"Is that how you see me, then? As a liar?"
Emily became increasingly uneasy under his scrutiny and waved her gloved hand at him, dismissing him as if he were another one of her misguided suitors. "My brother may be here any minute, you best leave."
"And hide beneath the bed, madam?" His laugh held no humor. "You think me a coward as well as a liar, then?"
A sudden chill hung onto the end of his words, and Emily knew without doubt that her future rested on her reply. She bit her bottom lip, feeling an acute sense of loss. He had misled her. Strung her along like a puppet for the last time. She owed it to herself to cut the string forever.
"Yes." Her one-word reply was like a harsh echo.
In one fluid motion, he leaned forward, his fingers clamping hold of her chin. "By Jove, if you were a man, I would call you out for that."
Emily measured him with an icy glare and jerked away. "How indelicate of me to be born a female, my lord. But pray, do not let that stop you."
"Then adieu, madam. I won't embarrass you by my presence any longer. I wish you a safe and healthy journey." He flipped open the carriage door and jumped to the ground.
She hesitated, then called out to him. "Jared!"
He glanced over his shoulder and raised a mocking brow. "Setting the time and the place, madam?"
Emily's nails bit into the leather seat. She would not let him know how much he had hurt her. "No."
"No?" he answered harshly. "Forget something, then? My heart on a silver platter perhaps?"
The icy reserve between them grew.
Her silence caused a thin smile to appear on his lips, and he bowed. "Your servant, madam." The carriage door clicked closed with a push of his hand, and she was alone.
Emily tilted her head toward the window, listening to his heels clapping hard against the walk. He seemed to be distancing himself from her as swiftly as possible, as if a rifle were pointed at his back.
She noted it had started to rain again and closed the curtains, leaning her head against the leather seat, helpless to stop the stinging tears that collected in her eyes.
"Hell's bells, Em," Stephen said, flipping open the door of the carriage and wiping his wet face. "What on earth vexed Roderick this morning. His tyranny act at breakfast did nothing for my digestion, I can tell you that."
"I believe it had something to do with Miss Greenwell," Emily said, dropping her watery gaze to her gloved hands.
Stephen shook his head. "No future there. Stonebridge would never allow it."
Emily nodded. No, Jared would never allow any type of attachment to her family now. The man despised her.
"Would you mind asking the driver to stop at Lord Bringston's on the way?" she asked.
Stephen's expression clouded. "You jest?"
She avoided his unwavering gaze by watching the angry raindrops slapping against the cobblestone street—much like the tears beating against the ragged chambers of her heart. She swallowed a sad laugh. Wordsworth would have been proud.
"I have made my decision, Stephen. In fact, I made my choice known to Roderick this morning."
Stephen plowed a hand through his already disheveled hair. "By Jove, do you realize the implications here?"
"I know precisely what I am doing, Stephen." I'm marrying a man who will never lie to me. I'm marrying a man who will care for me. I'm marrying a man who does not love me.
Sitting in the drawing room of his townhouse, Jared lifted his gaze from the London Gazette as Jane's blue eyes burned a hole through his paper.
"Would you mind very much if I took the carriage?" she asked him, sitting on the sofa beside Agatha, the two ladies keeping Gabrielle busy with a ball.
"Take Agatha with you," he said, glancing back at a piece about Parliament. "And I still forbid you to speak to the duke."
Jane stomped her slipper. "But it has been two weeks."
Agatha frowned, handing Gabrielle to the nanny stepping into the room. "See to it that she gets her snack, Mrs. Nelle, and then I believe a nap would be in order."
"Very good, Miss Appleby. Come along, precious. Nellie will give you some biscuits."
At that exact moment Nigel thumped into the room, jumping at Gabrielle and barking unceasingly. Gabrielle giggled. "Doggie mine. Mine. Mine."
Smiling, Jared stood and kissed his daughter on the forehead. "Yes, he's yours, poppet. Now, go along with Mrs. Nelle and eat your biscuits."
"Bipkit, mine. Mine."
Nigel barked, hanging onto every word Gabrielle uttered.
