The Counterfeit Betrothal

by April Kihlstrom

  Impulsively Emmaline hugged her friend. “You must, you know,” she told Rosalind stoutly. “For Jeremy’s sake as well as your own. He has to marry and soon.”

  Rosalind hesitated before answering and Emmaline pressed her, “What is it? What troubles you?”

  Rosalind met her friend’s eyes steadily as she said, “All of this. When we were in school together, before your father became ill, you were used to talk of Jeremy as though he were perfect. Then, when Mama brought me out, I saw a rather different view of him. Now, well, all this seems—” She broke off in confusion and Emmaline smiled wryly, “Strange? Mad perhaps?” she suggested. “I suppose it does. But if he loved me, I think I would be very happy wed to Jeremy. He laughs at the same things I do. We used almost to be friends and sometimes in these past few weeks I have felt we were again.” She paused and an odd light came into her eyes. “Do you know, he goes about making certain that various charities do not lack for funds? And champions individuals who have fallen down on their luck? Helps them to find a place again? It is not a side of him I had expected to find, I confess, and yet I did, here in London.”

  “I have never heard that said of him,” Rosalind observed quietly.

  Emmaline shook her head. “No, you would not. I had the devil of a time even getting him to let me come along on some of his expeditions. Sometimes I think he’d rather the world thought him an ogre. Oh, Rosalind, don’t you see? I would never need fear that he would bore me with his predictability or respectability, for he doesn’t care for such things any more than I do. You, of all people, Rosalind, know how often Mrs. Winfred scolded me for recklessness and unconventionality. You know how much I have always chafed at my skirts and all the rules that hem women about. The years have taught me prudence, but I shall never care for prim propriety. So you see, it would be fatal for me to marry a man who would assume and expect that I did! Jeremy would take me as I am. If he loved me.”

  A look of distress settled upon Rosalind’s face, and seeking to banish it, Emmaline said briskly, “Enough! Come along. It is time we went downstairs. I’ve no doubt Jeremy and Edward are waiting for us.”

  In point of fact, the two men were laying their own plans and broke off hastily at the sound of the two young ladies descending the stairs. His face carefully expressionless, Edward watched as Jeremy went up to Miss Kirkwood, possessed her hand in his own, and said warmly, “How delightful to see you, Miss Kirkwood. It seems forever since I last had the pleasure of your company.”

  In spite of herself, the young lady giggled. “It was just yesterday, Mr. Barnett, in the park,” she told him sternly.

  His eyes dancing, Jeremy retorted, “There, you see I told you it was forever!”

  Rosalind blushed, then mindful of Emmaline’s advice to blow both hot and cold, she turned to Edward and said with uncharacteristic warmth, “Mr. Hastings. How nice to see you again.”

  That gentleman bowed gravely and said with a smile and quiet sincerity, “My dear Miss Kirkwood, it is always a pleasure to see you.”

  Hastily Emmaline possessed herself of Edward’s arm and looked up at him warmly before greeting her fiancé coolly. “Hallo. You are looking a trifle tired today, Jeremy. A long night, I fear?”

  “No longer than Edward’s,” he answered shortly. “And may I tell you, Emmaline, that I take exception to the way you are clinging to my friend? It would not be the thing even if you were not officially engaged to me. Such impropriety might well give the fastidious cause for gossip.”

  Forgetting all her resolutions, Emmaline retorted hotly, “Ah yes, you cannot bear I should embarrass you, is that not so? At least I do not flaunt my mistresses in the park when everyone is about!”

  For a long moment there was an appalled silence in the room as Jeremy carefully studied the impeccable manicured nails upon one of his hands. Then, meeting her eyes directly, he said calmly, “Nor have I, my dear, since our betrothal was announced. You really must learn to eschew such vulgarity. I have told you before I dislike these references to such women. Need I repeat the lesson?”

  As Emmaline recalled just what he had done the last time, she turned a deep crimson and would have fled had Edward not said softly, “Courage, Miss Delwyn.”

