by Jan Constant
“Could you be so kind?” she asked. “I am afraid that I am caught fast—”
For a moment he eyed her appreciatively, then peered over her indicated shoulder, saw the trouble, and smiled in a way that was unfamiliar to Miss Beringer.
“Of course. I’ll have you free in a trice, my dear,” he drawled and, standing closer than she cared for, reached both hands round her shoulders to untie the tangled strings.
Made unduly nervous by his nearness, Emma tried to appear unconcerned as his fingers brushed her back and his breath fanned her cheek. He seemed to take an inordinate length of time to free her, and at last she glanced up to find his gaze fixed on her face.
Black eyes smiled warmly down at her, and, not at all discomfited by the fact that she had caught his steady gaze, he allowed his obvious admiration to show.
“Are you looking for a protector, my dear?” she was surprised to hear him ask easily.
“We—ll—I have a guardian,” she answered cautiously, wondering what he could mean.
“And are you in need of a new one?”
“I haven’t met this one yet,” she was astonished into admitting and saw his eyebrows shoot skyward.
‘‘Your attitude is refreshingly practical,” he told her, and she was almost sure that a suppressed laugh shook his shoulders.
Beginning to suspect that all was not as it should be, Emma was about to suggest that she should be grateful if he would go in search of her maid, when she felt the strings of her dress freed. Instead of stepping back as she expected, her rescuer placed his hands on her waist and drew her against his chest.
‘‘I claim my reward,” he said, tipping back the flamboyant bonnet, and the next minute Miss Beringer was being thoroughly kissed.
Emma had been kissed before, hurried affairs delivered by callow youths, but this was far different. This man obviously knew what he was about, and it was quite clear that he had practiced the art to perfection. Clasped against him, bent backward at the waist, Emma hung in his arms, aware of his strength, and for one wild moment she savored the sensation before shocked rage came to her rescue. Freeing her hand, she hit her assailant soundly above one ear with all the force of her young arm, the slap seeming to echo around the empty street.
‘‘H—how dare you!” she cried, pleased to see that she had drastically altered the rakish angle of his hat.
Before he could recover from his astonishment, Emma pushed past and, back stiff with outrage, walked hurriedly away, careless of the direction.
Luckily, when a short while later her temper had cooled enough for her to take in her surroundings, she found that by good fortune she was marching along the High Street and that the George Inn was only a short distance ahead.
Rushing upstairs, she burst open the door of her room and, running past the surprised Peggy, threw herself on the bed.
“I’ll kill him—I’d like to stab him through his black heart! Ooh, how I hate him. The brute, the beast—how dare he!”
Peggy closed her open mouth and then took breath to say : ‘‘Oh, miss, what do you mean? Whatever happened? Not in broad daylight—you don’t mean to say . . . you weren’t, were you?”
‘‘Of course not,” was Emma’s withering reply. “The creature k—kissed me! I just asked for his help, and he kissed
me.
“It’s that hat, miss,” stated Mrs. Jones phlegmatically, relieved that nothing worse had happened. “I knew you shouldn’t wear it. It’s more suited to a kept woman, if you don’t mind my saying so, than an innocent young lady.”
Sitting up, Emma pulled at the red ribbons and, tearing the offending hat from her head, flung it into a comer. “Do I look like a demimonde?” she demanded.
“In that hat you do—especially with your dress all wet like that,” was the response, and Miss Beringer could only grit her teeth and snarl with rage.
“If I knew who he was, I’d make him sorry,” she muttered darkly, drumming her heels in frustrated anger. “I’d like to puncture his arrogant pride. I’d enjoy making him grovel!”
She fell silent, imagining the enjoyable scene as the elegant gentleman lost his sangfroid and knelt at her feet, begging forgiveness.
