by Anne Stuart
“You’ve killed him!” Barbara screamed, rushing to his side.
“Not likely.” Killoran rose and took a few uncertain steps back. “I never kill by accident.” He glanced around him in mild surprise. “Where did Emma go?”
Nathaniel was still breathing, and Barbara recognized with relief that he was merely dazed. She glanced up at Killoran. “Do you care? You sent her away.”
“So I did,” he said absently. “It seemed more than time.”
“Did you have to be so cruel?”
“I doubt she would have left otherwise. Emma is a very stalwart creature, and it takes a great deal to discourage her.” He moved across the room to the table. The wine had spilled, but there still remained a bit in the bottle, and he lifted it to his mouth and poured it down. “Don’t you think it’s about time to give Nathaniel his conge?”
“I beg your pardon?” She sat back on her heels, staring up at him.
“Take a lesson from me, my dear. Goodness and purity are not for the likes of us. You’ll only break the poor boy’s heart. And whatever is left of yours as well.” He set the empty bottle down with a crash. “Come to Paris with me, Babs, and we’ll see if I can’t manage to give you a finer appreciation of sex.”
“Why? You don’t care about me, nor I about you,” she said in a low, quiet voice. She realized she still clung to Nathaniel’s hand, quite tightly.
Killoran’s smile was bleak. “Precisely.”
Emma climbed out the window. It wasn’t that she thought Killoran or any of the others might stop her. Killoran had sent her away, in the cruelest possible terms, and Lady Barbara could only be rejoicing. If Nathaniel was tempted to help her, it would doubtless make matters worse. She already had too much blood on her hands. She couldn’t risk Nathaniel’s as well.
No, she climbed out the window simply because she didn’t know if she could bear to look at Killoran’s cool, distant, wickedly handsome face again. She didn’t know whether she would try to kill him. Or burst into tears. Either reaction would get her precisely nowhere, and since her dignity seemed to have vanished with her virginity, her only recourse was to run.
Her first thought was to steal one of the carriage horses. She had no idea whether she’d still be able to ride, or exactly where she would go; she only knew a horse would take her there faster. Of course, there was always the possibility that she could take Killoran’s huge black gelding, but if he didn’t throw her and kill her, Killoran probably would.
In the end, she didn’t have to make a choice. Willie was waiting for her. “There you are, miss,” he said, moving to the carriage door and holding it open for her.
She went, for lack of anything better to do. “Where are you taking me?”
“His lordship said that was up to you. You can go back to Curzon Street if you’ve a mind to, or anywhere else. He’s given me instructions to see you safe to whatever destination you like.”
“I’d rather be roasted in hell before I go back to Curzon Street,” she said in a deceptively calm voice. “Though London sounds acceptable.”
“Yes, miss. London it is.”
She climbed up into the coach with more speed than grace. Her body ached, and the knowledge of just what activity had caused her discomfort was like a knife to her heart. She sat back against the tufted squabs, and moments later the carriage moved forward. She didn’t look out the window at the small hunting lodge. She knew that no one would be watching her leave.
She closed her eyes, letting out a shaky, shuddery breath. She could still feel his mouth against her, still feel the changes he’d wrought in her. The novelty had worn off, he’d said, and she’d had no choice but to believe him.
Why had she kept hoping that beneath his brittle, dark exterior lurked a wounded raven? Why had she thought him capable of love, or caring? He’d looked at her last night in longing, in desperation, and tried to send her away then. But she’d succumbed, like the fool she was, drawn by his wounded charm and his beauty. Foolish enough to think she could heal him.
And in the end, it was she who was shattered.
She’d recover. Of course she would. She was made of strong stock—her father had been of yeoman blood, decent, hardworking, the backbone of England. Her mother had been gentle and loving, faithful and true. Lecherous Uncle Horace had been no blood kin to her, and Cousin Miriam took after her father, not Emma’s aunt.
