by Anna Bradley
Whatever it was he was whispering to Flora, he meant it with all his heart.
And she—oh, the expression on Flora’s face as she listened to him! It was hope and doubt at once, as if her every wish had come true only for her to wake and discover it had been nothing more than a dream.
Emma lingered for a moment, but then quietly withdrew, and crept back down the pathway in the direction she’d come, unwilling to intrude on such a tender moment. Flora was her friend, and such a violation would be unforgiveable.
No, she’d return to the ladies’ retiring room, and wait for Flora to pass by on her way back to the ballroom, and—
“Are you going somewhere, Lady Emma?”
Emma gasped as a gloved hand landed on her wrist and tugged her into a remote corner of the garden. Only the faintest glimmer of moonlight filtered through the thick branches here, but Emma knew at once who’d waylaid her. Lord Lymington was much too large to be mistaken for any of the other, punier lords in London.
She looked up into that severe face, and her mouth went dry. He was intimidating enough in broad daylight, but far more so here in a lonely garden, his face in darkness but for a hint of the stern line of his lips. For an instant Emma considered fleeing, as she was much smaller than he was and could make her way through the branches more quickly, but if she cowered from him now, she’d spend the rest of the season running from him.
“You didn’t answer my question, my lady. I asked where you’re going.”
“I was going to the ladies’ retiring room, Lord Lymington. Fortunately, you’ve caught me out before I did something shocking, like retire.”
“You’re strolling through a hidden garden, alone in the dark, on your way to the ladies’ retiring room? Strange, but I would have thought the ladies’ retiring room was inside Lady Swinton’s townhouse.”
Emma glanced nervously behind her, toward the tree in the center of the garden. She wasn’t alone, but she had no intention of setting Lord Lymington on poor Lady Flora, who already had her hands full. “Yes, er…I needed a breath of fresh air, and then I got lost. Thank goodness you found me. Well, if that’s all, my lord, then—”
“You do turn up in the strangest places, don’t you? Tell me, my lady. Does your grandmother know about your midnight frolics?”
Emma went still, her heart giving a sudden lurch in her chest. It wasn’t his words that disturbed her, but a thread of something in his voice. Not a threat, and not his usual commanding arrogance, but something else that made her tingle with foreboding. “Midnight frolics? I don’t understand you, Lord Lymington.”
“No?” He traced the bones of her wrist with his thumb. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I’m referring to the Pink Pearl.”
For one frozen moment Emma didn’t move, didn’t breathe, but then she snatched her hand free of Lord Lymington’s grasp. “I-I don’t know what you’re—”
“Do you think I don’t know about your bawdy house romp, Lady Emma?” He caught her chin between his fingers. “I did warn you not to play games with me.”
That was all it took—those few words from his lips, and Emma’s past came racing headlong into her present with a deafening roar, sweeping all before it. How had she imagined she could ever escape it? You could never be free of a thing that lived inside of you.
He wasn’t hurting her. His touch on her face was careful, gentle even, but Emma’s breath froze in her lungs as surely as if he’d seized her throat. She tried to gasp, but she couldn’t get a breath.
“Lady Emma?” Lord Lymington released her at once, his jaw tensed, something like regret in his expression.
But by then, it was too late. Helena’s face flashed behind Emma’s eyes, and Amy Townshend and Kitty Yardley, both faceless, but no less real to Emma for it, and then…she saw herself as she’d been five years ago, the night she’d tried to leave the Pink Pearl behind forever, a terrified girl of fifteen with blood gushing from the slashes on her hands, so much blood, but not all of it hers.…
“Emma!” Lord Lymington muttered a curse. His voice was faint, as if he were a great distance away from her, but his hands were warm and strong on her shoulders, holding her almost protectively, until at last Emma was able to gulp in a desperate breath, then another.
The haze of panic receded then, just enough for Emma to whisper, “M-my grandmother is waiting for me in the ballroom, Lord Lymington.”
