Rapture Becomes Her

by Shirlee Busbee

  Lamb bustled forward. Smiling with a great many teeth down at Jeffery, he said, “I must ask you to leave now. His lordship suffered a grievous wound only hours ago and is not yet ready to receive visitors.”

  “Oh, er, yes, of course,” Jeffery muttered, taken aback by Lamb’s intimidating size and the unmistakable resemblance to the Joslyn family. “Uh, didn’t mean to intrude.” He glanced back at Barnaby slumped against the pillows. “If there is anything you need, milord, just say the word.”

  “My cordial,” Barnaby moaned. “I must have my cordial.”

  Lamb’s hand at his elbow propelled Jeffery across the room and out the door quick as a cat pouncing on a mouse. Hearing the door shut, Barnaby opened one eye. Seeing only Lamb, the other eye opened and he sat up. “You know,” Barnaby said, “that fellow wears me out.”

  “Just remember he’s her cousin—and if you continue down the path you are treading, your heir could be just like him,” said Lamb, grinning.

  Barnaby’s and Lamb’s things were delivered from Windmere that evening by an alarmed Mathew who was accompanied by Thomas and Simon, and Barnaby spent a long evening convincing his cousins that he was in no danger of dying. It was difficult to tell, but he sensed that all three men were genuinely concerned about him and appalled at his brush with death. “They may be,” Lamb said, when he was finally able to banish them from Barnaby’s room, “but that doesn’t mean that one of them isn’t behind what happened.”

  Lamb’s words echoed Barnaby’s own thoughts. But which one? he wondered.

  After enduring a dose of laudanum forced down his throat by Lamb, Barnaby fell asleep. He woke Wednesday morning to a gray, showery day.

  Bringing in a tray of coffee and an array of tidbits prepared by Mrs. Spalding to tempt the invalid’s appetite, Lamb examined him critically. “Your color is better,” he said as he placed the tray on the table next to the bed. A sly smile curved Lamb’s mouth. “And the ladies have requested permission to visit the sickroom at eleven o’clock—if that meets with my lord’s approval.”

  Barnaby brightened and sat up in bed. “Now that’s the best thing I’ve heard since I arrived here.”

  Emily was anticipating the visit to Barnaby’s room with far more pleasure than she cared to admit. Worse, she found herself paying far more attention to her gown and hair. What does it matter how I look? she wondered irritably. He’s already seen me looking like a hag.

  When the ladies finally descended for a light breakfast, Emily was wearing a round-necked gown of cashmere, her hair bouncing in soft curls near her face. Cornelia was pleased with Emily’s appearance, the thought that the chit would drag out her oldest gown just to be contrary having crossed her mind more than once. It boded well that Emily had chosen to wear something presentable.

  The three ladies had just served themselves and settled around the table in the breakfast room, when they heard a great commotion coming from the front of the house. Hearing voices and more clatter they looked at each other.

  “What in the world—!” Emily exclaimed as the door to the breakfast room was thrown open and a gentleman in a mud-splattered greatcoat strode into the room.

  Emily recognized the laughing blue eyes in an instant and started to her feet. On light steps she rushed across the room and immediately was swept up in a warm embrace. “Hugh!” she cried happily, grinning into the lively features of her favorite cousin.

  Chapter 10

  Pandemonium reigned as the ladies bombarded Hugh with hugs, kisses and excited questions. Walker appeared and swiftly divested Hugh of his greatcoat and hurried away with the garment on his way to the kitchen to inform Mrs. Spalding of the newest arrival.

  At thirty-one years old, Hugh Townsend was four years Jeffery’s junior and a world away from his older brother’s profligate lifestyle. Although a handsome man in his own right, he did not possess Jeffery’s classic handsomeness or height, standing less than an inch above average height, but he possessed something in abundance that Jeffery lacked—charm and kindness.

  Both those attributes were displayed, when after bussing Emily and Anne on the cheeks, he crossed to where Cornelia sat observing the scene with a satisfied gleam in her eyes. Dropping to one knee before her, Hugh lifted her hand and pressed a kiss onto the wrinkled skin. “And how,” he asked gently, his blue eyes searching her face, “goes the woman who holds my heart?”

  “Very prettily done,” Cornelia said, reaching out and caressing his cheek. “You have a way about you, boy, and if I was fifty years younger . . .”

