by Mary Campisi
He put his arms around her and said, “And I’ve missed you. It’s almost boring without you. There’s no one running around the house, screaming and yelling, getting into mischief.” He hugged her tighter. “I take that back. Lucas is moving around a little, and he can let out a fairly decent holler when he’s hungry.”
Emily laughed. “How is my little nephew?”
“Excellent and getting bigger every day.” He released her but kept hold of her hands. “Let me have a look at you.” His smile deepened as he studied her through blue eyes the color of an evening sky. She still thought him the most handsome man she’d ever met—handsome and exasperating. The last time they’d argued, he’d insisted she stay at Marbrook, and she’d demanded to venture to Glenview Manor.
“I have something for you.” He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a letter. “It’s from Chris.”
“Christopher!” She snatched the letter and hugged it to her chest.
“Go ahead, open it. I’ll pour tea while you read it.”
Emily raced to the sofa and plunked down, studying her name on the outside of the letter. Emily St. Simon. Christopher had no way of knowing the events that had transpired in the last several weeks and she wasn’t certain she wanted to tell him. Not when everything had turned out so badly.
She read the letter twice, all six pages of it. He described the beauty of the land, from the rolling hills to the blossoms on the dogwood and cherry trees. The soil was the color of terracotta and as hard as it too, which made running a plantation a great challenge. There were hundreds of acres of tobacco plants, all thriving in the warm, sunny climate. Virginia was nothing like England and Christopher loved everything about it. Emily wondered if he’d met any interesting women. She’d bring it up in her next letter. After all, he was eight and twenty and the only remaining unmarried St. Simon. But she might not tell him that. How could she possibly explain that she’d married the man who helped him get to Virginia, but said man had abandoned her on the night of their wedding?
She’d sound like a complete fool if she told him that. She could say Noah and she had gone their separate ways, but he was providing a very comfortable lifestyle for her with the exception of a nosy butler and an overprotective staff. Christopher would see right through that ruse. He knew she’d never settle for an arrangement of any kind. Not her. She had to dive head first into anything she tackled. Even love. There was no half way about it—she was such a fool.
Perhaps she should just stick to niceties and talk about the weather, Allegra, and maybe a few old excursions with Belle. She probably should make mention of coming to America again, since every letter she’d ever penned had begged him to convince Ian to permit her to join him. If she said nothing about it, he would grow suspicious. Truth was, she no longer had the burning need to get there.
“Are you happy here, Emily?”
Ian’s words sliced through her thoughts. “As happy as a woman can be under these circumstances.” She poured herself a cup of tea. Next came two lumps of sugar and a drop of cream. As she stirred the hot brew, she studied the swirling designs the spoon made as the cream blended into the tea. Blended and disappeared, leaving only a trace behind, just like her husband, who’d worked his way into her heart, marked her forever, and then disappeared. “Living as a married woman without a husband is not a situation I ever considered,” she said.
“You could be a married woman, living with a husband you detest,” Ian offered.
Emily smiled at her brother over the rim of her cup. Dear Ian. Situations of the heart always made him uncomfortable. “Yes, well, there is that to be thankful for.”
“Speaking of that situation, there is something I wish to discuss with you.”
Her hand jerked and a small spot of tea sloshed onto her lilac gown. “What situation?” Ian was going to discuss Noah with her?
“I’m concerned Noah might try to return to Glenview Manor.”
“Ridiculous.” He would never return. He’d made his choice and it hadn’t been her.
“I have reason to believe he might try,” Ian said. “For a time, anyway.”
“He wouldn’t dare,” Emily said through clenched teeth.
“He sent me a letter, telling me he would like to see you again,” Ian said, his eyes trained on her.
“He did?” She swallowed hard. He wanted to see her again? “Well, does he plan to come alone or would he be bringing Desiree and Monique too?”
Ian coughed and sputtered, “What do you know of Desiree and Monique?”
“They’re his mistresses.” She waved a hand in the air, as though it were of no consequence to her. Inside she seethed, furious with Noah for being such a worthless scoundrel and with herself for the tears she’d wasted over him.
