Running from Scandal

by Amanda McCabe

  ‘Yet you don’t think he should dispose of his books, Sir David?’

  David shrugged. ‘They are his books to do with as he sees fit. I just worry that he would find himself too lonely if they were gone, and then his health would decline even further. You heard how he calls them his friends. He shouldn’t be pressed to dispose of them before he is quite ready. I’m always here to help him if he requires it.’

  Of course he was. If there was one thing Emma had heard about David Marton, it was that he always did his duty. He always looked after his own. And that was a trait Emma had seen so rarely in the men in her life. She couldn’t help but admire it.

  Even when she longed to see another glimpse of the other David Marton, the one who kissed her so passionately, so freely. The one she was sure he kept locked down inside somewhere.

  ‘It was good to see you again, Sir David,’ she said as she put her foot on the rail of her cart to climb in. ‘Please give my greetings to your daughter and your sister.’

  He suddenly reached out and took her hand to help her up. His hand was warm and strong and steady through her glove. Like when he touched her, she felt—safe. Secure. As if he would never let her fall in any way.

  But Emma knew that was only a sad illusion. Men like him weren’t for women like her.

  ‘May I see you home, Mrs Carrington?’ he said. ‘There is something I should like to talk to you about, if you can spare a few moments.’

  Surprised by his words, Emma stared down at him from her perch on the seat. He looked back at her, the greyish light carving his face into solemn, beautiful lines.

  ‘Of course, Sir David,’ she said. ‘I have no social occasions this afternoon. Perhaps you would care to follow me? I am staying at the old gatekeeper’s cottage at Barton.’

  ‘Not in Barton itself?’ he said. She couldn’t read his tone. Was it surprised—or disapproving?

  ‘It’s much too large for me with Jane in Town. I’m cosier in the cottage, though it can be a bit hard to find.’

  ‘I will follow you, then. Lead on, Mrs Carrington.’

  Emma nodded and gathered up her reins as David swung up into his saddle. She tried to look as calm as possible, but inside she was utterly bursting with curiosity. Whatever could he want to talk to her about?

  She could hardly wait to find out.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘It isn’t much,’ Emma said cheerfully as she pushed open the door to her cottage. ‘But I call it home.’

  She led David through the short hall to her sitting room and hurried around opening the curtains to let in the light. She didn’t look at him as she tried to hastily tidy things up, but she was avidly aware that he stood there in her doorway, watching her.

  That David Marton was in her house. She never could have fathomed it before, despite her strange and fleeting fantasies of him beside her by the fire. She couldn’t help but be nervous, wondering what he thought when he looked at her little room.

  She quickly swept a tangle of ribbons and thread into her workbox and glanced around to make sure there was nothing embarrassing around.

  Everything seemed to be in order. The room was small but tidy, furnished with modern, bright pieces Jane had sent over from Barton, shelves full of books, and a few knickknacks from Emma’s travels. The colours were light and fresh, all yellows and pale blues, with a watercolour of Barton hanging over the fireplace and miniature portraits of Jane and the children on the mantel. Surely Sir David couldn’t object to any of that?

  Then Emma saw the book she had been reading lying open on her favourite chair. Lady Amelia’s Scandalous Secret. She quickly swiped it into the workbox with the ribbons and gave him a bright smile.

  ‘It’s charming,’ he said. ‘It suits you, Mrs Carrington. But do you not get lonely here? It seems some distance from the main house.’

  ‘Not at all. I would be much more lonely there with Jane gone,’ Emma said. She watched as Murray roused himself from his bed by the fireplace and trotted over to greet their guest. David knelt down and rubbed at Murray’s greying head, making the dog’s plumy tail sweep across the carpet. ‘I have Murray here, as you see, and a maid comes over to help me every day. She’s probably in the kitchen reading fashion papers now. She has a cherished ambition to be a lady’s maid. But I think she can scramble together some tea for us.’

  ‘You mustn’t go to any trouble, Mrs Carrington,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to take up too much of your time.’