He hesitated, his dark gaze moving over her, as palpable as a touch, tracking her every move, her every labored breath. Emma’s heart began to race again, and his gaze darted to the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.
He dragged a hand through his hair, then stepped back. “Tomorrow, then. I’ll call in the morning. And Lady Emma? Don’t think about trying to evade me.”
Emma was shaking, but she drew herself up and raised her chin. “I don’t run away from anyone, my lord.”
He stared down at her, a strange look on his face, then without warning he gently brushed his thumb across her lower lip. “No, I don’t imagine you do.”
They stared at each other, the air thick with tension, then he let his hand drop. “Until tomorrow, then.”
Emma didn’t wait for him to say any more, but fled down the pathway, through the corridor and back to the ballroom, where she found Lady Crosby waiting for her.
“Lady Flora has returned to—” Lady Crosby began, but Emma interrupted her.
“Forgive me, my lady, but we must leave at once.”
Lady Crosby’s eyes went wide, but she didn’t argue. She followed Emma to the entrance of Lady Swinton’s townhouse without a word, where they waited for what felt like years for Daniel to arrive with the carriage.
He handed them in, but lingered by the open door, his sharp gaze on Emma’s face. “All right, lass?”
“Yes, I…yes. I’m well, Daniel.”
Daniel didn’t look convinced, but he closed the carriage door and leapt onto the box. Emma went limp against the squabs, one hand cradling her aching head, and closed her eyes to ease the throbbing.
“There, dear, that’s better. You rest now.” Lady Crosby said no more, but she lay her hand over Emma’s, and kept it there as they made their way through the streets of London.
At the Royal Academy this afternoon, Emma had lied to Lord Lymington.
She’d told him she wasn’t playing a game, but she was. She’d been playing it since she first set foot in Madame Marchand’s library.
Her mistake was in thinking she was playing it with Lord Lovell.
She wasn’t. She was playing with Lord Lymington.
Chapter Six
Samuel wasn’t certain what to expect when he called on Lady Emma the following day.
He hesitated in the hallway outside Lady Crosby’s drawing room door, bracing himself for anything from the unexpectedly painful sight of Lady Emma pale and lost, as she’d been last night, to the scandalous—intrigue, flirtation, a dozen gentleman callers on their knees at her feet, all of them vying for the merest flutter from her wide blue eyes.
What he found was Lady Emma sitting quietly on a settee, alone, wearing a modest gray gown—no vibrant blue today—her fair hair bound back into a severe knot, her fingers working at…
Embroidery? Samuel glanced at the frilly white scraps in her lap.
Lace. Lady Emma was tatting lace.
Well. He hadn’t expected that.
“Good afternoon, Lord Lymington.” Lady Emma set aside her busywork and gestured gracefully to the chair across from the settee on which she sat.
Samuel’s eyes narrowed on her, but her expression gave nothing away. The panic he’d seen in her face last night was gone, hidden once again under the smooth masque she wore, the surface so exquisite no one bothered to look underneath it.
Disappointment, sharp and unexpected, squeezed his chest.
“Lord Lymington?
” Lady Emma raised an eyebrow at his silence.
Samuel offered her a belated bow. “Good afternoon, Lady Emma.”
“I beg your pardon for receiving you alone, my lord. My grandmother’s exertions at Lady Swinton’s ball last night caught up with her, I’m afraid. She’s retired to her bedchamber with a headache.” Lady Emma offered him a serene smile. “I daresay she would rather have remained downstairs for your call this morning, but here we are. Won’t you sit down?”
Samuel took a seat and met that cool, blue gaze, a humorless smile on his lips. She might pretend all she liked, but Lady Emma knew what they had to say to each other was best said in private.
Still, if she wished to act as though this was an ordinary call, he’d oblige her. “I came to enquire after your health and your grandmother’s. It’s customary for a gentleman to do so, I believe.”
“How kind. As I said, my grandmother is a trifle fatigued, but I’m very well today.”
