The Beringer Heiress

by Jan Constant

  Fury at such treatment consumed Emma, and she struggled with all her strength, kicking against his shins until she was lifted off her feet and then punching with her clenched fists until her hands were pinioned behind her back.

  Crushed against the hard, masculine length of him, Emma began to find his overpowering strength exciting, and instead of rage, a pleasurable exhilaration began to flood through her veins. An enjoyable warmth filled her with happy relief as she realized that Sir Julian returned the feelings she had suppressed for weeks, and she relaxed in his arms. Involuntarily

  her mouth softened under his caress, and when he released his grip, her arms crept upward to clasp around his neck, her fingers playing with his short, black curls.

  Surprised by her own passion, Emma shivered with anticipation when Sir Julian raised his head, glanced up from under half-closed eyelids, expecting to see her own emotions mirrored in his face.

  Instead, he was regarding her from icy black eyes, his expression cold and grim. Startled, she drew back as if cold water had been dashed in her face and gazed at him, wide- eyed and shocked.

  ‘ ‘So, madam, ’ ’ he said, curling his lip. ‘ ‘It is as I thought- anyone will do.”

  Releasing her so abruptly that she almost fell and had to steady herself against a chair, he shriveled her with a glance of contempt. ‘ ‘Devern, me—who else, if it’s not an indelicate question? By the smell of you, a play actor, but then you always did have a penchant for the vulgar theater, did you not?”

  Supposing herself loved one moment and treated to a cruel tirade the next, Emma gazed at him in bewilderment, growing pale as realization dawned and she understood his accusations. For a second she stared up at him, her heart in her eyes before, drawing her pride around her, she straightened her shoulders and faced him bravely.

  ‘‘You are wrong,” she said with pitiful dignity, speaking in a shaking whisper. “I did deceive you, but not for the motive you suppose, and for that deception I apologize. ...” She made a futile, helpless gesture with one hand. “There— there is nothing more to be s-said.” With a brave attempt, she curved her stiff lips into a travesty of a social smile. “So, I will bid you good night,” she said and, turning on her heel, left the room without waiting for his reply.

  Sir Julian made a half-gesture to restrain her as she passed, but his hand fell to his side, and he watched without comment.

  The way to her room seemed endless, the candles left earlier in strategic places were guttering, sinking into a sea of melted wax and throwing huge formless shadows as she passed. Once in her own room, Emma stood against the door, beyond tears, and attempted to take stock of the world that had crashed about her; there seemed nothing left, no hope, only a shattered future.

  There appeared only one course open to her, and that was to leave Cumberland Square. Even though the thought filled her with an icy despair and brought a desolate sob to her throat, she knew that there was no other solution. . . . The thought of having to confront Sir Julian again was totally unbearable, and having decided upon her course of action, she at once began to put in into operation. Moving as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb anyone, she packed a few necessities in a small carpetbag and sat down at the table to write notes to Lady Beauvale and Elvira, leaving them propped beside the mirror.

  Finally stripping off the evening gown she wore, she dressed again in a plain dove gray dress and pelisse that would not excite comment, tied the strings of an unexceptional bonnet under her chin, picked up the carpetbag, and after a final glance round the room, where she now realized she had been so happy, crept down the stairs.

  Dawn was just breaking as she let herself out of the house and set off quickly across the square. Intending to hire a poste-chaise, she headed toward the nearest office. The streets were almost deserted, and she walked swiftly, her mind busy with a turmoil of emotions and so was oblivious of the tilbury which approached from behind and was checked as the driver recognized her.

  Her name being called brought her out of her reverie, and she looked up to meet the surprised gaze of Vivian Devern.

  “Miss Beringer,” he repeated, as if doubting his eyes, “what brings you out at this hour?”

  Turning toward the vehicle, Emma hesitated, and in that 225

  moment by silent, but mutual, consent, the events of the previous evening were agreed to be forgotten. Knowing that only the truth would serve as an answer and yet unwilling to make her unhappiness known, she paused before replying.