  Instantly her back straightened and her chin came up. Jeremy merely laughed and turned to Rosalind. “Pray forgive us our wrangling, Miss Kirkwood. I’ve no doubt that by now Emmaline has told you the truth of our betrothal, and while I have no wish to have that knowledge bruited about, I know I may trust in your discretion. Come, let us go into the library. There are some books there I think you would like to see.”

  Helplessly Emmaline watched them go, unaware that beside her Edward was hard put to suppress a smile. His face was impassive, however, as she turned to him and said tartly, “Jeremy does not appear to know how to go about wooing my friend. If he imagines such a scene as just passed will do him a service in her eyes, he is much mistaken!” Edward could not very well tell her that Jeremy was in fact taking great care to ensure that Miss Kirkwood did not fall in love with him. Instead he said with apparent concern, “Do you think it wise, Miss Delwyn, for us to allow them to go unchaperoned? Mightn’t it be better for us to join them at once.”

  Stricken, Emmaline agreed with alacrity. “Yes, it will do Rosalind’s reputation no good for it to be bruited about that she has been tête-à-tête with my fiancé.”

  If there was a bitterness in the last word, Edward did not remark upon it. Instead he quietly led the way, merely commenting on how lovely her friend looked that morning. His quiet talk, however, gave way to a fit of coughing when, upon opening the library door, they discovered Jeremy standing far too close to Rosalind for propriety as he solicitously pointed out a passage in one of the books, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder. With an expression that Emmaline could only interpret as great self-satisfaction, Jeremy met her eyes and said coolly, “Hallo. Come to join us, have you?”

  Only Rosalind appeared to notice the look of dismay that Emmaline could not control and, blushing, she hastily moved away from Jeremy. Her own cheeks flushed with anger, Emmaline said evenly, “May I speak with you alone, Jeremy? In the drawing room, perhaps?”

  “I am at your service,” he answered with a half bow.

  Emmaline contained her temper until they were once more in the room filled with Egyptian furniture. Today the absurdity of it did not amuse her at all, and when he had closed the doors behind them, she rounded on Jeremy and demanded angrily, “How dare you treat my friend that way?”

  “I do not recall that she objected to my manner,” he answered coolly.

  As though to further annoy her, Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the wall, and watched as Emmaline paced about the room. “You know very well what I mean!” she flung at him. “If Rosalind is too inexperienced to know that you have gone beyond the line then you are not! I said you might court her, not ruin her or cause her the least distress.”

  “I have no intention of ruining Miss Kirkwood,” Jeremy protested innocently. “My father shouldn’t accept her as a bride if I did. As for distress, why life is never entirely free of that, is it?”

  Emmaline paused in her pacing to face him then. “The devil take you, Jeremy Barnett! Don’t roast me like this, I mean what I say. Rosalind is not some doxy of yours to be treated so carelessly.”

  At that Jeremy’s eyes narrowed and he came away from the wall, advancing menacingly upon Emmaline. “I have told you before such words are not becoming in my fiancée,” he said dangerously, “and whether you like it or not, you still are my fiancée.”

  “What—what are you going to do?” Emmaline asked faintly as she came up against a sofa and could retreat no further.

  “This!” he exclaimed as he caught her to him. One hand went around her waist and pressed Emmaline against the length of his body, the other forced her head back and her face up to meet his. Then, before she even had time to form a protest, Jeremy’s lips were upon hers, once more pun
ishing and demanding. To her horror, the hand on her waist left it to begin to tug at the top of her dress, then reached inside to fondle her breasts. As Emmaline turned scarlet, she tried to pull free, but the hand tangled in her hair held fast and she could not, though her struggles caused Jeremy to lift his lips from hers. A gleam of amusement lit his eyes as he looked down at her flushed face.

  “Like it, my dear?” he asked sardonically. “This is how one treats a doxy!”

  “Let me go or I’ll scream!” Emmaline whispered, now very pale.

  His face only a few inches away from hers, Jeremy laughed. “Scream? And have the servants come running to witness your position? I think not, my dear.”

