by Candice Hern
The old woman's laughter changed abruptly to a frown as she seriously eyed her young companion. "The scoundrel!" she whispered. "What can have possessed him? One would have thought that if he had no intention of pleasantly acknowledging you he would have preferred to simply avoid you altogether."
"I admit, ma'am," Emily said, "that I had felt that way, too. I assumed he would ignore me as his family has ignored mine for years."
"And yet," the dowager continued, "he seemed hell-bent on causing a public spectacle. In point of fact, my dear," she said, leaning close to Emily and lowering her voice, "I think that very few heard his actual words to you. Obviously something happened between the two of you, which alone will have caused some degree of interest and speculation. But few have any knowledge of the true nature of your confrontation, so you can rest easy on that score. I happened to be sitting close enough to overhear, and was only drawn to listen at all because I knew who the man was to you. Most of the others seated nearby were paying little if any attention, I assure you. But I did hear what he said and I tell you I would have had his guts for garters if Louisa hadn't clamped her hand on my shoulder like a vise. I was ready to thrash the man with my reticule. The pistol inside would have given him quite a wallop, I guarantee you!"
The image of such an attack caused Emily to burst out laughing.
"You see," the dowager said, "you are feeling better, aren't you? Louisa told me that you had been crying. I don't blame you one bit, but I am glad that bully didn't completely ruin your evening."
Emily was soon whisked onto the dance floor by yet another partner. She stepped through the intricate patterns of the country dance, as she had all evening, with an abstracted smile planted firmly on her face. After all, she had years of practice in schooling her features into an unreadable expression. Such was expected of a woman in service. She had no way of knowing, however, that her air of indifference went a long way toward increasing her consequence with the ton. Those who had some notion of what had happened with her uncle attributed her cool attitude to a remarkable strength of character.
In fact, it had been some hours since Emily had given more than a passing thought to her uncle and his behavior. Her mind was occupied with another matter entirely. As she moved through the steps of one dance after another, with one partner after another—most of whom she wouldn't have been able to recall, if asked—she was savoring the memory of how it had felt to be in Robert's arms.
Emily had been so overset by her uncle's words that she could barely recollect being led to the dance floor at all. Her total concentration had been focused on maintaining her composure. She had been terrified of succumbing to an emotional outburst before the eyes of all of Society. She was vaguely aware that Robert had chattered and joked in an effort to put her at ease, and she had silently thanked him, though her throat had felt so constricted that she had been unable to utter a single word.
When they were finally alone on the terrace and she had tried to speak, she was overcome by the depth of her pain and anguish, and she had collapsed into tears. She had lost control. Her all-important cloak of composure had been ripped to shreds. She had been devastated, both by the cruel words of her uncle and by her own uncontrollable reaction.
But somehow it was all right. Robert was there to help her get through this, and somehow he made it all right. When her tears had been spent and she had finally felt the pain and anger recede a bit, Emily had become acutely aware of the warmth, comfort, and safety that came from being in his arms. She remembered his hand in her hair, firmly pressing her closer to him. She remembered the feel of the muscles of his chest beneath his waistcoat. And she remembered the smell of him—a completely masculine combination of shaving oil, brandy, and musky sweat.
There had been something almost hypnotic about the gentle movement of his hand on her back. That was the only excuse she could find for the stream of words that next fell from her lips. She could hardly believe it, even now. She had never shared such private feelings with anyone, not since her mother died, anyway. She was embarrassed to recall how she had rambled on and on about her mother and her father and her own personal pain. But once the words had started, she hadn't been able to stop them. It was as if that gentle hand on her back was coaxing them out of her. Emily blushed to imagine what he must have thought of her.
When he had finally relaxed his hold on her and she had looked up at him, she had thought for a moment that he might actually kiss her. And she had actually wanted him to kiss her. Fool! He had obviously had more sense than she did, as he purposefully pulled away from her. But then some imp of mischief had caused her to kiss him on the cheek. Fool! Although she convinced herself that it was simply a kiss of friendship and thanks, she could not forget the look in his eyes, which even now caused her to feel warm all over.
Fool, fool, fool!
Surely she was not going to be stupid enough to fall in love with a man who could never be hers.
* * *
Lord Pentwick and his son, after having escaped the Rutland ball as inconspicuously as possible, had returned to the earl's Curzon Street house and now sat sharing a brandy in his lordship's library.
"I am afraid, Hugh, that I have seriously miscalculated," Lord Pentwick said after taking a long swallow of brandy. "Apparently the chit cannot be so easily disgraced. I cannot credit it, though, as my informant assured me that she was averse to any sort of public attention and could generally be found cowering in the background at any public affair."
"She was certainly not cowering in the background this evening," Hugh said. He poured himself another brandy and then passed the decanter to his father. "Before you showed up she had danced almost every dance."
"Even so," his father said, "I had expected that she would bolt at any hint of the old scandal about my sister and Townsend. Hmph!" he snorted as he rose and began to pace the room. "It seems her high-and-mighty friends intend to protect her." He continued to pace in silence for a few moments and then spun around and glared down at his son with narrowed eyes.
