by Rose Gordon
She placed her hand on his proffered arm. “Not at all. I’ve heard from about fifteen sources that the gardens are very nice.”
“Then let’s explore, shall we?” He led her to the far wall and through the double doors that led to the gardens. “How have you been?”
She shrugged. “I guess you’ve heard about everything?”
“No. Not everything. But enough.”
They found an empty bench and sat down. Emma grabbed the ends of her pink shawl and twirled the fringy tassels. “Have you been to talk to him?”
Drake shook his head. “He won’t see anyone.”
“Of course not.”
“It’s just his way,” Drake said casually. “That’s the way men are.”
“Stupid,” she muttered.
“That may be, but it doesn’t change anything.”
Digging the toe of her pink slipper into the soft soil, Emma stared into the moonlit distance. “What am I to do, Drake? I thought he’d come back, but he hasn’t.”
“What do you want to do?” Drake asked carefully.
“I don’t know. I always dreamed of growing up to marry Marcus. But then he was engaged with my sister and—” she closed her eyes— “I let the dream die. Even after Louise ran off with Hampton and Marcus recovered, I never dared dream of marriage to him again.”
“Why?”
“I was always afraid he’d spurn me the way my sister did him.”
“That’s not what he intended to do.”
Emma blinked back her tears. “I know. He’s not like that. He’d never intentionally play with my affections.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” Drake agreed. “He’s never held your sister’s transgressions against you, either. You do know that, don’t you?”
She nodded. “I know.” A wobbly smile took her lips. “But the end result was still the same, wasn’t it?”
Exhaling, Drake leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. “As I said, I don’t know everything. But yes, the result was the same. What do you plan to do now?”
“I don’t have much choice.” Her voice was flat, resigned. “I have no living relatives who I can stay with, and I can’t impose on Caroline forever. That only leaves marriage. And since marriage to Marcus isn’t shaping up like I’d planned, I have to pick one of those toads in there.”
“Is that really what you intend to do?”
Emma broke eye contact with him and developed a strong interest in the beadwork on her skirt. Could he tell she was reaching the end of her wits and was about to try one last attempt to force Marcus into action?
“Emma?”
She met his gaze and bit her lip. “Yes.”
“That was the weakest yes I’ve ever heard.”
Unable to stop herself, the corners of Emma’s mouth tipped up. “What are you thinking?” she asked, trying to avoid telling him too much in case he didn’t guess right.
Crossing his arms and leaning back, Drake shook his head. “I’m not sure what I think. You’re here in London at a ball like Marcus wanted, and not sneaking into Ridge Water and using whatever female tactics you can think of to get Marcus to change his mind, but for some reason, I think I’m missing something. Almost like you’re taking a more subtle approach by complying with his demands, but your motives are still focused on getting Marcus to the altar, not one of these gentlemen.”
“Drat you,” Emma said with a sigh. Was she that transparent?
“Don’t worry,” Drake assured her with a wave of his hand. “Marcus is so secluded in the country he’ll not get wind of what you’re doing. But, I must ask, exactly what is your plan?”
Emma eyed him skeptically. Could she trust him? He was Marcus’ closest friend. Surely he wouldn’t approve of her methods. What if he told Marcus what she was doing and Marcus became angry with Caroline and Alex for not being better sponsors? Or what if Drake tried to stop her? She shook her head. No, she couldn’t tell him anything. There were too many ways he could ruin her plans. It was better he didn’t know.
“Emma?” he prompted again.
“I’d rather not say.”
He nodded once and a moment of silence passed between them. “Do you remember my wife?”
Emma started. “Yes.”
“When she was scheming some silly antic, she acted the same way you’re acting right now. Luckily for you, Marcus isn’t here to see you just now and shake you. Alex probably wouldn’t notice if he were here, and Caroline would probably join you. But, I’m the one here right now, and I want some answers. What are you planning to do?”
“I’m going fishing,” she said cryptically.
