If His Kiss Is Wicked

by Jo Goodman

  It was a measure of her weariness, Emma thought, that she had given a start upon hearing his voice. She turned and swept back a lock of hair that had fallen over her forehead. “I cannot imagine that you will keep me overlong, Mr. Gardner. What have we left to say to each other?”

  “There is the matter of the three sketches.”

  “You still want them?”

  “Yes. It will not surprise you, I think, that your uncle remains willing to sell them to me. You may ask him if you like. He and I have just completed our discussion.”

  So he had saved her until last. Emma hadn’t realized so much time had passed. “No, that will not be necessary. I believe you.” She named a price that should have given a poor relation pause. Restell Gardner, she noted, did not hesitate in his acceptance. “You are free with your brother’s money,” she said.

  “He is as rich as Croesus and unlikely to be overset. If he objects, he may have the sketches. His wife will approve of them even if he does not.”

  Emma was reminded that he had an answer for everything. “Very well. You will bring your bank draft tomorrow, and we will conclude the transaction.”

  Restell nodded, satisfied. “As to the other?” he asked. “Do you wish to hear what Miss Vega told me?”

  It was better to hear it first from him than to have Marisol shade her responses in the retelling. “I should like to know what she said.”

  “Good. Will you take a turn with me in the park? I have my carriage and we will not excite a great deal of comment if we are seen together. You have been confined to the house for too long.” He paused, then suggested with dark humor, “Shall I fetch the laudanum or will you want whiskey in your tea?”

  Emma’s head came up sharply; she glared at him. He merely tilted his head to one side and remained in calm expectation of her reply. “You are bullying me again,” she said.

  “A little, perhaps. Is it working?”

  “A little. I cannot help but believe you will accept nothing less than my agreement.”

  “You read me very well, Miss Hathaway. I think you would be an excellent partner at whist, but I would not like to have you as my opponent. Will you want a pelisse or is your shawl sufficient?”

  Emma looked beyond the window to the overcast skies. “We might well be caught in the rain.”

  “I did not arrive in an open carriage. Now, will you have your pelisse or your shawl?”

  “My shawl will be adequate.” It was only as she said it that she realized he had secured her agreement to go. Shaking her head at the ease with which she was manipulated, Emma led the way when he made a gallant gesture that she do so.

  Restell watched her falter when they reached the front door. He allowed her to delay their departure another minute to tell her uncle where she was going—and with whom—and another minute while she sent one of the maids to fetch her bonnet and he collected his hat, then the moment was upon her when she had to step across the threshold. She held on to both sides of the doorway with a grip so tight that her fingertips were almost as white as the painted jambs. He waited behind her, not urging, not encouraging. He was hardly aware of holding his breath until he let it out as she put one foot on the stoop. Her fingers eased their grip on the doorjamb, then she brought her back foot up to meet the forward one. He followed quickly, almost standing on her heels so that she could not make an easy retreat.

  Restell bent his head so his mouth was near her ear. “Breathe.” He watched her shoulders rise as she sucked in a mouthful of air. “Go on. I will catch you if you start to crumple.” He grinned as his words had the predictable and desired consequence of making her fairly fly from the stoop to his waiting carriage. Restell followed at a less hurried pace, allowing Whittier to drop to the sidewalk from his perch and assist Emma up the step and inside.

  Restell informed his driver of their destination, then entered the carriage. Emma did not look entirely comfortable sitting stiffly on the bench seat, but he counted it as a good thing that she was not cowering in the corner. “Will you not sit back?” he asked. “The leather cushions are as plump as pigeons and so easy at the back of one’s head that you may wish to sleep here.”

  Emma avoided his gaze as he sat on the opposite bench. “That does not seem likely.”

  Restell turned so his back was in one corner and he could angle his long legs in the space between the two seats. He was careful not to disturb Emma’s dress with the toe of his boots. He removed his hat and placed it on the bench beside him. Folding his arms in front of him, he made a critical study of Emma’s unnatural stillness. “Are you breathing?”

  She nodded.

  “That is something at least.” The carriage began to roll forward. The movement put Emma back against the squabs whether she wanted to be there or not. He was gratified to see she did not fight it. “You are safe, you know.”

  “I understand,” she said quietly. “It does not seem to matter that I know it.”

  “You are very pale. Do you think you might faint?”

  “It is discouraging that you sound hopeful.”

  Restell chuckled. “I assure you, I am not. You have yet to look out the window. You have lovely hands, but I wonder that they can be so interesting.”

  When she raised her eyes, they were not directed toward the window. “Do you mean to nip at my heels for our entire journey?”

  “It is only one turn in the park. Nipping will not tire me overmuch.”

  She set her mouth in a tight, disapproving line, but it was all in aid of tempering her smile. When he raised an eyebrow at her, calling her to task, she simply shrugged. “I do not want to encourage you.”

  “Now, there is a refrain I’ve heard before. One might reasonably expect that family and friends would support my excellent disposition, but they will not humor me.”