"We must change tactics," he announced, and then his face broke into a sinister grin. "My boy, this one will be all yours. You must woo her."
"Woo her?" Hugh exclaimed. "You must be joking. After tonight the girl will never speak to us."
"Me. She will never speak to me. I am the one who insulted her, not you. You did no more than introduce yourself. There can be no objection to your behavior."
Hugh groaned. "Father, be reasonable. The mere fact that I was with you, not to mention that I am your son, will be enough to get the door slammed in my face."
"Use your imagination, boy!" His arms flew out in exasperation, brandy sloshing out of his glass onto the Turkish carpet. "Show up when there are other callers, when it would be positively rude to refuse you."
"You think that old bat she works for would give a second thought to having me thrown out into the street?"
"She will if you handle it properly," Lord Pentwick said as he eased himself back into his leather armchair. He stretched his legs out toward the fire with an air of supreme confidence. "Scribble a note on the back of your card begging to be allowed to apologize for my behavior at the bloody ball. Divorce yourself from me entirely if you must. Tell her how ashamed you are of how I insulted her, what a heartless scoundrel I am, and so on and so forth."
"Ha! That should be easy enough."
"Worm your way into her good graces somehow," Lord Pentwick continued. "Tell her how important family ties are to you, how much you want to be on good terms with your own dear cousin and all that rubbish. Use your charm, boy! Have you forgotten everything I've ever taught you? Just remember the money, Hugh. Remember the money. I don't care how you do it, but woo the damned girl."
"And how far am I to take this . .. seduction?" Hugh asked with a leer worthy of his father.
"As far as necessary," the earl replied. "She must be thoroughly ruined. If that old biddy and her meddlesome family continue to trot the girl out to Society
functions, she might just catch the eye of some idiot willing to leg-shackle himself to her. She ain't bad-looking, after all."
Hugh grinned wolfishly. "No, indeed she is not. For an ape-leader."
"She must not be allowed to marry!" the earl shouted, slamming his glass down on the small table at his side, causing it to wobble precariously on its spindly legs. "We lose everything if she marries. Do what you must to make her ineligible. Ruin her if you have to. But she must not marry!" He paused and looked at his son, cocking an eyebrow. "That is, of course, unless she were to marry you."
Hugh threw back his head and roared with laughter.
Chapter 13
Robert jumped down from his curricle, handed the reins to his tiger, and headed up the steps of the Windhurst town house on Cavendish Square. He anticipated a cool reception at best and was infuriated that he had been forced into such a difficult situation. He hoped the enormous basket of roses he had ordered had preceded him. Women were generally susceptible to such gestures. Just to be safe, he also carried in his pocket a delicate sapphire brooch set in silver filigree which he had picked up earlier at Rundle & Bridge.
"Good afternoon, my lord," the butler said as he took Robert's hat and gloves.
"Good afternoon, Soames. I trust that Lady Windhurst and Miss Windhurst are at home?"
"Yes, my lord." The butler offered a silver tray.
Robert placed his card on the tray and waited while Soames took it into the morning room. He tapped his foot impatiently. God, how he wished that he was over and done with this interview. He knew that Augusta would expect an apology for last night. He also knew that he was bound to offer one, and that made him all the more furious. Why should he have to grovel and beg her pardon for a meaningless trifle, a mere nothing?
Nothing? Had it really meant nothing?
He had no idea how long Augusta had been standing there in the doorway, how much she had actually seen. But even if she had been there all along, surely she would have recognized that he did no more than offer comfort to a friend in pain. Emily's kiss could hardly be construed as anything more than a token of thanks. It was absurd that he should be forced to behave as if it had all been something more. Something special. Something sweet and warm and intimate.
Damnation! He was being ridiculous. Certainly it had been none of those things for Emily, and he must stop right now imagining that it had been otherwise for himself.
Then why the hell was he feeling so guilty? Guilty enough to lay out several hundred pounds on a sapphire bauble. Guilty enough that he was furiously pacing, that his palms were sweating, and that he had an almost uncontrollable urge to bolt out the front door before Soames returned.
If only he had been able to speak with Augusta last night, all would have been well. She would not have had the opportunity to stew about it all night and all morning, no doubt manufacturing all sorts of idiotic constructions on what she thought she had seen. But when he had gone looking for her after Emily left the terrace, he had spied her on the dance floor smiling flirtatiously up at his cousin Ted as they waltzed around the room. Well, thank goodness for Ted, who had obviously stepped in as a last-minute substitute in the set that Robert had known all along had been reserved for himself. At least he didn't have to worry about Augusta having been abandoned. Good old Ted. He must remember to thank him.
After the waltz Augusta had been quickly claimed for the next few sets, and then had disappeared. Robert discovered that she and her mother had departed early so that they would have time to make an appearance at Lady Musgrave's card party.
She had indeed had time to stew, and he had no idea what sort of reception to expect.
Robert spun around and stopped pacing when he heard Soames return.
"Her ladyship and Miss Windhurst are receiving this afternoon, my lord," the butler announced. "They are pleased to have you join them. This way, if you please."