“They’ll be available, I’m sure.”
When he tires of his wife. Damn the man. Did he think he could walk back into her life without so much as an apology or an explanation, and she would accept him with open arms? Well, he could think again.
“Of course, I told him it was out of the question. I said you had no desire to see him, but Noah never has been a gentleman. He’ll do what he wants. Or try too, anyway. That’s why I’ve taken certain precautions to insure your safety.” Ian stood and walked toward the door. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He opened the door and murmured something to Billington, who must have been standing right outside. Spying on her, no doubt. Emily knew firsthand how easy it was to “overhear” a conversation through a door.
Emily heard a soft, raspy voice a moment before a tall, burly man entered. Her gaze riveted to his hair. There was so much of it. Everywhere. It covered his head like a brown, bushy nest, falling to just below his shoulders. His eyebrows formed a straight, thick line and his mustache flowed into a full beard that extended a good two inches below where she thought his chin might be. He wore thick spectacles that distorted the shape of his eyes and she was much too far away to discern their color. It appeared there was no more than a few inches of skin on his face that wasn’t covered with hair or spectacles.
“Emily, I’d like you to meet Cyrus Mandrey,” Ian said. “Your protector.”
The bushy-haired man nodded and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Sandleton.”
“My protector?” she echoed, darting a puzzled look at Ian.
“Mr. Mandrey is going to make certain Noah doesn’t bother you,” Ian said.
“But that’s absurd. And totally unnecessary.” A hired protector? Ridiculous.
“Emily,” Ian said in that tone that told her he tired of their bantering. “The only way I will allow you to remain at Glenview Manor is if Mr. Mandrey stays with you.”
“But—”
He cut her off before she could say more. “Or else I will take you back to Marbrook in the morning.”
Emily searched for a way to reason with her brother. She had no need of a protector. Especially not one who looked more animal than human.
“I don’t mean to be difficult,” she began, keeping her voice level so he wouldn’t detect her growing irritation, “but I don’t need a protector. Noah may be a lot of things, but he would never harm me.”
“I’m not talking about physical violence. I’m concerned with the emotional wreckage he’d leave behind,” Ian said, his voice rising with every word. “With his inevitable departure. And he would leave, Emily. It’s in his blood. Maybe not right away, it might take several weeks or months. Perhaps even a year. But one day, when you’ve just come to believe he’ll be with you forever, he’ll be gone. You’ll wake one morning to find a note on your pillow. No apologies, no excuses. You’ll live each day after that, wondering if you’ll ever see him again. Do you really want to live that kind of life?”
Emily closed her eyes, and shook her head. She couldn’t speak for the lump in her throat, stuck there like one of Mrs. Florence’s biscuits. Ian was right, of course. Seeing Noah again would only spell disaster.
He stepped forward and clasped her
cold hands in his. “I don’t want you to go through what you did last time,” he said in a gentle voice. “It was much too painful. For all of us.”
Cyrus Mandrey cleared his throat. “If I may be so bold as to speak, Lady Sandleton, perhaps your husband regrets his actions and wishes to make honest retribution. Perhaps he wishes nothing more than to see his wife again and grow into old age with her.”
Emily stared at the bushy half-animal, half-man figure standing before her. How dare he speak of Noah’s possible intentions. He knew nothing about Noah other than what Ian had told him. “If you believe that, even as a remote possibility,” she said, her words as cold as a winter storm, “then you’re implying my husband has a heart and a conscience. I know firsthand, he possesses neither.” Dismissing him, she turned to Ian. “I accept your proposal. At least until we’re certain there are no attempts to return. Please discuss the details with Mr. Mandrey and provide background information he might deem necessary. Make it perfectly clear I do not wish to hear any further speculations from him as to why my husband may be trying to contact me.”
Ian nodded. “It’s for the best, Emily.”
She chose not to respond. “If you’ll excuse me, I feel a headache coming on.”
