“I detest it.”
She tapped her fan against her shoulder. “I won’t ask then why you came.”
“You know why, Emma.”
She lifted her gaze to his. “Is that Hermia over there staring at us?”
He drank in the sight of her, did not even bother to look around. She was buttoned up at every point of entry. Her neck, her sleeves, her bodice. Small pearl buttons that would take forever to undo but only a moment to tear from their moorings. Her prim appearance made him only want her more. “Who’s Hermia?” he asked absently.
“Lady Dalrymple. The artist.”
“Hide me from her, would you?” he said with a groan.
She laughed again, tilted her face to his with an unconscious beguilement that warmed his entire being. He lowered his head, starved for a taste of her mouth. If he’d thought for a moment that she would let him kiss her in public, he would have showered her with kisses, devoured her—
A hard fist punched him playfully on the shoulder. “By God, Wolf, it was you in the box opposite us. And here I thought you’d given up on good society.”
He turned his head. Drake Boscastle’s indigo blue eyes stared directly into his. “Haven’t you heard?” he asked in an even voice. “I’m on a course of self-improvement.”
“Really?” Drake’s smile was skeptical. “You should have come with us. My brothers and I are always glad to keep a fellow rogue company.”
And to keep him away from their sister.
It was a theme to be repeated throughout the following week.
Emma had excused herself from the box for a breath of air. The truth was that if she witnessed one more woman giggle or preen to capture Adrian’s attention, she would abandon all sense of refinement and…mutter an unsavory remark. To prevent this demeaning possibility, she escaped her brothers’ company and sought a moment by herself.
She had, of course, glimpsed Adrian from behind her fan the instant he entered the vestibule. Her first suspicion was that he was meeting a lover. His appearance here tonight had certainly stirred amorous hopes in the audience. But then she had seen the unguarded look of pleasure on his face when he had espied her in the corner.
She’d watched in disbelief as he had practically lifted Lady Dalrymple from his path to reach her, Emma. There were no other young ladies in sight.
Still, she ought not to even acknowledge him in the vestibule. But then he was standing in front of her, warm, vital, so devilishly handsome she couldn’t quite think of escape. All she could do, unfortunately, was bask for a few forbidden moments in his presence.
And when he lowered his head to hers, she’d felt her heart accelerate wildly, felt herself suspended between apprehension and hope. He wouldn’t dare kiss her in public. He couldn’t—
Her brother Drake ended her agony.
Although Emma could barely see Drake’s face, concealed by Adrian’s large frame, she realized in embarrassment that his interruption had been staged. Hamm, the footman, was standing only a few feet away. Therefore, her person was protected, which could only mean that Drake was deliberately keeping her and Adrian apart.
She fanned her face, listening to the brief exchange between the two men. “Seriously, Adrian,” Drake said, “I’d have invited you to come with us tonight if I’d known you were attending. How was the auction today?”
Lady Dalrymple chose that inopportune moment to bustle up between Drake and Adrian, inviting Adrian to join her and her escort, the Earl of Odham, for a late dinner after the performance. Emma glanced away, aware by the speculative gleam in his eye that Drake knew perfectly well how flustered she felt. But what else did he and her other brothers know? Were they merely guessing or overly perceptive?
When she dared to look around again, Lady Dalrymple was dragging Adrian by the elbow across the vestibule, and a small group of young ladies, evidently tracking his whereabouts, had contrived a dozen excuses to appear in his path. He did not spare a single one of them a glance.
“How uncouth,” she muttered.
“Who, darling?” Drake asked languidly, leaning back against the wall beside her. “Me or Adrian?”
“Those forward women over there.”
“Ah. So that’s it.”
She snapped the sticks of her fan shut. “So that is what?”
“Nothing.” His innocent shrug bespoke more than she truly wished to know. “Shall we return to our box?”
“Of course.”
“And you are all right?” he asked, offering her his arm.
“Why would you think otherwise?”
“Well, you did express a desire for a little air.”
“I’m fine now.”
