by Jane Feather
“It was a mistake, I admit it,” he said finally. “But in the light of your reaction, it strikes me as an understandable one.”
Emma sat very still, holding her trembling hands tightly clasped in her lap. How could he so willfully refuse to see why she had reacted as she had? Even now he refused to see it. How could he not understand how betrayed she had felt? How deeply insulted. They were supposed to be friends as well as lovers. She had committed her whole being to him, and he had not thought her worthy of such a confidence … had not thought it necessary to tell her of such a vital side to his life.
“Then there’s nothing more to say.” Even as she made the flat declaration, she realized that she had been hoping that somehow they would at last be able to haul the murky past into the light. That maybe three years would have brought Alasdair some understanding of why she had done what she had done. Even perhaps that they could have been able to forgive each other. But castles in the air were founded on such hopes. Alasdair had no regrets. He still believed he had acted reasonably and her overreaction had been unforgivable.
Far from healing any wounds, the exchange had driven the wedge between them ever deeper. Their earlier accord was now banished, but instead of the pure fire of anger that had always bolstered her and in some way salved the hurt, Emma felt only a weary wash of depression at the return of the familiar pain.
She sat silently beside him, glad that in the noisy chaos of Piccadilly there was no opportunity for further talk. Alasdair was concentrating on holding his skittish leader steady in surroundings that would have made the most well-schooled animal edgy. Dogs were barking, costermongers bellowing, iron wheels rumbling over the paving. A large old-fashioned coach came lumbering toward them, the ill-sprung body swaying alarmingly over the wheels, its team sweating and puffing as if they’d been in the traces overlong without rest.
The coachman hauled back on the reins, yanking the team to a halt so that Alasdair could inch his sidling horses past. A carter’s dray traveling behind the coach was caught unawares and the shires pulling it had run their noses into the rear of the coach before the carter could pull them up. One of the shires threw his head up with a loud whinny of protest, and Alasdair’s temperamental leader showed the whites of his eyes and plunged sideways.
Jemmy jumped from his perch and raced for the animal’s head. Alasdair, his mouth set with concentration, his elegantly gloved hands taut with the strain, wordlessly, steadily dominated the wild-eyed horse, bringing him back into line as they edged past the coach and the dray.
Emma, for all her angry unhappiness, couldn’t help but applaud, although she kept her congratulations unvoiced. She would not have been able to pull them out of that imbroglio unscathed herself. She maintained her stony silence, where the only clear thought that emerged was the absolute conviction that she would have no peace of mind until Alasdair was once again out of her life. And she could still see only one logical way to achieve that.
Alasdair drove into the yard of Tattersall’s horse dealership and jumped down, handing the reins to Jemmy. He held up a hand to assist Emma to the cobbles. She disdained the offer and jumped down herself, shaking out her skirts, looking around with interest.
It was settling day at Tattersalls and the yard was thronged with men who had come to settle their racing debts and auction accounts. Emma put up her chin a little when she saw how much attention her presence in this male preserve was causing. Heads were turned, voices lowered, and several cits ogled her through their glasses.
“Come,” Alasdair directed, his voice neutral. He placed a hand in the small of her back with his usual familiarity. “Chesterton’s breakdowns are stabled in the next yard.” He urged her toward an arched gateway at the rear of the yard.
They entered a large stableyard, with stables on three sides. A man in buckskins and a green waistcoat hurried out of a tack room at their approach. He cast Emma an incredulous glance, then turned with clear relief to her companion. “Lord Alasdair, how may I be of service?”
“Lady Emma is in the market for a pair of carriage horses and a riding horse,” Alasdair said. “Are Lord Chesterton’s match-geldings still unsold?”
“They’re due to come up for auction tomorrow, sir.” John Tattersall stroked his chin. “I doubt his lordship would take less than three hundred and fifty for them before auction.”
“Mmm. Let’s take a look at them.” Alasdair moved his hand to cup Emma’s elbow. “I’d have said two seventy-five myself. But we’ll see.”
