Lord Hunter (Secrets & Scandals Book 6)

by Tiffany Green

  The coach slowed and Emma glanced out of the window. The afternoon was waning to evening, the long shadows of the trees spilling onto the road. She did not see the earl and slid across the seat to glimpse the other side of the coach. His lordship sat on his horse, Samir at his side, speaking to a someone on a large black horse. Half a dozen men on horseback arched behind, like guards. Then the man turned, his light-gray eyes finding hers, and Emma’s breath caught.

  Then rage found its mark.

  Snatching up her parasol, Emma banged on the roof to stop the coach. While the wheels were shuddering to a halt, she opened the door and hopped to the ground without waiting for the driver to lower the steps. Then she marched to the men who were sliding from their saddles. Lifting the tip of the parasol, she pointed it at the center of the man’s crisp, white cravat. “Where is my brother, Sorrington.”

  Hartford and Samir flanked her at once. Emma ignored them, her focus on the snake before her with glittering gray eyes. “Where is he?” she gritted out.

  “Hello to you, too, Emma.” Sorrington moved the tip of the parasol aside with a hand. “I wish I could tell you where Sean is, but I do not know.” He heaved a sigh. “That is why I am here. I came as soon as I heard.”

  Emma’s insides shook with the effort to keep from banging her parasol over the man’s head. “I find that difficult to believe. With you here, everything makes sense.” Her fingers squeezed the wooden handle. “I should have guessed the truth.”

  Samir whispered a Hindi curse and leaned over to speak in her ear. “Now is not the time to confront the man, piyaa.”

  Sorrington’s left eye twitched, a sure sign of his own building anger. “I have come to help find your brother. Nothing more.”

  As Emma opened her mouth to call the man a liar, Samir grabbed her arm. “Leave the qaatil alone. We will find Sean soon and hear the truth, nuurii.”

  Samir was right. Now was not the time to confront the snake. The dangerous one, as Samir called him. She lowered her parasol to her side and gave a nod. “Now that I have come and brought help to search for my brother, your assistance is not needed. You may return home, Lord Sorrington.”

  Twisting the diamond ring on his little finger, Sorrington shook his head. “I am fond of the sea air. I believe I shall stay a while longer.”

  Before Emma could sputter a litany of plagues and blights on the man, Lord Hartford stepped forward. “Lord Sorrington, I believe we met several years ago in London. The annual Cavendish gala.”

  Sorrington glanced over, some of the anger receding from his eyes as he studied Lord Hartford a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I do recall meeting you and your lovely wife. You are the new Earl of Hartford,” he said, holding out his hand.

  Wife? Did the man just say Lord Hartford had a wife? Emma watched the men shake hands and listened to their polite chatter with but half an ear. Then Lord Sorrington gave a bow, turned to his horse and climbed into the saddle. His men followed and they thundered away, kicking up puffs of dirt as they disappeared around a curve.

  “We are near the inn. Let us get there before night falls,” Hartford said and led her back to the coach.

  With wooden arms and legs, Emma climbed inside and was surprised when Lord Hartford followed her. “Samir, if you please, lead my horse,” he said before shutting the door and banging on the ceiling.

  The earl’s knees almost touched hers, and Emma closed her eyes a moment to orient her thoughts. Wife. Why did she not think he had one? Why did it even matter?

  “I think you should tell me about Lord Sorrington,” the earl said.

  Emma raised her head. “Before Jonah, Lord Sorrington was our benefactor. My father, brother, and I thought he sought what we did. To find great artifacts and treasures of the past to donate to museums around the world so others could enjoy them.”

  Lord Hartford leaned back. “He did not wish to part with the treasures.” A statement, not a question.

  Emma shook her head. “That was why we left Sorrington.”

  “And found Jonah.”

  Her gaze tumbled to the hands she had squeezed in her lap. “Yes.”

  “Do you think he had something to do with Jonah’s death?”

  Emma’s breath caught and she glanced up. “I cannot be sure. Not without proof, but...”

  The earl’s brow shot up. “But it is possible?”