Jared's eyes crinkled with laughter as he watched the trio retreat from the room. At least something in his life was going right. He jumped back when Agatha rapped her parasol on his boot. Almost everything, he thought with a scowl.
"What?" he asked, clearly irritated.
"Insufferable," she snapped.
"Insufferable? What are you talking about?"
"The duke," she ground out.
Jared groaned and took his seat, shifting his gaze back to the paper, ignoring Jane's glare as well. "I may be at fault for many things, Aunt, but I will not take the blame for that odious windbag."
Jane gasped.
"Insufferable, insufferable, insufferable," Agatha fumed.
Jared pursed his lips, looking up. "Insufferable? I daresay, I am swiftly tiring of that confounded word."
"You must allow Jane to see the duke. His Grace has been here three times the past two weeks, and you have refused him entrance. I cannot believe you would dare to slight a man of such consequence. Emily has nothing to do with this."
"Consequence indeed." He tried to disguise his annoyance at his aunt's reference to Emily by turning back to the paper once again. "The answer is still no."
Jane let out a sob and rushed out of the room.
Agatha shook a chubby hand his way. "How could you hurt her so? I will have you know that I can see to having you removed from London in a matter of days."
Jared almost laughed at Agatha's threat. "Do tell? And how, pray, would you go about doing that?"
Agatha rang for tea, sinking back into the sofa. "La, you of all people should have discovered the true facts by now."
Jared put down his paper, deciding to let his aunt have her say. "What facts?"
"Emily for one."
His hand stiffened on the arm of his chair. "That is not a fact, that is history."
Agatha's gray eyes glinted with understanding. "Ah, so that is how the wind blows. You are still in love with her."
Jared rested against the cushions of his chair, picked up his paper, and sighed. "I won't match your wit today, Aunt. Tell me what you wish, then let me be."
"Let His Grace see Jane. She will be seen in the park with a man of consequence. You need not worry about a permanent attachment. It's not as if the duke is offering marriage."
Jared snapped the newspaper taut. "To use your words, you know which way the wind blows on that. The subject is closed."
Her shoulders stiffened. "Very well, you force my hand."
Jared lifted an amused brow. "What will you do, send me to my bedchamber without supper?"
"No." With parasol in hand, she stalked across the room and shut the drawing room doors with a resounding thud. Her parasol slapped angrily back across the Aubusson rug as she folded her plump body onto the sofa. "I believe I will send you and the duke to St. Helena to spy on that Little Corsican."
Jared's spine straightened and his concern grew. Something in Agatha's manner told him the lady meant every word she said. The nape of his neck began to prickle. The assignment concerning Napoleon had been canceled, and no one had news of the missive except Roderick and Emily. "What did you say?"
Her gray eyes gleamed with determination. "Are you deaf?"
He considered her challenge with a scrupulous stare. "I am not deaf, and I would appreciate it if you never asked me that again. The phrase has become quite tedious, but I believe you owe me an explanation as to the source of your information, madam, as we have
been down this road before."
Agatha lifted her double chin. "You will be taking the trip as soon as I can see to the arrangements."
"And how will you perform this grand feat?"
Both heads turned when the maid knocked on the door and proceeded to stroll into the room, tea tray in hand. Jared rose from his seat and paced the room in uncertainty as the tea was poured and the maid retreated, closing the doors behind her.
Agatha raised her cup to her mouth. "Now, as I was saying, a little call to Headquarters and you will be shipped off as soon as I say the word."
"You think they will listen to you?" Jared laughed. He had been to Headquarters. They seemed to know nothing about Agatha.
Agatha snorted. "How do you think I obtained knowledge of Emily's misfortune?"
The thought of Emily's dangerous assignment that saved his life made his stomach turn. He looked up, acutely aware of Agatha's scrutiny and managed an amused expression. "For the love of King George, you are picking at straws, Aunt."
She clanked her china cup onto the saucer, her lips thinning in irritation. "How do you think Emily made contact with Headquarters? Through the local milkmaid?"
A vein throbbed in Jared's temple. "Not you?" The thought of Agatha formulating any directives during the war sent his emotions swirling out of control.
