License to Kiss

by McKinley, Kate

  Both Bess and Miss Westgate turned toward Emily. Horror flashed across Bess’s face, but she quickly concealed it. Miss Westgate, for her part, looked mildly irritated. “Who are you?”

  Emily blinked. She hadn’t quite thought this far ahead. “I am a maid here, ma’am.”

  Miss Westgate lifted her chin, her eyes wandering over Emily freely. Whatever she found must have satisfied her. “Have you any skill at styling hair?”

  “I do, indeed.”

  Miss Westgate nodded once and turned back around to face the mirror, silently giving her consent to continue. Bess backed away, hands clasped demurely in front of her.

  Stepping forward, she flashed Bess a reassuring smile, or what she hoped was reassuring. Emily took a comb off the vanity and gathered Miss Westgate’s silky brown hair in her hand. As Emily twisted and pinned her hair, she took the opportunity to study Stephen’s fiancé. She had not gotten a good look at her in the library.

  She was far more homely than Emily had imagined. There was nothing extraordinary in her manner or expression, but that did not signify. Perhaps she was woman of wealth and consequence.

  “Does your own lady’s maid not travel with you, ma’am?” Emily asked.

  “My maid of nearly five years found a situation in Scotland. I didn’t have time before departing to find a replacement. And the Countess’ lady’s maid is unwell I am told. Truthfully, I suspect she doesn’t wish to wait on the likes of me.”

  “What do you mean?” Emily asked.

  “I am not so dignified. My father was an attorney and my mother was a gentleman’s daughter. Doubtless, the Countess’s lady’s maid feels it beneath her dignity to wait on me.”

  Emily reeled. Miss Westgate was not a woman of wealth or consequence? She was certainly not beautiful. Was it possible Stephen harbored true affection for her?

  Emily swallowed, suddenly nauseous. Sweat beaded on her temples. She had not retched in the months since discovering she was with child, but she feared she might in that moment.

  “I am sure you are mistaken.” Emily said weakly.

  She pinned Miss Westgate’s wayward curls into an elegant, yet wistful knot on the top of her head. “There you are,” she said.

  Miss Westgate glanced at herself in the mirror and smiled at her reflection. “Remarkable.” She turned and looked up at Emily. “You have an extraordinary skill.”

  “It is nothing,” Emily replied, her stomach still tied in knots.

  “When Lord Devon and I are married, will you not be my lady’s maid?”

  “It is a kind offer, but could not possibly…” her words trailed off. What could she say?

  Miss Westgate nodded. “Yes, I understand. You are very loyal. Her Ladyship is fortunate to have you.” She stared at herself in the mirror. “I often wonder how different my life would have been were I a maid and not a gentleman’s daughter. I could be whomever I wished, love whomever I wished…”

  “No situation is without its struggles, ma’am.”

  Miss Westgate wasn’t listening. “Have you any idea what it is like to flit from ballroom to ballroom, all the while play-acting?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Miss Westgate’s eyes watered and she shook her head. “It doesn’t signify. Lord Devon has proposed and I have accepted. We shall be married and that will be the end of it.”

  Emily squinted, utterly befuddled. “Do you love him?” Emily asked. Please say no.

  A woman entered the room, and Miss Westgate brightened, waving Emily away. “Thank you for your assistance,” she said to Emily and then turned her attention to the woman who had walked through the door. “Harriet, darling. What do you think?”

  The woman smiled dimly. “You look stunning, as you well know. He doesn’t deserve you.”

  Emily nodded to Bess and they walked out of the door. When they were out of hearing range, she turned to Bess. “Who is that woman with Miss Westgate?”

  “Oh, that is her companion, Miss Pearce. They are quite close.”

  “Yes, it certainly appears so.” She shook her head and then turned her thoughts toward Stephen. “Is Lord Devon at home?”