  In despair, Emmaline knew he was right and she once more tried to twist free. Jeremy merely pulled sharply on her hair and Emmaline knew she was still caught. Once more he lowered his lips to hers, this time more slowly and more gently. Insistently they played at hers until, helplessly, she swayed toward him and her lips parted, a wave of longing threatening to drown her. No longer did she try to protest the hand that played so deliciously with the nipples of her breasts, nor did she even notice when the hand left her hair to find its way down her back and press her hips against his. So lost was she to all common sense that her eyes were still closed when he thrust her from him and Emmaline did not at once realize what he was about.

  For a moment she swayed, then, startled, opened her eyes. Jeremy, she saw, was once more leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, eyes hooded. There was no trace of discomposure in his voice, she thought bitterly, as he said, “That, my dear Emmaline, is how one treats a doxy and I will thank you not to say that what I do with Miss Kirkwood is in any way the same.”

  Trembling slightly, Emmaline turned her back on him, struggling to regain her own composure. “No?” she flung over her shoulder. “If you have treated me this way, how can I know you will not treat Rosalind the same?”

  Jeremy laughed softly before he replied. “But my dear Emmaline, I am not yet betrothed to her as I am to you. I realize I am regarded as something of a rake but even I must draw the line somewhere.”

  Then, somehow, treacherously, he was at her shoulder, his hands upon her waist and his lips brushing the nape of her neck as he went on, teasingly, “Besides, Emmaline, I scarcely imagine Rosalind would respond to me as you have done, encouraging me to go so far with her. You really must learn to restrain this wayward nature of yours before it lands you in the briars.” One hand reached upward absentmindedly to stroke her trembling shoulder as he added, maddeningly, “Unless, of course, it is just me that you respond to and you wish to resume our betrothal after all? I am sure I could procure a special license; we would not even need to wait the three weeks while the banns were read. What do you say, my love?”

  Furious, her eyes full of tears, Emmaline once more pulled free of him, hating the aching desire for his touch that still coursed through her. Beyond caring, she hurled angry words at Jeremy. “Don’t ever touch me again! I know very well how you hate me and I wouldn’t marry you if you were the only man in England! Indeed, I am quite resolved upon spinsterhood. It would be far preferable to marriage to a man who likes nothing better than to torment me as you do!”

  Then, blindly, she fled the room, not seeing the look of dismay that came to his face or the way he would have followed her had the appearance of a footman in the hallway not forestalled him. Nor did she know how, cursing himself for a fool, Jeremy fled the Hastings household not five minutes later, leaving a bemused Edward and Rosalind to entertain one another.

  14

  EMMALINE spent a good many hours trying to decide how she could face Jeremy when next she saw him. She need not have fretted for he did not visit again for several days. Aware that something had gone wrong, Mrs. Hastings discreetly tried to question her young houseguest but was met by silence. Only with Edward did Emmaline appear to feel at ease, a circumstance that did not escape his mother.

  At any rate, when Jeremy did appear, not by the slightest gesture or word did he betray any recollection of what had last occurred between them. Indeed, when he arrived to escort Emmaline to the theater, his first words after he greeted her were, “You are certain Miss Kirkwood knows we are to meet her there?”

  “Yes, of course. Edward has already gone to collect her,” Emmaline replied with creditable composure.

  Only then did he pause, inspect her coolly, and say with maddening calm, “You look a trifle peaked. Have you been getting sufficient rest, Miss Delwyn?”

  As Emmaline choked, Mrs. Hastings said tartly, “That is none of your affair, since I gather you do not really intend to marry her. I do suggest, however, that tonight you contrive to appear to pay some mind to your fiancée, Barnett, otherwise everyone will be saying that it is your neglect that has caused Emmaline to be out of looks.”

  Jeremy’s eyes narrowed speculatively a moment before he nodded. Disingenuously he said, “What an excellent notion, Mrs. Hastings. My dear, are you fatigued? Should you prefer that we forgo the theater and let you rest?”

  Emmaline pulled free the hand Jeremy had taken hold of as he spoke. “There are no interested eyes to impress here. And I am quite all right!” she said from between clenched teeth. “But as I do not wish to be late, may we be off?”

  “Of course, my pet,” Jeremy said soothingly, “just as soon as Mrs. Hastings is ready, You would not like to be so rude as to rush her, surely.”

  At that Mrs. Hastings laughed outright. “Careful, my boy, or you may find yourself in the briars.”