Emma understood that she was to have no part in the negotiations and was not sorry to have it so. It was interesting, if a trifle galling, to recognize that three years ago she would have relished the stares and the disapproval at her presence here, whereas now she felt out of place.
The chestnut geldings were brought out, trotted around the yard, put through their paces. “They’re a well-mannered pair, Lord Alasdair,” John Tattersall said. “And handsome too.”
“Oh, very,” Emma agreed warmly, forgetting in her enthusiasm her intention to be reticent. “What do you think, Alasdair?”
“What else have you got, Tattersall?” Alasdair asked.
The dealer looked disappointed. “Nothing to compare with these, sir.”
“Nevertheless, show me.”
Emma was not interested in any of the dealer’s other offerings, and she guessed that neither was Alasdair. If it was a ploy to get the price down, then it seemed shabby to her. It wasn’t as if fifty pounds, or even a hundred, made that much difference to her. But she was obliged to hold her tongue and go through the motions since Alasdair was in control of the proceedings and, not incidentally, the purse strings.
“Why, it’s Lady Emma, isn’t it?”
She turned at the vaguely familiar voice. “Mr. Denis. Good afternoon.” She smiled warmly, holding out her hand. “Are you acquainted with Lord Alasdair Chase?” She turned to Alasdair, explaining, “I met Mr. Denis at Princess Esterhazy’s this morning.”
“Lord Alasdair and I are neighbors,” Paul said, nodding in friendly fashion to Alasdair. “How surprising to run into you here, Lady Emma.”
“It is a little unusual,” she said with an attempt at airiness. “But I am in the habit of buying my own horses, you should understand.”
“Quite so,” he agreed heartily. “What true horseman … or should I say, horsewoman … would not be? Such nonsense that women should be considered less good judges than men.”
Emma beamed at him. “Such enlightened views are very refreshing. Don’t you think, Alasdair?”
Alasdair, who was thinking that Paul Denis hadn’t wasted any time in getting an introduction to Emma, made some noncommittal response and said, “Are you buying, Denis?”
“Yes, a riding horse. I have been using a hired hack, but they have such hard mouths, I really think I must buy my own.”
John Tattersall put two fingers to his mouth and issued a piercing whistle. A man in a baize apron came running from the tack room. “Show the gentleman the hacks in stalls six and ten,” the dealer instructed. “If you’d care to go with Jed, here, sir, he can show you what we’ve got.”
“Oh, I’ll come with you,” Emma said quickly. “I wish to look at riding horses too. Alasdair, the chestnuts will suit me perfectly. I know you don’t need me around while you settle the business side of it.” With a jaunty smile, she took Paul’s instantly proffered arm and went off with him, following the groom.
Alasdair stared after her, for a moment speechless at such effrontery. She’d treated him like a steward or bailiff, leaving him to deal with her business as if he was paid well to do so, while she went off with her new friend.
“So, what d’you say, Lord Alasdair?”
Alasdair became aware that the dealer was looking at him in some hesitation, and he had a fair idea why. His expression just then would not have been a pleasant one. “I’ll not go above three hundred,” he said crisply. If Emma lost her horses, so be it.
John Tattersa
ll pulled at his chin, made a great fuss of considering the offer, then said reluctantly, “You drive a hard bargain, sir.”
Alasdair couldn’t help a faint grin. “Now, John, you know damn well Lord Chesterton told you he’d accept three hundred pounds before auction.”
“He told you so?” Tattersall sighed. “These gentlemen don’t know to leave me to do my business.”
“Lord Chesterton would rather see his breakdowns in good hands than going to some jobber on the block,” Alasdair comforted him. “Let’s go into the office and I’ll give you a bank draft.”
“Is the lady to buy a riding horse as well, sir?”
Alasdair’s expression lost its affability at this reminder. “What do you have?”
“A pretty mare, a real sweet-goer.” The dealer’s eye lit with enthusiasm. “Spirited … but I’d guess the lady could handle her.”
“Show her to me.”
Alasdair examined the mare. A dainty roan with a lively eye and beautiful lines. “I’ll take her,” he said decisively. If Emma objected to his choice, it was her own fault. He had better things to do with his time than wait around for her to return her attention to the matter in hand. “Keep them here until I’ve arranged their stabling. I’ll send word as to where to send them tomorrow.”