  She had left her room with the intent to return the letter, but with him at home, that would be far too dangerous to attempt. Still, it appeared they had much to discuss. Namely, why he hadn’t told Miss Westgate about her and the babe.

  “Yes, he is in his study.”

  Emily smiled. “Thank you.”

  In seconds she was downstairs, standing in front of the double doors leading to his study. Pulling in a deep breath, she steadied her thoughts and knocked lightly. When she did, the door pushed open slightly, giving her a glimpse inside the room.

  Stephen was not alone.

  He sat, brandy in hand, with a young, remarkably handsome man. Neither man had heard her knock or noticed the door had opened a crack.

  “As it happens, I have the perfect solution,” the man said. “Install your pretty little maid as your mistress. Then you may enjoy the best of both possible outcomes.”

  Her heart leapt into her throat as she inched closer. They were speaking about her?

  “Yes,” Stephen said. “Perhaps you are right.”

  The man laughed. “Of course I am. What other purpose could you have for engaging with a scullery maid?”

  “Lady’s maid,” Stephen corrected.

  “Same kettle of fish,” the man said dismissively. “Install her in a house nearby and fuck her when it pleases you and then come home to your wife. It is the best you could offer such a woman.”

  Stephen said nothing, but his silence was akin to agreement and that cut her deeper than any words could have.

  Emily swallowed, her throat cinching impossibly tight. She could scarcely breathe and she swayed slightly on her feet. Stephen had promised a life together, but this, what he was agreeing to, was thrusting her back into a life of service. Not as a maid, but as something much worse. His tart. His harlot. The woman he would come to when he could not countenance lying with his wife.

  She was seething with fury. How dare he use her so callously. She refused to be his plaything, to exist solely to serve his baser impulses. She was not a whore he could bribe and command.

  The selfish, unfeeling cur.

  Steeling herself, she straightened her spine and pushed the door open before she could find a reason to stop herself. Both men turned in her direction as she stepped into the room.

  The shocked look on Stephen’s face quite satisfying.

  Silence pulsed between them, until at length, the other man stood and swallowed the rest of his drink, then placed the empty glass on a nearby table. “I’ve suddenly remembered, I have a pressing engagement with a clutch of squealing young debutantes. Please excuse me.”

  Pressing her lips together, she lifted her chin and watched as he left the room, clicking the door shut behind him. She turned her attention to Stephen, who looked as though he would rather be anywhere but there, facing her.

  He stood. “Whatever you heard, Emily, you must allow me to explain…”

  He’d lied to her. He’d allowed her to believe they had a future together. And all along, he’d planned on setting her up as his mistress.

  She advanced, stopping in front of him, toe-to-toe. He could not treat her like a whore. She would not allow it. Her eyes filled with tears of fury. “You are a cur and a coward.”

  Trust was not something she gave easily and yet she had trusted him. Perhaps that was the worst of this. That she had placed her faith in a man who clearly did not deserve it.

  Or perhaps it was the harsh confirmation that the man she’d fallen for in Scotland no longer existed. Perhaps he never had.

  Turning on her heel, she moved to make a theatrical exit, but was stopped when he caught her elbow, halting her. “Wait, Emily. You must see the difficulty I am in—”

  She wrenched her elbow from his hand and glowered at him. “Yes, I see quite clearly now. I suppose I should thank you for enlighteni
ng me. I now know the sort of man you are.”

  Each breath felt as though she were drowning. A sea of emotions engulfed her, creating a heaviness in her chest that prevented her from drawing in a full breath.

  “This is not a fairytale, Emily. If I do not marry Miss Westgate, everything will fall to ruin. My title, my fortune, my family’s reputation.”

  She was thoroughly perplexed. “What does the scandal have to do with Miss Westgate?”

  “Her guardian is a judge with tremendous influence. If we marry, then that influence is at my disposal. Rumors can be silenced. My family name would be protected.”

  She wanted to laugh. “Your connection with Miss Westgate will not save you.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Emily’s throat tightened. How much to reveal? If she told him she possessed the letter, then he would just strip her down until he found it. He had no scruples.