  ‘Not at all. Please, do sit down, Sir David, and let me ring for tea. Like your uncle, I’m glad of the company,’ Emma said. Then she suddenly felt flustered, remembering how he hadn’t seemed very happy she had visited his uncle. She hurried over to ring the bell and leave her hat and gloves on the table.

  He sat down in the chair next to hers, looking a bit stiff and not entirely at ease. Murray followed him, resting his head on David’s knee.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘Let me put him back in his bed before he leaves fur all over you.’

  ‘No, please, let him stay,’ David said. ‘It’s been a long time since I had a dog. It’s quite nice.’ He smiled down at Murray, who wagged his tail even faster.

  Emma watched him, astonished. Murray was never an unfriendly dog, but life with Henry had taught him to be wary of men and protective of Emma. That he would be happy to see David, so quickly, amazed her. Against her will, she felt her feelings growing tenderer towards David again. He was baffling.

  ‘Murray does seem to like you,’ she said.

  ‘I remember when he was a puppy, when you last lived at Barton,’ David said. ‘Now he’s getting as grey as me, poor fellow.’

  Emma laughed. ‘I don’t see any grey in your hair, Sir David.’

  He smiled up at her. ‘That’s because I have a valet who is very clever at cutting hair. He hides my decrepitude from the rest of the world.’

  ‘Decrepit indeed,’ Emma murmured. She thought of the easy, powerful way he rode his horse as they made their way to Barton, as casually elegant in the saddle as if he were a centaur. The grace of his dancing. The strength of his arms around her as he kissed her...

  Fortunately, Mary the maid hurried in to interrupt such wildly distracting thoughts. Emma ordered tea and sat down in her chair, carefully arranging her skirts.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Carrington, the post just came,’ Mary said as she turned toward the door. She took a bundle of papers from her apron pocket and left them on Emma’s worktable. ‘There was a letter from London, as you’ve asked me to look out for.’

  ‘Thank you, Mary,’ Emma said happily. ‘It must be from my sister, Sir David. I have been longing to hear how she’s doing.’

  ‘You must read it, then. I shall talk to Murray while you do.’

  As Emma reached for the letter on top, with the direction written in Jane’s neat hand, she smiled to see how content Murray seemed to be, still leaning against Sir David’s leg. ‘He does seem to enjoy your company.’

  ‘Perhaps I should get Beatrice a dog. Something a bit smaller than Murray, though, I think.’

  ‘Everyone should have a dog.’ Emma broke the seal on her letter and quickly scanned the contents. It wasn’t very long, as it seemed Jane was still confined to bed, but the news Emma had been aching to hear was good. ‘At last!’

  ‘Good tidings, I hope?’ David said.

  Emma smiled up at him. ‘Very good. My sister is safely delivered of a healthy daughter, named—little Emma! They are both recovering very well. She says they hope to return to Barton by the summer.’

  ‘That is indeed excellent news. You must send my congratulations to Lady Ramsay.’

  ‘Of course I will.’ Emma carefully refolded the letter, remembering how, years ago, she had suspected Sir David admired her sister. Nothing could have ever come of it, of course. Jane was ma
rried, even though she and Hayden were then estranged. And surely David was too much a gentleman to ever pursue such a thing. Still, Jane was pretty and such a perfect lady at all times. Unlike her younger sister...

  ‘You wanted to talk to me about something, Sir David,’ she said quickly, pushing away such memories.

  He blinked, as if surprised by the sudden change of topic. But he nodded and followed her lead. ‘It was about Beatrice.’

  ‘Would you like me to find a puppy for her?’

  David laughed. ‘Perhaps one day soon. I would only know how to procure farm dogs, not young lady’s pets. But I would like to ask a rather presumptuous favour.’

  ‘I doubt it could be very presumptuous if it involves Miss Marton. I quite enjoy her company and would like to help her if I can.’

  ‘That is very kind of you. I do my best for her, but it cannot be easy for a girl of her age without a mother to help her. Her own mother...’