  “At any age,” Hugh declared, “you will always hold my heart.”

  Cornelia burst out laughing. “Doing it far too rare and brown, my boy.” Despite her words, everyone could tell that she was pleased. Indicating the empty chair next to hers, she said, “Now sit and tell us how your mother is. And Parkham House? All is well there?”

  Jeffery and Hugh’s widowed mother lived with Hugh at Parkham House. The widow of Emily’s father’s younger brother, William, Mrs. Althea Townsend, at fifty-five still bore a marked resemblance to the pretty little widgeon she had been when she had first married. Hugh had inherited his mother’s kind heart and easygoing nature—if not her flighty tendencies. To Jeffery’s chagrin, at twenty, Hugh had inherited Parkham House, a small estate less than a day’s ride away, and a respectable fortune from his godmother. In his cups, Jeffery was known to complain about the unfairness of fate. His godmother had never left him anything, he would state bitterly, but the care of her smelly lapdog—which he had promptly thrust into his mother’s arms.

  Nearly ten years ago, when Jeffery and Hugh’s family home had been sold to cover their father’s gambling debts, Althea had been left homeless and with little money. Hugh instantly had her comfortably installed in a suite of rooms at Parkham House. The pair of them rubbed along together very well, Althea happily pottering about the gardens and overseeing the household, when she remembered, and Hugh living the life of a gentleman with means enough to please himself.

  Obeying Cornelia’s command, Hugh sat down beside her, saying, “Mother is well. I left her busy pruning the roses.” Glancing around the table, he added, “She sends all of you her love.”

  There were a few moments of general conversation before the news of their prominent guest was relayed to Hugh and the circumstances behind Lord Joslyn currently being housed upstairs.

  Hugh was aghast. “Good God! Lord Joslyn shot! Monstrous!” He looked at Emily. “You were unhurt?”

  Emily nodded. “It was terrifying and I was never so thankful as when Lamb arrived on the scene. Fortunately, Lord Joslyn was not seriously wounded.”

  “What sort of fellow is he?” Hugh asked. “I’ve been hearing gossip about him—all of London was agog when he arrived last fall. No one could stop talking about him.” He grimaced. “Or how furious poor Mathew Joslyn was at losing such a fortune . . . and title. Half of London was appalled that some half-savage colonial had snatched away Mathew’s inheritance, the other pitied him.”

  Cornelia sniffed. “Mathew Joslyn is wealthy enough in his own right. No need for anyone to pity him.”

  “Oh, pooh!” said Emily. “I don’t want to talk about Mathew.” She bent an inquiring gaze on Hugh, asking, “But what brings you here this time of year? Are you staying long?” She grinned at him. “I certainly hope so—Jeffery will be put out.”

  Hugh chuckled. Trust Emily not to wrap his relationship with Jeffery in clean linen. He and Jeffery could barely tolerate each other and he had to admit that while he would have heeded Cornelia’s request for his presence at The Birches under any circumstances, the prospect of tweaking Jeffery’s nose added a certain . . . stimulation to the trip. But how to answer Emily’s main question?

  Cornelia had not sworn him to secrecy, but it was obvious she had not told the others she had sent for him. Until he had a private word with his great-aunt, Hugh didn’t want to reveal that it was her urgent missive that had brought him posthaste to The Birches. So why
was he here?

  “Winter doldrums!” he said, inspired. “London is deserted; most of the best hunting is behind us and I was in need of a change of scenery.” His blue eyes teasing, he murmured, “The thought of your lovely faces brought me here.”

  Anne blushed, but Emily snorted. “Humbug!” She smiled. “Whatever the reason, we are happy to see you.”

  The painted clock on the mantel rang the hour and Emily glanced at it astonished. “How can it be eleven o’clock already? It seems we just sat down.” Apologetically she said to Hugh, “We are to see Lord Joslyn now—will you mind being on your own for a little while? I would ask you to accompany us . . . but he was shot just yesterday and might not be up to meeting strangers.”

  Hugh waved her away. “No. No. You go ahead. If you will just tell me which room you want me in, I shall have Walker take my things up there and get settled in.”

  Rising to her feet and leaning heavily on her cane, Cornelia asked, “Barnett with you?”

  Hugh nodded. “Yes, my valet is with me.”

  “Have Walker see that he is quartered near you—in the same wing with us,” she said, stumping from the room. Her gaze boring into his, she added, “I want you nearby.”

