by Anna Bradley
“Thank you.” Emma pressed Lady Crosby’s hand gratefully, but she didn’t fool herself into thinking there would be anything comfortable about this visit.
I don’t want to see your face ever again, Emma.
No, nothing comfortable, at all.
Chapter Eighteen
Samuel strode into the drawing room, found Lovell and Lady Flora whispering together on the settee in front of the fire, turned without a word, and strode back out again.
“Wait, Lymington,” Lovell called, rising to his feet. “A word, if you would?”
Damn. He’d nearly escaped. Maybe he could pretend he hadn’t heard—
“I know you heard me, Lymington.”
Samuel let out a defeated breath and returned to the drawing room to see Lovell lean close to Flora and whisper something in her ear. Flora’s cheeks flushed a becoming pink, and she rose to her feet. She nodded to Samuel, then slipped past him and out the door of the drawing room.
Samuel waited until Flora’s footsteps had faded, then crossed the room and threw himself into a chair across from the settee. “Don’t let Lady Silvester catch you in here alone with Lady Flora, Lovell.”
Lovell chuckled. “Not to worry, Lymington. Lady Silvester left the two of us here alone when she went upstairs to dress for dinner. I think we can assume she trusts me with her granddaughter.”
“Both ladies have forgiven you for your wild antics this past year, then. You’re a fortunate man, Lovell.”
“Indeed,” Lovell murmured. “Forgiveness is a divine thing, isn’t it?”
“Divine, or unforgivably foolish, depending on the offense.” Samuel winced at the resentment that colored his words. Lady Flora was the reason Samuel had insisted they go to London for the season in the first place. Would he sulk now, once he’d gotten precisely what he wanted?
It wasn’t that he resented Lovell, or the happiness his cousin had found with Flora.
Not specifically.
No, he resented everything and everyone in equal measure. Lovell, Lady Flora, Lady Silvester, Lady Crosby, Emma—especially Emma—but he resented himself more, for having been fool enough to be taken in by her wiles, and for continuing in that foolishness now, even after he knew what she was.
He’d returned to Kent determined to banish Emma from his mind forever. She’d lied to him, and used him. He didn’t even know her surname, for God’s sake. After everything they’d gone through together, she hadn’t even given him that much.
This, because she believed his cousin was guilty of a despicable crime.
Lovell had his flaws, but a kidnapper and murderer? Anyone who’d spent any time with Lovell should have known at once he was the furthest thing from a cold-blooded villain.
All the time Emma had been smiling at Samuel, flirting with him and kissing him with those soft, red lips, she’d been plotting to fit Lovell’s neck with a noose. It was a betrayal in every way. Every time he thought of it, it was as if a pile of stones had crashed down on his chest, crushing him under the unbearable weight.
Yet somehow, even now, she was all he could think about. He fell asleep every night with her soft, husky voice in his ears, dreamed of her dark blue eyes, and woke every morning, aching for her.
What sort of man pined for a woman who’d told him more lies than truths?
“You’ve no need to worry about Lady Flora’s virtue,” Lovell said, recalling Samuel to the present. “I’ve been the picture of restraint, Lymington—a perfect gentleman.”
Samuel gave his cousin a guilty look. He had no business lashing out at Lovell. It wasn’t Lovell’s fault he was miserable. It was no one’s fault but his own, for acting such a damn fool over a pretty face. “You have, indeed. Well done, Lovell.”
“If I have done well, it’s because you didn’t abandon me. You’ve ever been my conscience, Samuel, and I’m grateful to you for fighting for my happiness, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
Samuel’s heart softened at the sincerity in Lovell’s blue eyes. At one time he’d feared the good-natured, caring boy Lovell had once been was gone forever, but with every day that passed, he saw more and more of that boy in the man Lovell was becoming. “You’re my cousin, Lovell. Your happiness is as important to me as my own.”
“Your happiness is just as important to me, so you can imagine how dejected I am to see you wandering about with that woebegone expression.”
Samuel grunted. This was the trouble with being around a couple who were madly in love. They expected everyone around them to be as blissful as they were. Samuel was, unfortunately, as far from blissful as a man could get, but he could make more of an effort to climb out of the deep pool of self-pity he was wallowing in.
“I beg your pardon if my expression offends you, Lovell,” he snapped, then cringed. Damn it. He’d meant to say something gracious.
“You may growl all you like, and welcome. I just wonder what has you so grim. You have no reason to be, from what you’ve told me.”
“No reason to be pleased, either.” Samuel kicked at the ornately carved leg of the delicate little table beside his chair. He’d always despised this particular table. Its very daintiness offended him, made him feel big and clumsy.
“Don’t assault the table, if you please, Lymington.”
Samuel huffed, but he balanced one leg over the other knee in an attempt to save the furnishings.
“It occurs to me something hasn’t been resolved to your satisfaction,” Lovell went on. “I wonder what it could be?”
“Nothing. I’m perfectly well satisfied.”
Lovell snorted. “That must be why you’ve been stomping about with that dark scowl on your face, terrifying everyone who crosses your path. Yesterday I saw poor Mr. Humphries turn and scurry back up the staircase when he saw you coming.”
Samuel gave another irritable grunt. “All the better.”
Lovell studied Samuel’s expression. “I have a theory about your troubles. Would you like to hear it?”
“Have I any other choice?”
“None whatsoever. It’s my considered opinion you’ve fallen madly in love with a certain lady, but are too stubborn to admit it.” Lovell shook his head, as if Samuel were being very tiresome, indeed. “Shall I tell you which lady I think has captured your heart?”
Samuel turned a dark scowl on his cousin. “No.”
