Candice Hern

by The Regency Rakes Trilogy

  Emily's immediate reaction was to cut short their conversation rather than embark on an analysis of her reprehensible family. She looked across at Robert and sighed as she gazed into his soulful brown eyes, his brows slightly raised in invitation. All at once she experienced, as she had the previous night, an overwhelming sensation of compassion and companionship which made her want to share her most private thoughts with this man. In fact, as she recalled her monologue on the terrace last night, she realized there was little she had not already shared with him. So she plunged ahead.

  "Well," she began with some hesitation, "there was my grandfather who disowned his own daughter for failing to obey him, and my father who succumbed to drink and gambling because he was too weak to face the realities of life. Then, of course," she said with a sneer, "there is my Uncle Pentwick, who—"

  "Who insults his own niece in public. Yes, I must agree that your male relations have not been all that is admirable in their treatment of you."

  "Oh, Robert," Emily said. Her shoulders sagged as she slumped back into the chair and dropped her face into her hands. "I am so sorry you had to witness that scene last evening. I am mortified that you overheard my uncle's words." She lifted her head and once again looked up at him, and was almost lost to the warmth and concern in those dark eyes. She took a deep breath and continued in a soft voice. "But I am also very grateful for your intervention. I was so stunned I was unable to speak. I suppose my uncle would have continued to stand there and hurl insults at me if you had not come along and hustled me away. I cannot apologize enough for my own missish behavior afterward. I have no right to condemn weakness in others after I so shamelessly sobbed into your neckcloth."

  "I did not consider your tears a sign of weakness, Emily," Robert said in that low, deep, almost seductive voice that so often unnerved her. "You had every right to react as you did. In fact, you handled yourself better than many I could name if faced with the same situation."

  Emily gave him a thin smile in response, wanting to believe him, but still somewhat embarrassed by the whole incident. Suddenly she recalled the image of Augusta standing in the doorway, eyes wide with shock and anger. "Good heavens," she said, "I had almost forgotten about Miss Windhurst. Were you able to set things right with her? I hope she did not draw the wrong conclusions from my ... from our... from what she saw."

  "There seems to have been no permanent damage done," Robert replied in a drawl worthy of his grandmother. "But what about you? I lost track of you for the rest of the evening. Did the tabbies get their claws into you?"

  "On the contrary, your sister and grandmother went out of their way to shield me from scrutiny, for which I shall be forever grateful. In fact, Lady Bradleigh made an even more valiant effort on my behalf this afternoon as she received callers."

  "I suppose they all came to unearth the story of what really happened with your uncle?"

  "Almost to a person," Emily replied with a grin. "But your grandmother was marvelous. Not a single caller left with any information that wasn't already well known."

  "Yes," Robert said, nodding in understanding, "she can be fiercely protective of those she loves. She is a powerful ally. And she has great credibility among the ton. She will be able to combat whatever scheme Pentwick may have in mind."

  Emily watched as Robert leaned his head on the back of his chair and gazed up at the ceiling, stretching his legs out farther in front of him.

  "I wonder," he continued lazily, "if Pentwick will quietly disappear now, or if he intends to continue to force himself on you anytime you happen to meet in public? Or perhaps he will take a new tack and try to make himself agreeable to you. He would have seen the impact of Grandmother's influence—and mine—so that he must know that you will continue to be protected in public."

  "As a matter of fact," Emily said, "when Lord Faversham called this afternoon—"

  "What?" Robert suddenly sat bolt upright, his hands tightly grasping the arms of his chair. "Faversham was here? You received him?"

  "Yes," Emily said, somewhat alarmed at Robert's angry reaction. "He came after all the other callers, save Lady Dunholm, had departed. Lady Bradleigh was convinced that I should hear him out, so he was admitted."

  "And what did he have to say?" Robert asked, slowly enunciating each word through tightly clenched lips.

  Emily told him all that Lord Faversham had said, leaving out her own ambivalent reaction to him. Robert remained quiet while she spoke, offering no comment, though his brows were tightly knotted and his eyes black with fury.

