by Lyn Stone
She sipped the tea, closed her eyes and wished him away. “Then let’s not.”
“We must,” he insisted, but gently, not in that commanding tone she hated to hear. “You should understand, Emily, that I plan for us to live here in London for several months out of the year. Whenever the House of Lords sits, I intend to be present. Not this session, for I’ve missed the beginning, but the next for certain. When we are in town, we shall be expected to attend social functions. I’m told as many matters of government are settled socially as there are officially.”
“You could leave me at Bournesea,” she suggested.
He cocked his head to signify doubt. “I believe I tried that this time, and with little success.”
Emily ignored his sarcasm, giving Nick one more opening to be honest with her. “Having me for a wife could make things difficult for you here. Perhaps you would have done better to honor your commitment to Dierdre Worthing, after all.”
The smile on his face froze even as it left his eyes completely. “I was never committed to her in any way, Em. I told you as much.”
“So you did.” With her eyes and her heart, she willed Nick to tell her the truth, to admit that he had pretended love for her while officially bound to another woman. If only he would beg her pardon and be honest with her, give her some reason she could accept for all his lies, they might begin again, this time on the right footing.
“I only came up to invite you downstairs this evening,” he said, adroitly dismissing the subject before Emily could declare that she knew for a fact he was lying to her. Not that she planned to. She wanted the admission to come from him.
He quickly continued, his mood growing lighter by the word. “My old friend, Viscount Duquesne has agreed to come for dinner. Will you be recovered from your fitting by nine, do you think? He really wishes to meet you again.”
“Again?” she asked, searching her memory for someone of that name.
“I don’t think you actually met, but he does remember you as a child. Guy used to accompany me on school holidays to Bournesea now and again. Big blond fellow, charming, laughs a lot? I believe he attended church with me on occasion.”
Emily remembered then. She’d felt jealous of the boy who had claimed so much of Nick’s time when he was there, and then had rebuked herself for begrudging Nick another friend. “Would you please give him my regrets?”
“Come now, Em,” Nicholas cajoled. “Guy is my best friend and would like to wish us well together. You will enjoy his company, I promise. He would love to meet you.”
At that moment Emily saw the young Nick in his smile, the lad who had captured her heart. This meeting mattered to him, she could see. Further denial rose to her lips, but instead she heard herself saying, “Nine o’clock? Very well.”
“Wonderful.” His smile widened as he reached out and caressed her shoulder by way of thanks. A slow heat permeated her body as he did so, warning her that she was perilously close to wanting more from him. Rather, she was close to admitting that she wanted more. Aloud. The memory of the kisses in the carriage that had led to more invaded her mind and would not go away.
“I’m so glad you will be joining us.” Fortunately he put a bit of distance between them just then and prepared to leave her. “Meanwhile, have a good rest. Guy and I have several matters to discuss anyway, so you needn’t rush. We will await you in the library at nine or thereabout.”
Emily granted him a weak smile and a nod. She did not feel up to entertaining anyone, but she would not shirk the duty. Nick had asked her nicely to do this, and she could not deny that his eagerness to introduce her to a good friend of his was flattering. At least that indicated he was not ashamed of her.
His continued dishonesty about his early engagement to Dierdre bothered Emily more than anything. She supposed she would have to own up to going through his leather case at the inn and finding the document, squarely catching him in the untruth. She knew it would anger him. It would anger her even more to have to introduce the proof, but the air needed to be cleared before they could go on.
She knew he did not love Dierdre Worthing and never had, but it signified a truly dark mark upon Nick’s character that he would play both Dierdre and herself false by the same deed and then deny any wrongdoing.
Oh, well, tomorrow would be soon enough to address that. It wasn’t as if there was any rush about it.
In addition, Emily didn’t much care for Nick’s high-handed way with the matter of her wardrobe. He meant well, she knew. It was only that his demand of final say in what she wore made her feel even more inadequate. Though she resented his apparent need to approve her choice of clothing, Emily did grant that his doing so did allay some of her worry.