  “I wish to go to my house in Hampshire,” she said at last, without elaborating. ‘‘And am about to hire a chaise.”

  To his credit, Lord Devern did not inquire into her reasons, instead insisting that he and his carriage were at her disposal.

  ‘‘But—you were about your own business,” she exclaimed. “I remember you saying you were going to Portsmouth.”

  ‘‘Hodge Hall is not far out of the way,” he answered reassuringly, reaching a hand down to help her climb up beside him as if all was arranged, and somewhat to her surprise and certainly to her relief and gratification, Emma shortly found herself bowling out of London without the task of having to hire a public chaise, a feat which she suspected could prove difficult for an unaccompanied female.

  ‘‘Oh, dear!” she exclaimed suddenly, having correctly identified a member of a group of noisy young gentlemen wending their way home after a night spent in social activity.

  Bending her neck, she hid inside the deep brim of her bonnet and hoped that Freddie Melvin would not recognize her as Lord Devern flourished his whip in answer to his kinsman’s greeting.

  “You are safe now,” he said a little later. “I think you need have no fear—it would be a wonder if Freddie recognized anyone after a night spent carousing with his cronies. ’ ’

  “I do hope not—though, why I should worry about it, I do not know. After all, I am of age, and no one can take exception at my driving with whom I please.”

  “Bravely spoken,” drawled her companion, “but Ju is a formidable adversary.”

  Emma shot him a startled glance. “I had not thought—” she exclaimed, conscience-stricken. “You do not think he will call you out again?”

  “I would not be so foolish as to accept,” she was told, and having reached the outskirts of the city, Lord Devern sprang his horse, and the light carriage picked up speed.

  Trying to clutch her seat unobtrusively as they swayed and bounced over the dusty road, Emma admitted that while he was a good driver, Vivian Devern’s talent was erratic. Where Sir Julian had never presented her with any qualms even while traveling at excessive speeds, she now was troubled with nervousness that made her uncomfortable. Several times they came within a hair’s breadth of overturning, and when they scraped by a chairmaker’s wagon, causing much of its load to be scattered over the road, she felt called upon to remonstrate.

  ‘ ‘The fellow was in the way. When I have overturned you, Miss Beringer, then you may complain,” she was told coolly, with no slackening of speed.

  Taken aback by such ungentlemanly treatment, Emma found herself at a loss for words, falling quiet for several miles as they clattered through scattered hamlets and dashed past laborers and their families preparing for the new day.

  The journey seemed interminable; her face was cold from the rush of chill air, and every muscle in her body had begun to ache with the effort of keeping her seat. The thought of a public poste chaise now began to have its attraction, and she found herself wishing heartily that she was safe inside such a vehicle, rather than perched atop Lord Devern’s tilbury, however fashionable and dashing the equipage might be. . . . Besides, she had more than a sneaking suspicion that she had been decidedly foolish in accepting his offer to take her to Hodge Hall. Some instinct told her that his apparent kindness was more for his own good than hers.

  Having made the briefest of stops to stretch their legs and water the horse, they started off again, and once back on the road, the remorseless speed was tak
en up again. A little after

  noon they paused for a quick luncheon, while the horse was exchanged, and then set off again. Emma was somewhat disturbed to notice that Vivian Devern had acquired a habit of peering over his shoulder and could not forebear to ask if they were being followed.

  “This stretch is notorious for highwaymen,” she was told curtly as the tilbury was tooled round a bend in the road.

  She stared in disbelief. “Surely they do not overtake their intended victims—should you not rather be looking ahead for trouble?”

  As her companion did not reply, Emma found herself reflecting upon how different this journey was from that undertaken with Sir Julian, and from there her memory dwelt upon the happy moments she had spent with him, which now seemed doubly precious. Tears filled her eyes, and blinking furiously, she loosed her grip on the leather upholstery to discreetly wipe her cheek, hoping that her companion would not notice her distress, which after all she must admit to having brought upon herself.