He emerged from Tattersall’s office ten minutes later, the business done, and strode toward the stable block where Emma had disappeared with Paul Denis. He was halfway across the yard when they reappeared, arm in arm. Emma was laughing, her face turned toward her companion’s. They were much of a height and made an attractive couple, Alasdair thought caustically.
“We have found Mr. Denis a very handsome gelding,” Emma said as they reached him. “But I saw nothing in there that would suit me.”
“I have already bought you a mare,” Alasdair said smoothly. “You will like her.”
Emma bit back an angry retort. She might have a quick temper, but she knew when to keep her sword sheathed. Objections would be on very slippery ground. She knew she could trust Alasdair’s judgment. And by walking off and leaving him, it could be said that she’d abrogated her right to participate in the selection.
He was regarding her with unbenevolent amusement, correctly interpreting her chagrin. “Don’t let me hurry you, ma’am, but if you’re quite ready to leave, I do have some engagements of my own.” He gestured to the curricle.
Emma had thought they would go on to Longacre to purchase her curricle. But Alasdair had clearly given her as much of his time as he was willing to spare for one afternoon. And in the present acrimonious atmosphere, she would not be sorry to part company at the earliest opportunity. She could go to Longacre herself without drawing remark. She turned to make her farewells to Mr. Denis.
Paul Denis was intrigued at the angry tension thrumming between Lord Alasdair and the lady. But he was quick to take advantage of it. “If Lady Emma would accept my escort …” he suggested with a smile.
Emma’s responding smile was brilliant. “Why, thank you, Mr. Denis. I should be delighted.” She turned to Alasdair, her chin at a somewhat challenging angle, flecks of golden fire in the tawny brown eyes. “There, Alasdair, now you may go about your business. I do beg your pardon for being such a nuisance. I didn’t realize you had other pressing engagements.”
Alasdair bowed. He wasn’t going to pander to Emma’s vanity by appearing to compete with the Frenchman. “I leave you in good hands, I’m sure.”
Emma turned back to Mr. Denis. His eyes, very dark and brilliant, were fixed upon her face, creating the disturbing sense of intimacy she’d experienced at their previous meeting. She became aware of the controlled tension in his frame, an alertness that reminded her of an animal prepared to move against an impending threat. And she realized with a shock of recognition that she found him undeniably attractive.
A rush of excitement coursed through her. She felt color flood her cheeks and she swiftly lowered her eyelids, afraid of what her eyes would reveal. She had found the man she’d been looking for. A potential husband who appeared to have all the signs of one who would make a most satisfactory lover.
But above all, the man who would break the chains of her dependency on Alasdair.
“I’m sure Mr. Denis will take very good care of me,” she said to Alasdair with quiet deliberation.
She cast a parting glance over her shoulder at Alasdair as she took the Frenchman’s arm. Alasdair had a most satisfactorily arrested expression. He had taken her point.
Paul Denis would do very well.
Chapter Six
Alasdair drove away from Tattersalls, his face dark, his eyes bleak. He had persuaded himself that it had been just an impetuous challenge that she’d thrown at him in the heat of the battle. He understood that. They were both inclined to rashness, and on that wretched afternoon he had provoked her beyond the bounds of reason.
But she had meant it. And this afternoon, he had felt the connection between Emma and Denis like a jab to the heart. He knew when Emma had a sexual response to someone. Emma was the most sensual and sensuous woman he had ever known. She reveled in her own sexuality, the passionate extremes of her nature. She brought the current of her sensuality to every physical activity, whether it be music or riding or dancing. And it added the spark, the liveliness, to all her encounters. It was contained in her eyes, in her smile, in the way she stood, sat, walked.
Men were drawn to her as if to some lodestone for lust, he thought savagely. He had watched it happen since she’d first put up her hair. From the sons of country squires and county gentry to the young puppies who’d hung around her during her debutante season. Even after their own engagement had been announced, she had moved always in a buzzing circle of panting swains. It would be the same again this time. And with two hundred thousand pounds added to the equation!