She must allow that she had never paid much attention to current fashions. There had been little need for that, living immured in a small coastal village all her life. She ought to thank Nick graciously, both for the assurance and the spending, but knew she would not.
Pride again, she thought, heaving a huge sigh. Sometimes it served her well, but usually not. Tonight, she decided, it definitely would.
She meant to put on her best face and one of her new gowns and show Nicholas she was quite capable of entertaining. Emily set aside the tea tray, leaned back upon the pillows and closed her eyes.
Her headache was gone when she awoke several hours later and began to prepare for the evening.
Rosie chattered excitedly as she brushed Emily’s hair to a high gloss. Working with studied confidence, Rosie parted it in the middle, then coiled most of it around Emily’s head in a smooth coronet. Three long, wavy lengths of it were tortured with tongs into proper curls that trailed down the left side of Emily’s neck. A single silk rose the exact color of her gown completed the coiffure.
“Voilá!” Rosie announced, standing away, her arms outstretched in presentation.
Emily laughed. “You do a fine impression of someone pretending to be French! I do wonder who inspired you. Madame, perhaps?”
Rosie giggled. “You look a picture, Lady Em. Stand up and see in the long mirror.”
In truth, Rosie had done rather well by her, Emily decided. The low neckline of the rose silk revealed a bit more than she would have liked, but Madame had assured her this gown was quite modest by today’s standards. Apparently the tops of women’s breasts were always exposed so in the upper circles of society, at least they were during the evening hours.
“Well no one’s ever seen these before,” she remarked to Rosie as she tried to tug the bodice up an inch or so. The snug fit prevented it and she gave up with a grimace. “I wonder what they’ll think.”
“Nice bubbies is what,” Rosie declared, arms folded across her own generous bosom. “Not so big, but shaped right perfect for all that they’s small.”
Emily found that quite funny. Never in her life had she discussed body parts with anyone, but Rosie seemed not in the least to shy from it. “What of the waist? I can barely breathe.”
“Wasplike,” Rosie assured her. “That’s all the rage, Madame says. Looks good, but I wouldn’t eat much if I was you.”
“Thank you, Rosie,” Emily said as she took up her fan and flipped it open, turning side to side in a final gauging of her overall appearance. “I suppose I’ll do.” She bit her lips to redden them a bit. “Won’t I?”
“That and then some, you’ll see.”
A glance at the mantelclock assured Emily she had made the transformation in good time. Ten minutes early, in fact. Wouldn’t Nick be surprised?
With a lilt in her step, Emily waved her fan at Rosie and went down to greet Nick and his friend.
She heard voices in the library. What if they had not finished their business, or reminiscing, or whatever? She halted just outside the doorway to judge whether or not she should enter yet.
Nick was speaking. “I didn’t think it necessary to warn Emily.”
“Well, I suppose you know best how she would react to threats,” came the dulcet tones of t
he other man.
Her husband chuckled mirthlessly as glass clinked against glass. “Well, Emily’s not your usual nervous Nell. My guess is she would lean more toward outrage than fear.”
A long sigh. “If she did know, she’d probably want to stay as far away from you as she could get.”
“I doubt it,” Nick replied. “Nothing seems to scare her.”
They were talking about her, for goodness’ sake, Emily thought with a frisson of apprehension. Fear of what? Of Nicholas? That was absurd. He would never harm her or allow anyone else to do so.
She tapped her lips with her fan. Of course, she had, ever so briefly, wondered if he’d had anything to do with the wreck of the carriage. Then she had dismissed that as a ridiculous notion borne of shock and fear. If Nick had wanted her out of the way permanently, he would not have gone to the trouble to save her that day. He had put himself in great danger to do so, too.
