The truth was he didn’t think he’d be able to keep her and make her happy.
His father had assured him of that certainty all those years ago.
* * *
After Emma had settled into her suite, a clean and neat sitting room and bedroom, she was ready for her evening. At precisely eight, Harry escorted her across the threshold of the Ruby Crown’s public dining room. Completely mesmerized, her gaze swept over the planked walls. The entire room was crowded with mementos and souvenirs from ships the sea had allowed into port.
She could spend hours studying the intriguing sights and learning more of the inn’s history, but the noise demanded her attention. Boisterous masculine singing rose into a final swell, then quickly dissolved into robust laughter. Shouts for another round filled the dining room.
Crowded with locals, the entire room fell silent when the patrons’ attention fell to her and Harry. Slowly, one by one, all of the men, the few women in attendance, plus the servers turned toward them. Half-full mugs of ale littered the tables, and not a single person uttered a peep. In a moment that felt like years, every single person stared at them.
She had a gift for stopping conversation, but normally it was in a ballroom after she’d shared her views on a woman’s right to invest her own dowry. Not in a public tavern swimming with people she didn’t know.
Harry stood two steps behind her. In a loud whisper, his rough voice carried through the room. “Something don’t smell right here, my lady.”
Two burly men with matching lecherous smiles pushed their stools back and stood next to her. The fetor of week-old sweat and grime wafted toward her, causing her protesting stomach to lurch. Her pulse raced, and the blood pounded in her ears, but she delivered her best haughty look. She would not cower in front of them.
“Well, what do we have here, Jasper? The little lady looks lonely, doesn’t she?” The man identified as Jasper attempted a smile, but all she saw was a mouthful of rotten teeth.
“Ay, Murray. The little dove looks like she could use some consoling.” Jasper leaned close. “She smells good, too.”
Harry swallowed and shuffled forward. “Move along. She’s not for either of you.”
Murray’s beady eyes shifted to Harry. “Old man, we decide who and what we want.” In a flash of movement that defied his hulky size, Murray pushed Harry aside as if he weighed nothing. He and his barrel-chested companion stood side by side and blocked Emma’s path.
Wisdom required she pivot one foot and flee as she considered the chances of successfully escaping the taproom. She stared at the two men while attempting to find the courage to run. It became difficult to judge the passage of time, but finally, the silence broke when the innkeeper, Mr. Fenton, stood by her side.
“That’s enough. Let her and the gentleman through,” he said. “My lady, please join me. There’s room at my table.”
“Fenton, we’re just havin’ fun,” Jasper growled.
“Not at the expense of my guests,” he said in an even tone. Middle-aged, the innkeeper boasted a solid build. Along with his massive size, the crook in his nose and his large hands indicated a man not afraid to toss unruly patrons from his establishment. A veiled expression fell across his face, but his eyes warned of an anger that once released would be difficult to control.
Emma stayed glued to the floor unable to move. Finding ease with Mr. Fenton’s direction, the crowd relaxed in unison and waited to see what Jasper and Murray would do.
“Come on, she ain’t worth it.” Murray tried to pull the other man away. “I can’t afford trouble.”
Jasper stood planted like a thick elm tree. After several moments, he stood down and looked away from Mr. Fenton. With a spit to the floor, he joined Murray and walked to the door. He took one last look at Emma. With a smile that would make the devil cringe, he left the room.
As if it were an intermission between acts of a play, the crowd exhaled in relief and went back to their whoops and roars of conversation.
Emma swallowed her choking knot of fear and turned to Harry. “Are you all right?”
Harry’s complexion resembled a ripe apple revealing his distress at the unsuccessful attempt to convince the brutes to leave. “Yes, my lady. It’s best we eat and retire early.”
“Please follow me.” Fenton waved a hand, then escorted her to his table in the back.
“May Mr. Johnson, my man of affairs, join us?” she asked.
“Of course.” Mr. Fenton held the chair out for Emma and then assisted Harry, who at the pronouncement of “man of affairs” stood tall. With a nod to the serving girl, the innkeeper held up two fingers, signaling the need for more ales and food.
