.

  ‘Indeed?’ Lady Lamerton raised her eyebrows and looked down her nose. ‘I do believe that when it comes to Mr Stratham any dishonourable thing is possible.’

  * * *

  Ned waited until the door closed behind his man of business before he spoke.

  ‘It is done. All of the business and the project with Misbourne will always be taken care of.’

  Rob gave a nod. ‘You did good for this city, Ned Stratham.’

  ‘It wasn’t my money.’

  ‘It was. You took an acorn and grew it to an oak whose branches stretch far beyond the petty privileged drawing rooms of Mayfair and the already-filled pockets of those that run the gaming clubs. That is where it would have ended otherwise. You can’t deny that.’

  ‘Maybe not. But it doesn’t alter the truth of where the money came from.’ Ned looked at the gleam of the bare mahogany desktop before him.

  There was a silence.

  ‘I didn’t think he had it in him to stoop so low.’ Rob sneered as he said it.

  ‘Desperation pushes a man to his limits.’

  ‘He went too far.’

  ‘Way too far.’ He closed his eyes at the memory of Devlin forcing himself upon Emma. It was an image that would remain branded on his brain for ever. And one that made his teeth clench and his fingers curl to fists and a cold fury of protective anger pulse through his blood.

  ‘The irony is that Devlin only had to wait an hour. One hour more and I would have had a chance to speak to her. One hour and she would have known the truth. Of who I am, of what I am. He wouldn’t have had to say one word to her, or lift so much as a finger against her.’

  Rob swallowed. ‘Are you going to tell her before Friday?’

  ‘Were I to do so, do you think there would still be a wedding?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Will she willingly marry the man who destroyed her beloved brother? The man who won his fortune, and was responsible for her family’s ruin?’ Ned gave a tiny shake of his head. ‘If I tell her now, she will not have me. And if she doesn’t marry me she’s ruined.’

  The two men looked across the room at one another with serious eyes.

  ‘God help you both,’ said Rob.

  ‘Amen to that, my friend,’ said Ned. ‘God help us both, indeed.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  The morning sunlight flooded into the carriage, sending silver shimmers through the silk of Emma’s dove-grey dress. Outside she could hear the song of a blackbird over the rattle and roll of the carriage wheels and the clatter of horses’ hooves. Inside, the silence was loud. Neither Lady Lamerton nor Mrs Tadcaster sitting opposite uttered a word. Not until the carriage came to a halt outside Ned Stratham’s mansion house, in Cavendish Square.

  Then Mrs Tadcaster dabbed at the tears in her eyes and said, ‘Oh, Emma, I can only be glad your poor mama is not here to witness your disgrace.’

  ‘I wish with all my heart that she were here. And as for disgrace, you blame the wrong person,’ Emma said with a fierceness that made the woman look at her as if she had just been slapped.

  ‘I wish you well, Emma,’ Lady Lamerton said.

  ‘Thank you.’ Emma’s eyes held the older woman’s with affection. ‘For everything.’

  Lady Lamerton gave a nod of
encouragement. ‘Are you ready?’

  Emma gave a single nod.

  Lady Lamerton smiled sadly and only then signed to the footman through the window to open the carriage door.

  There was a gentleman waiting in the hallway of the house. It was only when he glanced round that Emma recognised he was her father.

  ‘Papa?’ She hurried the rest of the distance to reach him.

  He smiled a small half-smile.

  ‘You look very well, Papa.’ The gaunt hollows had gone from his cheeks and his complexion held a good healthy colour that had been missing for too many of the previous months. She glanced down at his fine expensive tailoring.

  He pressed a little kiss to her cheek. ‘You look beautiful, my dear.’

  She felt a lump form in her throat. Felt the tears threaten in her eyes. ‘I did not know if you would come.’

  ‘To my own daughter’s wedding?’ He looked at her, his eyes soft and kind. ‘Even if the circumstance is not that which I would have chosen.’

  ‘They told you what happened?’

  ‘Stratham told me. Owned all of the blame. I cannot pretend to like it, Emma.’

  ‘It is not what you think. He is not what you think, Papa.’ She softened her voice to a whisper that no other would hear. ‘I love him.’

  He gave a nod. Smiled again, a sad smile. He held out his arm to her and she placed her hand upon it. And together they walked to the open drawing-room door. They paused. Stood there and looked at the room within.

  It was the wonderful scent that hit her first, sweet and beautiful as a summer day that now seemed so long ago. She smiled as her eyes moved over the bloom of violets that decorated the room and the white-and-pink ribbon garlands that festooned the chandeliers. Violets. The significance of his choice of flower was not lost on her. The lines of chairs were filled with guests. A black-robed priest stood with his back to the fireplace. Ned, with Rob Finchley as his best man, waited patiently before him.

  Ned was smartly dressed in his midnight-blue Weston tailcoat, a pristine snow-white shirt, white cravat and white-worked waistcoat. His hair was clean and shining gold as it fluttered in the slight breeze from the drawing-room window. He was tall and broad-shouldered. A man strong enough to best Devlin and every rogue in Whitechapel. Strong enough, too, to bear the villainy that belonged to another.