She could weather this. It seemed unlikely that a despoiled virgin could marry decently, but that was the least of her worries. At the moment, she neither wanted to marry nor had any need to. What she did need was her money.
Not all of it. Her father’s armament factories had brought in vast amounts of income—there was always a ready market for the tools of war, and Emma’s inheritance was more than she could ever use in a lifetime. Cousin Miriam could keep the bulk of it. All that Emma wanted was enough to buy herself a small cottage in the countryside and keep herself safe. From the Killorans and the Darnleys of this world. From her own vulnerable heart.
Somehow she couldn’t imagine walking back into that mausoleum of a house in Crouch End and simply demanding money. The very notion made her palms sweat. But she had no choice. There was no one to turn to, no one to help her. No one except someone like Jasper Darnley, who would make his own, far more dangerous claims.
She curled up in one corner of the coach, wrapping her arms around herself. The fur throw had been left behind, and for a moment Emma remembered lying naked on it, with Killoran stretched above her, staring down into her eyes as if he cared about her. His hands had brushed her body, and in memory her stomach cramped in helpless pain and longing. God, she hated him! And God, she wanted his hands on her once more.
She slept, fitfully, off and on. When she awoke for the last time, it was pitch dark in the carriage. She was cold, and her face was wet and salty. She backhanded her cheeks and glanced out the window.
She knew they were in the city—the change of the roadway beneath them had echoed in her ears. She couldn’t recognize the area of town they were traveling through, though of one thing she was certain. It wasn’t Curzon Street, and it wasn’t Crouch End.
She banged on the roof of the carriage, but Willie ignored her. She considered opening the door and leaping out onto the cobbled roadway, but something kept her still. There were doubtless worse places to end up than Cousin Miriam’s house, but right then she couldn’t think of them. She’d been reprieved, like it or not.
The carriage came to a stop. She waited, hands clasped tightly in her lap, listening to the murmur of voices, seeing the glare of an approaching torch. By the time the door was pulled open, it was too bright for her to see, and she warded off the glare with a protesting hand, scowling at Willie’s trouble face.
“Where are we?” she demanded. “This isn’t Crouch End.”
“His lordship told me I wasn’t to take you back there. Nor to Lord Darnley’s, if you was to ask.”
“I thought he told you to take me where I wanted. Why should he care?” she said bitterly.
“He said if you didn’t come up with a good idea, I was to bring you here.”
She had no choice but to climb out of the carriage. Indeed, if it were up to her, she wouldn’t get back in one for the rest of her life. She looked up at the brightly lit house, the silhouetted figure in the open doorway. “What is it?” she asked, starting slowly up the broad front steps. A liveried servant tried to take her arm, but she slapped it away. “A bawdy house?”
“Bring the gel in,” a familiar voice trumpeted loudly. Emma was too nearsighted to make out details, but the immensity of the woman’s shape couldn’t be mistaken. She stumbled, suddenly eager.
“Lady Seldane,” she said in a broken voice.
“Bring her in,” her ladyship ordered again. “Can’t you see the poor gel’s half dead with exhaustion and hunger? Damn that Killoran, why does he have to make a botch of everything? Come here, child.”
Emma tripped on the last few steps, her s
trength failing her. In a moment she felt herself enfolded against a massive, scented bosom, and the bellowing murmur in her ear was oddly soothing. “There, there, child. It will be all right. We’ll sort things out, I promise you.”
She was crying. It was absurd, Emma thought. She never cried. Particularly not in the arms of an intimidating tartar such as Lady Seldane. But weep she did, and all her ladyship did was hold her like the mother she’d never known.
Eventually the storm of tears came to a halt. Eventually she was able to disentangle herself from Lady Seldane’s hearty embrace, to manage a watery smile.
“Much better, child,” her ladyship said approvingly. “Everyone needs to give in to strong hysterics now and then, but afterward you must pick yourself up and get on with life. I’ve ordered you a bath, a light collation, and your rooms are all ready for you. For the next twenty-four hours I want you to rest. I want you pampered and cosseted and looked after.”
