He pushed away from the tree. His black boots, gleaming in the clear morning light, echoed the gleam in his dark eyes. “Are you aware that you have instantly become all the rage? They are already laying odds at White’s on whom you will marry.”
“Men will throw their money away on the most ridiculous things,” she said with an amused shake of her head. “Who is the favorite?”
“Right now? Monteford. But if I lay some blunt on Darley the odds are sure to change.”
“Then you will all lose for I have no intention of marrying anyone,” she stated firmly.
A dark brow arched up in surprise, making his expression even more devilish. “Then you find Darley attractive for things other than matrimony?”
Sending him a haughty look through her sheer veil, she said, “Not that it is any of your business.”
“You are right, of course, but it’s not the first time I have overreached myself. However, if it’s a bit of romance you’re after, why not leave the field open to the rest of us?”
Emma gaped at him, hardly believing she had heard his casually spoken words correctly.
“You? Never!”
“Now, see, when you shout like that it makes me believe that you are angry, despite your avowals to the contrary. Why not me? Unless your tastes have changed so much that you now care only for blonds? Or are you still angry with me?”
She really could have hit him. She fumed as she struggled to keep her expression from revealing her true emotions. The last thing she wanted was for him to realize how much his lazy teasing affected her confused senses. Again, the vision of her black cat came to mind, only this time Satin was toying with a mouse.
Clenching her kid-gloved hands together, she sent him what she hoped was a look of haughty indifference. “Gracious. I’ve not been in Town a full week—I’m not sure what kind of adventure I want yet. But I assure you, I shall make every effort to enjoy myself while I find out.”
His urbane, amused expression froze for an instant and she watched his square jaw tighten. Lost in the intensity of unidentifiable emotions, she wasn’t aware for a moment that he had moved closer.
At the look in his eyes, a flutter of feminine instinct sent her backing away from him. Turning, she took quick strides to her horse, grateful that she had tied him near a stump so that she could mount unaided.
Nerves spurred her to quickness and once she was atop the chestnut mare, she swung the horse around to see that Jack had not moved.
He stood beneath the tree, gazing up at her. He bowed, and she thought there was something gently mocking in the movement. A hint of a smile had the dimples creasing his cheeks.
Pressing her heel against her horse’s flank, she said, “Thank you for the beautiful flowers, Lord Devruex. Good day.”
As she galloped away, his rich, deep laughter followed her.
Chapter Eight
Frederick Litton, Viscount Monteford, trudged up the curving staircase that led to his grandfather’s private study. With a heavy sense of foreboding, he reached the landing and paused to look at himself in the ornately framed mirror hanging on the hallway wall.
He wanted to make sure that not even a speck of lint marred his snuff brown coat and that his simply tied neckcloth was not unduly limp. He frowned at his reflection, not really liking the garment’s conservative lapel and cuffs, but grandfather disliked any article of clothing that appeared excessively fashionable.
Glancing down, he saw with relief that his boots had not attracted any dust on his short walk from the drive. Straightening his shoulders, he continued down the wide hall, passing portrait after portrait of his ancestors, but did not hurry his steps.
He’d get there soon enough, he thought resentfully. As much as he dreaded this meeting—dreaded it as soon as he had received the brief, coldly worded missive that morning—he was determined to stand up to the old man this time.
As he drew near, the footmen standing on either side of the imposing double doors bowed in unison before opening them. Without changing the tempo of his stride, he walked into the octagonal-shaped room and took a deep breath. In the middle of the grand space, behind a massive mahogany desk, sat the Earl of Pellerton.
Monteford noted that the earl’s thick shock of white hair showed little sign of thinning. Another infuriating sign of his grandfather’s apparent agelessness, he thought resentfully.
He could judge the condition of his grandfather’s pate because the old man had not lifted his head from the papers he perused. Standing at near attention in front of the desk, Monteford took care not to shift his weight or slouch.