“Don’t mind the locals, they’re a superstitious lot. When some of the men have too much to drink, particularly if they’ve just come to shore, they have a tendency to forget their manners. Not many out-of-towners take their dinner in the ale room.” As if the last several minutes hadn’t happened, he continued genuinely interested, “Mr. Goodwin told me you have business in Portsmouth.”
Emma’s earlier fear began to recede. “Yes, but I have a few places I’d like to visit for pleasure.”
“In my estimation, that’s a perfect combination.” Mr. Fenton studied her, and a smile curved his lips. “I’ve known Goodwin for years. When he asked for my assistance, I was delighted to help. He’s a great admirer of yours, and any friend of Goodwin’s is a friend of mine.”
“That’s very kind. I wouldn’t be here without Mr. Goodwin,” she said. “Thank you for your earlier aid dispatching those two men.” Emma stole a glance at the door the two brutes exited. She’d always considered herself a woman capable of handling any situation, but now she wasn’t so sure. What would have happened if the innkeeper hadn’t come to her assistance? Harry’s age and feeble stature were no match for the two men. “I’m not certain what I would have—”
“My lady, it’s over.” Fenton smiled briefly and turned his attention to Harry.
An easy conversation ebbed and flowed among the three of them. She and Harry erased their gnawing hunger with fresh oysters, haddock, and a delicious potato stew. They devoured the freshly baked bread with homemade jam and butter. The meal ended with hot tea for her and another round of ale for the gentleman.
“Sir, I need to make arrangements for our return.” Harry stood and crushed his well-worn cap between his fingers. “I’d be most grateful if you’d stay with Lady Emma until I finish.”
“My pleasure. She’ll be perfectly safe.” Mr. Fenton nodded as if giving a solemn oath.
The promise was all Harry needed. Quickly, he exited the taproom and left the two of them to finish their conversation.
“The booksellers Mr. and Mrs. Parker are expecting you tomorrow. I have a serving girl, Bess, who is more than happy to act as your lady’s maid. She’s not fancy, but an honest hardworking girl who’ll look after you.”
“Thank you.” A gentle breeze blew through the window’s cracked opening. Emma glanced around the room and inhaled the combination of salt and sea. Lena had described the smell to her millions of times, but Emma never understood the power of it until now. There was a magical quality in Portsmouth almost as if Lena was there—greeting her.
“My lady, if you’ll excuse me for a moment?” The innkeeper stood in response to his wife’s appearance in the public dining area. “The missus must have need of me.”
“Certainly, sir.”
With a nod, Mr. Fenton strode across the room to his wife.
Her disquiet from the earlier confrontation with the two ruffians abated. Like a complicated dance, the servers wove their way through the crowd with trays of food and returned with empty platters. Emma let her attention drift back to the window as the conversations around her melted into a pleasant hum.
“May I join you, Lady Emma?” A familiar masculine tenor swept across the table and stole her newly acquired ease.
Without a glance at the speaker, she gripped the edge of her chair. Other
wise, she wouldn’t stay upright. Every instinct told her to duck for cover.
Without waiting for permission, Keith Mahon, the Earl of Aulton, slid his frame in the chair opposite her. He wasn’t as large as Nick or her brothers, but he towered over her. Emma forced herself to meet his gaze. It was difficult to tell what was darker, his black hair or his midnight-blue eyes. Both reminded her of a murky loch on a Scottish moor.
Aulton surveyed the room as if he were the king and the inn’s customers his loyal subjects. “In this very room, I shared a marvelous meal with my countess shortly after we married. She was always partial to the Ruby Crown’s oyster stew. Did you find the food to your liking, my lady?”
“My lord.” Her voice quavered slightly. “What a surprise to find you here.”
“Really?” he asked. The upward curl of his mouth, more like a sneer, destroyed his serene expression. “Your room is where we spent our wedding night. I do miss my wife.” He sighed as if to convince her he was still mourning.