“A kiss isn’t so bad!” commented Mrs. Jones knowledgeably, a reminiscent smile playing around her mouth before she changed the subject. “A message came for you, miss, just before you came in. Sir Julian has arrived and will call on you this evening after dinner. I put your green crepe out earlier—if I give it a good press it will pass muster. ”
Emma nodded, her bluster suddenly deflated at the prospect of meeting her unknown guardian. “Why can’t the old man stay at home and let me mind my own affairs?” she asked crossly.
“I don’t know, I’m sure, miss,” returned Peggy Jones, not attending. “I’m sure as you want to look your best, so I’ve asked for hot water and a bathtub to be sent up. You’d best get out of those damp clothes anyway. Come along, miss, it would never do to keep the old gentleman waiting. I daresay he keeps early hours.”
The warm water and delicately perfumed soap soothed Emma’s ruffled feelings, and by the time she was wearing her pale green gown and was seated in front of her dressing table, she could smile at her reflection as she recalled the look of total astonishment on the handsome face.
Peggy was willing, but had had no training or aptitude for being a lady’s maid, and Emma had quickly discovered that she was better dressing her own hair. Luckily her honey blond hair curled naturally, and she had only to arrange her long plaits in a coronet high on her head and fluff out her fringe and side curls. The green crepe was sadly washed out but, consoling herself that the old gentleman’s eyesight could not be good enough to notice such details, she clasped her mother’s short strand of pearls around her neck, slipped earbobs into her lobes, and declared herself ready.
She picked at the cold colation that she had asked to be sent up to her room, finding that the prospect of confronting her guardian and making her point understood quite spoiled her appetite.
“Send it away, Peggy,” she said, leaving the table and going to stare down into the street. ”I shan’t need you again— I’m sure there is something that you wish to do. ”
Mrs. Jones bobbed a rare curtsy. “Thank you, miss,” she said, “but are you sure? Is it right for you to be alone with an unknown gentleman?”
“Of course. I am his ward, and he is elderly. One can’t be too formal with one’s guardian, you know. He stands in place of a parent.”
“Hmm—” Peggy was doubtful. “Well—I’ll be in my room, if you should want me.”
Once alone, Emma picked up a book and went to sit in the window, but the printed page did not hold her attention, and she found herself watching the scene below. Dusk had begun to fall, and candles were being lit in the houses and taverns. Men and women strolled along the road, sailors with their rolling gait and an arm around the waists of their female companions, officers with their ladies on their arms. Now and again a coach or carriage clattered over the cobbles, affording a brief glimpse of rich or aristocratic passengers on their way to some social event. It was all so different to that which she had been accustomed for the last two years that Emma watched in fascinated interest, not noticing the time, until the room grew dark behind her and a maid entered to light the candles. She had hardly retired before she was back again, announcing Emma’s expected visitor with as much pride as if the Prince Regent himself were arriving.
Emma stared at the tall unmistakable figure, eyes wide with shock. “You! ’ ’ she exclaimed with loathing in her voice.
“Good God! ’ ’ ejaculated Sir Julian in similar tones. “The kitten with claws!”
Chapter Two
For a moment they eyed each other, surprise and outrage warring in Emma’s expressive countenance, a hint of amusement in Sir Julian’s black gaze.
“You can’t be my guardian,” Emma stated positively at last.
Julian Leyton bowed impassively. “I am afraid that I
do, indeed, have that somewhat dubious pleasure,” he told her blandly. “Unless, of course, you are not Miss Beringer?”
To her mortification, he allowed the merest touch of hope to appear in his voice. Aware that she was not being treated with the respect which she thought proper, Emma eyed him stonily.
“Are you in the habit of kissing any helpless, unaccompanied female you happen to meet?” she demanded frostily.
“Helpless?” he queried, touching his cheek reminiscently before replying. “The answer, Miss Beringer, is no, I am not—unless they happen to be wearing outrageous hats and artfully dampened clothes, which to the unwary would suggest ladies of a particular profession. Good God, woman, what do you expect me to think when I am accosted by a young female in such attire asking me for help in a carefully contrived situation?”
