“Oh, Sebastian…” Her mother lost the fight to hold back her tears, but a hint of humor lit her eyes. “What a day that was.”
The worry wore itself on her parents’ faces. Dark circles had appeared under her father’s eyes, and the misery lined her mother’s beautiful face.
“Come here, Ginny.” Her father drew her mother in his arms. A single tear fell on the side of her mother’s cheek, and he kissed it away. “It took all day, but we found you. Titan had thrown you into a stand of bramble bushes.” He chuckled. “You somehow tangled yourself into such a state you couldn’t move. Scratched, angry, and hissing like a kitten when I found you. Remember?”
Emma nodded. She wanted to prove she could ride with her brothers during the annual autumn hunt. That was the reason her father called her “Puss.” She bit her lip and waited. There was more to the story, and she was sure she’d hear it all.
“Your mother and I aged about five years that day. We aged ten years after that Bentham book episode.” He studied Emma with an intense look. “Child’s play compared to this.”
“I’m sorry I’ve caused you such distress.” The ever-present tears burned her eyes. She blinked rapidly in an attempt to keep them at bay. She’d always considered herself the type of woman not to cry, but Portsmouth had made her doubt quite a bit about herself.
Her father examined her. His blue eyes were clear, but much darker than Nick’s.
What had happened to her? Every thought circled round to Nick.
“Your mother and I strictly forbade you from interfering in Lord Sykeston’s business.” He sighed and pulled her mother tighter into his embrace. “You were extremely lucky Somerton found you. Why didn’t you come home the next day?”
Emma fidgeted with the coverlet. “Before Lord Somerton awoke and made plans for our return, I left with Harry Johnson and a servant from the inn to visit Mary Butler, Lena’s maid. I asked her to come work for me, but she refused.”
Her father shook his head. “Emma—”
“Sebastian, let’s discuss this later. Emma needs to rest.” Her mother’s attention and tender smile made Emma’s heart ache.
Her parents rose from the bed, and her mother kissed her forehead. “I’m so relieved you’re home, sweetheart.”
“Downstairs, Somerton asked me for your hand.” Her father’s tone was matter-of-fact without any real emotion. “Your mother and I will discuss it.”
Inside her chest, the familiar flutter took flight at the mention of Nick. “Is it still my choice?”
“You’re tired.” Her father leaned over and kissed her good night just like he’d done for years. “Rest.”
The hint of his evening beard brushed her cheek. For a moment, his warmth and the familiar smell of sandalwood reminded her of how he’d tuck her into bed when she was a child.
Her recent comfort fled. Nick’s offer could change everything between them. But he only asked because he was a gentleman. She could count Claire and Daphne as her best friends, but the rapport she shared with Nick was profound in a different way. She’d experienced so much with him over the last couple of days. If she lost his friendship, she’d never recapture those feelings with any other man.
The door closed, and she fell back onto her pillows. She’d risked everything she’d been brought up to hold dear—her duty to obey her parents, her family’s good opinion, and her place in society. Everything rested on the edge of a precipice because of her actions.
Yet she’d do it all over again if it’d bring Aulton to justice. Whatever the outcome of Portsmouth, she deserved it. But her family shouldn’t suffer any censure or hint of scandal. If her father took a stand and made her marry, she’d be devastated.
The last glow of the sunset disappeared from the window. Night had fallen, and the warmth of the day was just a remembrance as her thoughts strayed to Nick. For the most part, he treated her as an equal. But marriage went against everything she learned from her experiences. Society saw women as commodities, and men, even ones as honorable as her brothers and Somerton, tried to control women. She swallowed at the thought of Lena’s horrible existence in marriage. All of it led to one conclusion—a woman would surrender everything if she married the wrong man.
Worry wove itself through every thought and rattled any hope for peace. For a brief moment, the confession she’d shared with Nick had diminished the sense of loss and guilt she suffered over Lena’s death. But like an unrelenting nag or a bad penny, it returned as the new day dawned over Portsmouth.