  Turning away, she began to look about her, hoping to find some familiar aspect which would indicate that the long, uncomfortable journey would be near its end. Every bone in her body felt bruised, protesting each time a wheel hit a rut or stone. To her growing puzzlement she could recognize nothing, the countryside seemed much flatter than the rolling Hampshire downs she had admired on her previous journeys. For the first time in that interminable day, she attempted to turn her mind from the thoughts of her problems and the wretched understanding of how upset Elvira and Lady Beau- vale must be by her actions. The very thought of Sir Julian and how low his estimation of her must be filled her with such dismay that she had to bite back a sob. Rather than give way to her emotions, she straightened her aching back and looked about. A suspicion, which would have dawned much sooner if she had not been so preoccupied, surfaced gradually, and she fought down a rising unease.

  “Pray tell me,” she began, speaking calmly. “Where are we?”

  “Tired, Miss Beringer?” Lord Devern asked with another of his backward glances, and at that moment the hired horse chose to go lame, breaking his rhythmic trot as he favored his right foreleg.

  The curse Lord Devern uttered would have shocked a lesser female, but Emma had heard much the same language many times as she followed her soldier father across the Peninsula, and beyond raising her eyebrows, she merely pointed out that there appeared to be an inn a little further along the road.

  Bidding her to hold the reins, he jumped down to examine the animal’s leg before, advising her to keep her seat, he led the equipage the short distance to the cluster of buildings. The feet that there was no exchange horse available did nothing for his temper, and his expression had tightened alarmingly as he handed Emma out of the carriage.

  “We’ll have to spend the night here,” he announced, indicating the shadows which had begun to form in the corners of the yard.

  The thought that the accident had been organized crossed Emma’s mind, but one glance at the swollen fetlock of the horse told her that the injury was genuine. However, she was aware that money had changed hands a few minutes earlier as Vivian Devern spoke with the landlord, and judging by the sidelong glance sent in her direction, she had been the object of their conversation. Unhappily aware of her vulnerability, she decided that it would be wiser to go along with the suggestion for the time being, despite her growing unease. Following the landlord into the small black-and white- beamed building, she was led upstairs to a room furnished with a table and chairs. Beyond was a bedroom, connected by a door. Here towels, sweet-smelling soap, and fresh water waited invitingly, and she made haste to wash away the signs of travel. Refreshed and invigorated, she returned to the outer room, feeling more herself. The lethargy of the last

  hours had dissipated, leaving her feeling once more ready to confront the world.

  Returning to the outer room, she paused in the doorway, surprised to find Vivian Devern in what she had viewed as her private sitting room. He stood at the window, one hand holding back the curtain as he watched the road below.

  He looked up with a smile at her entrance. “I’ve ordered dinner,” he said easily.

  Emma raised her eyebrows. “Is there no dining room?” she asked.

  “Apparently none,” was the cool answer. “Surely you are not averse to a tete a tete?”

  Wondering how to reply, for she was definitely having grave misgivings about the wisdom of her action in accepting so readily Lord Devern’s escort, Emma was saved from the need to answer by the arrival of the landlady and a junior minion, each bearing a tray loaded with as many dishes as it would hold.

  “Evening, m’lord, miss,” she said, bobbing a curtsy before proceeding to lay the table. “There’s a ham, a pigeon pie, a nice fricassee of chicken, a salad, a fruitcake, and one of my own cheeses.” She set each item on the table as she spoke and, going back to the door, brought in a black, stout bottle which she placed beside two glasses. “And a nice bottle of brandy,’ she announced triumphantly, “which not so long ago was in the hands of them Frenchies!” Giving them, what Emma could not but feel, was a knowing look, she beamed conspiratorially. “Knowing as how you didn’t want to be disturbed, I took it upon myself to bring all the vittles up at once—I hope I done right?”