He patted her hand. “That’s all I wanted to hear. And remember that I am always here if you wish to talk.”
“Talk about what?” she asked tightly, her gaze fixed straight ahead.
“Well, I don’t know.”
“The weather?”
He glanced at her. “If you like. Rain, sun…love affairs.”
She grinned inwardly. “I shall bear that in mind.”
She should be grateful for Drake’s timely intervention. Thankful that the protective arms of the Boscastle family would not only shield her from harm but from temptation. Thankful that her brothers cared enough about her to guard her like a citadel.
Yes, indeed. The Boscastles took care of their own.
Chapter Thirteen
Adrian was still plotting how to meet Emma alone the next day when he accepted an invitation to fence at Angelo’s with Dominic Breckland. Dominic was not only his closest friend, he was also married to Emma’s younger sister Chloe, which meant he might be able to serve as a neutral party as well as a potential go-between for Adrian and Emma.
Adrian thought that during some friendly sword-play he could casually drop a few hints about his position. Presumably Dominic, an intelligent man in love with a Boscastle woman himself, would offer to act as Cupid.
Unfortunately, Dominic thwarted this scheme by inviting Heath Boscastle to join them at the last minute. At any other time Adrian would not have objected to practicing with another capable partner. But Heath took a few jabs at him that might have been considered less than sporting. Adrian, who could have easily countered with equal skill, decided to allow Heath the advantage.
Even Dominic commented on Heath’s uncharacteristic aggressiveness when the three of them dropped Heath off at his town house. “I think Adrian and I should be glad to count you as our friend,” he said jokingly as the coach drew to a halt. “I was afraid for a moment that you forgot who your opponent was.”
A spell of silence fell.
Adrian merely shrugged as if the matter were of little consequence. Only a fool would quarrel with one who had treated him as well as Heath had.
Still, it had become apparent to Adrian that he would be reduced to subterfuge if he wanted a few private moments with Emma to state his intentions. He did not relish hatching any intrigue against the family who had befriended him. If he had not promised her secrecy, he’d have gone straight to her brothers and bared his soul.
Should he write her a letter? No. It could easily fall into the wrong hands and disgrace her.
Should he send a message to her to express his deepest feelings through an intermediary? His valet, perhaps? Even Adrian realized that sending a servant would offend her sensibilities. And he could not imagine Bones being able to keep a straight face in the situation.
But Heath Boscastle was an honorable man no matter what his personal suspicions about Adrian. He regarded Adrian steadily as he stepped from the coach to the sidewalk.
Somehow Heath knew that Adrian was pursuing Emma. Of course Adrian hadn’t gone about it in the most discreet manner possible. But he hadn’t revealed their secret, either.
“Perhaps you would care to come in for some refreshment, Adrian,” he said in a guarded voice. “Just to reassure Dominic that I have not lost my manners.”
Adrian was torn. He a
nd Heath both knew what had instigated Heath’s physical display at Angelo’s. The proper thing to do would be to accept Heath’s apology, to laugh it off, and go on his merry way. But to do so would be to miss an opportunity to see Emma. And, God help him, he was desperate for a glimpse of her.
“A brandy would be pleasant,” he said, meeting Heath’s scrutiny.
Heath’s face betrayed no emotion. He nodded pleasantly enough. “Dominic?”
Adrian heard his friend murmur something about a previous appointment. In truth, he was not paying attention—his thoughts had shifted forward in anticipation of seeing Emma. He knew it was unlikely that he would be allowed any unsupervised conversation with her. At this time of day she was most likely giving lessons.
“Come inside, Adrian,” Heath stood at the door his butler had just opened to admit them. “We do not want any of the ladies to see us looking so disheveled. My dear sister does love a lecture.”
Adrian realized what Heath meant by that remark as he followed him into the drawing room and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the over-mantle mirror.
He grimaced. Tousled hair, cloak askew, his muslin shirt damp. “Dear God,” he muttered. “No wonder that lavender seller almost dropped her basket when she saw me outside Angelo’s.”