  “Yes. The man is loathsome.”

  He studied her for a moment, his dark eyes assessing. “You have yet to tell me of this treasure your brother and Jonah were after. Is it significant?” He crossed his arms. “Significant enough to kill for?”

  “You heard of the Royal Merchant?”

  The earl’s eyes went wide. “Good God, the ship sailing from West Indies to London with a huge cache of gold and silver on board? The one that lost her pumps and sank in sixteen forty-one?”

  “That is the ship, my lord.” Emma drew in a slow breath. “Captain Limbrey and forty crewmen made it safely off the ship before she sank. Eighteen drowned. The Dover Merchant, the Royal’s sister ship, rescued the survivors but could not save the treasure before it went down.”

  The earl nodded. “I read about this years ago.” He unfurled his arms and leaned forward. “They found the ship?”

  “What they found is some of the treasure,” she said.

  “Some? I thought none of it made it off the ship before it sank.”

  “That is what has always been reported.” The coach dipped into a hole and the earl leaned forward to steady her before she fell into his lap. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “I prefer Lucian,” he said, his hands still on her arms, sending shooting tingles through her body. His lips hovered inches from hers. “May I call you Emma?”

  She kept still, not wanting to move, to break the moment of surreal magic. Emma felt her lips form the word yes. They remained two statues for several long heartbeats, staring at each other, until she remembered something and pulled away. He had a wife.

  He cleared his throat. “You were speaking of the treasure. Were the reports wrong? Did some of the gold make it off the ship?”

  Resisting the urge to press her palms to her burning cheeks, Emma nodded. “A few years ago, hidden in the base of a gold crucifix we had found, my father stumbled across a letter about one of the crew members who was supposed to have drowned. A few months after the sinking, on the man’s deathbed, he confessed to a priest he and two other sailors managed to get a boat out without being detected. This was long before the captain gave the order to abandon ship. The three men managed to sneak off with some of the gold. They hid the gold and made a map, intending to retrieve the treasure at a later time. Once they were assured no one would miss the gold and come for them, that is.”

  The earl’s brows rose, his eyes sharpening. “What happened to the men and the gold? You said one of them confessed on his deathbed. Did he die without retrieving his share?”

  Emma smiled at Lord Hartford—Lucian’s—excitement. Hunting for treasure made people exuberant, and it was contagious. “They all died without retrieving one piece of the gold.”

  “How can you be certain?”

  Her smile widened. “The other two of the crew had died in the presence of the priest that morning. They all had contracted a lethal ague called marsh fever.”

  Lucian pressed two fingers to each temple and drew in a deep breath. “You spoke of a crucifix and a priest,” he said, lowing his hands. “By sixteen forty-one, hadn’t all the monasteries, nunneries, and friaries been suppressed?”

  “Yes. In England.”

  Emma watched his gaze sharpen on her and nod. “Oliver Cromwell didn’t lead the Parliamentary army to Ireland until sixteen forty-nine.”

  Leaning forward, she placed her hand over his. “You know your history.”

  He swiveled his hand and wove his fingers through hers, sending shooting sparks up her arm. “I read a lot,” he said, his voice low and husky.

  They stared at each other, his thumb s
wiping the back of her hand in long, even strokes. Emma’s breath caught and tingles invaded her belly. Then he parted his lips and spoke. “Why are we not headed to Ireland, then?”

  Emma had to blink to clear her head from the delicious fog he was creating within her. She would not remove her hand, though. Not yet. “Because they did not hide the gold in Ireland. But the men fled there afterward to keep from being noticed and identified as Captain Limbrey’s crew.”

  Lucian’s thumb gave another swipe across her hand. “The confession the priest had written from the sailor. It came with a map?”

  Her mouth had gone dry and she could only nod in response.

  “Why did the priest not retrieve the gold himself?”

  She swallowed hard and whispered out a response. “Priests in England were not welcomed. Not when Cromwell was on the march.”

  Lucian leaned forward, settling their intertwined hands on his knee. “The map, Jonah and your brother took it with them?”

