Lord Hunter (Secrets & Scandals Book 6)

by Tiffany Green

  Lucian hesitated, then gave a jerky nod.

  There was so much she wanted to say, but Amelia was administering some bitter drops in her mouth. Emma watched Lucian walk through the door. She wanted to call him back and tell him… What? What did she want to say?

  Amelia leaned down. “Emma, do not fight the laudanum. You must sleep now. Let me remove the ball.”

  Emma’s mind went fuzzy. She could no longer hear Amelia. But there was something important she needed to say. Something she had to tell Lucian before it was too late. What was it? Her numb lips formed the words, and she prayed Lucian would hear them.

  Emma tipped her face to the sun and breathed in the warm salty air. Giggles and squeals of children made her smile as she shielded her eyes and watched the two boys and one girl scamper among the roses. Little dark heads raced around one of the bushes, trying to catch the laughing man at the lead. Lucian.

  Something warm moved in her lap and Emma glanced at the tiny infant sucking on her fist, the tuft of dark hair peeking from the white blanket. Love exploded in her heart, and Emma knew a moment of pure bliss, this must be what heaven was like.

  Heaven. Was she dead?

  Emma gasped and opened her eyes. Not out in the sun at Hartford, watching her children play. Not dead, either.

  A face leaned over and sharpened into focus. Amelia. She smiled. “Welcome back, Emma. You had me worried for a while.”

  Trying to swallow proved difficult. Emma scraped her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “Thirsty,” she croaked.

  With a nod, Amelia brought a cup to her lips. “Sip slowly. That’s right. Not too much or you will heave it back up.”

  The tepid tea soothed her scratchy throat, but her middle singed as if on fire. “What happened?” she asked as Amelia set the cup aside.

  “Dr. Benson and I removed the ball. You had a high fever, which we had been expecting, and it finally broke.” Amelia turned to her and gave her a tired smile. “You will recover.”

  Emma noticed the lamps lit around the room and darkness outside the windows. “How long was I asleep?”

  Amelia rose from the stool and stretched. “Four days.”

  “So long?” Emma asked, then saw the swell in Amelia’s middle. “Are you with child?”

  Hands cupped the mound and Amelia nodded, then her eyes turned sad. She turned away and busied herself with pouring water in a basin and wringing out a cloth. Something was wrong. “What are you not telling me?” Emma asked.

  Amelia sighed and ambled to the bed. She lowered onto the stool. “Where the ball struck you.” Pausing, she shook her head.

  “What?”

  With a sigh, Amelia raised sorrowful eyes. “I am sorry, Emma. There might be too much scar tissue. I cannot be certain. But…” She shook her head. “You may never have children.”

  The dream came rushing back to her. Lucian playing chase with the children. Their children. A tiny, perfect baby daughter sleeping in her lap. Emma, the happiest, most content she had ever been. Now, a wisp of smoke. Never to be reality.

  Movement at the door caught her attention. Lucian stood there, hands balled at his sides, eyes ablaze with some intense emotion. Their gazes locked. He had heard Amelia.

  Emma’s eyes filled with tears. The dream could never be. She and Lucian would have to part forever. He was now an earl, but not just any earl. The last of the Hartfords. Jonah had confessed that. The only one left to carry on the name. Lucian required an heir. One she could not provide.

  Lucian drew in a deep breath then came forward. “I am glad to see the fever is gone.”

  Amelia came to her feet and smiled. “Lucian refused to leave until you woke.”

  Emma swallowed back her tears and noticed the same dark gray suit from before, now horribly wrinkled. His cravat pulled away from his neck, and four days of whiskers on his cheeks and chin. She also found the dark smears beneath his eyes. Had he been so worried?

  Before she could speak, her brother rushed into the room. “Emma, I’m happy to see you awake.”

  “The gold, is it safe?”

  Sean nodded. “Delivered to the museum.” He chuckled. “I thought Mr. Planta, the Principal Librarian, was going to faint when he saw it.” He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “Look who I brought.”

  Samir shuffled into the room, clasped his hands together and gave a bow. “Tis good to see you, piyaa.”

  “Samir. I have been so worried.” She waved him forward.