As he waited to be noticed, he wondered what he would have to promise this time before he was allowed to again live his life in peace.
Raising his gaze to the ceiling, he studied the realistically painted hunting scene and cursed the unfairness of his circumstances. He’d much rather be calling upon the enigmatic and beautiful Lady Fallbrook. Last night, when they had danced the quadrille, he had been a little surprised at her cool demeanor. After all, when their eyes had met across the theatre he had experienced an immediate attraction. Ladies treating him coolly was not something he had a lot of experience with, and his interest in her was more than piqued.
The complimentary note he had sent along with his floral tribute this morning should certainly have impressed her, he thought with satisfaction.
The rustling of parchment continued for several more minutes before the earl finally set the sheaf on the neatly organized desktop.
The old man raised his head and fixed Monteford with his gaze, his expression bereft of any discernable emotion.
“Thank you for being prompt, Monteford. You may pull that chair a little closer to the desk,” he said in a strong voice with a hint of a rasp.
“Yes, sir,” Monteford replied in his most respectful tone and did as the earl directed.
Once seated, he did his best to wait patiently for his grandfather to explain the reason for his peremptory summons. To do otherwise would only prolong the visit.
The earl leaned back in his chair, crossed his hands over his chest and pronounced, “In the last week I have been the recipient of no less than four visits from your mother.”
Ah, the situation was becoming clearer. “Am I to understand, by the tone of your voice, that you did not desire these visits, Grandfather?”
The earl eyed him charily and Monteford cautioned himself to tread carefully and keep any hint of sarcasm from his voice. His grandfather would pounce like a falcon if he suspected any hint of disrespect from his grandson and heir.
Despite the earl’s advanced years, no one in the large Litton family doubted that his faculties were as still as sharp as ever and that he wielded ultimate authority over almost every aspect of their lives, especially the financial aspect.
“Under ordinary circumstances I welcome the occasional visit from my daughter-in-law. However, it is most distressing to receive her when she is near hysterical,” he said with a tone of accusation lacing his voice.
“Hysterical, sir? This is indeed disturbing news. May I inquire as to what has caused my mother such anxiety?”
At this innocent question the earl’s upper lip curled in a contemptuous sneer. “Playing coy is unbecoming to a gentleman, boy. But if you insist, I will put the unseemly truth into words. Your mother is taken by the hysterics because of the manner in which you are making a byword of yourself by flaunting your doxy among Polite Society. No less distressing is the money you throw away on her keep. By gad, she lives better than a queen.”
At this blunt speech, Monteford swallowed hard, and struggled to keep his nervous hands motionless. “Sir, I would hate to revisit this very old argument. If I had my own income, this issue would not—”
“Own income!” the earl rasped in mounting fury. “Any amount of money I would settle upon you would be gone before the Season ended. You have been bleeding me for years, but it is going to cease. You are almost five and thirty—”
“Six and thirty,” Monteford interjected without thinking.
The earl’s look of contempt made Monteford feel like squirming. “Even worse, boy! I am not going to keep throwing my money down a poisoned well. Enough is enough. It would not be so bad if you at least did something to improve the situation. Why can you not be more like your friend Devruex? He overcame his straitened circumstances by being clever and wanting to do his family name proud instead of dragging it through the mud.”
A familiar stab of anger and jealousy pierced Monteford at his grandfather’s praise of Devruex. He had to listen to comments like this during most of his encounters with his grandfather. As much as Monteford admired Devruex, at moments like this he could almost hate him.
“Believe me, sir, Devruex is very far from being an angel,” he said, attempting a dismissive chuckle.
“Angel? Who cares about angels? Devruex had a bad hand dealt by his dissolute father. Shameful business. But Devruex never let the side down.”
Monteford felt his temper begin to seethe, but said nothing. By long experience he knew it was much better not to gainsay the old man.