  There was nothing for it but to surrender. His wordplay set her lips twitching.

  “There,” he said, satisfied. “That is infinitely better. Your temperament is not so fussy as you would have me believe.”

  “Fussy?” That description gave her pause. “Do I seem so?”

  “On occasion. It is a fraud, of course.”

  “A fraud? Are you certain?”

  He nodded.

  She said nothing, expecting that he would give her some evidence to explain himself. When he didn’t, she was forced to express her interest or allow her curiosity to go begging. “I should like to hear more,” she said. “I cannot decide if it is better to be fussy or a fraud.”

  “It is not a matter of being one or the other,” he told her. “You are both or neither.”

  She held up a hand. “Pray, not another word. I shall grow dizzy.”

  Restell’s chuckle rumbled at the back of his throat. His smile was easy as he regarded her. “It’s your eyes,” he said after a moment. “They betray you.”

  Emma immediately looked away. When she realized what she’d done, she met his gaze again.

  “I was thinking that they reveal your amusement when your mouth does not,” he said. “But I suppose it is true that they betray you in other ways as well. Your discomfort, for instance, a moment ago. Your annoyance that I knew you were discomfited just now.” He laughed outright when she tried to shutter her expression. “And your determination that you will not expose another emotion to me.”

  “You are enormously vexing.”

  He underscored her observation by simply ignoring it. “Your eyes are a most unusual color, you know. More green than blue, yet unmistakably blue. At first I thought it was an effect of light touching them from without, but it occurs to me now that the light comes from within.”

  “You know that is nonsense.”

  “Perhaps. But it is a pretty notion, don’t you think?”

  Emma’s mouth flattened.

  “Your eyes are twinkling,” Restell said.

  “They aren’t.”

  “Like stars.”

  Emma turned her head to look out the window. She thought she heard hi
m call her a fraud under his breath, but she couldn’t be sure. He might have said she was fussy.

  Oak leaves turned their silver-green undersides upward as a rush of wind swept through the park. Slim birches shivered. Two young women walking side by side had to make an instant decision whether to save their bonnets or their collective modesty. They simultaneously put both hands on their heads and let their skirts snap and flutter so that silken ankles, calves, and even knees were revealed. Giggling, they spun about. The wind pressed their skirts against the back of their legs. The shawl on one of them began to loosen, and when she grasped it her bonnet was torn from her head. She gave chase, reaching for the ribbons as she might try to grasp the string of a wayward kite. The wind carried it like a spirit, then spun it in free fall until it was caught by a gallant rascal who used his ivory knobbed cane for something more than an affectation.

  The surge of envy that Emma felt watching this scene threatened to overwhelm her. She thought she might faint, so dizzy was she made by the intensity of the feeling. Tears came unexpectedly to her eyes, and she turned her head a fraction more to swipe at them without being observed.

  “It was good of you to suggest the park,” she said.

  “Was it?”

  His question was put to her so quietly that she knew he had seen her tears. “Yes,” she told him. “It was.” She shifted on the bench to face him again as she considered how she might explain herself. “I am reminded that I must try to do more. I have not liked staying indoors, but it has been surprisingly simple to find reasons to do so. Today, I began to wonder how I will know when my face is healed if I always see disfigurement in my reflection.” She smiled slightly, mocking herself. “You might not credit it, but Marisol is the one who opened my eyes. It was all convoluted and more than a bit self-serving, but sometimes she hits the nail squarely in spite of her talent for obfuscation.”

  It was fortunate, Restell decided, that she did not seem to expect him to comment.

  Emma adjusted her shawl where it had slipped from her right shoulder. “It used to be my practice to come here of a morning. The sun was barely cresting the treetops by the time I made my second circuit. It did not interest me to be part of the fashionable promenade that began an hour or so later. I believe that those few people who spied me thought I was a maidservant or a governess enjoying a bit of freedom before being bound to my charges and my duties. It all was very pleasant.”

  “You make it sound so.”

  “I should like to know that freedom again,” she said. “To be threatened by nothing so much as the gusting wind and decide only if I will secure my bonnet or hold my skirts in place. I have tried to tempt myself with it before I fall asleep, imagining that I am once again walking this path.” Regret fashioned the shape of her mouth. “Then morning comes, the sun breaks the horizon, and I cannot watch it from anywhere but my window. It is completely disagreeable, and it is not long before I am the same.”

  “I understand.”

  The odd thing was, Emma thought, she believed he did. “It may be that tomorrow I will be ready, or perhaps it will be the day after that. I cannot allow myself to lose hope.”

  “No,” he said. “You can’t.”

  She nodded faintly. “You will suggest the park again, won’t you? From time to time as it suits your convenience, of course, in the event I am feeling neither brave nor hopeful.”

  “You can depend upon it.”

  Emma felt as if he’d closed the distance between them, and perhaps he had, if only with his eyes. It seemed that he held her as securely as if he’d folded his hands around hers or cradled her in the shelter of his shoulder. Had he done it in fact, she knew she could not have borne it, yet this was comfortable and comforting and made her think she might bear anything.