Heath laughed. “You might want to unroll your cuffs. I look no better than you, I fear. In fact, I shall leave you for a moment to change my own shirt. There’s brandy in the cabinet. I’d prefer a coffee, myself. I’ll ring Hamm.”
Adrian stood in the middle of the room for several moments. He couldn’t believe that Heath had actually left him alone. Of course the clever fellow had to know that Adrian could hardly approach Emma looking as if he’d just survived a street brawl.
He stared at the closed door, slowly unrolling his cuffs, slowly losing the battle against common sense. He wondered whether he could see her without her seeing him. Just a glimpse of her. After all, she’d nursed him when he had looked worse, hadn’t she?
The door opened. Hamm, the gigantic footman who had served in the war under Heath, appeared. “May I bring you something, my lord?”
Adrian hesitated. “Coffee, please, for Lord Heath.”
“Nothing else?”
“No. Unless—unless the ladies are joining us.”
Hamm’s scraggly eyebrows lifted. “The ladies, my lord?”
“Yes.” Adrian shrugged nonchalantly. “Lord Heath’s wife. And his sister. They may wish for tea.”
“Ah.” Hamm nodded in understanding. “I believe that the ladies have gone shopping.”
“I see.” And, apparently, so did the footman. Adrian felt suddenly like the biggest bufflehead in all England. Why had he ever promised Emma he would not openly pursue her?
Hamm bowed. “I shall bring the coffee, my lord.”
Adrian pulled off his cloak as the door closed and had just realized he was still wearing his sword when he heard a muted scream from the rear of the house. It did not occur to him to ignore it, even though neither Emma nor Julia were at home.
But the scream, which held a note of genuine alarm, had definitely been issued by a female.
He left the drawing room, fully expecting that he would discover nothing more threatening than one of Emma’s students standing on a chair because a mouse had run across her slipper.
And that he would probably catch hell from Emma for making another indecorous appearance at her academy.
Emma nearly dropped her etiquette manual at the short-lived scream that arose from the library behind her. Harriet again, she thought in vexation. What mischief had the troublemaker brought upon herself this time?
She could not trust that Gardner girl for one hour. It was fortunate Emma had decided at the last moment she would not accompany Julia shopping today, although Emma could not honestly say that she had done so from any virtuous motive.
She enjoyed buying a new bonnet as much as any other lady; Charlotte and Miss Peppertree could manage the academy for a few hours. The fact, however, was that she had stayed home in the secret hope Adrian would pay her brother a visit.
She missed her disreputable duke’s heir more than she’d anticipated when she had virtually banished him from her life. She missed Adrian more in these past few days than she had missed her late husband in the year following his death.
She raised her shoulders as she approached the library door to investigate the cause of Harriet’s latest mishap. Rarely did she wish she had not begun the academy. It filled her lonely hours and gave her a great deal of satisfaction.
How gratifying it would be to guide Harriet into the graceful ways of womanhood. At least the perplexing girl had not emitted another of those blood-curdling screams.
She hefted her beloved manual onto her hip and opened the library door. For an incalculable interlude she was too shocked at the scene she beheld to wage a response. Indeed, there was no precedent in her life to prepare her to handle the shocking tableau in progress and, as a Boscastle, Emma had suffered more than her share of shocks.
Two of the scruffiest young ruffians she had ever had the displeasure of encountering were in the process of hauling Harriet through the garden window. A neckcloth, dirty, of course, had been tied across the girl’s mouth to silence her.
This indignity apparently did not discourage Harriet’s strenuous struggle for freedom. Although each of her abductors claimed an arm and leg apiece, Harriet fought them with the astonishing bodily contortions of a monkey and a spate of muffled curses that gave Emma a moment of guilty thankfulness for the neckcloth that gagged the unfortunate girl.
“How dare you!” she said in a soft growl that not only startled the abductors but herself.