“Do not delude yourself, boy,” the earl continued. “From this moment your life has changed. You are going to marry as soon as may be. Besides the need to settle down, it is past time for you to provide an heir. I will not allow the earldom to be entailed out of the direct line.”
Monteford stared at his grandfather in alarm. It was one thing to sit through the ignominy of a dressing down, but never before had his grandfather made such a direct threat.
“I mean no disrespect, sir, but I have no desire to marry and as we do not live in medieval times I can see no way for you to force me.”
“Don’t you? Then you are not nearly as astute as I thought. Do not mistake me—if you do not do your duty, I shall cut you off immediately. In fact, as of today, you are cut off without a farthing until you present me with your future wife. I suspect that you will not like the idea of your tailor bandying about Town that you cannot pay for your newest waistcoat.”
Monteford felt his clenched fingers grow cold as his grandfather eyed him with icy resolve. He knew he had been pushing his luck when he had agreed to take Sally to Drury Lane, but he never suspected that his grandfather would react so vehemently.
Feeling desperate, Monteford could think of nothing to say to soften his grandfather’s attitude.
“I suggest that you start looking around for a bride,” the earl said in a calmer tone. “It should not be too difficult. There is any number of suitable ladies in Town this Season.”
By suitable, Monteford knew the old man meant wealthy. Suddenly, just when he felt he would drown in his grandfather’s despotic control, the vision of sea blue eyes and beautiful serene features came to mind. The moment their eyes had met across the theatre he had known there was something unique about Lady Fallbrook, not the least of which was the rumored size of her fortune.
“Lady Fallbrook,” he said in an unthinking whisper.
The earl slapped the desk with a resounding thwack. “That’s the spirit! Good gracious me! If you could marry one such as Lady Fallbrook, I would settle ten thousand pounds upon you! Tell me, have you managed an introduction? If not, I am well acquainted with the dowager Duchess of Kelbourne.”
“We have met. In fact, sir,” Monteford said, beginning to warm to the idea, “we danced at Lady Colhurst’s ball last night. I have every reason to believe that she will not discourage my interest.”
As he recalled her surprisingly direct gaze, his heart began to pound at the thought of being completely free from his grandfather’s control. The look sparkling in his grandfather’s heretofore frosty eyes suddenly made him feel more than halfway in love with the fashionable widow.
“This is excellent, Monteford. Most excellent. Lady Fallbrook is a perfect choice.”
“Thank you, Grandfather. Now that we have an understanding, there is the matter of my boot maker….”
The earl wagged a long, bony finger at his grandson. “No, I shall stand firm, boy, or you will backslide. As soon as you present me with your future wife, all will be well. Now off with you.”
Chapter Nine
“Grandmère, would you mind if I cried off shopping with you this afternoon? I have a stack of correspondence that I would like to read,” Emma asked, as she and her grandmother lingered over their luncheon.
Grandmère preferred this room, the west-facing salon decorated in shades of cream and gold, when they dined privately, for it was smaller and slightly less formal than the dining room.
“I would not mind at all, my dear,” Grandmère said over her teacup. “I just hope you have not received a letter from that man managing your school saying that it is falling apart without you.”
Emma laughed and said, “I am sure it is not. I found very proficient people to take care of the everyday running of the school.”
“No doubt you did. You have always displayed impressive organizational skills. No, you have probably received a packet of billet-doux from all the gentlemen you slayed last night. Or did you receive them this morning with all those flowers I saw your maid carrying upstairs,” she said with a knowing twinkle in her lovely eyes.
“Lord Monteford’s note called me the ‘Incomparable of Incomparables.”’ Emma tried to keep a straight face as she relayed this information but failed at her grandmother’s derisive snort.
“Just like Monteford to do the thing much too brown. I’d wager that Devruex did not go so over the top if he sent you a tribute.”
Emma’s fingers stilled on the delicate handle of her cup. “Lord Devruex sent a bouquet of pink roses. By your comment, I could almost believe that you like him.”