“But what am I going to do... ?”
“Don’t worry about that now. We’ll come up with something sooner or later. I have a few ideas of my own. Trust me, child. We’ll make things right.”
“I shouldn’t be here,” Emma protested faintly. “You don’t realize what I’ve done.”
“What have you done?”
“I... that is... Killoran…”
“He took you to his bed, didn’t he? Lucky gel. If I were twenty years younger and about two stone lighter, there’d be no way he’d escape me. I gather you aren’t quite so sanguine about it. No wonder. He made a botch of it, which is a good sign. A very good sign indeed.”
Emma looked up at her through tear-drenched eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Killoran knows how to handle things with exquisite delicacy. It would have been a simple matter to deflower you and then dismiss you so gracefully that you barely noticed. Instead you come running to London in hysterics, and arrive on my doorstep complete with a terse note from his high-and-mighty lordship telling me to take care of you. Most promising, I call it.”
“Promising of what?”
Lady Seldane’s smile was mysterious. “That there’s redemption in the lad, after all. Come along now, Emma. Let’s get you settled. There’ll be time to work this through soon enough.”
She wanted to protest, but the fit of stupid, hated tears had taken the last of her reserves. She went willingly, to the bath, to the tray of dainty, invalid food in her room, to the silk-sheeted bed in the vast, elegant chamber. And then she slept.
Only to dream of Killoran.
“You’re lucky he didn’t kill you,” Barbara said flatly.
Nathaniel stared up at her. He was lying on a bed, albeit an uncomfortable one, and the day was far advanced. The room was cold, he had the world’s most vicious headache, and Barbara knelt on the mattress beside him, smelling of flowers.
“I’m surprised he didn’t. Where is he?”
“Gone to some party. At Sanderson’s, I believe. We weren’t invited.”
“I would have thought you’d be invited anywhere.”
“Killoran said specifically that I wasn’t to come. I gather it’s rather wild.”
“Aren’t you used to that sort of thing?” he asked bitterly.
So it went, Barbara thought numbly. He’d finally accepted her for what she was. “Quite,” she said briskly, climbing off the bed. “But since he’s decided to take me to Paris, I expect he’s feeling a bit territorial.”
“Are you going to go with him?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” She wandered over to the shuttered window, keeping her back to Nathaniel. She didn’t quite trust her carefully schooled expression. “After all, Killoran is reputed to be a marvelous lover. I’d be foolish to turn down the chance to be his mistress, would I not?”
“So you admit you aren’t his lover already?”
“It would be a waste of time to deny it. You’re very observant, Nathaniel.” She turned and gave him her most enchanting smile.
“You don’t love him.”
“I don’t love anyone. I don’t believe in it. That’s for the innocents of this world. Go back to Northumberland, Nathaniel. Find another Miss Pottle. Haven’t you learned by now that Killoran and I are two of a kind? We’re not for the likes of you.”
He was silent for a moment, and she turned away again, rather than see the contempt and disappointment on his face. It was all for the best, she reminded herself. Killoran had just given her a salutary lesson in how to be cruel in order to be kind. She could do no less.
“I suppose he would kill me,” Nathaniel said after a moment, his voice surprisingly wry.
She turned. “Undoubtedly.”
“Then there will have to be another way.”
“Another way for what?”
“To change his mind about you. I can’t count on you to have any sense of self-preservation—obviously you’ve been intent on going to hell since you were... what did you say? Barely out of leading strings. Someday you’ll tell me why.”
“Never.”
He ignored her fierce protest. “So I shall simply have to rely on Killoran to give you over. I’m going to marry you, Barbara. And I’ve grown fond of Killoran, despite his black temper.”
“You hit your head too hard,” she said flatly. “You’ve gone raving mad.”