Samuel let his gaze rove over her, not bothering to hide the way he lingered on her lips and the curve of her neck, the flutter of her pulse just visible above the modest cut of her gown. An unwelcome heat surged through him, and he dragged his gaze back to her face. “You look very well, but then I think you always look well, don’t you, Lady Emma?”
With her prim bodice, the restrained hairstyle, that sweet scrap of lace that drew attention to her long, elegant fingers, she was every inch the sweet, demure young innocent.
So ladylike, untouchable.
It only made him want to touch her more.
His lips twisted as they took each other’s measure, neither of them speaking as they searched for chinks in the other’s armor, and planned their strikes accordingly. The tension crackled between them, tightening and lengthening, until inexplicably Samuel’s cock began to thicken, pulsing with every thundering beat of his heart.
Oh, she was dangerous. Even he found it difficult to tear his eyes away from her. How had he ever imagined she was only a danger to Lovell?
“I recall from our dance at Almack’s, Lord Lymington, that you’re not fond of aimless chatter. Shall we get to the purpose of your visit?”
So cool, so composed, the tiny tears he’d seen in her façade last night carefully patched and smoothed over. “My purpose, Lady Emma, is to find out what you were doing at the Pink Pearl three nights ago.”
It was a swift, brutal strike, a frontal assault designed to leave her shuddering, so the real Lady Emma he’d glimpsed last night would appear again, seeping through the cracks.
But she gave no sign she’d been hit. Samuel searched for any change in her expression, but she merely cocked her head to the side, a faint crease in her brow. “The Pink Pearl? Yes, I believe you mentioned that place last night. I beg your pardon, my lord, but I don’t know what that is.”
“On the contrary, Lady Emma. You do know it, and rather well. You sneaked into the library at the Pink Pearl three nights ago, to meet with a courtesan called Letty. I’m afraid I didn’t get her surname.”
She blinked, and there it was, the shift in her expression he’d been waiting for, but it was there and gone again in an instant. “A courtesan? My goodness, Lord Lymington. You think me wicked, indeed. I wouldn’t have suspected you of entertaining such intrigue. But tell me, what do you base your suspicions on?”
“You’ll recall that when we danced at Almack’s I mentioned you had a distinctive voice, my lady. As soon as I heard it again, I knew it at once.”
She let out an amused laugh, but Samuel was watching her closely, and he saw her knuckles go white as her fingers tightened around the scrap of lace. “My voice? Rather flimsy evidence, isn’t it? Tell me, Lord Lymington. This lady at the Pink Pearl, who had my voice. Did she also have my face?”
“Alas, my lady, your face was hidden by a hood.”
“You mean to say you came here today to accuse me of sneaking into a London brothel because you caught a fleeting glimpse of a lady in a hood, and you’ve decided that lady was me?”
“I caught a glimpse of a lock of your hair, as well. A fleeting glimpse, admittedly, but that honey gold shade is as distinctive as your voice.”
“On the contrary, Lord Lymington. Dozens of young ladies in London have fair hair.”
“Not like yours. Come, Lady Emma. We both know it was you. Tell me, what sort of business can a naïve young innocent like yourself have with a notorious courtesan?”
Lady Emma’s fingers twitched in her lap. “Why, no business at all, my lord.”
Samuel studied the tip of one of his flawlessly shined boots, letting the silence stretch between them before he turned his attention back to her. “Is that all, then? Nothing else to say? No furious arguments, no outraged denials?”
She shrugged. “I daresay it won’t make much difference to you what I say. You seem to have made up your mind about me already.”
“I’ve wondered about you from the first moment I laid eyes on you.” Samuel leaned forward, his gaze holding hers. “For all your sweet, guileless smiles, you don’t strike me as a sheltered young innocent making her first foray into London society.”
“I see. Dare I ask what I do strike you as, my lord? A female adventurer, perhaps? A spy, or a thief, or some other sort of criminal?”
“You strike me as a bewitching young lady with a face that scatters a gentleman’s wits before he’s even aware he’s said a word.”
“Ah, yes, the poor, helpless gentlemen.” She gave him a thin smile, her blue eyes cold.