  "And so," he said when Emily had finished speaking, "you are to drive with him on Saturday?"

  "Yes," she replied hesitantly.

  Robert leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and looked down at the floor. He did not speak. Neither did Emily. She had never seen him look quite so dangerous. She was almost afraid to speak. She held her breath and waited, the only sound in the room that of the ticking of the mantel clock. After a few moments, Robert looked up at her with an unreadable expression. Leaning forward slightly, he reached out for Emily's hand.

  "Promise me," he said in a commanding tone she had never before heard him use, "that you will take Grandmother along with you on Saturday."

  "I hardly think I need a chaperon at my age, my lord."

  "Promise me!" he commanded, squeezing her hand so tightly that she almost cried out. "I don't like to think of you being alone with Faversham, Emily. There is much you do not know about him. He has a rather ... questionable reputation."

  "This, from the notorious Lord Bradleigh?" Emily asked with a teasing smile, hoping to lighten his mood.

  Robert returned a crooked grin and relaxed his hold on Emily's hand. "Touché," he said. He looked down at her hand in his, covered it for a moment with his other hand, and finally let it go. "It's just that my own reputation is based on my ... er ... my ... Oh, good lord. There is no polite way to put this."

  Emily grinned. "Shall we say that you are well known for adventures of a somewhat amorous nature?" she asked.

  "Thank you, Emily," he said, grinning in return. "Very nicely put. And for the most part, although I'm sure some ladies might disagree, my adventures have been quite harmless. But, you see," he said turning serious once again, "Faversham has a different sort of reputation. Suffice it to say that he is known to frequent some fairly unsavory hells in the East End and to associate with men of rather sinister character."

  "Oh, dear."

  "Even though I have no reason to believe that he means you any real harm," he continued, "and I realize you are probably anxious to mend the rift with your mother's family, I would nevertheless feel more at ease knowing that you were not alone with him. I can't explain it, but I simply don't trust the man. If he truly wants to spend time getting to know you, he can just as easily do so with Grandmother along. Please, Emily, humor me in this."

  Emily stared into those plaintive brown eyes for a moment, and then dropped her gaze to the hands in her lap. She had no actual objection to Robert's suggestion. In fact, as she was not entirely comfortable with Lord Faversham or more especially with her own irresolute feelings toward him, she was inclined to appreciate the notion of a chaperon. It was simply Robert's implication that she could not take care of herself, that she might be helpless against some imaginary danger presented by her cousin, that made her out of reason cross. She looked back up at him, her mouth set in a grim line as she fixed him with an indignant gaze.

  "If you insist, my lord," she said, "I shall do as you wish."

  Apparently disregarding her obvious irritation, Robert flashed her a brilliant smile. "Thank you, Miss Townsend," he said, once again falling into that low, seductive tone against which Emily was powerless. How could she possibly maintain an attitude of peevishness toward a man who smiled at her like that? And whose voice flowed over her like the smooth strains of a cello? "You have put my mind at ease," he said.

  Emily felt the last vestiges of her annoyance melt away like a spring fros
t. She smiled back at him.

  "I am sorry," he said, "that your first drive through the park— a much cherished ritual of the Season—must be in the company of your erstwhile cousin. I should like to have driven you and Grandmother myself."

  "Oh! Good heavens!" Emily said, rising abruptly and placing her hands on her cheeks. "I almost forgot."

  Robert looked at her in puzzlement as he rose. She moved her hands away to clasp them at her waist. "My cousin shall not be the first to drive me in the park," she said. "I am promised to Mr. Hamilton this very afternoon. I fear I have completely lost track of time. I must hurry and change before he arrives."

  "Giles Hamilton?" he asked. "Well, well. It seems Grandmother's matchmaking campaign has met with early success."

  Emily was mortified to recognize, yet again, the heat of a blush. In all her life she could remember blushing only a handful of times before she met this man. Lately she found herself put to the blush at almost their every encounter. She was at a loss to understand the strange effect he had on her.