  He sank onto the stool and clasped her hand. “As have I.”

  “Where have you been? Hartford?”

  He nodded. “I found the coach destroyed and turned back to tell you. When I found you gone from the felled tree, I could think of nowhere else to go.” Samir patted her hand. “I will leave you no more, piyaa, but help you recover.”

  Emma’s gaze strayed to Lucian. He stood stiff by the threshold, expression unreadable, gaze boring into hers. Then he pulled a small wrapped package from his jacket pocket and handed it to Amelia, speaking something into her ear.

  “No,” Emma whispered, a tear skidding down her cheek, fearing she knew what he was doing. But it was too late. Lucian walked through the door without a backward glance.

  Samir spoke a few more words then rose. “I should let you rest.”

  Emma nodded, her gaze still on the empty doorway. As soon as Samir and her brother left, she glanced to Amelia. “The package Lucian gave you. Is it for me?”

  With a smile, Amelia brought it to her.

  “Would you mind? I would like to open it alone.”

  “Not at all. I must send word to Julian, anyway, before he storms the ship.” She grinned and left the room.

  Emma’s fingers shook as she pulled the string. The brown paper fell away, revealing a beautiful mahogany box. Lifting the lid, her eyes blurred. Her mother’s ruby necklace sat on a bed of red velvet. She thought she’d never see it again.

  Wiping her tears with a sleeve, she found a folded paper beneath the lid and plucked it out. Taking a deep breath, she read the note.

  Renfield and Whitehall have been taken to Newgate. You will not have to worry about them ever again. The Hartford estate is yours for as long as you would like, and I have arranged a monthly stipend of two hundred pounds. Should it not be enough, the estate manager will see it increased. Try to stay out of trouble, minx. Lucian.

  Emma lowered the note, hollow inside. The laudanum was wearing off, and she welcomed the searing pain. It helped to mask the more intense pressure building in her heart. Dragging in a deep breath, she ripped the note in two. She would not take Lucian’s charity. If she could not have his heart and be his wife. If she could not mother his children, she would have nothing. Besides, she could never watch him marry another and father someone else’s children. Never.

  “Samir,” she called.

  He hurried into the room, a worried frown on his face. “Yes, piyaa, what can I do?”

  She nodded to the open mahogany box. “I must ask for you to sell this once again, and send the money to Lord Hartford.”

  Samir hesitated, his dark eyes sharp and assessing. “Are you certain of this?”

  Emma knew what he was asking. If she was certain about severing all ties to Hartford. She snapped the box closed and gave a sharp nod. “Then send word to Lord Sorrington. I have a proposal for him.”

  Chapter 20

  Lucian brought the whiskey to his lips and swallowed the contents in a single gulp. Guilt ate a hole through him, and the only thing to dull the pain was large quantities of liquor. But it wasn’t enough. He still saw her face. Still felt the silk of her skin. Still smelled her Goddamned rose-scented skin.

  Still saw her get shot.

  He slammed the empty glass down on his desk. He couldn’t protect her. She had gotten hurt, almost died, and it was his fault. The idea to send for Jack’s ship and have two coaches had been his.

  Lucian rose on unsteady legs and scooped up his glass. Why hadn’t he left her at the estate
under all that protection and taken the gold himself? He shuffled to the liquor cart and poured another drink. She should have stayed under armed guard until Renfield and Whitehall had been captured. Why in the bloody hell had he not seen to that?

  Listing a bit to the left, he made it back to his chair and sat, spilling some whiskey. With a sound curse, he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his hand.

  He had almost gotten Emma killed. The ball had whizzed by his ear and struck her lower abdomen. He could still see the blood spread out as she crashed to her knees.

  Lucian reached for his drink. A knock at the door made him frown. “I told you I was not to be disturbed,” he slurred, lifting the glass to his lips.

  The door flew open. Jeremy and Jack marched inside, arms folded. Lucian scowled at them. Should have locked the fucking door. “What do you want?”

  Jack stepped forward. Spreading his hands on the desk, he leaned in. “Have you any idea what time it is?”

  Lucian squinted at the ormolu clock on the mantle, but his bleary eyes could not focus that far. He shook his head.