  Anne hurried to follow Cornelia, and after dropping another kiss on Hugh’s cheek, Emily stared at him. “She wrote you, didn’t she?”

  Hugh grimaced. “Yes, but she didn’t tell me why I was needed here so urgently. I gather things are very bad with my brother?”

  Emily glanced over her shoulder, and seeing that Anne and Cornelia were not waiting for her, she turned back to Hugh. In a rush, she said, “Jeffery and that bounder, Ainsworth, mean to abduct Anne and ruin her in order to force her to marry Ainsworth. I suspect that Aunt Cornelia wants you to take Anne to Parkham House—where Jeffery would not dare try to snatch her.”

  Having dropped that explosive round at Hugh’s feet, Emily vanished in the direction of the other women.

  Unwilling to receive visitors in bed like an invalid, though he was quite capable of playing one when it suited him, when the three ladies were ushered in by Lamb, Barnaby was enthroned in a large overstuffed chair centered near the fire burning on the gray stone hearth. He was garbed in a gold embroidered burgundy silk robe, black silk slippers on his feet and a tastefully arranged white scarf of fine wool around his throat. The bandage around his head had disappeared, and except for the appearance of a growing purple-and-black bruise near his hairline marking the beginning of the bullet’s path and faint blue shadows beneath his eyes, he looked remarkably healthy.

  And handsome, Emily thought with a jump of her pulse when their eyes met as he stood up to greet them. Her gaze shied away from the warm glint in his and she hung back, wondering if everyone else heard the mad thumping of her heart.

  With Emily struck dumb, it was left to Anne to introduce Barnaby and Cornelia.

  “You’ve your great-grandfather’s size and broad shoulders,” Cornelia observed bluntly after the introductions were made and all of them had been seated, “and the look of him about the mouth when you smile, but there’s not much else to mark you as a Joslyn, is there?”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” Barnaby replied meekly. “I take after my mother’s side of the family.” A smile lurking in his dark eyes, he asked, “Does that put me totally beyond redemption?”

  Cornelia grinned. “With those shoulders? And your title and fortune? Don’t be silly, boy! You could look like a two-day-old dead lizard and the ladies would still flock around you.”

  Lamb, who stayed in the background, turned away to hide a smile, but Barnaby laughed. “That certainly put me in my place, didn’t it?” he replied good-naturedly.

  Walker entered and refreshments were served. Sipping tea and nibbling lemon puffs and Savoy fingers, Emily did more listening than talking, most of the conversation being between Barnaby and Cornelia. They enjoyed each other, Emily thought, as she watched them. Her great-aunt was in high fettle, clearly basking in the attention of a handsome man, and Barnaby smiled and laughed often at Cornelia’s quips. Cornelia and Anne flanked Barnaby with Emily sitting quietly on the other side of Cornelia. She was in a good position to study Barnaby’s features as he effortlessly charmed her great-aunt and her stepmother. Now and then his gaze would flicker over her and each time his eyes touched her, Emily was conscious of an unwelcome spurt of excitement.

  Despite having looked forward to seeing Lord Joslyn again, Emily was now eager to escape from his presence. She needed time to think, to understand why he had such an effect upon her, and to come to grips with the new emotions he aroused within her. Watching that hard, dark face, she reluctantly admitted that she was attracted to him in a way that she had never been to any man before him, and that knowledge disturbed her and made her wary.

  Love or marriage had never held the allure for Emily that it did for other women. Tales of Cornelia’s bitterly unhappy marriage and her father’s kind indifference to her young stepmother had not precisely engendered a fondness for the state of marriage in her breast. Jeffery’s conduct and that of the raffish friends he filled the house with had certainly not enamored her of the male of the species. Quite the contrary, and if it had not been for Hugh and to a lesser extent, Simon, she might have been forgiven for thinking that all men were either careless curs or predatory beasts. Ainsworth definitely fit that latter category, she thought with a curl of her lip.

  Barnaby Joslyn was in a completely different category than any man she had ever met. He confused her, or rather, her reaction to him confused her. Not once, not even during her two Seasons in London, had she ever wondered what a man’s kiss would be like or been so physically aware of a male as she was Lord Joslyn. His seductive attractiveness and its effect upon her were definite causes for alarm. The very last thing she wanted, especially at this time, was the added complication of fighting the forceful pull of his virile personality. She was not, she reminded herself sharply, some country milkmaid to be bowled over by a handsome face. Risking a glance at him and finding his eyes on her again, she buried her nose in her teacup, conscious of a breathless anticipation rushing through her body. Bloody hell! He wasn’t even that handsome—at least not in the traditional sense.