Alasdair knew that Emma’s liveliness of manner, the flirtatious edge to her conversation, came naturally to her. She was too bright, too articulate, too independent-minded to hide her wit. It discomfited some and delighted others. Their own banter had always had that edge to it. A competitive, provocative edge that sparked the sexual nature of their encounters. It was intimately connected to the lustful passion that had been so vital to their adult relationship.
Had been so vital? Or was still? The question brought him up short. Were they quarreling so violently because it was the only outlet for a sexual current that continued to flow as strong as ever between them?
Lord of hell! Alasdair swore under his breath. It was true of himself. He saw it now with all the clarity of a newly sighted man. It wasn’t simply a case of dog in the manger. He still wanted her for himself. He had not recovered from his passion … his love … for this impossible woman. Was Emma still confused? Did her attacks arise from confusion? And if so, how to get her to acknowledge it?
She couldn’t seriously intend to take Paul Denis into her bed. It had to be an empty threat … or promise … or whatever it was.
That smooth-talking émigré, hanging out for a rich wife! He was plausible; his breeding was good; he was not unhandsome; he had a certain address; and he would be very willing. If Emma was determined to get herself a husband quickly, Paul Denis had plopped into her lap like an overripe peach.
And as for a lover! Alasdair caught himself grinding his teeth. A hackneyed reaction that infuriated him as much as having to acknowledge that the roaring green-eyed dragon of jealousy had him in its talons.
If Emma wanted a fight on her hands, he would give her one with pleasure, he decided with grim satisfaction. He was going to stick some serious spokes in that particular wheel. Emma and Paul Denis were in for a few surprises.
He was driving through the village of Chiswick. It was dark and the streets in this backwater were unlit except by the lamplight glowing from cottage windows. He turned his horses onto a narrow lane lined with small whitewashed cottages that all had an air of respectable prosperity, and drew rein outside the small gate of the dwelling at the far end, wh
ere the lane gave way to green fields and a cluster of outbuildings that denoted a small farm.
“I’ll be taking the ’orses to the Red Lion, then? Bait them there,” Jemmy said, in half question, half statement. When his master paid one of his infrequent visits to Chiswick, he tended to stay several hours.
“Yes, and take supper yourself.” Alasdair sprang down. “I’ll find you there when I’m ready to return.”
Jemmy tugged his forelock, took the reins and whip, and scrambled into the driver’s seat, turning the horses expertly in the narrow lane.
Alasdair opened the small gate and trod up the narrow path to the front door. Curtains were drawn over the front windows, but he could distinguish a crack of light where they didn’t quite meet. He raised his hand to the knocker.
The door was opened before he could knock. A tall, gangly lad of about nine stood there, regarding him gravely from a pair of green eyes. “Good evening, sir,” he said politely. “I heard the gate creak. It needs oil.”
“Who is it, Timmy?” a voice called from the parlor.
“Lord Alasdair.” The boy stood aside to let the visitor into the small hallway.
“How are you, Tim?” Alasdair drew off his gloves, smiling at the lad. “How’s school?”
Tim seemed to consider the question, then opted for the unvarnished truth. “I don’t like Latin and Greek.” He took Alasdair’s caped driving coat and laid it over a chair just as a plump, pretty woman came into the hall, holding a baby on her hip.
“Alasdair!” she cried, reaching up to fling her free arm around his neck. “Why didn’t you send warning? I would have had a special dinner for you.”
“I have no need of special dinners, Lucy,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek. “Sally’s dinners are always excellent.” He stepped back and regarded her, smiling. “You’re looking well.”
“Oh, I’m getting fat.” She wrinkled a snub nose, then laughed merrily. “It’s living a life of idleness.”
Alasdair laughed with her, following her into the parlor. It was hard now to see in the placid matronly housewife the opera dancer who had inflamed him as an eighteen-year-old youth. Driven him into the wildest flights of joy and youthful excitement. He had adored her, with a madness that had brought him to the gates of debtor’s prison. It was difficult to imagine now.