“I don’t pretend to know what you want with my cousin, but you may reconcile yourself to not getting it. As I told you before, Lord Lovell’s affections are already engaged. Even if his heart was free, I’d object to his giving it to a young lady with so many secrets. Do we understand each other?”
She was quiet for a moment as she considered his question, then she shook her head. “Not entirely, no. I’m not certain what it is you’re threatening me with, Lord Lymington. Are you saying you’ll expose my alleged brothel escapade to the ton?”
“I’ve no wish to reveal your scandals, Lady Emma. Play your games, if you must. It’s no business of mine, as long as you keep Lovell out of it.”
“Why, how generous you are, my lord. But I confess I’m almost inclined to take my chances, if only to see what comes of it.”
It wasn’t until he saw that hint of challenge in her eyes that Samuel realized a part of him had been hoping she’d defy him. “Do you really want me digging into your scandals? Because if I start, I won’t stop until I know them all. I wonder, Lady Emma. How many secrets do you have?”
A slow, sly smile curved her lips. “I could ask you the same thing, Lord Lymington.”
Samuel was still as hard as stone, his cock never having once subsided during the whole of his skirmish with her, but it wasn’t just the desire pounding through his veins that urged him on.
Hidden beneath that fetching smile and that soft voice, that long, delicate neck and those distracting curves was a woman with nerves of iron, one who’d struggle against him every step of the way. She’d fight him, she’d brawl and claw and scratch. He sensed that courage in her, felt it down to the very depths of his bones.
God help him, he wanted it. He wanted to match wits with her, to scheme and battle and scrap until he overcame her, and then…then he wanted to take her to his bed and hold her breathless body in his arms until she begged him to sink into her heat, to take her and claim her.
He wanted her, but Lady Emma was as far out of his reach as a star in the midnight sky.
Lovell was at last waking up to his love for Lady Flora. He was poised on the edge of happiness, and whatever dubious business Lady Emma was tangled up in, he didn’t want his cousin anywhere near it.
Samuel took in Lady Emma’s soft red lips, the flush of color on her cheeks, the blue eyes now darkened with emotion, and he saw a
lady who tempted him unlike any he’d ever known before.
Yet it didn’t make the least bit of difference.
“Tell me, my lady,” he drawled, his tone deceptively bland. “Why are you and your friend Letty so interested in Caroline Francis?”
Ah, now that got a reaction. Lady Emma’s entire body went still for an instant, then she rose from the settee, went to the window and gazed out for a long moment, her back to him.
Samuel waited, his heated gaze trailing from her narrow shoulders to her curved hips. The back of her gown was just as prim as the front, and just as maddening, with tiny buttons marching in a perfect row down her spine. She drew in a deep breath, her back rising, then falling again as she exhaled.
“I don’t know if you’re aware, Lady Emma, but until she went missing six weeks ago, Caroline Francis was a housemaid at Lymington House, my country estate in Kent.”
Caroline wasn’t the first to go missing, but she was the only one who’d since reappeared, and Samuel’s hopes that the other two missing housemaids would be found were fading. He wanted the name of the man who’d trifled with Caroline, and God help the scoundrel when Samuel caught up with him.
“I was not aware, my lord.” Lady Emma turned to face him again.
There wasn’t a tremor in that husky voice, but somehow, Samuel knew she was lying to him. “I’m anxious to speak to Caroline, but she’s proved strangely elusive. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, would you, Lady Emma?”
“I don’t know why I would, Lord Lymington.”
“No? I wonder if your friend Letty does.” He held her gaze. “I’ll have to pay her a visit, and find out for myself.”
Lady Emma remained perfectly composed, her head high, but she couldn’t disguise the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “Forgive me, my lord, but I must go and check on my grandmother now. It was kind of you to call on me this morning.”
With that, she was gone. Her retreat was so graceful, Samuel wasn’t certain if it was a retreat at all, and he couldn’t help but notice he was once again left speechless, breathless, staring at her back as she disappeared.