  While Emma was still digesting this, Lord Devern strode forward and dropped something that chinked into her ready palm. “I am sure it couldn’t be better,” he assured the woman and held the door gallantly as she and her maid left the room. Behind them Vivian Devern locked the door and pocketed the key with a calm assurance. ‘ ‘Come to the table,

  dear Miss Beringer,” he invited softly, filling the waiting glasses.

  Emma, who had been standing in the shadows, came forward and, having decided upon her course of action, seated herself at the table. “I vow I am starved,” she announced calmly, shaking out her napkin.

  Lord Devern paused briefly, sending her a thoughtful glance before setting the glass beside her plate. ‘ ‘Let me help you to a little meat,” he said, carving a thin, pink slice from the ham.

  Prolonging the meal as long as she could, picking at this, toying with that, Emma pushed food round her plate on the principle that no man would attempt to seduce an eating victim, unhappily aware that Vivian Devern was drinking heavily. Eventually, she was forced to set down her knife and fork.

  ‘‘A little more cheese, Miss Beringer?” Lord Devern offered silkily. “I would not for the world have you leave the table hungry.”

  Sitting back, she lifted her chin and, knowing that she could dissemble no longer, eyed him steadily. “Well, my lord, what now?” she asked.

  “What would you have?” he returned, amused.

  “I would like most of all to retire to my room,” she replied honestly, “but, I have the feeling that that is not what you have in mind!”

  “How engagingly frank, my dear.”

  Emma leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “I do not see why you should suppose yourself able to address me with familiarity, just because you are intent upon seduction,” she remarked conversationally. “I am afraid, Lord Devern, that I am not your ‘dear,’ and find it very unlikely that I ever will be! ”

  He leaned back, one long arm carelessly stretched across the table, very much at his ease. “Oh, I believe that such terms are quite acceptable among married folk.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “So—we are to be married! May I ask when this decision took place?”

  “As soon as you became the Beringer Heiress, of course, ’ ’ was the easy answer. “Until then, I must confess, I merely had seduction in mind . . . having realized that Ju was more than interested in his ward.”

  “Of course! Your one idea is vengeance—how admirable!”

  He flushed a little at the sting in her voice and deliberately refilled his glass, regarding her with glittering eyes. “I think,” he said, “my dear Miss Beringer, it would be as well for you to mend your tongue, if we are to deal well together.”
<
br />   Emma considered, her head to one side. “But then, you see, I have no wish to deal with you at all! ” His lordship hid his chagrin behind his glass, and after a while, she went on; “Pray sir, answer my curiosity. If, as I suppose, we are on our way to Gretna Green, what then, will happen to your yacht, awaiting you in the Solent?”

  Drink had made him indiscreet, and he shook his head, smiling. “By now, it will be snug in Le Havre harbor. ” “France!” she exclaimed, genuinely astonished.

  “I see you are surprised. When I was so delighted to see you on the road, a happening that rapidly altered all my plans, I was on my way to meet a kinsman, who happened to also be a prisoner of war. It was remarkably easy to arrange, just a little judicial bribery needed to free him from Portchester Castle, find a suitable hiding place, and arrange to bring my yacht into Fareham Creek. ’ ’

  “So—that was what you were doing on all those trips back and forth. ” Emma looked at him with new interest, thinking that here was possibly one mitigating virtue in his unfortunate character—until he went on reflectively:

  “Corruption only cost half the amount sent to me, so I’m in pocket, too.”

  “Phaw! You really are obnoxious!” she told him roundly.

  Her disgust pleased rather than disturbed him, and he smiled at her obvious distaste. “So I have been told. I’m afraid that all my life it has been so—I take what I want. Only once has it been denied me, and now I can make Leyton pay in full for his previous interference.” His voice was a little thick, and he stumbled slightly as he stood up. “Come, my heiress, it is time to cease this game—”

  “I will not marry you!”