He sat up, wincing in pain, and then smiled at her. It was a heartbreaking, beguiling smile, one that took all her effort to resist. “No, my love. I think Killoran knocked some sense into me. You’ll like Northumberland. It’s wild and beautiful and untamed. Like you.”
“I love the city. I like shops and the theater and gay parties.”
“You love me,” Nathaniel said. “And sooner or later you’ll realize it.”
Ah, but she already realized it, she thought miserably. She just wasn’t about to admit it. “You’re quite young,” she said. “You’ll get over it.”
“Over you? Never.”
And she wondered whether she dared to believe him.
“Come here, love,” he said softly.
She kept her distance, wary. “Why?”
“I want you to lie down beside me.”
She felt her mouth twist into an ugly smile. “Of course you do,” she said with false sprightliness. “I wondered how long it would take you to change your mind.” She started toward him, lifting her skirts, a practiced smile on her face.
He caught her hand in his, forcing her to drop the heavy silk as he pulled her closer. “No, Barbara,” he said. “I want you to lie with me. That’s all.”
“Don’t be absurd,” she mocked him. “Aren’t you a man at all? I’m willing to do anything you want me to, and you—”
“I want you to lie with me. Beside me, in my arms. All night long. And nothing more.”
She stared at him. At his strong hand on her slender wrist, at his fierce blue eyes. And uncertainty swept over her.
“You don’t want me?” she asked in a small, frightened voice.
His smile could have broken her fragile heart. “Oh, love,” he murmured, “I want you more than life itself. But not until you’re sure.”
He tugged, gently. She went, willingly. The bed was narrow and sagging, his body was strong and warm, and he put his arms around her, holding her close against him, tucking her face against his shoulder.
She held herself stiffly, unused to gentleness, unused to tenderness. But when he stroked her hair away from her face, dropped a kiss on her forehead, and settled back with a sigh, she knew he meant what he’d said. He was hard with wanting her, but he wasn’t going to take her until she was ready.
The room was dark now, night having fallen. She felt very safe, safe enough to warn him. “It will be a long time,” she whispered against the strong column of his neck.
“I’m a patient man,” he said softly. “I’ll wait.”
Chapter 18
“I do not understand the man,” Lady Seldane announced. “It really is most unlike him.”
Emma gla
nced up at her hostess. She had been in residence for a week, a week in which Lady Seldane had fed her, cosseted her, teased her, and played cards with her, all the while refusing to discuss either Killoran or the future. Now, over an elegant dinner a deux, she’d finally brought him up, and Emma didn’t know whether she was grateful or sorry.
“He’s back in town, isn’t he?” She kept her voice deliberately toneless as she stirred her soup.
“Who, Killoran? He’s been back these past four days. Most odd—not a word from him, not even a simple inquiry as to your well-being. Most unlike the lad. He was always exact about the social details, and outrageous about larger issues.”
“Perhaps he considers me beneath his notice.”
“Or too much to deal with,” Lady Seldane said shrewdly. “Either way, he’s keeping his distance. I am not, by nature, a patient woman, and I dislike seeing you miserable.”
“I’m sorry,” Emma said swiftly. “I’ve trespassed shamefully on your hospitality. I have been thinking a great deal these past few days, and making plans—”
“You’re not going back to that harridan you told me about,” the old woman interrupted sharply. “Killoran says she’s not to be trusted.”
“His lordship has a great many opinions for someone who has taken himself out of my life. Cousin Miriam is a difficult woman, but one of the highest moral character.”
Lady Seldane sniffed. “I knew she sounded dreadful. You’re not to go back to her, Emma.”
“I have no intention of doing so. I thought I would go away.” She said it half defiantly, expecting a loud protest.
She was disappointed.
“There’s merit in that notion, gel. For one thing, you’ll be out of Darnley’s clutches. Lord only knows where the creature is, but I don’t trust him. Why in the world Killoran didn’t simply call him out and finish the matter years ago is beyond me. It would have made things so very simple.”