  She tipped her chin upward. “I have read a letter,” she said. “In it, the author revealed the name of your father’s first wife and enclosed a copy of the marriage license.”

  His eyes narrowed, dangerously thin, and his lips were pulled tight in anger. This was not a man one wanted to cross, and yet, he’d given her no choice. It was this or remain under his thumb indefinitely.

  “You are lying,” he said.

  “Am I?”

  “Where would you have seen such a letter?”

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I have seen it.”

  Something in his eyes flickered. Did he believe her? She could see his mind working, weighing the possibilities and the consequences of what she was telling him.

  There was a light knock on the door before the butler admitted himself. “Miss Westgate and Miss Pearce are in the parlor, my lord.”

  “And the carriage?”

  “The carriage waiting.”

  Stephen nodded once. “I will be out in a moment.”

  With a stiff bow, the butler left the room.

  Stephen turned his attention back to Emily. He stood stiffly, his jaw clenched. When he spoke, his tone was calm, firm, “Who authored this letter? Where is it now?”

  She looked him straight in the eye. “I could tell you, for a price.”

  A tic pulsed in his cheek. “For a price, of course. What price might that be?”

  “As I told you when I arrived, I only wish for a small loan. Grant me that and I will tell you everything.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “I will not be blackmailed.”

  It was her turn to narrow her eyes. “Then, I am afraid, my lord, we have nothing more to discuss.”

  With a sharp pivot, she stalked out of the room.

  The Pembroke’s dinner party was an ass-numbingly dull affair, but he could hardly complain. Miss Westgate had been happily engaged with the elderly Duke of Louth for the entire evening. It was bliss. That small mercy had made traipsing out into the cold night entirely worthwhile.

  When the grand ceremony of dinner finally concluded, the gentlemen remained in the dinning room while the ladies retired to the parlor. When the women were gone, Lord Pembroke handed out cigars and the room was soon engulfed in a cloud of smoke.

  Topics of conversation strayed from the weather, to the state of parliament, to best gun to use for duck hunting. Laughter echoed in the large room, but Stephen’s mind was engaged elsewhere.

  As he chewed on the end of his cigar, the room around him grew hazy and distant. His thoughts centered on Emily. That horrified look on her face when she had burst into his study had been like a punch to the gut. What, exactly, had she overheard?

  He cast his mind back. He and Grant had been discussing Emily and his intention to make her his mistress.

  Of course she was angry. Grant had explained his ideas in the crudest way possible. He hadn’t known she was eavesdropping from the door—how could he have? Obviously he would have used more delicate wording had he known she was listening.

  But when she had burst through the door, there had been a look of betrayal written all over her beautiful face.

  Then she’d told him about the letter and that sense of betrayal had transferred to him. Shock, disbelief, had clouded his thoughts. Not regarding the letter—he knew that must be a lie—but at the very idea that Emily would turn on him so abruptly. She would make love to him one moment and then blackmail him just hours later. It was unequivocally calculating.

  Perhaps Grant was right. Perhaps all women were only after what they could get from him. That thought settled like a lead weight in his stomach.

  Last night, he had convinced himself he was falling in love with Emily. How, he couldn’t say. The very idea was impossible, and yet, he had felt it. The twinge in his heart was unmistakable and yet nothing he had ever felt before.

  But now…Christ, his mind was a riot of thoughts. It was all such a tangled mess. She sought to betray him in the most painful way possible, and yet, his feelings for her had not dissipated.

  Someone sat beside him, bringing him back to the present. “Lord Devon, you look rather distracted tonight.”

  Stephen turned to his host, Lord Pembroke, and flashed him a false smile. “I have a great many things on my mind.”

  “Of course, you would be troubled by the rumors circulating about your father.” He took a pull from his cigar and leaned in, his swollen belly pressing into the side of the table. “There have been rumbles in the House of Lords that a case will soon be brought against your father for bigamy.”