“Oh course.” Ian gave her a brief hug. Emily ignored Cyrus Mandrey as she brushed past him on her way to the door, but she felt his eyes following her every move.
When the door closed, Noah dropped the guise of Cyrus Mandrey and his words rushed out in low, fierce tones. “Did you have to paint such a black picture of me? She hates me! Did you see the look in her eyes when you mentioned my name?”
Ian laughed, not trying to hide his amusement. “I told you that you’d have to win her back.”
“But you didn’t tell me you were going to make it so difficult,” Noah said, scowling.
“I had to make her realize the danger of letting Noah back into her life,” Ian said, all traces of humor gone. “It was the only way I could get her to accept the presence of Cyrus Mandrey. We need him to protect Emily and investigate Kleeton.”
“I can’t wait to meet the man,” Noah said, slipping back into Cyrus Mandrey’s raspy voice.
“I’m certain you will, soon enough, my man. Soon enough.”
****
Noah sat at a small table in one of the guest bedrooms. He would have preferred sleeping in the master suite. Right next door to his wife. Or, better yet, with his wife, in his bed. But that would have to wait. The success of this mission depended largely on his ability to convince Emily he was nothing more than a bodyguard with absolutely no resemblance to her husband.
He’d changed his physical appearance as much as possible. The bushy hair on his head, the full mustache and beard, thick glasses and extra padding in his shirt were attempts to achieve that goal. A slow, shuffling gait replaced his usual, purposeful stride. When he spoke, the smooth, sensual tone that turned many a woman’s knees to jelly, shifted to Cyrus Mandrey’s gravelly voice, not unlike the sound of sand rubbing on paper.
“I want you to tell me everything you know about Andrew Kleeton,” he said, leaning forward to whisper the words. He remembered his wife’s uncontrollable pension for eavesdropping. For all he knew, she could be on the other side of the door right now.
“Most of what I know I included in the missive I sent you.” Edward Billington sat in a companion chair of cream and pale green brocade, his lanky form bent toward Noah. “Apparently, Penworth belonged to the Duke and Duchess of Twidale until their death two years ago. Kleeton purchased the property at that time, but did not take up residence until six months ago. As for the man himself,” Billington continued, placing one long, bony finger on his chin, “he is of medium build, longish blond hair, light blue eyes, dimples on either side of his mouth, perfect unblemished face. One might consider him quite handsome if one were interested in that sort of thing.”
Noah rubbed his nose. His crooked, twice broken nose. “Does Lady Emily seem 'interested in that sort of thing’?” He shouldn’t have asked the question because he didn’t really want to know the answer.
Billington’s long face showed no surprise over the strange question. “No, I wouldn’t say she seemed interested.”
Noah breathed a small sigh of relief. When this whole ordeal was over he was going to have a difficult enough time winning Emily over without any outside complications.
“Though it’s hard to tell.” Billington’s words struck him in the gut like a lead ball.
“Oh?”
“Well, sir, I’ve only observed them together on one occasion and that was yesterday when Mr. Kleeton arrived to take Lady Emily riding. It’s difficult to formulate an opinion based on such limited information.”
He should have known better than to ask Billington a question involving emotions.
“Forget I asked,” Noah said, annoyed with himself for asking the question in the first place. “Let’s move on. What about his hands?”
“Gloved. To somewhere above the wrist, but I couldn’t determine how far.”
“Well, we’ll have to find a way to get them off, won’t we?” Noah asked, crossing his arms behind his head and stretching his booted feet in front of him.
Billington’s lower lip twitched. “My thoughts exactly, sir.”
“Good. Are there any other matters we need to discuss?”
Billington’s mouth puckered as though he’d just bitten into a lemon. “There is one small situation I’d like to discuss.”
“Yes?”
Billington cleared his throat and said in a very low, precise voice, “It’s about your wife, sir.”
“My wife?”
His lips puckered again. He hesitated a moment, and then the words flew out like a cannon ball. “She’s quite willful, sir.”