“I do,” Grandmère quickly rejoined, setting her fork precisely on the edge of her plate. “I may be old, but I am not blind. Devruex is as fine an example of masculinity as you’ll ever find. He is just like his grandfather, who was one of the singularly most rapscallion men of my generation—but madly charming for all that. Devruex’s grandfather could ride the hounds all day, dance all night, challenge someone to a duel at dawn, and start it all again the next day. His grandson is cut from the same cloth. And Devruex has exquisite manners. He calls upon me at least once every Season.”
“Does he really?” Emma never would have believed it, especially since Grandmère had never mentioned Devruex in any of her letters.
Nevertheless, though she never revealed her youthful indiscretion with Jack Devruex, Emma had always had a small suspicion that Mama had told Grandmère of the near disastrous event.
“Yes,” Grandmère continued. “He always stays above half an hour and has the very flattering gift of flirting back.”
“Grandmère!”
“Don’t come off all prudish with me, my girl. Not after your talk of paramours,” the old lady said with a wag of her finger. “Seriously, I have always enjoyed Devruex. He has become quite the nonpareil in the horse-breeding world. Harwich says Devruex has an unerring eye when it comes to prime horseflesh. One of Devruex’s horses is entered in the Severly Stakes next month and Harwich is going to place a wager for me.”
Setting her cup back in its saucer, Emma said softly, “Building a racing stable was always one of his dreams.” Realizing that she had just revealed far too much, Emma cast a quick, nervous look to her grandmother and sent up a prayer that the keen old lady hadn’t noticed.
“Is that so, my dear? How very interesting. Now off you go to read your letters” was all she said, to Emma’s great relief.
Quickly, she did as her grandmother instructed. Setting aside her napkin, she rose from her chair and after pressing a quick kiss on her grandmother’s cheek, she left the room.
Once in the sitting room next to her bedchamber, Emma moved to the pale blue velvet covered settee next to the large window. With a feeling of relief—for she needed something to distract her chaotic thoughts from Jack Devruex—she picked up the first letter in the stack on the small table next
to the settee and saw by the familiar handwriting that it was from her mother.
Breaking the black wax seal, she noted that the return address was Brighton. Settling comfortably on the settee, she unfolded the sheets.
My dearest love,
By the time you receive this I trust that you will be settled with your grandmother in Town and have begun a new chapter in your life. I am so pleased that you have finally emerged from your genteel exile in Yorkshire and are now taking pleasure in the delights of London.
You must make every effort to enjoy yourself, but I do know how imperious my mother-in-law can be and urge you not to allow her to bully you unduly. Not that I would ever begrudge her your company.
I hope you will not be too surprised to learn that I shall not be traveling to London this year. I fear my poor nerves would be ripped to shreds in all that noise and soot. No, dear Emmaline, I am quite content to stay by the sea with my friends.
You will be happy to know that a letter from your brother arrived yesterday and he informs me that he and Julia are enjoying Italy prodigiously. How I miss them!
And only today I received a letter from our dear friend Lady Grafton, who is also in Town. She informs me that you are setting the fashion with your dashing bonnets and the cut of your pelisses. How diverting, my love. May I ask when you suddenly developed such a keen taste for fashion?
Pray write to me and tell me how you find London and if you have met any exceptional gentleman. The only thing that your grandmother and I agree upon is that you should marry again.
I shall close for now and look forward to your next letter.
Your loving Mama
With an amused smile at the marriage reference, Emma set her mother’s letter aside and reached for the next note. A quick perusal revealed that it was from Amelia and written that very morning. Taking a moment to admire the pretty handwriting, she read:
Emma,
I write to beg you to come to dinner unfashionably early this evening. It has been so long since we have had a good gossip and I shall endeavor to persuade Penelope to arrive early as well. Will the promise of an adventure later in the evening bring you to us before the usual hour? If so, I suggest you take a nap this afternoon, for my husband and I intend to keep you up quite late.
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