  Christ. Here it was. This was it. The very event he feared would come to pass. Stephen straightened and stabbed his cigar into the small plate at his elbow. “When did you hear this?”

  “This very night,” he answered. “A few of the gentlemen have been speaking of it.”

  Stephen balled his hand into a fist and resisted the urge to hit something. “The Duke of Arlington’s doing, I imagine.”

  Lord Pembroke tilted his head forward. “I do believe so. It would make sense. These last months, he has been your greatest adversary.”

  “I have seen him about Town, why is he not here tonight?”

  Lord Pembroke chuckled. “Because I do not fancy blood on the carpets. I would not have you two in the same room for anything, though watching you pummel the blaggard might be worth something.”

  Stephen threw back his port and clapped his empty glass down on the table. “Indeed.”

  Christ. This had progressed far beyond rumors. If the House of Lords was considering a case against his father, the Duke must have more information than Stephen had thought possible.

  Fuck.

  His mind swirled and centered on his earlier conversation with Emily. She claimed to have seen a letter and marriage license. Perhaps she wasn’t lying, after all. Where had she come across it?

  A sudden, horrible thought occurred to him. Was it possible Emily was spying for the Duke? Everything in him screamed in denial, but it made sense, did it not?

  “Who will sit on the committee?” Stephen asked.

  “I could not tell you,” he said. “But I will endeavor to find out.”

  “Thank you, “ Stephen said.

  In the meantime, he must do the one thing he had been dreading. He must announce his engagement to Miss Westgate.

  Here, tonight.

  Men were selfish, no good, despicable creatures. That was a universal fact. And Stephen Crawford was the master of them all!

  Emily paced the length of her bedchamber, fury burning hot in her chest. With every step, every breath, that fury grew hotter, and threatened to completely consume her.

  He’d lied to her. He had made her believe they would be together as a family and all the while, he planned on hiding her away, using her when it pleased him.

  She huffed and shook her head. Of course he had. Why should she have expected anything less? She was such a fool.

  Emily pulled the thick bundle from her bodice and stared down at it. She read the letter again,
and again, then peered down at the marriage license to try and puzzle out any of the possible inconsistencies Morris had mentioned. But she knew little of Stephen’s family history, so teasing out any conflicts between fact and fiction was a task in futility. She wouldn’t even know what to look for—a misspelling of his father’s name or perhaps an error with the date?

  Refolding the letter, she tucked it back into her bodice. It left an uncomfortable lump, but now that she had confessed she had seen it, he would likely have her room searched. She certainly would, if she were in his position.

  Emily sat on the bed and leaned back, staring up at the canopy overhead. If he married Miss Westgate…she pushed out a breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

  She was so angry with him. But why, then, did her chest ache at the image of Stephen and Miss Westgate lying together, sharing intimacies? Even now, they were surely sitting in their elegant carriage laughing at Emily’s foolishness.

  Sitting up, she shoved the idea from her mind. What they thought of her was of no consequence. All that mattered was the future she must build for her child.

  There was a knock at the door. She paused a moment, her heart thudding violently against her ribs. Stephen would not knock, so she had nothing to fear. She glanced at the clock. It was five minutes past nine o’clock.

  She walked the short distance to the door and opened it. James stood in the entryway with a smile on his too-handsome face.

  “Good evening.”

  “James,” she breathed. After what had just transpired with Stephen, a friendly face was more than a little welcome. “Is it time for our walk already?”

  “It’s a beautiful evening.”

  After shrugging on her borrowed cloak, she followed James outside and into the balmy night. Gas street lamps hissed and popped as they strolled down the deserted street, chatting about nothing in particular.

  At length, James asked, “Are you well?”

  “Do I look unwell?”

  “You look beautiful,” he answered. He stopped and she paused beside him. He reached out and touched her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “But you have been frowning too much of late.”