  “A copy,” she breathed, wondering if he would kiss her. The thought sent waves of tingling heat from her head, down to the toes curling in her half-boots.

  He brought up his free hand and grazed her cheek with the tips of his fingers, forcing her eyes closed a moment to devour the sensation. “Emma,” he whispered, and she lifted her gaze to his. “Why have you not married?”

  The question was a bucket of freezing water over her head. For it brought forth the reminder he was. She jerked back, pulling her hand from his, making his brows shoot up. As he was about to speak, the coach shuddered to a halt, the driver calling out that they had arrived.

  Samir opened the door and helped her out before Lucian could say another word, and that suited Emma fine. She did not want to be reminded any further of his marital status. Nor how handsome he was. Nor how good he smelled. Nor how much she wanted to kiss him.

  The white daubed building caught her attention, and Emma took a step. A hand reached for her elbow to hold her back. “Wait a moment, if you will.” His voice and touch wreaked havoc within her. “We must prepare a story.”

  “A story?” She turned. Steeling herself, she lifted her gaze. “What are you talking about?”

  Lucian gazed at the inn and back. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice. “I speak of your reputation, Emma. You traveling without a chaperone, that is. With me.”

  She drew her brows at this ridiculous statement. “I have Samir.”

  He made a noise and shook his head. “Have you ever traveled without your father or brother?”

  “What does that have to do with…” Her voice trailed off when Lucian placed a finger over her lips, sending more flutters to her belly.

  “I am sorry. I should have thought of this before we left.” His hand slid away. “But now, we must prepare a story, something plausible. To keep your reputation from harm.”

  Emma crossed her arms as Lucian droned on several different scenarios. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and, instead, listened to the ocean sounds in the distance. The sky had turned a slate gray and would soon grow too dark to see. She wondered if they would still be discussing the matter in the morning. Her stomach grumbled at that moment, reminding her it had been many hours since she last ate.

  “So, which will it be?” The earl snapped his fingers. “Emma?”

  “What? Oh, sorry, I am famished and cannot concentrate when I’m so hungry.” She heard Samir and Joe, the footman, who drove the coach, retrieving their luggage behind them.

  A sigh made her turn to find a scowling Lucian. “Then I shall decide which is the most plausible story. Please, say nothing when I speak to the innkeeper.”

  With a nod, Emma followed Lucian into the white daubed building. The taproom was crowded and filled with the most enticing smells of roasted chicken, making her mouth water. She pressed a hand to her stomach when it growled, her mind focused on nothing but food.

  As Lucian spoke to a bear of a man with a craggy beard, she watched a young serving girl walk by with a heaping platter of food. The golden chicken pieces looked cooked to perfection, making her mouth water.

  “It is settled, then. Come, darling, let us retrieve to our room. We will refresh ourselves before dinner.” Lucian took her arm and began leading her away.

  After three steps, his words slipped past her hunger and sank into her brain. “What?” she said.

  He wound an arm around her shoulders and whispered in her ear. “Say nothing. They have but one room available.” Then he kissed her cheek, making her forget whatever she had planned to say.

  They followed the bear up the stairs and he opened the door with a key, then handed it to Lucian. “There ye be, milord, milady.” He gave a nod. “I’ll send for ye when a table clears, aye?”

  Lucian pressed a coin into the man’s giant palm. “And you will see to our servants?”

  “Oh, aye, aye. I’ve a room above the stables for ‘em.” He bobbed his head up and down. “Will gather yer bags when I take ‘em dinner. Not ter worry, yer lordship.”

  As soon as the door closed, Emma snapped her mouth closed and glanced around. From the washstand with the cracked mirror, to the worn chair in the corner, to the single bed in the room. Her gaze lingered on the bed. Two pillows. One bed.

  The floorboards creaked behind her and Emma spun around. She shook her finger at Lucian. “What were you thinking?” she hissed.

  He drew in a deep breath and walked to the washstand. Shaking his head, he poured water into the bowl. “I told you what I was going to do, Emma. Were you not listening?”

  She bit back her sharp retort and leaned back on her heels. No, she hadn’t been listening. Not at all.