Drake didn’t even blink at her. He just stared at her. Hard. “You’re going to try and lure him out of Dorset by having rumors spread to the effect that you’re courting someone he wouldn’t approve of, aren’t you?”
Emma gulped in a most unladylike fashion. “Yes.”
“Who are you planning to include in this scheme of yours?”
“I—I don’t know yet,” she stammered. “The idea just came to me.”
“I just bet it did,” Drake muttered. “And just when did you plan to start this—this—this nonsense?”
“Whenever I find a man with a black enough reputation. Care to make a recommendation?”
Drake snorted. “No. Our host has a pretty black reputation, but he’s married. Besides, even if he wasn’t, he’s probably not the kind you would want to associate with, anyway.”
Emma knit her brows. She’d heard some terrible things about the Duke of Gateway and knew he’d even been called the Dangerous Duke, but the few times she’d been in his presence he hadn’t been that bad. “Know of any others?”
He shook his head. “Viscount Bonnington is the only other man I can think of who could court you and have Marcus here by nightfall. But he’s the worst sort of man there is.” He exhaled sharply. “Does it have to be a hardened rake with a reputation that matches his black soul?”
“I think so,” Emma said sincerely. She may like to think of Marcus as a warm and caring man, but she knew he had a will that couldn’t easily be bent. It would take something drastic to get him to act. Unfortunately, that meant being “courted” by a scoundrel.
“You do understand your pretend courtship might lead to a real marriage, don’t you?”
Emma swallowed. That was certainly a possibility. One she didn’t like to think about, but one that couldn’t be ignored. If her plan didn’t work, she’d still have to marry someone, and chances were he’d be whichever scoundrel she was about to be courted by. Slowly, she nodded. She had to do this. She knew it didn’t make a lot of sense and she knew most would think she was daft for scheming in such a way when it seemed rather clear Marcus didn’t want her. But she had to do this. And if it didn’t work the way she wanted, she’d marry the scoundrel.
Drake threaded his fingers through his black hair. “What if I give you another choice? One that doesn’t include marriage to a blackguard.”
Emma’s blood stilled. He wasn’t going to offer himself as a substitute, was he? She couldn’t even contemplate the idea of marrying him. He was Marcus’ closest friend. If she accepted his proposal, not only would Marcus not voice a complaint about her choice, he’d probably encourage the match. Then she and Marcus would be devastated far more than they were already, and poor Drake, who’d once had a love match, would be married to a woman who’d never love him. What a coil! “Drake, I can’t accept your suit.”
“I’m sure Marcus will be pleased to hear that,” he said casually, a grin on his lips. “However, I hadn’t offered it.”
Embarrassment flooded Emma. Twice now she’d accepted an imaginary proposal. “I’m sorry, it’s just you said…”
“I know. I have something else in mind. I have this cousin you might like. He’s a baronet, so if rank is of no accord—”
“It’s not,” she blurted.
“Good. What of age?” He flickered a glance at a tree just behind her should
er, then met her eyes again, a pale pink on his cheeks. “I’ll be blunt. He’s younger than you. Not a lot, mind you.”
“How young?”
“Four-and-twenty.”
Emma sighed with relief. The way Drake was acting, she’d have thought this fellow was still in leading strings. “That is not a problem.”
“Good. There’s one other thing, he’s…er…he’s a little different, if you will. But don’t worry; he’ll make a good match for someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
Drake nodded. “Someone in love with someone else.”
“Oh.”
“His name is Sir Wallace Benedict. If you’d like, I can introduce the two of you.”
“Wait.” Now that there was a chance of this becoming real, she needed to know a few things. “If he’s not a blackguard, what good will he do me?”
“A lot,” Drake said with a triumphant smile. “Believe me; a man doesn’t have to be a blackguard to get Marcus’ attention. Besides, if you do wind up having to marry him, he won’t make you a bad husband.” He paused a few seconds to let Emma think about his words. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
Emma bit her lower lip in nervous excitement. What would this Sir Wallace be like? What would it be like being courted by him? Or what if she did end up married to him? Was that what she really wanted? She took a deep breath that did nothing to calm her nerves. “Yes.”