  “I think you are a bit of a fraud,” she said quietly.

  “Am I? How so?”

  “Well, you are very different here.”

  “Here?”

  “In this carriage…with me…you are all consideration.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Do you mean to take me to task for it? I assure you, I have comments at the ready that will give offense if you desire to hear them.”

  Emma’s shawl slipped again as she laughed. “On occasion you demonstrate some wit.”

  “Only on occasion? Apparently you also have comments that will offend at the ready.”

  Her smile deepened. “And I cannot help but think you are possessed of an extraordinarily even temperament.”

  “So where is the fraud?” he asked. “What have you observed to make you question the appearance of things?”

  “Do you recall the manner in which you spoke to my uncle? How you stood to deliver your dressing down? It was far and away unexpected. I was prepared for you to make your point, but I would have anticipated moderation in your approach. Sir Arthur is, after all, a favorite of the king. He is also a gentleman to whom one generally accords respect. You looked as if you meant to take no prisoners and spoke in much the same way. I was not certain he would agree to see you after you spoke to Marisol.”

  “I offered him no choice. I could ill afford to retreat from my position.”

  “I understand.”

  “Did I seem insincere?”

  “No. Did you mean everything you said?”

  “Every word.”

  “And the way in which you said it?”

  “I have no regrets.” Restell sat up and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees and threading his fingers together. “Sir Arthur deserved to be planted a facer, but as you have already noted, I am possessed of an extraordinarily even temperament.”

  “He was discomposed that it might have been Marisol instead of me who was injured.”

  “He seemed so, yes, but you are under his protection also, Miss Hathaway. I thought he required a reminder. Mayhap he will reconsider his daughter’s role in events before he reproaches you again.” Restell sat up, though he did not return himself to his comfortable corner. “In any event, what you observed was no fraud. Not even a bit of one.”

  “You seemed ruthless.”

  “I am, when it serves. You would not want it otherwise.”

  Emma was less certain. “It was difficult to see my uncle so shaken. He is not by nature an unreasonable gentleman. I do not remember my aunt well, but everything I’ve been told is that Marisol is very much like her. I do not know how Sir Arthur would manage if my cousin was harmed. They are very close.”

  “You bear him no ill-will?”

  She hesitated. “I am disappointed in him,” she said, staring at her hands again. “And a bit embarrassed for him. If my defense of his behavior seems generous it is because I am not naive about my uncle’s character. He is not as strong in his convictions as he would make himself, or others, believe.”

  “I will keep your concern in mind,” Restell said. He was careful to refrain from promising that it would change anything. “We discussed the sketches. It was the last item of business between us. You are surprised?”

  “It seems ill-timed.”

  “I did not raise the subject. He wanted to know if I still wanted them.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh, indeed. It suggests a man who is in need of money.”

  The space between Emma’s dark eyebrows became deeply creased as she considered this possibility. “I do not think that can be right.”

  “He is a gamer, Miss Hathaway. Were you aware?”

  “I know he has a club he favors. I imagine he makes the occasional wager as do other members.”

  “He visits the gaming hells. That is altogether different. I do not know if he’s recently gone—there has been little time to pursue it—but I know he has visited in the past with some regularity.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “I’ve seen him.”

  Emma’s features remained clouded. “You frequent gaming hells?”

  “I find it rather odd that you seem to be more disturbed by
the thought of me visiting such establishments than your uncle.”

  “I cannot explain it myself. Do you go to the hells often?”

  “As I need to.” Restell waited to see if she would ask for clarification. It looked as if another question hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she bit down gently and restrained herself. He realized she was afraid of what she might hear. “I cannot tell you very much about your uncle’s gaming habits at this juncture, but you should prepare yourself for the possibility that he has lost more money than he can properly afford.”

  “I understand.”

  “You are taking this in stride.”

  “He will have to paint more,” she said. “The problem is not without a solution. He will paint more, and I will negotiate better commissions for him.”

  “Then he will return to the hells with more money to lose.”

  “I cannot stop him from going. It seems to me it is the sort of thing that he must be prepared to curtail on his own. Am I wrong?”

  Restell shook his head.

  “Then I can only influence his schedule,” Emma said. “Mayhap if I accept enough work for him, he will not have time for the hells.”

  “It has merit.”

  “You might want to consider it for yourself.”

  He chuckled. “You must not try to reform me, Miss Hathaway. My mother remains hopeful that she will yet win the day. I cannot conceive of her willingly giving over the task. She is also of the opinion that the problem is not without a solution.”

  “Oh? And what has she advanced as the answer?”

  “Marriage.”

  “Really? That is an intriguing notion.”

  “I do not find it so.”

  “Of course you do not.” She waved her hand dismissively. “It hardly matters.”

  “I think it matters.”

  His earnestness made her smile. “Not to Lady Gardner.”

  Restell’s glance sharpened. “There is a gleam in your eye, Miss Hathaway. It is my experience with such gleams that they rarely bode well.”