  Lucian dried his hands with a towel and nodded to the bowl. “I will pour fresh water over your hands. Come here.” He lifted the pitcher, his right brow springing up.

  Grumbling beneath her breath, Emma stalked forth. She plucked up the sliver of soap from the dish and made foam as Lucian poured cold water over her hands. When her hands were dry, she glanced in the cracked mirror and pulled a face. Several strands of hair had fallen from her twist and she did a hasty repair, trying to ignore the devilish twinkle coming from the dark eyes watching her.

  When she finished and lowered her arms, Lucian stepped close to her, heating the back of her body with the front of his. How she wanted to turn and step inside his arms. To thank him for bringing her here to find her brother. For helping her when she needed help.

  She turned and glanced into his eyes. They watched her with some smoldering inner light, but he made no move to touch her. Did she want his touch? God, yes. She craved it. She craved more.

  Lucian lifted his hand. He settled a palm on her cheek, his thumb swiping her lips, making her knees turn to water. “How old are you, Emma?”

  She answered only because she didn’t want him to notice how her lips trembled. “Twenty and three.”

  He nodded. His hand fell away and he leaned forward.

  Emma’s eyes slid shut and she held still, not wanting to miss anything. The heat of his skin and the scent of soap mingled with his own male spice had her thoughts spinning away. Holding her breath, she waited for what was to come, and prayed Lucian would not change his mind.

  Her pulse drummed in her ears and the anticipation grew to intolerable levels. If he did not hurry up and kiss her, she would take matters in her own hands. She would grab his coat and pull him…

  The first touch of his lips connected with hers, soft but powerful. Stars exploded behind her closed lids and crashed throughout her body. The tips of her fingers and toes tingled. Emma reached out, lest she drop to the ground, and felt his arms come around her. He secured her to him, holding her tight against his beating heart. And with a groan, he deepened the kiss.

  Lucian’s lips parted and she did the same, allowing his tongue to sweep inside her mouth. He explored and Emma followed his lead, wanting something more, but unable to name what it was. His tongue slid along hers, slow and lazy. Then deeper, making her crazed
with a delight she had never known.

  She moved, drew up on her toes for more and was rewarded when he pulled her even closer and deepened the kiss. Her core burned with a need no one had ever made her feel. And she wanted something…more.

  Lucian broke off the kiss, his heavy breaths stirring the hairs at her temple. “If we do not stop now, my sweet, I will take you to the bed and ravish the hell out of you.”

  His husky voice sent a thrill through Emma and for a moment, she was tempted to pull him to the bed. She could feel the evidence of his need pulsating against her belly, but she couldn’t move from his embrace. Not yet.

  “You are an innocent young miss,” he breathed, his disappointment evident. “And I am—”

  “Married,” Emma said, pulling away from his arms. What a fool she was, shaking her head.

  Lucian’s eyes sharpened on her. But a knock kept him from responding.

  Emma marched for the door and pulled the latch, grateful to find the innkeeper setting their bags on the floor. “Yer table be ready, milady.”

  She forced a smile and nodded. “Thank you,” she said, stepping past the bear of a man.

  Although she was fast, Lucian caught up to her at the head of the stairs. “Wait a moment,” he said, grabbing her elbow and turning her to face him. His eyes bored into hers before he spoke.

  Chapter 4

  Stunned, Lucian could only stare into Emma’s wide eyes. The kiss they shared still hummed through his veins like too much brandy. His head spun and his lower half had yet to cool down. His hands fell away from her arms and he cleared his throat. Mindful of the innkeeper taking their bags into the room, he had to speak soft and fast. “I was married. She died.”

  Lucian wanted to say more, but heavy footsteps approached. He straightened and nodded to the stairs. “Shall we take our table, darling?”

  “What?” Emma blinked. “Oh, yes, the table,” she mumbled and turned to the steps behind her.

  The innkeeper led them to a small table at the far end of the room. Conversation ceased when they entered, then started back as they took their seats. The presence of an earl at the inn had reached the masses.