Indeed, now that her initial shock had passed, she felt herself possessed of a searing anger. Not only her brother’s home, but her own academy, sanctuary for the socially inclined, was being violated by what she could only describe as the dregs of London’s underworld.
A multitude of considerations flew through her mind. Heath had gone to Angelo’s earlier to meet Dominic. Presumably they would dine afterward or stop off at the club. Her sisters-in-law, Julia and Eloise, were at this moment probably studying fashion plates at the modiste’s.
Charlotte and the other girls should be studying Latin in the east wing at this hour. Hamm, Heath’s behemoth footman, was somewhere in the house.
She gauged the distance to the bellpull. Taking apparent advantage of Emma’s unexpected arrival, young Harriet had just delivered a kick in the hollows to one of her captors. The ruffian emitted a low bellow of pain and crossed his hands over his bruised parts. His partner laughed in crude amusement until Harriet lifted her shoulder to deal him the same offense.
Freed from her inept abductors, Harriet wrenched off the soiled neckcloth and flung it to the floor. “You’re done for now, you stinkin’ sons of a sow’s turd! Help me, Lady Lyons! I’m bein’ kidnapped by a pair of louse-ridden murderers!”
The taller of the two young men threw one leg over the windowsill whilst he sized up Harriet’s defender. “This is our sister, and I reckon we got a right to bring her back. Our dad’s sick, and he wants his daughter at his side.”
“Is this true, Harriet?” Emma asked. “Are these two persons related to you?”
Harriet snorted. “They’re me halves, Luke and Rob.”
She fell briefly in the pile of broken glass on the floor, only to spring right back to her feet. “The old sod’s no more sick than I am.”
Emma glanced down at her in horror. “Your elbow is bleeding, Harriet.”
“Her hide is gonna be raw as a beefsteak if she don’t come with us,” the other man announced, grabbing Harriet by her injured arm. “Ain’t no point in pretendin’ she belongs here. We all know she’ll never be no bleedin’ silk purse.”
Emma marched over to the window. Her throat had closed, and yet somehow her voice resounded in the air, in her very ears. “The authorities do not agree. Miss Gardner stays under my supervision.�
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His grimy hand slid to the leather scabbard protruding beneath his worn leather jerkin. “She’s got work to do at home.” His head lowered with the belligerence of a country bull.
“What sort of work?” Emma asked, willing Harriet to use her wits and remain calm.
“A job right here in Mayfair,” the other man answered from his wobbly perch upon the windowsill. “Decent work as a maid for a countess, no less. Can’t beat that with a stick, can you?”
Emma noted that his brother’s hand had completely disappeared inside his jerkin. “I believe I can. Perhaps I might speak with her employer and explain the situation.”
Harriet gave a bitter laugh at that. “Go on. You, Lady Lyons, walkin’ right up to ’er door to explain that her new maid is being set up by her pigs of brothers to rob her blind during a party.”
It was at this point that the criminal called Rob drew out from his jerkin an ominous-shaped knife known as a balisong, or butterfly. Emma would never have recognized such an appalling apparatus had her brother Grayson not had one mounted upon the wall in the weapons room of his country home. “Get out of my way,” Rob shouted at Emma, “or I’ll cut off yer interferin’ little nose.”
Harriet broke free and flung her scrawny frame in front of Emma while raising her fists in the direction of his face. “You so much as nick ’er and I’ll sew yer nutmegs together when you’re drunk. I swear it on our whore of a dead mum’s grave.”
“Put the knife away,” Luke muttered from the window. “We haven’t got all day. Harriet always mucks up a lay, anyways. We’ll find someone else.”
Rob nodded in seeming agreement. Then he shot his arm out without warning and ensnared Harriet by the waist. “All right now. I’m the one to give the orders.” He pressed the butterfly knife against the back of her ear as he glowered at Emma. “And you keep your pretty little piehole shut until we’re gone or I’ll slice this sow’s ear here.”
“Someone’s coming,” Luke muttered and swung both legs over the sill. “Hand her over and hurry.”
The Devilish Pleasures of a Duke Page 15