“You don’t sound very convinced,” Drake teased. “How about we make a bargain? You meet Wallace, and if you don’t find him to your liking by the end of the Season, you can come to Briar Creek to work as governess—for real this time.”
She smiled weakly. “Agreed.”
“Excellent,” Drake said, flashing her a weak smile. “Are you ready to meet him?”
“He’s here?” Emma squeaked with uncertainty.
“Just over there.” He jerked his thumb to the right. “He’s the one inspecting the duke’s brick over by the wall sconce.”
Emma’s gaze followed Drake’s thumb to collide with a man who appeared to be as cracked as he was handsome. The man wore buckskin breeches and a white coat. The profile of his face was breathtaking with hard lines and a strong chin. It was too dark to see any of the finer details, but it was easy enough to tell he was devastatingly handsome. However, there was something strange about him. She couldn’t name it exactly, just an air about him. He was by himself now, and she’d seen him by himself earlier this evening, too. He had been standing by the refreshment table, counting the glasses, and now he appeared to be counting the bricks on the exterior of the duke’s house.
Ducking her head so as not to give away her thoughts about this unusual man Drake had suggested, Emma said, “How about tomorrow, when he’s…uh…less distracted.”
“As you wish,” Drake said with a chuckle. “I told you he was a bit different.”
“Yes, just a bit.”
***
Marcus tilted his head and shoved his clammy hands into his pockets then balled them into fists. He hated London. He hated balls. He hated watching couples dance. But most of all, he hated watching Emma be twirled around the floor by a man who wasn’t him.
Right now she was in the arms of Lord Wray, a young, attractive lord who had everything he needed to give any woman the type of life she deserved, including children. Marcus nearly snorted. Not only was it suspected, it was proven he could do that. At Eton he’d gloated when a chambermaid was dismissed from her employ for reasons undisclosed. Nobody had to guess what that meant; they all knew, and they even knew who’d put her in that condition. Wray had made sure of it.
Marcus scowled and sagged against the wall, doing his best to stay hidden in the shadows of the ballroom. He’d sought admission for the sole purpose of seeing Emma just one more time. When he’d made arrangements to come, he hadn’t considered the fact he’d have to watch her dance with every man in attendance. All men in attendance, except Patrick, he amended. With him she hadn’t danced. Instead, they’d gone to the gardens for what felt like an eternity. A bitter taste filled Marcus’ mouth, and the sick feeling already in his stomach intensified tenfold. What had those two done together in the garden?
“Hard to watch the woman you love in the arms of another, isn’t it?” Benjamin Collins, Duke of Gateway and the host of this ball, commented, coming to stand next to Marcus. Gateway offered him a glass and together the two stood in silence for a minute, their eyes fastened on Emma.
“Yes, it is,” Marcus acknowledged at last. He didn’t know a lot about Gateway’s relationship with his wife, but he did remember Alex telling him the duke had a love match. Likely, Gateway must have spent his share of dances watching his wife in the arms of another man. But at least she was his wife, Marcus thought bitterly as he let his eyes scan Emma’s figure.
Silence enveloped the two once more as the orchestra played the final bars of a waltz. “I can ask the musicians to play one more waltz at the end, if you’d like,” Gateway offered, turning his ice-blue eyes back to Marcus.
Marcus shook his head. “No, thank you.” He didn’t want to watch her dance with yet another man. He’d seen enough already tonight to give himself an ample amount of jealous feelings to last a lifetime. One more dance would only add to his torture.
Gateway cocked his head to the side. “It wouldn’t be an imposition. I’d rather enjoy an extra waltz with my wife.”
“It’s your ball. Do as you wish.” After the words were out, he gave a stiff shrug he hoped Gateway would take as his indifference, though he doubted it.
The duke sighed. “You’re not being very forthcoming, Sinclair.”