What did the proper and honorable Lord Somerton think of her integrity now? Pity? Horror? Did either make a difference? Why did he ask her to marry him?
Emma hugged a pillow and closed her eyes.
How could she have him and refuse his proposal?
Chapter Sixteen
Lovely visions of Emma cavorted and frolicked in Nick’s mind and body without any relief. He’d seen her two days ago, and sleep had been elusive ever since. He paced the length of his study and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Langham hadn’t made a decision as to Nick’s offer, or if he had, he’d deemed Nick unworthy of a response.
After an endless dance with insomnia, he’d spent last night at his desk, back to work on the inventoried cargo of the last two months. It was the only thing that had tamed his thoughts of Emma.
By dawn, his mind had cleared to the extent he had a sense of how to proceed. He’d call on her and again ask for her hand. If she declined, he would put it to rest, no matter the disappointment. His business was too important to ignore and needed his full attention.
Only one thought calmed some of his unease. If his ships’ profits continued their steady climb, he would have doubled his money in two years. Nick planned to open up offices on the busy Thames harbor with the Somerton crest displayed prominently. He hoped his father cringed that his heir pursued a career in trade instead of begging forgiveness and learning to manage the Renton duchy. If it fell into a heap from neglect, Nick wouldn’t waste a second look.
However, even his business couldn’t keep him distracted for long. He took refuge behind his desk and sat. Only one thing could explain his ennui.
Emma.
God, he wished she’d marry someone—anyone—tomorrow and put him out of his misery. He’d have no other alternative except to move on. He rued the days since he followed her to Portsmouth.
The butler interrupted his reverie. “Lord Paul Barstowe to see you on a matter he says is of extreme importance.”
Nick stilled, and the familiar nip of rage stole his attention from Her Folly’s manifests. “Hamm, tell him I’m not receiving.”
“Somerton, I could see you from the window outside.” Lord Paul swept inside the study with the force of a blizzard. “I promise not to take up much of your precious time.”
Society had ostracized other men for far less, but Lord Paul was the prodigal son. The second son of the Duke of Southart was most likely to inherit his father’s title as his older brother’s health was in rapid decline. He and Nick were similar in build and coloring but that’s where their resemblances ended. Lord Paul’s talent for scandal and outlandish behavior proved valuable entertainment for the ton. Every time Nick thought of him, an overwhelming longing to pound a hole in the wall threatened.
Nick leaned back in his chair as Paul unbuttoned his coat and chose a chair in front of the fire. “It’s damned cold this morning. However, I wanted to see if you’d be interested in a ride? I’ve got a beautiful bay mare outside with the prettiest star on her—”
“Why are you here?” Nick wasted no time on pleasantries.
Paul took his gloves off one finger at a time before he offered an answer. Every nuanced movement coming from the uninvited guest was deliberate. His stern countenance made Nick even more wary than before.
“You should be pleasant. I come with the best intentions.”
“Is this about money?” Nick rubbed his face with his hands.
“You’re like a bad
ger. One sniff, and you charge out of your hole ready to attack.” He examined his well-manicured fingernails. “Yes, this is about money.”
Another unopened letter from his father distracted him, but he dismissed the offending missive from his attention. It was as if Renton and Paul had planned to aggravate him in tandem. “You need to leave. My time is valuable. Make an appointment—”
“Your solicitor received a banknote today for five hundred pounds.” Paul cleared his throat. “The amount covers the two hundred you paid for my debt at university. At four percent interest compounded semiannually, it equals roughly four hundred pounds. The extra is for your aggravation. I should have given it to you years ago, but I let it fester. I apologize.”
“Why are you making amends now?” The man could have made scheduled payments, gotten the money from his father, or spent some of the inheritance he received from his mother long before this.
“Simple. I’m finally taking responsibility for my life.” He dipped his chin to his chest and studied the floor. “The physicians don’t believe my brother will last through January. I’ll not see his final days clouded with worry over me.”