Did she dare march in there and ask what this was all about? That certainly was her first inclination, but she restrained herself. What she had overheard sounded rather ominous and might be better discussed later when they were alone.
“Well, let’s adjourn to another subject before she arrives,” Nick suggested. “We’ll meet tomorrow and decide what must be done next. Patterson’s coffeehouse?”
“That’ll do,” the man answered. “Say, one o’clock?”
Emily backed against the wall, fanning herself rapidly, feeling a bit faint. And it wasn’t the blasted corset, she decided. What in the world could they be talking about? If she demanded to know now, she would have to admit she’d been eavesdropping. Nick would never forgive her for making such an admission before a friend of his. No, better that she wait until the viscount left.
The huge clock in the foyer chimed the hour, reminding her that she was due in the library. Nick might come looking for her and find her standing outside the door with no legitimate reason for lurking there.
She drew in a deep breath, threw back her shoulders, lifted her chin and went in to join their company.
“There you are.” Nick greeted her with a wide, appreciative smile that quickly faltered once he got a good look at her. Was her hair wrong? Had she dressed too formally for a simple dinner with one guest? His barely concealed disapproval cut her to the quick. And stirred her anger.
“Duquesne, my wife, Emily. Emily, do you remember Guy? He was an occasional visitor at Bournesea when you were just a child.”
“My lord,” she acknowledged with a curtsy, and held out her hand.
He took it, bowed over it and brushed it with his lips. “Countess, it is an honor to renew our almost acquaintance.”
“Indeed,” she replied, marking the deviltry in the gray-blue eyes that seemed to miss nothing. Not her sudden bout of nerves, nor her worry over her appearance, nor the newness of her attire, for he was perusing that with avid and unconcealed interest.
So was Nick. But his gaze had locked on her bosom. He actually stepped between her and the viscount, ostensibly to block the other man’s view. “Could I pour you a sherry?”
“No, thank you,” she replied stiffly. “You know I am not overly fond of spirits.” She glared pointedly at the glass he held in his hand.
“Ah, yes,” Lord Guy interjected. “Drink does alter the wits, Nick, and before ours go begging completely, one of us should express our great pleasure at the company of one who is so ravishing. Do allow me,” he said, stepping around Nick and executing another short bow. “May I say, you look exquisite, countess?”
“You may,” she replied curtly, her eyes never leaving Nick’s as she spoke to the viscount. “And I thank you for the compliment, my lord.”
“That gown is most…becoming,” Nick said in a voice that in no way supported his words, leaving no doubt as to the reason for his displeasure.
She wanted to shout that the dressmaker had been his own confounded idea. Left to her own devices, Emily would have worn one of Lady Elizabeth’s dresses, all of which were much more demure. Instead, she offered him a quelling look that dared him to say anything further. He turned away and downed the remainder of his drink in one swallow.
Emily decided to ignore him. He had probably imbibed a bit too much of that sherry and it had made him surly. She must remember to water the stuff down tomorrow to prevent this happening again.
“Please, be seated,” she invited, gesturing toward the chairs with her fan. She popped it open as she took her own seat and positioned the fan so that it obstructed the view of her chest. “My husband tells me you have been friends for years,” Emily said to their guest, politely initiating a safer topic of conversation.
“True enough,” Lord Guy replied. He had the most ingratiating smile and a comfortable way about him that probably set most people at ease immediately. He well might have had that effect on her had she not heard his part of their secretive conversation.
The man knew things she did not. Things that had to do with her. Did she imagine that she saw a flash of sympathy hiding behind his good humor?
He continued. “Nick says the same of you, by the way. I should think a marriage would benefit enormously when grounded in the familiarity of friendship. Be that as it may, I have come to tender my good wishes and congratulate you both. I hope you will be very happy together.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
The viscount laughed. “Please, call me Guy or Duquesne, if you like. Nick always has, unless he thinks of a more fitting sobriquet. Those are usually not repeatable in mixed company, however. He is a scoundrel, this husband of yours, but I’m certain you’ve noted that already.”