Emma had flushed scarlet during this diatribe. “I was wet because a wave had soaked me, and, despite whatever you may think, the wind had twisted my strings round the railings,” she cried, and was instantly annoyed with herself for attempting an explanation. “You, sir, are a touch above yourself! Why in the world should I wish to make your acquaintance in such a manner?”
Julian Leyton took a breath but, struck by the impropriety of what he had been about to say, remained silent. Reading his thoughts, Emma’s eyes opened wide, and her lips formed an almost perfect O.
“I do believe that you thought I was a demimonde looking for a new protector!” she exclaimed ingenuously, things which had puzzled her falling into place.
Somewhat startled by her frankness, Sir Julian’s eyebrows rose, and Emma eyed him, her head a little on one side.
“You don’t care for frank speech,” she commented, pleased to see him a little disconcerted.
“I—own to a little surprise,” he told her gravely. “Perhaps it would be best if we were to begin our acquaintance anew.” Bowing elegantly, he said, “Julian Leyton—at your service, Marm.”
Accepting this way out of an impossible situation, Emma held out her hand. “How do you do,” she said politely, offering him the tips of her fingers and wishing that she did not have to look quite so high to meet his gaze.
Her hand was taken in a deliberate grip. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Beringer,” said Sir Julian.
Leading her to the curved sofa against one wall, he obliged her to be seated and, while she settled herself with what composure she could manage, poured them both a glass of claret from a decanter left on a side table.
Returning, he handed her a glass and seated himself beside her. Rather discomposed by his nearness, which brought back memories of his lips on hers, Emma sipped her wine, covertly aware of his masculine presence, the length of his long legs, and the breadth of his broad shoulders.
“We have a great deal to talk about,” she was told and raised her eyes to search his face.
“I have a friend in Haslemere,” she said quickly. “I thought to go there—”
Sir Julian shook his head. ‘‘I think not,” he said gently. “Perhaps a visit later, when I am sure of her suitability, but until then you will come to my house in London.”
Tom between the lure of the capital city and her wish to go her own way, Miss Beringer could not resist murmuring softly, “Is that quite proper?”
“Perfectly,” was the curt answer. “Both my sister and an aunt live with me. We will leave tomorrow.”
Annoyed by his high-handed assumption that she would comply with his orders, Emma made a show of considering, her head to one side. “I would still prefer Haslemere,” she said.
“My dear child, do you really expect me to pack you off to stay with someone I’ve never met and have no knowledge of? Believe me, I take my guardianship more seriously than that. Until you are twenty, you are in my care—as your father wished. ’ ’
Emma lifted her chin and stared down her nose. “You know as well as I that he had no wish for me to be kept on leading reins. The papers were drawn up years ago when I was a child and had need of a guardian—”
“And were never revoked,” pointed out her companion provokingly.
Miss Beringer ignored the interruption. “Now, I am a woman grown,” she went on grandly, only to be interrupted again.
“So I had noticed,” Julian Leyton said meaningly. “And for that reason alone, I have no intention of allowing you to besport yourself in a manner likely to provoke gossip.”
“Provoke gossip!” gasped Emma. “If anyone was to do such a thing, let me tell you, sir, it was yourself,” she cried, quite forgetting the proposal to begin anew.
“I daresay you are right,” drawled Sir Julian slowly, leaning back to regard her lazily. “Remember, though, that men may be gossiped about, but it does them no great harm—in fact, it may even enhance their reputations. A female, however, who causes gossip will soon find herself in sad shape. Would you like a rumor to go ahead of you and to find your reputation in tatters when you arrive in London?”
He waited for his words to sink in and, when he felt they had, went on, “My dear ward, only a foolish girl would be uncareful of her name. In your situation it is better by far to be above reproach.”
“But—what shall I do in London?” queried Emma who, despite her anger, had been pondering this point.
‘‘My sister has need of a companion. You are older and, I hope, wiser. To say that she has formed an unsuitable friendship would be charitable. You, as my ward, should make an ideal companion for Elvira, who has been left too much to her own devices. ”
Appearing to think that all was settled, he stood up. “Tomorrow, then. My carriage will call about midmoming. I take it you will be ready?”