And so it's into the fray, Robert thought as he followed Soames to the morning room, running a finger under his collar, which suddenly felt uncomfortably tight.
Soames opened the door, and Robert walked into the room that never ceased to amaze him. It was decorated completely in the Egyptian style, with low couches in the shape of crocodiles, chairs with sphinx-headed arms, and alabaster wall sconces carved to resemble lotus blossoms. Cross-legged stools and low ebony tables were scattered throughout the room. Even the walls had been papered with a papyrus and palm-leaf motif. Not one detail was allowed to interfere with the overall theme. The entire effect reminded Robert of a play or an opera setting, which he generally found quite laughable. But he was in no laughing mood today.
He noted with some apprehension that the room was filled with guests, and wondered how Augusta would react to his presence. He bowed to Lady Windhurst, enthroned in a large gilt chair with winged falcons for arms, and turned toward Augusta. His betrothed was seated upon one of the crocodile couches, while perched uncomfortably next to her was his cousin Ted. Ted? What on earth was he doing here? The fellow had never been known to willingly socialize, particularly in the afternoon when he was more likely to be found buried in his library with some dull journal or other, and seldom if ever in such a setting almost always dominated by females. But then he had been at the Rutland ball last night. Had even danced. Odd. Ted usually had to be cajoled by his mother or grandmother or Louisa or some other female relation to attend anything other than a lecture or perhaps a new showing of sporting prints at Ackermann's. Robert wondered if Aunt Doro was pressuring him to find a wife. Poor fellow. He was not yet thirty. Robert must remember to have a word with his aunt.
Augusta offered her hand stiffly, and Robert took it to his lips. He assumed Ted would relinquish his place on that wretched couch. It was only natural that Robert be allowed to sit next to his future bride. But Ted did not make a move to leave and in fact continued his conversation with Augusta after only the briefest acknowledgment of his cousin. Marquess or no, thought Robert, the man simply did not know how to go about in Society.
Robert opted to stand, having a horror of collapsing one of the cross-legged stools, and took a place somewhat behind Augusta where he entered into a polite conversation with an elderly dowager of his acquaintance. When Ted finally rose to take his leave, Robert was astonished and, truth be told, somewhat discomfited to see his cousin take Augusta's hand in both his own and gaze at her with the beseeching eyes of a hound dog. He really must have a talk with Aunt Doro.
Robert excused himself from the dowager and claimed the place vacated by his cousin.
"Augusta," he said in that seductive tone he had mastered to perfection through the years, "I wish to apologize for last evening. I know that—"
"Please, my lord," Augusta interrupted with a wave of her hand, "do not concern yourself. Your cousin, Lord Haselmere, was kind enough to take your set. Unfortunately I was unable to substitute another set for you as Mother and I were promised at Lady Musgrave's. I was sure you would understand. Oh, and thank you for the roses. So extravagant, my lord," she said, slapping his arm playfully.
Robert stayed for the requisite thirty minutes, listening to Augusta prattle on about nothing in particular, and took his leave. The sapphire brooch remained in his pocket.
* * *
Meanwhile, the morning room at Bradleigh House, more sedately furnished in polished mahogany and rose silk damask, was crowded with afternoon visitors come to pay respects to the dowager. Against her better judgment, Emily had been convinced to take a seat directiy next to her employer, rather than hang along the wall or in a far corner as was her usual practice.
"Mark my words, my girl," the dowager had said, clasping Emily firmly by the arm and steering her to a chair in the center of the room, "many an interfering old tabby will attempt to find out what happened between you and Lord Pentwick last night. Most, thank goodness, know little more than that he somehow insulted you and that Robert squelched the entire incident with a proper setdown. But you can be sure that the curious, on the
scent of potential gossip, will be trying to entice the full tale out of one of us."
The dowager arranged herself on a sofa and coaxed Charlemagne onto her lap. He sat up and playfully licked at her face, and in return she nuzzled his nose with her own, cooing French endearments. Emily regarded her employer with affection. The sight of that long, powdered aristocratic nose rubbing up against the tiny black pug nose brought a smile to Emily's hps. Watching her play with Charlemagne, the often blunt, sometimes sharp-tongued, and almost always arrogant old woman appeared positively girlish. But when she looked back up at Emily, the usual steely determination was once again in evidence.
"You must stick by my side, my dear," she said, "and let me direct the conversation. Not that I don't trust you, you understand. It's just that you have no experience with Society's vultures, who can take the tiniest morsel of information and turn it into a juicy tidbit. Leave everything to me, my girl."
Emily had been glad to do so. In fact, the dowager could not have more accurately predicted the direction the afternoon would take than if she had used a gypsy's crystal ball. The interrogation began with the first visitor and continued almost to the last.
"Ah, Miss Townsend. Wasn't that Lord Pentwick I saw you speaking with last night?"
"My dear Miss Townsend, whatever did Lord Bradleigh say to Lord Pentwick before he whisked you off onto the dance floor?"
"Miss Townsend, you simply must tell us what Lord Pentwick said to you."