  "Lady Bradleigh," she said after composing herself, "introduced me to Mr. Hamilton at Lady Bessborough's rout. He was kind enough to dance with me at the Rutland ball last evening."

  "And to invite you to drive with him." He paused briefly, a serious expression marking his brow, before continuing. "I have known Hamilton for years, you know. We shared an interest in classics while at Cambridge together. He is a good man, though a trifle serious- minded." He stopped, though Emily got the distinct impression that he was about to say more. He ran a careless hand through his hair, pushing back the wayward lock hanging over his brow in a gesture Emily had come to recognize as one of discomfiture or nervousness. "So," he said finally in an odd clipped tone of impersonal politeness. "You are to enjoy two drives in the park in a single week. How pleasant for you."

  "Three, actually."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Lord Sedgewick, who called today, has also invited me to drive with him," she said.

  "Good lord! Sedge, too?" He forced a weak smile. "Gad, but Grandmother must be beside herself with glee over your extraordinary popularity."

  Emily smiled uncertainly at him, puzzled by the sudden awkwardness of his manner. "I believe she is quite pleased."

  "No doubt," he mumbled.

  "And now you must excuse me as I really must hurry if I am to be ready when Mr. Hamilton arrives."

  Robert nodded absently.

  "And Robert," Emily added as she made her way to the open door, "please do not worry about Lord Faversham. I promise to be careful."

  "Of course," said Robert as he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. "And give my regards to Hamilton."

  Emily smiled at him over her shoulder as she left the room.

  * * *

  Robert stood staring at the empty doorway for a few moments before closing the door and walking back into the library. The faint scent of lavender still clung to the air. He stopped before the chair recently occupied by Emily, closed his eyes, and savored the sweet fragrance.

  "Hamilton!" he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. He wandered toward the mullioned window which looked onto the back garden. He threw the latch, pushed the window open, and let the cool afternoon breeze waft into the library to dissipate Emily's fragrance, which was having a strangely intoxicating effect on him.

  He propped one arm against the window frame and leaned heavily against it while he gazed out into the garden. He was insensible of the lush spring plantings painstakingly arranged by his excellent gardener, as his thoughts were full of the idea of Giles Hamilton and Emily. Hamilton! His mind was loathe to accept such a bird-witted notion. The man was certainly warm in the pocket and with an impeccable lineage. Robert supposed that women might find Hamilton good-looking enough. But, blast it, the man was dry as an old stick. Emily would be bored within a sennight.

  As far as Robert was concerned, Hamilton had not changed one whit since their university days when he could endlessly discourse on some obscure piece of classical literature. At the time Robert had found his conversation stimulating, challenging, even entertaining. But while Robert moved away from academic pursuits in favor of the more varied enticements of Society, Hamilton had clung to his classics. He still penned the occasional article for one scholarly journal or other, although Robert would never dream of admitting that he was aware of such matters.

  I have always wished to further my knowledge of the classical authors, she had said. Could Emily be brushing up to impress her afternoon escort? Could she be more interested in his grandmother's matchmaking schemes than she had let on?

  No, he was forced to admit that such machinations were not consistent with the Emily he had come to know. He was almost ashamed for allowing that thought even to cross his mind.

  The curious thing, though, was that Hamilton could not even remotely be considered in the petticoat line. It was inconceivable that such a dull dog would set up a light flirtation, regardless of the woman's beauty or accomplishments. Robert was forced to admit that Hamilton must surely have a serious interest in Emily.

  He shifted his position and propped one hip on the windowsill. He moved his back against the closed shutter and stretched one thigh along the wide sill, absently swinging the Hessian-clad leg back and forth. He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed as he contemplated the other gentleman mentioned by Emily, one who must be considered from a completely different perspective.