"'Course, it was me. Among other things."
Jared felt his heart stop. "You arranged for the meeting that evening at the ball?" he said in a choked voice.
His garbled response seemed to amuse Agatha. "La, my boy, I have been involved behind the lines more years than you ever need to know. My desire to be part of the war effort led to an opportune position that would undoubtedly surprise anybody."
Surprise was too lame a word for the feelings Jared harbored just now. "But I cannot fathom ..." He shook his head and stumbled for the precise words that explained his feelings.
"Fustian." Agatha picked up the paper and slapped it hard against Jared's shoulder. "Take a good look at that, my lord."
Confused, Jared glanced at the paper, noting only that she had opened to the announcement section. "Roderick is engaged?"
"No, you addlepated nincompoop!"
Those two words were making the rounds. Jared would have smiled if his aunt had not wrapped him hard against his thigh with that confounded parasol.
"See here." Agatha's finger jabbed at the paper.
"What? Mr. Cletus B—elopes with Lady R—"
"No." Agatha sat back on the sofa and huffed. "Read on."
Jared hesitated, then dropped his eyes to scan the doings of the Town. "Ah, here it is, the Duchess of G—'s gown catches fire while she is engaged in faro at H—'s gaming hell."
"Jared! You would do best to heed my warning."
"Ha. So this is a warning now, is it?"
"If you do not want Lady Emily to marry Lord Bringston, I daresay, this is more than a mere warning."
Jared's fingers tightened around the paper. "What?"
"Do not strangle it, my boy." Agatha placed her teacup on her saucer. "The wedding is to take place next week by special license. The location is not mentioned. Of course, Roderick would know. So, if perchance His Grace did happen to stop by and you let him visit with Jane"—she shrugged—"your ward might possibly discover the place of this monumental wedding."
Jared stiffened. "Pray, why should I care?"
Agatha slowly made her way to the door, her gray brows arching in irritation. "Oh, pray forgive me for my intrusion, dear boy. Why should you care, indeed?"
Chapter Fifteen
A tremor rippled across Emily's lips as she peered into the looking glass of the dressmaker's shop and pressed her hands lightly to her pale cheeks. There were dark circles under her violet eyes, making her more aware of the restless nights she had spent in the country after accepting Lord Bringston's offer of marriage.
She had returned to Town yesterday and was being fitted in a beige-colored silk wedding gown decorated with yards of delicate lace. Strings of shiny pearls and rows of tiny porcelain buttons were sewn up and down the back. Madame Claire and her assistant had said nothing about her scar, but at this point, Emily really did not care, because what they had not seen were the scars embedded deep within her heart. Scars, that unlike her back, she would feel every day of her life.
Madame Claire clapped her hands in glee. "My lady, your gentleman will not be able to take his eyes off of you."
Emily forced her lips into a smile. "You have done a wonderful job with the dress, Madame Claire."
But the elder lady was not deceived, and she frowned. "He is a kind man, no?"
"Yes, very kind."
Two brown eyes narrowed like a mother hen's. "The gentleman does not make your heart go thump, thump, no?"
Hiding her frown, Emily dropped her gaze to the pearls adorning her gown and shook her head. "No thump, thump."
"Oh, ma petite," Madame Claire sighed, clasping Emily's hands. "You must not marry him, then."
Emily looked up, confused. "If I do not marry the gentleman, you will not make the sale of this beautiful gown."
The small, dark-haired woman peered back and smiled when she spoke. "You will wear this beautiful gown on your wedding day, ma petite. But it will not be with the marquess." With those jolting words, the woman bent down and stuck the end of a needle in her mouth, turning the hem.
"Not Lord Bringston?" Emily asked, clearly surprised at the lady's outburst.
"No," was the murmured reply. "The other gentleman your heart desires."
For some maddening reason, Emily felt she could confide in this woman. "But the other gentleman does not love me, Madame."
The French dressmaker rattled on in her native tongue, a language of which Emily was very familiar. Marry the one you love or you will be miserable the rest of your life, she said.