“Ah, an insult!” Nick accused with a grin, seeming to make an effort to regain good humor. “Pistols at dawn to assuage my honor. I insist.” His words were laconic as he poured himself yet another brandy.
Guy leaned toward her, his voice low. “The dolt is ever encouraging me to duel. One of these days I shall take him up on it and make you a merry widow.”
Emily looked from one to the other, uncertain how to interpret their banter. It was merely banter, she knew, but was not sure whether she was expected to join in or to ignore it. She decided to join and lowered her own voice to a stage whisper. “Is he any good with a pistol? Perhaps you should choose swords. We used to fight with cane shoots and I beat him every time.”
Delighted, Guy threw back his head and roared, slapping one knee. “Good show, Nicky, I think you’ve picked a winner here! Should have known you would never choose some ruffle-headed peahen for a wife.”
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” Emily said, adding her sauciest smile. She touched the silk rose in her hair. “I am certainly glad I disdained ruffles this evening.”
Nick looked exasperated. “I could find a place to put some ruffles, if you had them with you.”
Mortified that he would dare refer to her décolletage before another person, Emily felt her face heat and her temper rise anew. She lowered the fan and turned to Lord Guy. “He must cling to the image of me as I was as twelve, sitting in a pew and covered neck to toe in white dimity.”
“No, you’ve quite dashed that image altogether,” Nick declared, glaring at her exposed skin.
Emily rounded on him then, fairly shaking with fury.
“I am what you have made of me, sir, like it or not!” She rose quickly from her seat and gave him her back. Then she whipped her skirts around and added, “Since you quite obviously do not like it, you can jolly well do without it!”
She marched swiftly to the door and almost broke into a run. Fortunately she recalled her manners and turned with a forced smile in place for their guest, “I bid you good evening, Duquesne.”
Dead silence reigned behind her as she stalked up the stairs.
To put it mildly, her first social occasion in London had not gone well, she thought with a grimace of disgust. Nick had ruined it for her and she had compounded his error by snapping back.
Embarrassed beyond help, she rushed to her room and locked th
e door behind her. There would be repercussions, she was certain. She recalled the look on Nick’s face as she’d left. He would come to her after Duquesne went home and demand an apology. Maybe she should fear him, after all, as the viscount had suggested she should.
“I am definitely at a loss here,” she murmured to herself. A draft from the chimney…or somewhere…cooled her heated cheeks like a soothing balm. She wiped the tears from her face and sniffed. Frantically, she rubbed her ring. A bit of her confidence crept back.
“Foolish girl!” she muttered angrily as her eye caught her reflection in the mirror across the room. “Flaunting your chest does not make you a woman, you know. A real woman would demand an apology from him for criticizing her in company!”
The mysterious little draft billowed the silken hem of her skirt. Emily took that as a sign she should move events along, rather than simply standing still and waiting for things to happen to her.
She marched over and tugged the bellpull that would bring Rosie to assist her. If she planned to confront her husband after his guest departed the house, then she should meet him in something other than this immodest monstrosity he had bought for her and then publicly disdained. Her old blue merino would do just fine.
She pulled it out of the back of the armoire and gave it a hasty smoothing with the flat of her hand. He wanted the vicar’s daughter instead of a proper countess? Well, he should be careful what he wished for.
All of this kowtowing and efforts to please she’d been engaged in since her marriage were wearing exceedingly thin. It was time his lordship met the real Emily Loveyne, the woman she had become during his absence of seven years.
No, she would not allow him to evade her tonight and pretend in the morning that nothing untoward had happened. She would await him in his own chamber and not stir a foot out of it to let him sleep until he begged her pardon for his snide remarks.
When Upton appeared a few moments after Emily left and announced that dinner was served, Nick ordered a tray sent up to her. He knew very well she wouldn’t show her face again tonight.