“I’d heard he’d taken a turn for the worse,” Nick said. “If there’s anything I can offer or do on his behalf—”
Paul shook his head. “That’s very kind, but there’s no need. He has the best doctors in all of England.”
If Nick had paid a fortuneteller and they’d predicted this conversation, he’d have demanded his money returned. Never in his life had he considered Lord Paul the type of man to make amends for his misdeeds.
“I’ll forward your payment immediately to Renton.” With any luck, the old man would likely suffer a paroxysm of shock and stay in bed for a week after receiving the restitution.
Paul walked to the window and stared outside for a moment. “I’ll be honest. I have no idea how to mend the rest of the damage I caused. Your break with Renton is because of me. Tell me what you’d have me do or say, and it’ll be my first priority tomorrow.”
For the millionth time since his father drove away, Nick considered if there was anything that could repair the damage. He always reached the same conclusion. There was nothing to be done. He coughed in a feeble attempt to clear the thickness that threatened to consume him. “This is more than enough for reparation.”
Paul’s face hardened much like a piece of granite. The gleam in his blue eyes resembled ice. “I have another matter to discuss.”
Nick snickered. No doubt, Paul had come for help with money. “If it’s a request to invest with me, you’ll have to have at least twenty thousand.”
“No, thank you.” Paul took a deep breath and smiled. “It’s about Lady Emma.”
A ringing exploded in Nick’s head, and he sat at the desk. “Why discuss her with me?”
“I wanted to ask your intentions. I always thought you and Lady Daphne would marry, but lately, it appears you’re quite taken with Lady Emma.” Devoid of any expression, Paul waited.
“It’s true I attended Lady Emory’s ball and danced with her.” How to explain their relationship without betraying Emma was harder than he anticipated. “I’m not certain how you’ve come to that conclusion.”
“I was at my club yesterday. Aulton was there.” Paul drummed his fingers on the table as if debating something. He leaned back in the chair and regarded Nick. “He spread the tale”—he leaned forward, his piercing gaze focused—“you were in Portsmouth together. If you’re pursuing her, I’ll consider stepping aside. Otherwise, I’m going to visit the Duke of Langham and offer marriage.”
Lord Paul’s declaration hit him like a punch to the gut. That he’d approach Langham after he publicly broke his engagement to Claire and humiliated her was bold and foolhardy. Thankfully, Pembrooke had saved her that night. But Emma? His Emma? The man had a death wish. Over his dead body would he allow that to happen.
“Close your mouth, Somerton. Shock does nothing for your looks. I understand completely. The truth of her beauty and kindness is undeniable. Simply put, she’s delectable.” He relaxed in his chair with an irritating half grin. “Her plump lips are red like summer raspberries. Have you ever noticed her bottom lip always looks like a bee stung it? Don’t get me started on that beauty spot.”
Nick stood with such force he knocked the chair over. “Don’t say another word.”
“Just as I thought.” Lord Paul carefully examined Nick. “You care for her. Fair warning. As the de facto heir to the Duke of Southart, my suit will be considered especially since I was once engaged to Lady Pembrooke before Pembrooke stole her from me.”
Nick moved around the desk, and his mind filled with images of pushing the miscreant out the window. At the least, he would tie Lord Paul with ropes and ship him to some far distant port of call. “After what you did to Claire? The duke won’t give you the time of day.”
“You mean what Pembrooke did to Claire. We shall see,” Paul answered with his typical swagger and stood. “But that’s neither here nor there.” A sly smile slid across his face. “Emma’s extraordinary. I hope I never have to extend my congratulations on your nuptials.” Paul’s low chuckle rumbled like thunder. He straightened his cravat and waistcoat and moved as if he wanted to address Nick again, but hesitated. With a refined gait, he walked to the door, then turned around. “Emma should be married quickly to keep the damage to her reputation to a minimum.”
Nick nodded in acknowledgment. “Good day.”