  Had not been much of a mother. Emma remembered the tale of Lady Marton’s sad elopement and wild ways. Surely something like Emma’s own misjudged past. Yet here he was asking her for a favour for his daughter. Surely that was some sort of good sign, a kind of progress?

  ‘I am going to look out for a suitable governess for her,’ David said. ‘Someone who can teach her a little more than French and etiquette. She is becoming too clever for her nanny and me.’

  ‘A bluestocking in the making?’ Emma said, remembering Mr Sansom’s jolly words.

  ‘I don’t know where she gets it. My mother and sister were never readers and Beatrice’s mother—well, Maude knew a great deal about hats and the theatre, I suppose.’

  ‘But not much about books concerning travels in India.’

  ‘Quite. I know Beatrice has been very quiet since she lost her mother and we came back to Rose Hill, but she does seem to enjoy learning. And she also seems to like you.’

  Was that a note of doubt in his voice? Did he marvel that Beatrice could like her at all? ‘I enjoy her company as well.’

  ‘Then would you perhaps be willing to give her a few lessons until I can find a suitable governess? She could come to you here, or at the bookshop, and I would provide any volumes you need. I think it might help to distract her.’

  ‘I would be most happy to give Miss Beatrice lessons,’ Emma said, surprised but delighted. ‘It would give me distraction as well and something useful to do. I am not sure I know enough to actually teach her, but I am willing to find out. Perhaps she and I can discuss new topics together.’

  ‘I would be most grateful to you, Mrs Carrington. In return, perhaps I could help sort through my uncle’s books and see what might suit you.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t like me “bothering” your uncle, “pestering” him to let me have his books.’ Emma couldn’t help but tease, just a bit.

  David gave her a rueful smile. ‘I do tend to be quite protective of my family.’

  ‘And quite right.’ Emma felt a bit wistful as she wondered how it would feel for him to protect her. But at least, perhaps, they were starting to be friends. It was better than nothing and the best she could expect.

  Mary came back with the tea tray and arranged it neatly on Emma’s worktable. As the maid left, Emma studied the china cups and bowls of sugar and lemon, and a mischievous thought seized her.

  ‘I think I have quite had my fill of tea for one day,’ she said. ‘My sister’s news deserves a bit of celebration, don’t you think, Sir David?’

  A doubtful frown flickered over his handsome face. ‘A celebration?’

  ‘Yes,’ Emma said firmly. She hurried across the room to rummage through a crate she hadn’t yet unpacked. It was full of odds and ends of her peripatetic life with Henry that she hadn’t yet been able to dispose of—including a bottle of fine French champagne he had won at the card tables one night. She had hidden it before he could drink it, then he had died the next week in that duel.

  ‘I think this is fitting to toast the new baby,’ she said. ‘I was told it’s quite a rare and expensive vintage.’

  David laughed. ‘What is that?’

  ‘Champagne, of course. Don’t tell me you have never seen such a thing before, Sir David, for I happen to know there is reported to be quite a fine cellar at Rose Hill.’

  ‘Yes, my father was a collector. But where did you get it?’

  ‘From my husband. Henry won it in a card game. I was utterly furious when he brought it back instead of money for the rent.’ Not as furious as she was a week later, though, when Henry fought that fatal duel. And his weeping, married lover landed on her doorstep to tell her about it. Emma pushed away those terrible memories and held the bottle up to the light. ‘It’s terribly dusty, but it should still be good, I think.’

  ‘You should have sold it. It would have paid your rent for many weeks, I think.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’ David came and took the bottle from her hands to study the label. ‘It’s a ’96. A very fine vintage.’

  ‘Truly?’ Emma peered closer at the label, which was so faded she could hardly make out the French words. ‘Perhaps things were not so hopeless as I feared, then.’

  He held it out to her. ‘You should put it in a safe place.’

  Emma shook her head. ‘I still think we should drink it. To toast baby Emma’s good health.’ And perhaps to celebrate her tentative new hopes for friendship with Sir David.

  ‘Are you quite sure?’

  ‘Yes. Can you open it?’