  “Ten in the Goddamned morning, Lucian.”

  With a shrug, Lucian snatched up the glass and took another healthy pull.

  Jack straightened. “It’s been six weeks. Haven’t you drowned your sorrows long enough?”

  Six weeks? Lucian shook his head, afraid the pain of losing Emma would never go away.

  With a sigh, Jack turned to Jeremy, who was shuffling through a mass of unopened invitations and letters. “Will you speak some sense into him?”

  Pulling out a letter, Jeremy stepped to the desk and set it before Lucian. “Here, read this.”

  Something in Jeremy’s gaze compelled Lucian to lower his glass and pick up the letter. Squinting at the small triangle on top, he drew in a quick breath. His hands shook as he broke the wax. Pound notes flittered out, then he lifted his eyes to the slanted scrawl on the paper.

  Finishing Samir’s letter, Lucian jerked to his feet, upsetting his chair. “Emma, what have you done?” He rounded the desk, bumping into Jack, and headed for the door. “I have to leave.”

  Jeremy stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “There is more.”

  Lucian spun around so fast, he almost lost his balance. The room made another rotation before it righted, and he drew in a deep breath. “What do you know, Jeremy?”

  Reaching into his coat, he withdrew a wooden box. “I was waiting outside to see Emma when I overheard her speaking to Samir. She told him to sell this.” He opened the box. “When Samir left the room, I purchased the ruby necklace from him.”

  Lucian’s stiff shoulders relaxed. He nodded. “I am glad you did.” He wiped his brow. “Will save me from having to track it down again.”

  Jeremy eyed him a moment. “Why are you not with Emma?”

  He started to say it was none of his concern, but stopped. Lucian ran a shaky hand down his face. “Her getting shot was my fault. I couldn’t protect her as I promised.” He shook his head. “I do not deserve her.”

  “And Sorrington does?”

  As those quiet words sank in, Lucian jerked his head up. He stared into Jeremy’s eyes, fury crashing over him in wave after wave. “What? I told her to go to Hartford.”

  Jeremy’s right brow rose. “And you assumed the meek little creature would retreat to the estate as ordered?”

  He opened and closed his mouth several times. No, Emma was too independent, too stubborn for that. And he damned well should have known it.

  But what to do? Lucian was still left with something he could not change. She was almost killed. Thanks to him and his bloody plan. His shoulders slumped. A question burned a hole through him, and he had to know the answer. “She and Sorrington aren’t…?” He couldn’t finish as bile rose with the thought.

  Jeremy patted his shoulder. “No. Business partners only. Much to Sorrington’s chagrin.”

  Lucian swallowed down the bitter lump in his throat and raised his head. “How do you know?”

  His friend gave him a squeeze, then his hand slid away. “I have my ways.”

  Nodding, Lucian relaxed. Jeremy knew everything about everyone. Thank God.

  Jack came to his side. “What are you going to do about this, Lucian?”

  Raising a hand to his heart, he knew what he wanted to do. But he failed Emma once, he could fail her again. He shook his head. “There is nothing I can do,” he said, his voice raw.

  Jeremy retrieved a silver snuffbox from his coat and took a pinch. “You must not blame yourself for Emma getting shot.” He snapped the box closed. “The fault is Renfield’s.”

  Lucian shook his head.

  “Would you blame Emma had you been shot?”

  “Of course not,” he snapped.

  Jeremy’s right brow rose.

  “It’s not the same.” Lucian swung around and paced the room. “I made a promise to her.” He gritted his teeth. “A promise I could not fulfill.” Halting before his desk, he splayed his hands on the cool surface. His chin sank to his chest. “I did nothing to protect Rebecca. Now, Emma was almost killed.” His head swung back and forth. “It is better I remain alone. As I had planned.”

  Jack came to his side. “You are not at fault. For either. Do not throw away a chance at happiness.”

  Lucian’s eyes found the whiskey glass, and he itched to reach for it. “Emma is passionate about hunting for treasure. I cannot dissuade her from it.”

  His cousin leaned down. “Then give her something else to be passionate about.”