“Oh, yes. I’ll be ready,” promised Miss Beringer meekly. Anyone who knew her would have been worried by such mildness, but Sir Julian merely allowed a hint of relief to cross his handsome face.
“Good girl,” he said kindly and appeared about to pat her head. “You’ll like the city, you know. There really is no need to be shy; Lady Beauvale will be delighted to have another young lady to launch into Society, and Elvira, if a trifle spoiled, is still the kindest of girls.”
“I am most grateful,” simpered Emma, swallowing her chagrin as Julian Leyton bestowed a brilliant smile on her and bowed elegantly.
“Until tomorrow, then,” he repeated and, pleased to find her so amenable, went on his way, congratulating himself upon the ease with which he had dealt with an awkward
situation.
As he walked downstairs a crash in the room he had left made him pause, but as no outcry followed, he decided it was not his concern and went on his way.
Behind him, Miss Beringer retrieved her book only to hurl it to the ground again and then kick it into the furthest comer.
“Arrogant pipsqueak!” she cried, ignoring the fact that Sir Julian was much too large to be termed a pipsqueak. “Shy!” she snarled, and kicked the unoffending volume again. “Make me a companion to his odious sister, would he? I suppose he plans that I should hold his aunt’s wool for her—in between toadying to dear Elvira. ”
In her rage she fell to pacing across the room, until, by chance, her eye fell on a bill advertising a theater, which was posted on the wall across the street. Suddenly her eyes narrowed, and, regardless of her safety, she leaned out of the window, the better to read the large, crudely printed writing.
“Rourk!” She exclaimed, repeating the name with growing excitement. “Rourk!”
Her mind shot back two years to the dapper, little sergeant, who had been the life and soul of the regiment, until he had been shot in the foot and invalided out of the army. Preparing to leave for home, not a particle abashed by fate’s treatment, he had declared his intention of running a theater in Portsmouth, and, remembering with pleasure the theatricals and concerts which he had arranged, no one had doubted his ability to do so.
The night was too far advanced to take action at once, but Emma determined to seek out “Rourk’s Theater” first thing the next morning, and,
a plan simmering in her mind, she spent a sleepless night, leaping from her bed at first light, impatient to put her plan into action.
“You’ve not forgotten that I’m off to Fareham this morning?” Peggy reminded her, when she found her mistress already up and dressed. “The arrangement was to last only until we arrived and Sir Julian made contact.”
“Yes, I know,” Emma assured her; knowing Mrs. Jones would disapprove of her proposed idea, she was eager for
her to be gone. “I'm very grateful for your company and hope that you will enjoy life in your brother’s inn. ”
“Well, there’s no knowing about that—one thing, it will be as different to life on the Peninsula as chalk is from cheese! However, I intend to make the best of it, though I can’t say but as how I’ll miss Charlie.”
She looked at Emma’s baggage piled in the middle of the room and tightened a strap. “So, you’re all ready, miss? If there’s nothing you want me to do, I’ll be off. I hope as you are happy with Sir Julian. The Red Lion will always find me, miss, if you’ve a mind to.”
The two women smiled at each other and nodded, both a little anxious at the parting, which symbolized a new life for each, and then Peggy Jones left the room, determination in every inch of her sturdy figure.
As soon as she was alone, Emma rang the bell for attention and was answered almost immediately by the familiar diminutive figure in drab gown and large mob cap.
“I wish to leave my luggage to be called for,” Emma told her, holding a shilling between her forefinger and thumb. “Can that be arranged?”
“Yes’m,” replied the girl, her eyes on the coin.
“And I wish to settle my bill.”
“Sir Julian said to put it with his—”
“Do you mean that he is staying here?” cried Emma, shaken by the revelation.
“Oh, yes’m—he’s in the dining room now eating mutton chops.”