One of Madame Claire's assistants stepped into the small room, peeking around the door. "Excusez-moi, Madame, but a gentleman and lady are in the shop in need of your expertise. The ones you were expecting."
Madame Claire offered her apologies to Emily. "Sabrine will help you with your gown. It will be finished in two days, no?"
Emily nodded, her throat tight. "The wedding is in three days."
"All will be well, ma petite. But pleaze, whatever commotion you hear outside, do not concern yourself. These customers are not so calm as you." The lady laughed. "They have been known to scream when zings are not perfect. But stay in here with Sabrine, and she will make the adjustments. We will have your dress finished in no time, never fear."
Madame Claire rushed out of the dressing room, making her way toward the front of her shop. "Ah, Miss Appleby, what may I help you with today?"
"Good afternoon, Madame Claire, this is my nephew Lord Stonebridge. We are in need of some clothing for his daughter."
The introductions were made, and Madame Claire led them toward the back of the shop. Agatha pointed her parasol to some white muslin and dyed blue lace. "There, Jared. That would look fine on Gabrielle."
Jared smothered a groan and turned to his aunt, lowering his voice. "I see no reason why I have to attend to such matters. The devil, Agatha. This is woman's work. I feel like a silly popinjay in this fluff and nonsense. Last time I was in here, I was accosted by a host of simpering mamas looking at me as if I were some prize to be auctioned at Tattersall's."
"But no," the dressmaker interrupted, giving a covert wink to Agatha. "This is man's work, too. You have an eye for color, yes?" She touched Jared's crimson waistcoat and smiled.
Jared cleared his throat. "I will stand by the door if you are in need of me, Aunt. You may choose any colors or fabrics you wish for Gabrielle, but I beg you, make your decisions as swiftly as possible."
Agatha gave a grudging nod and moved her plump body purposely past the bolts of fabric. She stopped abruptly when her gaze set upon a familiar violet reticule and matching bonnet resting on a settee near the dressing room door.
At that mom
ent Madame's assistant walked out of the room and nodded to the dressmaker.
"The gown is ready to be stitched, no?" Madame asked.
"Oui, Madame."
Agatha shifted her gaze to her nephew, back to the dressing room door, nodded to Madame Claire . . . and then she screamed.
Jared leapt over a table of buttons, knocked down a row of bolts, and grabbed hold of his aunt's shoulders. "What is it?"
Agatha stared at him, trembling, her expression as pale as the bolts of muslin behind her. Jared noted with confusion that Madame Claire was quivering as much as his aunt.
"There," Agatha cried, pointing her black parasol in the direction of the dressing room. "There was a gigantic rat."
"A rat," Madame Claire said in horror. Then to Jared’s astonishment, she fainted at his feet.
Agatha went to the lady's side. "Mercy. I saw that rat scurry into the dressing room. It was dreadful, Jared. You must save that woman in there."
"Woman?" Jared looked horrified, reading his aunt's mind. "You think me mad?" He shook a firm finger toward the door. "I am not going into that dressing room with an undressed female. Regardless, the door is closed. How could a rat close a door?"
"Jared, I beg you," Agatha said, her lids blinking, "I distinctly heard her scream."
Jared cleared his throat and lightly patted Madame's cheeks. "The rat will not harm her. Calm down and fetch some smelling salts."
Agatha frowned, digging into her reticule. "What if the child hit her head when she swooned."
His head snapped up. "Who said she swooned? And who said she was a child?"
"Oh, Jared," Agatha wailed. "Have you no heart?"
That hit a nerve. "As a matter of fact, madam, it has been said that I have no heart at all. So tell me why should that come as any surprise to you?"
"Jared, please."
Jared stared at his aunt as if she had gone mad, then clenched his hands in disgust. "Blast! If this little escapade puts me in a compromising position, I will blame you entirely."
Agatha waved the salts beneath Madame Claire's nose, trying to revive her. The dressmaker groaned. "Blame away, Jared, but I fear for the woman's life. The rat was dreadfully large, with sharp fangs."
The Rejected Suitor (The Clearbrooks) Page 19