Noah tried not to smile. “Ah, I see. She’s given you a mighty chase, hasn’t she?” He could just imagine the two of them; they were about as compatible as oil and water.
Billington pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his balding head. “She’s always questioning me, sir. Not in the demure manner of a woman befitting her station, but boldly, brazenly, like a man might do.”
“Are you calling my wife masculine, Billington?” Noah asked, raising a bushy eyebrow. Too bad Billington couldn’t see his lips twitching beneath all this hair.
“Oh no, sir. Not at all.” He sat very straight in his chair. “It’s just that, at times, she can be quite…undisciplined.” A small bead of sweat trickled down his right temple.
“A hoyden?” Noah supplied, cocking his head to one side.
“No! No sir,” he shook his head several times to press the point.
Be damned. The man had actually raised his voice. Billington had shown emotion. That was a first. Amazing. Edward Billington, the shrewd, no-nonsense, proper man who never lost his composure, had come undone because of Emily. Somehow, she’d found a way beneath Billington’s carefully honed exterior and chipped away, no doubt with one argumentative word at a time, to release the emotions in the man. Negative, unfortunately, but emotions nonetheless.
Noah guessed it was time to stop tormenting the poor man. Emily had most likely tortured him enough with her obstinate questioning. “How would you like it, Billington, if Cyrus Mandrey took over Lady Emily’s comings and goings? You wouldn’t have to be responsible for her. No more questioning, no more following her around, no more being responsible for her?”
Billington let out a long sigh and slumped in his chair. “I would be most appreciative of that, sir,” he said, mopping his forehead again. “Most appreciative indeed.”
****
Cyrus Mandrey took another sip of claret. Emily hadn’t spoken five words since they’d sat down to supper fifteen minutes ago, and he’d had to practically drag them out of her. But he hadn’t missed the furtive glances she threw his way when she thought he wasn’t looking. She studied every movement, down to the way he buttered his roll and chewed his pork.
Enough was enough. He s
et down his fork and knife, sat back in his chair, and folded his hands over his stomach.
Emily glanced in his direction, a forkful of mashed potatoes poised mid-air. “Is the food not to your liking?” she asked, plopping the potatoes into her mouth.
“The food is fine.”
She raised a golden eyebrow and swallowed. “You’re not much of an eater,” she commented, glancing over his half-full plate.
“On the contrary, I love food.”
She nodded and took a small bite of pork, chewing thoughtfully. “If the food is fine and you love to eat, then why aren’t you eating?”
“It’s the company,” he said.
A crimson flush inched up her neck and spread to her cheeks. Had the color spread downward, toward those lush, ripe breasts? His cock hardened at the thought.
“I beg your pardon?” she said, her voice a mere squeak.
Shrugging, he said, “You’ve been staring at me since we sat down.”
“I have not been staring at you.” She glared at him.
“You have. I know it’s not because you’re entranced with my good looks,” he said, gesturing to himself. “Obviously, you’re puzzled about something. What is it?”
The flush deepened and she stared at her plate.
“Lady Emily, we’ll be spending countless hours together. It’s best if we’re honest with each other from the start.” Surprisingly, a bolt of lightning didn’t shoot from the sky and strike him. Honesty, indeed. If she knew the truth right now, she’d fly across the table and scratch his eyes out.
“I was just wondering,” she began, her eyes remaining on the plate in front of her. “Why did my brother select you, Mr. Mandrey?”
“I was the most qualified candidate.”
Her head shot up. She opened her mouth to speak, then clamped it shut.
“You were about to say something,” Cyrus prodded.
She shook her bent head, so the only thing he could see was a golden crown of ringlets bobbing back and forth. “Come now, Lady Emily, confess.”
“It’s nothing, Mr. Mandrey.”
He admired the shimmering brilliance of her hair as the light danced over it. She’d worn it pulled back in a loose twist at the nape of her neck, a few tendrils escaping their confinement to trail about her shoulders. Compelling. Seductive. Like the woman. He shook his head and concentrated on the task at hand. “Honesty, Lady Emily.”