“Nor do I need to be.”
“No, you don’t.” Gateway glanced over to his wife, who was talking to one of her sisters. “Sometimes it’s up to us to make the hard choice which will gain us what we want more than anything else.”
Marcus nearly snorted. The only reason he stopped himself was because he might draw attention to where he was lurking in the corner if he did. “Some might disagree with your methods.”
“No, not some. Most,” the duke said easily, his lips twisting into a brittle smile. “But you forget—my actions weren’t so she’d marry me. Quite the opposite. I just wanted her happy. Even if that meant with someone else.”
“Then I think we understand each other better than I originally thought.”
Chapter 19
As agreed, Drake came by the Watson townhouse the next day with his cousin in tow.
“Emma.” He gave her a light, emotionless kiss on her knuckles. “I’d like to introduce you to Sir Wallace Benedict. Wallace, this is Miss Emma Green.”
Emma curtsied to the man and smiled warmly as he did a low bow. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Wallace.”
“The pleasure is mine,” he returned with the widest grin she’d ever seen.
“Shall we sit?” She took a seat and waited for both the men to join her before pouring their tea. Caroline had just come back in from the garden only a few minutes before Drake’s arrival, surely she’d be down soon to help with this awkward conversation.
“I hear you’re in the market to catch a husband,” Sir Wallace said frankly.
Emma nearly choked to death on her own tongue. She was certainly interested in a husband, but she’d hoped Drake would have explained the situation to him and he didn’t think she was interested in him becoming her husband.
“Wallace, your manners,” Drake murmured, casting Emma an apologetic glance.
“I apologize,” Sir Wallace said, looking shamefaced. “I was too forward.”
Tucking a tendril of blonde hair behind her ear, Emma smiled weakly. “It’s all right. It’s the truth, in a manner of speaking.”
“Very good, then.” Sir Wallace snatched a biscuit off the platter. “I should like to court you. If that’s acceptable to you, of course.”
Emma interpreted his wink to mean he understood the situation better than she o
riginally thought. She nodded slightly and swallowed hard. “I accept.”
“Good. Good. Do you like horses?”
Emma waved off Drake’s blatant cough at Sir Wallace’s question. “I do like horses,” she said, stretching her lips as wide as she could. If these two were to give off the appearance of courting, it was the least she could do to show him some encouragement. Besides which, she did like horses; furthermore, there was no reason the two of them couldn’t have a good time together.
“I have tickets tonight to go to Astley’s. Would you like to join me?”
“Only if her chaperones are allowed to come, too,” Caroline informed him, stepping into the drawing room.
Sir Wallace blinked rapidly. “Of course they are. Why wouldn’t they be? I have absolutely no intentions of spending any more than a second or two alone in Miss Green’s presence.”
And that night Emma—and everyone else in their party—realized he meant to honor those exact words no matter the cost.
At precisely six o’clock that evening, Sir Wallace brought an annoyed-looking Drake—and Drake’s carriage, naturally—to Watson Townhouse to collect Emma, Caroline, and Alex to go to Astley’s.
“I don’t believe Drake’s carriage can transport us all,” Sir Wallace said in a gravely serious voice. “We each need our own cushions optimum comfort and his coach only has four cushions. That will not do. How many cushions does yours have, Lord Watson?”
Emma tried not to giggle as Alex, who Emma had always thought was the most unusual person she’d ever met until her introduction to Sir Wallace, stared at Sir Wallace unblinkingly. “Four, I think.”
Caroline turned her head in Emma’s direction and cast her a queer look, leading Emma to cough delicately and turn her head away. “Why don’t we just split up, then?” Caroline suggested.
“How could we possibly divide?” Sir Wallace asked. His eyebrows rose so high they were almost lost in his hairline.
“What if you ride in Lord Watson’s carriage with him, Caroline, and Emma and I’ll just go home,” Drake suggested pointedly.
Sir Wallace’s face tensed. “No.”