  Robert had known Lord Sedgewick since they were boys together at Harrow. Despite their long friendship, Robert would have to concede that Sedge was a shameless flirt without a serious bone in his body. The pranks they had perpetrated as boys—almost all, Robert recalled, conceived and orchestrated by Sedge—were legendary at Harrow. Even now, with his lanky good looks and impish grin, he cut a wide swath through the female population of the ton, where his deceptively boyish charm was the undoing of many a Society matron who wanted to mother him.

  But the fact was that Sedge generally limited his liaisons to matrons or widows and perhaps the occasional actress. Along with Robert and their friend Jack Raeburn, Sedge had always given a wide berth to innocent young misses on the hunt for a husband, preferring the sadder but wiser females of a certain age.

  Robert was not quite sure how to interpret Sedgewick's apparent interest in Emily. He could not imagine that Sedge hoped for a dalliance, which would be awkward at best given her position in Robert's household. Perhaps he merely sought a mild flirtation. She was a beautiful woman, after all, and so he could hardly blame Sedge for that. But Robert was somehow unable to rid himself of a niggling doubt that Sedge might be just as serious in his intentions as Hamilton.

  His grandmother had been right, he thought, that once introduced to Society, Emily would take. The old girl must be well pleased with her efforts, he thought as his boot banged unconsciously against the wainscoting in an increasing rhythm. Perhaps after all her years of service Emily was at last to find happiness. Perhaps with Hamilton. Or Sedgewick. Both gentlemen were upright, honorable men worthy of Emily's good opinion. Yes, he ought to be pleased for her. This was the object, after all, of the plan he had agreed to while in Bath. This was his grandmother's fondest wish, her ultimate goal in taking on Emily in the first place, the goal toward which he had readily agreed to lend his assistance. He ought to be pleased. He really ought to be pleased.

  Robert shoved himself away from the window, walked toward the large oak desk in the center of the room, and threw himself into the old leather chair behind the desk. The chair responded with an audible whoosh as Robert sank into its familiar warmth, comfortably molded to his own form through years of use. He forced aside the confusing thoughts of Emily and her suitors and turned his attention to the far more unsettling problem of her cousin, Lord Faversham.

  He hadn't wanted to be specific when telling Emily of his concerns about Faversham's reputation. Robert was only slightly acquainted with the man, and all he had heard over the years was sec
ondhand gossip. It was true that most of the gossip was generally founded on fact, but he was reluctant to say anything without first verifying his information. He reached in a drawer and pulled out a sheet of stationery. He took a quill from the inkstand and began to trim it.

  Faversham was said not only to frequent seedy gaming hells, but also to lure young flats into those same hells, probably for a cut of the profits from the owner. He had never heard any word of cheating. Such an accusation would have spread through the clubs like wildfire and forced Faversham to leave Town. No, it was not his honesty at the tables that was in question, only his manner of livelihood. Though he no doubt stood to inherit lands and title from his father, the earl's affairs were said to be in questionable order. Faversham was forever under the hatches and was known to dance attendance on the occasional heiress.

  Which all added up to a curious and puzzling situation in regards to Emily. Why would Faversham so ardently pursue the friendship of his penniless cousin? How was Emily likely to figure in any scheme of his? What could she possibly have to attract his attentions?

  Robert mentally apologized to Emily for such an ungenerous thought, but the truth was that he did not believe her beauty and character would be enough to entice one such as Faversham. There was something missing—some piece of this puzzle that would make sense out of it all. And Robert was determined to find that piece.

  He dipped the quill into the inkwell and began a letter to James Huntspill, his man of business.

  Chapter 15

  This surely had to be the strangest week she had ever spent, Emily thought as she stood in front of the cheval glass and fastened the bodice of her dark rose pink spencer. She had experienced the distress and anguish of her uncle's public insults, followed by the unsettling confusion of her cousin's strange apology. She had begun to develop a very strong and entirely inappropriate affection for Lord Bradleigh, ironically offset by hours spent writing out invitations to his engagement ball. And she had received the unexpected attentions of two very different gentlemen.