  He nodded and turned away to do something complicated to get the bottle open. ‘I confess I am quite curious to taste it. Since the war, bottles have been quite rare.’

  ‘I’m glad to be of help, then.’ Emma laughed and clapped her hands as the cork popped free with a fizzy little explosion.

  David laughed too, a wonderful sound she had never heard before. He quickly poured out some of the pale gold liquid into the teacups and passed her one. His bare fingers slid along hers, warm, enticing and too quickly gone.

  He stepped back and held up his cup in a salute. ‘To baby Emma.’

  ‘To baby Emma,’ Emma agreed. She clinked the gilded edge of her cup with his and took a long sip. It slid over her tongue in a sweet, effervescent rush, making her shiver. ‘Oh, that is nice. Like—like liquid sunshine.’

  David also took a deep drink and smiled. It was a sweet, deeply satisfied smile and Emma couldn’t help but wish he would smile at her like that. ‘Very fine indeed. Are you sorry now you didn’t open it sooner?’

  ‘Not at all. This seems like the perfect moment for just such a thing.’ Emma sat back in her chair and happily sipped at her champagne until, all too soon, it was gone. David refilled their cups, and a delightful, warm, comfortable feeling spread over her.

  After a few quiet moments, David suddenly said, ‘Did your husband gamble quite often?’

  Emma frowned, some of the warmth ebbing away. She didn’t want to think of Henry, not now when she was having such fun. ‘Why do you ask?’

  David held up his cup. He seemed to notice then it was empty again and he refilled both his and hers. ‘Because you said he brought home wine instead of rent money from the gaming tables.’

  ‘Oh, yes. That.’ Emma took another sip and Henry once again seemed very far away. A pleasantly blurry memory, which was just what he should be. ‘He was very fond of a card game, as well as many other things he couldn’t quite handle. I didn’t quite realise that when we married.’

  ‘Things such as what?’ David asked. ‘What sort of man was your husband?’

  The wrong sort for any lady. ‘But I don’t want to think about Henry any more!’ Emma cried. She jumped up out of her chair, suddenly unable to sit still any longer. Her whole body felt like the champagne itself, fizzy and warm and alive. Alive—as she had not felt i
n so very long!

  David laughed and she spun around to look at him. She could hardly warrant this was the same man who first came into her cottage so cautiously. He leaned back in his chair, his long, lean legs stretched in front of him. His cup dangled loosely from his elegant fingers and his hair curled over his brow. He smiled up at her lazily and suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

  ‘What do you want to think about, then?’ he asked.

  ‘I want to dance,’ Emma blurted out. At least she didn’t say the very first thing that popped into her head—I want to kiss you. ‘It’s been too long since I danced.’

  David set aside his empty cup and slowly rose to his feet, as graceful and deceptively powerful as a panther. He reached for her hand and gave a low, courtly bow as Emma watched in thunderstruck astonishment.

  ‘And there is no finer ballroom for it,’ he said. ‘Mrs Carrington, may I have the honour of this waltz?’

  Emma laughed and curtsied deeply before taking his hand. ‘Sir David, I would be honoured.’

  He took her into his arms and hummed a waltz tune as they twirled around the room, faster and faster until they were both laughing, until she had to cling to him to keep from falling.

  ‘I’ve never waltzed like this before!’ she cried.

  In answer he whirled her around faster and faster, until they stumbled to a stop. Their laughter faded as they stared at each other in the hazy daylight.

  Emma reached up to touch his face, trailing her fingertips over his finely carved features as she marvelled at him. He was so contradictory—she couldn’t decipher him at all. One moment so strict, so remote, and the next, closer to her than anyone had ever been. He made her feel so safe with his quiet strength, but at the same time he made the world crumble around her until she didn’t know what was happening.

  She swept a light caress over his sensual lips and he smiled against her fingers.

  ‘Emma...’ he said roughly, and then he did what she so longed for. He kissed her.

  She went up on tiptoe to meet him, twining her arms around him so she wouldn’t fall. So he couldn’t leave her. His hands closed hard around her waist, pulling her even closer to him.