Lord Paul closed the door and walked back to the desk. “I can’t leave without you knowing all of it. Aulton says you’re lovers. He saw you enter her room and not leave. He’s commissioned several caricatures for posting all over town. For her sake, don’t dally.”
Nick waited until the man rode down the street, then pounded his fist against the desk. Bloody hell.
“Hamm, have my horse saddled!” His bellow ricocheted around like the opening break of a billiards game.
How was he going to convince her to marry him?
* * *
Nick waited for over five hours. There was little doubt the Duke of Langham thought to punish him by making him wait for an audience. Astute, the duke knew such inactivity would drive Nick mad. He hadn’t thought to bring any work, so he waited, then waited some more.
Finally, Langham issued the summons. Nick squared his shoulders on the way to the duke’s study. His sense of dread multiplied much like field rabbits in the early spring. With the duke’s legendary anger, there was little doubt tonight would be one of the longest in his life. It made little difference. He’d protect Emma.
Two somber liveried footmen stood outside the study. Without looking in his direction, they opened the massive double doors simultaneously as he approached. He stepped into a circular atrium to find Pitts waiting there. Another set of floor-to-ceiling double doors led into the inner sanctum of the study.
“My lord, I’ll announce you now.” Pitts briskly nodded, and Nick followed him into the room. “Your Grace, the Earl of Somerton.”
For a butler who loved to boom announcements and roll his Rs, Pitts kept his uncharacteristically muted.
An ominous sign.
The Duke of Langham stood in front of a great bowed window that faced a trio of fountains at the entrance to Langham Park.
“Pitts, you may leave.” The duke addressed the window, but the reflection of his countenance confirmed the anger in his face. “Somerton, come in.”
“Your Grace.” Nick bowed in greeting.
Langham turned to face him and raised an eyebrow as if trying to decide what manner of a man stood before him.
“Thank you for seeing me. Let me begin by apologizing for any distress I’ve caused. I presume you’ve heard the rumors. I’m here to ask for Lady Emma’s hand in marriage.” He didn’t add “again” though the word burned his tongue.
Anger pinched the duke’s face, his color high as his eyes flashed. “I should thrash you on the spot.”
“You have my deep
est apologies. I never meant to dishonor her. She’s—” He struggled with his feelings as his words evaporated. How to explain that she made the air he breathed cleaner, the water he drank sweeter, or simply, that she made his dull life shine? How could he explain her magic? He released the fists he hadn’t realized he’d clenched. “I want to fix this transgression. I want to marry her.”
The duke humphed, “Transgression? That’s like describing a dike breach as a simple leak. I’ve worked all afternoon stopping those horrendous caricatures from posting tomorrow.”
“Please, Your Grace”—Nick captured Langham’s gaze—“I need to marry her.”
The duke’s anger visibly dissipated as he slowly blinked. He walked to his desk and sat down. He pushed a paper in Nick’s direction.
Without waiting for an invitation, Nick claimed one of the massive leather chairs in front of the duke’s desk and picked up the document. The simple marriage settlement could only be described as very generous. Emma’s dowry was worth fifty thousand pounds. The standard terms insured that she and their children would be provided for in case of Nick’s demise.
“There’s nothing hidden in those clauses,” the duke rumbled as he waved his hand at the parchment. “I want Emma happy and secure, and cared for, you understand?”
Nick nodded and took the quill Langham handed him and signed the settlement. Inside, the mass of ice buried in his chest melted. “I want the same for her, too, and I plan to make it my life’s mission to see that she never wants for a thing. You have my word your daughter is my first priority. I’m changing the directive of my will. If I pass before Emma, she’ll receive my entire fortune. All four hundred thousand pounds. I trust her to make the decisions for our children’s future if we’re so blessed.”
The duke crossed his arms over his chest, than raised one hand so his chin rested between the thumb and forefinger. “The duchess and I failed to help her with her grief. You’ll carry that burden. If anyone can help her, I believe it’s you.”
The Bride Who Got Lucky Page 19