  When Jack’s meaning hit, Lucian glanced over. He straightened. “How could I ever compete with the excitement of a treasure hunt?”

  A wolfish smile sprang to Jack’s lips. “I am certain you could think of something else.”

  Every heated kiss, every caress rushed to his mind. Lucian remembered Emma’s face, flushed from passion, her eyes dark and begging for more. He swallowed hard, clasping his hands at his sides.

  Jeremy came to his other side and settled something on the desk. A rolled document. Wondering what it was, Lucian scooped it up. When it unfurled, the breath left his body, as though he had been punched in the gut. The special license.

  “Stop being an idiot, old man, and go get your lady.”

  Lucian stared at the document, his mouth dry. Could he dare to hope? Something exploded in his chest, something he had been trying for so long to hold back. Something he could no longer deny. He loved Emma.

  Could he truly offer her something better than hunting for treasure?

  “There is only one way to find out,” Jack said, as though reading his thoughts.

  Before he could change his mind, Lucian rolled the document and called to his butler.

  Evans appeared in the doorway. “My lord?”

  “Ready my horse.”

  Galloping through the searing heat of summer, three-quarters drunk, with a good dose of bottle-ache coming on, Lucian thanked God and all the angels Sorrington’s estate was but half a day’s ride from London.

  Slowing his horse, Lucian wiped the sweat from his brow. His hands shook with the thought of seeing Emma again. He wanted to see the twinkle in her eyes before she smiled, wanted to hear her tinkling laughter. But, by God, he wanted her.

  Making the turn, he saw the old Gothic pile in the distance, and frowned. Must be the devil to keep warm in the winter, he thought, his mind seeing Emma shivering. He urged his horse faster. He’d be damned if he allowed Emma to stay one more night.

  Stopping at the front doors, Lucian slid to the ground and marched forward. He squared his shoulders and engaged the brass lion knocker.

  An aged, stooped butler answered. “May I help you?” he asked, his nasal voice grating on Lucian’s nerves.

  “Lord Hartford here to see Miss Wickham.” He pulled a card from his silver holder and pressed it into the man’s gnarled hands.

  The man’s silver brows rose. “Miss Wickham isn’t accepting visitors.” He bobbed his head up and down. �
��Good day, my lord.”

  As the door started to close, Lucian placed his hand on the thick wood. “She will see me.” He moved his way into the foyer, making the butler stumble back. Now that he had come this far, there was no way in hell he was leaving. “You may take me to her.”

  “What is this commotion?” Sorrington asked, coming down the main stairs.

  Sound carried in the old pile, Lucian thought, crossing his arms. Good. He raised his voice. “I have come to see Miss Wickham.”

  Pale gray eyes narrowed. “Miss Wickham is recovering and cannot be disturbed.”

  A pang of guilt drove through Lucian. He forced it aside. “I must speak with her. The matter is urgent.”

  “What sort of urgent matter do you have with my sister?”

  Lucian turned and found Sean stepping through the front door. “Of the private sort.”

  No longer injured, Sean walked with ease to Lucian. Crossing his arms, rolled sleeves showing thick muscles, he glared a moment before speaking. “I think you should leave.”

  “Not until Emma and I speak.” He balled his hands into fists. “I must see if she is well.”

  Sean’s lips twisted. “After six weeks, now you wish to know?”

  Another stab of guilt tore through him. Lucian drew in a slow breath.

  Sean rocked back on his heels. “Emma is well.” He spread an arm to the front door. “You may leave.”

  Lucian refused to glance at Sorrington’s smug face. His fists already itched to punch something. “I am not leaving until I see her,” he gritted out.

  “Oh, you will leave.” Sean took a step. “Even if I must throw you—”

  “That is enough, Sean.”

  Her voice sent waves of longing through Lucian. He closed his eyes a moment then turned, his heart hammering at the sight of Emma. Looking fit as ever, she stepped down the shadowy hall from the back of the house, carrying an armful of red roses, Samir a half-step behind. His gaze ate up every detail. She wore a mint green day dress with off white lace at the hem. Her hair was pulled back in a twist, except for that wayward curl that always slipped loose. Lucian wanted nothing more than to charge to her and kiss her until she melted in his arms.