  In mock astonishment Jeremy said, “Nonsense! You cannot mean you think my fiancée has a temper?”

  Emmaline closed her eyes and fought for calm. When she opened them, she saw that Mrs. Hastings was ready and the footman was already holding open the door. Solicitously Jeremy said, “Come Emmaline, we must hurry. You said so yourself.” Then, compellingly, he held out a hand to take hers. Emmaline wanted to ignore it, to sail past him with head held high. But she did not. “Very well, I am ready,” she said quietly, allowing him to guide her out the door and down the steps.

  In the carriage she could not resist challenging him. “Perhaps you ought to ignore me tonight, Jeremy. Let the ton think we are beginning to tire of one another.”

  A gleam of mischief lit Jeremy’s eyes from where he sat opposite her. “But my dear Emmaline, you forget how peaked you look. While I might allow that it would be a good notion to let the ton believe we are not suited, I have no wish to figure as an ogre in their eyes. As I surely should if it appeared that I was the cause of your sleepless nights.” He paused, then added deliberately, “Am I, my love?”

  “Don’t be absurd!” Emmaline retorted angrily. It did not escape him, however, that she caught her lower lip between her teeth as she turned away. With a grim smile of satisfaction he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the seat. Emmaline might not yet wish to marry him, but neither was she indifferent.

  It was Mrs. Hastings who broke the silence by asking if Emmaline had told Jeremy about her father’s latest letter. “But of course not,” she answered her own question with a self-conscious laugh. “You have not yet had the chance.”

  Instantly Jeremy was all attention. “Your father? Is he worse? Do you need to go to him?”

  He could not read the expressions that crossed her face so quickly before she said, “Why, no. Quite the opposite, in fact. I—I have not known my father to write a letter in his own hand since before his illness. He had always to dictate it to me or your father. But now he writes and tells me he is much better and I cannot doubt it.”

  Jeremy had been seated beside Mrs. Hastings and opposite Emmaline, but now he moved to sit beside his fiancée. He took her trembling hand in his and asked gently, “What is it, my love? What is troubling you?”

  Emmaline snatched away her hand as though it had been burned and hid it in the folds of her skirt. Her eyes blazing with anger, she said, “Don’t roast me, Jeremy! In public
you may play the role of attentive lover as much as you choose, but there is no need to do so here.”

  Biting back the sharp retort that came to his lips, Jeremy merely shrugged and said, “Very well, as you wish. But I should like to know what is troubling you. After all, I do care about your father, too, whatever our own differences may be.”

  Emmaline did not miss the edge of pain in Jeremy’s voice and timidly she placed a hand on his arm. “Forgive me,” she said quietly. “I am grateful for the affection you and my father have shared. As for why I am troubled, I—cannot say. I know I should be filled with delight but I am not. Instead I am afraid. Afraid that somehow my father is pushing himself beyond what is wise because I am not there to stop him.”

  “That is his own choice to make,” Jeremy reminded her kindly and, after a moment’s hesitation, placed a hand over hers.

  This time she did not draw away. Instead, a trifle ruefully she said, “I know it. But I have grown so used, you see, to taking care of him that I can scarcely bring myself to trust anyone else to do the job properly.”

  The words were spoken lightly but Jeremy did not miss the tremor she could not entirely hide. Tilting up her chin, he asked, “What is it? You had best tell me, you know, for I shall not give you any peace until you do.”

  Emmaline laughed shakily. “I had forgotten how well you always seemed to read my mind when I was a child. Very well. You will think me absurd, no doubt, but I know that you mean what you say. Jeremy, I cannot help but wonder if my father would have done better had I not been there these past years. If he can so quickly progress to writing in his own hand when I am gone scarcely a month, what might he have done in the past three years?”

  Jeremy did not turn from the steadiness of her eyes as he replied, “Without you he might well have died. You know that he loved your mother very much and I imagine that after she died he had very little will to live. You gave him a reason to keep on. I’ve no doubt of that. And if, in the past year or two, he had come to accept too easily his illness and not try harder to recover, well no one could have foreseen that. Perhaps it is the knowledge that you are to be wed at last that has made the difference, and not someone else’s care.”