Emma discreetly glanced toward the door in hopes Mr. Fenton or Harry had entered the room.
“Imagine my surprise when I learned you were visiting Mr. Goodwin. I assigned one of my footmen to follow you. Hiding the carriage at the smithy was clever, but not clever enough.” Aulton leaned across the table as if sharing a secret with her. Entranced with the pine tabletop, he traced a crack in the wood with his forefinger. “My lady, your business in Portsmouth?”
“Is no concern of yours, my lord.” By then, Emma’s heart rate had slowed down to a gallop. She leaned back in her chair hoping to appear unconcerned.
One of the serving girls stood watching their conversation. She whispered something to the man collecting the dirty dishes, then walked out of the room.
Aulton cocked a half grin, though they both knew he wasn’t amused. “Perhaps you might have business with Mary Butler, my late countess’s maid? If so, I should inform you the girl isn’t in Portsmouth anymore. She’s run off to God knows where with some sailor.”
“Politeness requires I thank you for your assistance.” However, the reality she’d ever say thank you to this animal was nil. She’d never suspected that such dark depravity could exist in a man, so dangerously hidden, yet so easily exposed when threatened.
“Well, my lady, I’ll not interrupt any more of your evening.” Without warning, he reached across the table and took one of her hands.
She tried to pull away from him, but his grip tightened.
“After Mary Butler left my house, I discovered most of my late wife’s personal effects missing, letters and jewelry to be precise.” His hand slid across hers until he held her wrist. “I’d hate if you were involved in the theft.”
His fingers tightened, crushing her skin against bone. The pain became acute when he found a sensitive area, causing her to wince.
“What are you implying?” she whispered as she twisted her wrist in an effort to escape the pain. Aulton released her hand, but her bones throbbed in response to his grip.
“Nothing really,” he drawled. “It’d be a shame if your good name was sullied any more than it already is.”
“Are you threatening me? My father is not the type of man who allows threats to his family without a sharp reprisal,” she challenged.
Aulton stood. “Consider it constructive advice”—he tilted his head as if giving the matter great thought—“or perhaps personal instruction. If you’re not inclined, then perhaps my employees, Murray or Jasper, possess better persuasion skills than me. I bid you good night, Lady Emma.”
He delivered a mocking bow and tipped his hat. He strolled toward the exit as if threatening a person with bodily harm was of no concern and a part of his everyday routine.
Before Aulton reached the door, her body instinctively released the tight coil of tension in her chest. She started to shake involuntarily from the shock of the encounter. Through her glove, the skin around her wrist had started to swell.
“My lady, Bess fetched me with word that another customer was frightening you?” Mr. Fenton’s eyes were pinched with worry.
“A man thought he’d made my acquaintance, but was mistaken. I’m perfectly fine.” Of course, she didn’t dwell on the fact that Aulton did indeed know her but had underestimated her dedication to having him brought to justice. Composing her appearance, Emma rose from the table. “I’ll retire now, Mr. Fenton. It’s been an exhausting day. I have business at the bookstore first thing in the morning.”
“Bess will accompany you upstairs,” Fenton answered.
She agreed with a stoic nod. The more the merrier in her opinion. Such a dark evening would be best put behind her. She could concentrate on her day tomorrow.
Bess stood next to the table with a glass of brandy in her hand. The smoke-scented fumes invaded Emma’s nose. “My lady, I thought you might need this. Was there anything else I can get you?”
The idea of a pistol, knife, or sword plus a broadax came to mind.
Chapter Nine
Within minutes of his arrival at the inn, Nick discovered Emma’s suite. He’d tread lightly since she would resist his efforts if her tenacity with her brother, William, was any indication of her likely response.
At the top of the staircase, two men, clearly inebriated, stood directly outside Emma’s room. One held several strips of cloth and a soiled rag.
“Murray, while I gag her, you tie her hands. Together, we’ll wrap her up like a Christmas goose.”
“I’m … I’m not so sure, Jasper. Where would we take her? I’m not risking the innkeeper’s wrath again.” A loud hiccup echoed down the hallway. “He’s not the sort to go along with this.”