  When Cornelia brought the visit to an end, Emily couldn’t get out of Lord Joslyn’s room fast enough, but as luck would have it, she was the last to leave. Barnaby gallantly escorted Cornelia to the door and he remained there bidding his guests good-bye. Emily flashed him a polite smile and tried to scoot past him only to have Barnaby’s hand capture her elbow, halting her escape. She glanced up at him, her gray eyes wide and wary, her rosy mouth parted.

  Barnaby bent down, his breath warm and tingly against her ear, and something twisted deep within her. “Running away from me, sweet?” he whispered. “I thought you were braver than that.”

  Her eyes darkened and a flush stained her cheeks. Her chin lifted and she muttered, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, my lord.”

  “Don’t you?” he teased, his black eyes moving warmly across her face. He let go of her arm and ran a caressing finger down her nose. “I think you know very well what I’m talking about.”

  Helplessly, her eyes fastened on that smiling masculine mouth only inches above hers, her heart beating so fast she thought she would strangle. She could not drag her gaze away and unaware of it, she swayed toward him. His breath caught, his eyes darkening and for one wild moment she thought he was going to kiss her. And dear God! She wanted him to . . . desperately.

  Trapped in the same web, Barnaby caught her upper arms, pulling her against his big, lean body. Lamb coughed discreetly from inside the room, the sound stopping him in his tracks. Recalled to his senses, Barnaby’s hands dropped and, stepping away from her, he said softly, “Run along, my gray-eyed dove. We’ll finish this next time. . . .”

  Appalled at how close she had come to letting him kiss in the doorway of his room where anyone could have come upon them, Emily tore her eyes away. Furiou
s with herself and his arrogant assumption that there would be a next time, she threw him a fulminating look and shot out of the doorway like a scalded cat. To her further discomfort, Barnaby’s chuckle followed her down the hall as she dashed away. Damn him!

  Smiling with satisfaction, Barnaby shut the door and leaned back against it. The attraction was not only on his side. She was aware of him. And curious. Splendid!

  Lamb regarded him sourly. “What were you going to do? Ravish her in the doorway?”

  Barnaby made a face. “Now that would have been rather ungentlemanly of me, don’t you think?”

  Lamb snorted. “Just be glad that obsequious cousin of hers didn’t see the pair of you. I don’t like him and I don’t trust him. I suspect that if you’re not careful he’ll have you leg-shackled to her before you can say your name.”

  “I can’t say that I disagree with you,” Barnaby admitted, sitting down in the high-back chair and closing his eyes. He’d enjoyed the visit of the ladies, but he was aware that it had tired him. His lips twisted. He was weaker than he cared to admit and he wondered if the wound was more serious than first thought.

  Lamb frowned and walked over to stand next to him. Examining Barnaby’s paler-than-usual complexion, he said, “I told you that you should stay in bed.”

  Barnaby opened his eyes and sighed. “I suppose you’ll be more insufferable than normal if I tell you that in this case, I think you’re right.”

  “Of course, I was right! Now are you going to go back in bed by yourself or do I have to carry you?”

  Barnaby stood up, grateful he didn’t sway. “Thank you, no,” he said grandly and walked toward the bed.

  Only when Barnaby was settled in bed and dozing, did Lamb leave him. Time, Lamb decided, as he shut the door behind him, to see for myself, the lay of the land.

  Ordinarily, Hugh’s uninvited arrival would have affronted Jeffery, but with Anne’s abduction on the horizon, Lord Joslyn residing in his upstairs bedroom and the dazzling possibility of engineering a match between Emily and Lord Joslyn, his younger brother’s presence caused only the barest ripple of irritation. After Walker had delivered the news about Hugh’s visit, Jeffery thought it over and, reminding himself that Hugh was decidedly plumper in the pocket than he was, Jeffery decided having his brother here was another sign that Lady Luck was with him. His younger brother was no gambler and Jeffery was anticipating several hands of cards in the evening. Some of Hugh’s gold, he decided, was going to be in his pocket before they were much older.