“Neither am I.” Both men turned at Nick’s harsh warning. “Back away from that door.”
Jasper dropped the cloths and held his hands in front of him. “Easy, my friend, no harm done.”
Murray assumed the same position. “We must be at the wrong door.”
Slowly, they inched their way from the door and slid along the wall like snakes.
Once they reached Nick’s side, Jasper slurred an apology. “Honest mistake, sir.”
Nick blocked their exit. He checked the men’s hands for any weapons, then took a step forward. Murray quickly moved behind Jasper. Nick stared until both men dropped their gazes.
“One more thing.” He didn’t hide the venom in his voice. “Just so we’re clear, if I ever see you near her again, or if you spare her a glance, I’ll kill you without question.”
Both nodded without raising their heads. Nick stepped aside and let them pass. He waited until their steps melted into the boisterous calls and jeers from below. After a quick knock, Nick waited outside her door. When a slow shuffle approached from the other side, he called out, “It’s Somerton.”
The door creaked opened.
“My lord, is it you?” Not waiting for an answer, Harry continued, “Thank the merciful heavens. Come in quick, sir!”
Nick swept through the threshold and inspected the room. A quick survey indicated a clean sitting room with a cot in the corner and a door on the opposite wall. “Where’s Lady Emma? Is she all right?”
The old man shook his head back and forth.
Nick battled the weariness that had seeped into his bones from the daylong pounding ride. His only concern was Emma. “Harry, answer now.”
“I’m sorry, my lord. It’s been a long night. She made me promise to stay with her.” He leaned forward as if divulging a great secret. “The lass is afraid of staying by herself. She’s in there. Every once in a while, I hear the floor creak as if she’s pacing. I’ve knocked on the door to see if she’s all right, but she won’t let me in. Two men frightened her at dinner this evening.”
“There were two men outside her door just now.” Nick shot a glance at the door. His fury returned with a vengeance as he considered what those two animals wanted with her. He exhaled. Whatever it took, he’d protect her.
Harry gasped. “I didn’t hear them. What if they’
d—”
“Go and make arrangements for my horse, if you wouldn’t mind.” The last thing he needed was to console a panicked coachman. “I’ll keep her safe. We’ll leave at first light.”
Harry shook his head. “With all due respect, that’s not likely, my lord. Lady Emma is adamant about staying for a few days. You see—”
Nick didn’t wait for the explanation. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”
Harry nodded, then with a sprint that belied his age, left to attend his duties.
Nick made quick work of crossing to Emma’s door. With a soft knock, he entered without an invitation. Decorum be damned. He needed to see her for his own assurance.
Light flooded the room from a dozen candles; each flickered in warning. Emma sat in the middle of the bed with a vacant look in her eyes that made her appear wild and feral. Her hair had cascaded down her waist into waves of soft honey-blond curls giving her a wanton appearance—if not for the cocked blunderbuss pistol aimed at him.
This was an Emma he’d never seen before and hoped never to see again. She was frightened beyond all reason. Her hands started to wobble as if the weight of the weapon was stealing all her strength.
“You throwing the apples at my head is one thing”—he gestured toward the pistol—“but that is completely unacceptable.”
Her lips trembled as her eyes widened.
“Where did you get that?” He spoke slowly in a quiet and measured tone, much like the one he used to calm his horse when startled by an unexpected event.
It took about three seconds after he spoke for Emma to recognize him. She heaved a sigh, then lowered the weapon. Her hands fluttered to cover her face. When her shoulders began to shake, Nick closed the distance between them in two strides and then slowly removed the weapon from her hand. After setting it on the side table, he joined her on the mattress. She turned and scooted for the other edge.
“Emma.” He pulled her into his arms. The warmth of her body was a balm to his weariness. She nuzzled as close as humanly possible with her hands trapped against his chest. His hands caressed the length of her back in a soft and sure rhythm as her silent sobs escaped in great gulps. Was this the proper protocol to deal with a crying woman? “You’re safe. Look at me.”
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