He knew which name was about to fall from his cousin’s lips, and he was desperate not to hear it spoken aloud, as if even a whisper would conjure the lady herself—that she’d appear in the drawing room, and break his heart all over again.
Lovell of course, ignored him. “Lady Emma Crosby.”
Samuel flinched. Damn it, he’d spent the past day doing whatever he could to forget that name, and the lady attached to it, only to have Lovell blurt it out. “Not Crosby, Lovell,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Not lady either, as far as we know.”
She’d lied about everything else. Why not that as well? And who’d said a single word about love? Not him. How could he be madly in love with a lady when he didn’t even know her name?
Lovell regarded him calmly. “Her title doesn’t make a shred of difference, and you know it. Lady Emma, or just Emma, you love her either way.”
Yes, Samuel loved her, but he didn’t want to love her. That was why he’d told her he didn’t wish to ever lay eyes on her again. He could no longer tell whether that had been very wise of him, or very, very foolish, so he confined his answer to a third irritable grunt.
“The question, Lymington, is what you intend to do about it.”
“Do? Not a damned thing. For God’s sake, Lovell, have you forgotten she believed you to be a debaucher, kidnapper, and murderer?”
Meanwhile the real debaucher, kidnapper, and murderer was still running loose, and Samuel did intend to do something about that. He wouldn’t rest unti
l he discovered who the scoundrel was, and saw him held accountable for his crimes. The trouble was, he had no idea where to start.
“I’m not likely to forget that, Lymington. I confess it’s a trifle uncomfortable, Lady Emma’s trying to see me hanged, but you’d do well to listen to her explanation, even so. Not for her sake, but for yours. This business with her will never be over until you know the truth.”
“I asked her to explain herself, Lovell! She refused.” Samuel dragged his hand down his face. Even if he could forgive her for what she’d done, he didn’t think he could ever trust her again. “She lied to me.”
She’d lied about everything, and her betrayal was lodged in the tissue of his heart like a sliver, leaving a small but painful tear where the point had pierced the tender flesh.
“She did, yes, but it’s not her lies you can’t forgive.”
“No?” Samuel’s laugh was grim. “What is it, then?”
Lovell’s gaze was steady. “You can’t forgive her because you believe she was only pretending to care for you.”
“She was pretending, Lovell.” Emma might expel every breath in her body denying it, but every time Samuel looked into her face, heard the slightest tremor in her voice, wouldn’t he always suspect she was lying to him?
All at once, Samuel felt weary to his bones. “None of this makes any dif—”
“Samuel?” Lady Lymington appeared at the drawing room door. “Oh, and Lancelot. Here you both are. Supper is served. Shall we go to the dining room?”
Samuel didn’t have any appetite at all, but he managed a half-hearted smile for his mother, and offered her his arm. She didn’t take it, but hung back, motioning to Lovell to precede them.
Samuel frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing at all, only…you will do your best to be gracious to our guests this evening?”
Dear God. Had he really made himself so unbearable his mother felt the need to remind him to behave like a gentleman? “Of course, unless…is there some reason I might be tempted to be ungracious?”
Lady Lymington avoided his gaze. “No, no, I just…well, keep in mind that everything I do, Samuel, I do for your own good.”
His own good? Nothing pleasant ever followed that sort of observation.
God in heaven, now what? “That sounds ominous.”
“Nonsense. All is well.” Lady Lymington gave a brisk laugh, but she was agitated as she urged Samuel toward the dining room.
Several footmen were moving about, silver serving platters in their hands, and the low murmur of voices was audible from the hallway, but that wasn’t what caught Samuel’s attention.
It was Lovell. His cousin had come to an abrupt halt in the doorway of the dining room. “What are you doing, Lovell?”
Lovell glanced over his shoulder at Samuel, his eyes wide. “Before you go in, Lymington, let me remind you that the dining room is not a proper place for a frontal assault.”
“Frontal assault? What are you on about, Lovell?”
Lovell’s gaze slid to Lady Lymington. “Can’t say the same for ambushes, I’m afraid.”
Samuel blinked. “For God’s sake, what has you two in such a lather?”
“Er, well…perhaps it’s best if you see for yourself.” Lovell stepped aside and gestured Samuel forward.
Samuel didn’t make it more than two steps into the dining room before he broke off, his mouth dropping open in shock.
Directly across from the doorway, seated next to her grandmother, dressed in a blue dinner gown that turned her eyes the color of midnight skies, sat Lady Emma Crosby.
* * * *
Emma took one look at Samuel’s scowling face, and her heart plunged in her chest.
Dear God. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea, after all. It was too late to do anything about it now, but it took every bit of determination she possessed not to leap to her feet and flee the dining room.
Lord Lovell was blocking the doorway, his back to the company, murmuring urgently to Samuel, who was a step in front of him, his dark head towering over his cousin’s.
Perhaps she could duck under the table—
“You’ve gone as pale as a ghost, Emma.” Lady Crosby seized Emma’s hand under the table. “It’s all right, you know. He’s not going to gobble you up.”
Emma wasn’t so sure. He looked as if he’d be more than happy to forgo the beef course, and make a meal of her instead.
She could never be afraid of him—she knew who Samuel was, under that scowl, knew the caring, tender heart he hid inside that powerful chest, yet still her pulse refused to cease its frantic pounding, because she was afraid of losing him.
Only she was losing him, even now, and her heart recognized it, while her head, the organ she relied upon, was still foolishly hoping.
“What are you doing here?”
It took all of Emma’s fortitude not to shrink down in her chair as every head at the table turned in her direction.
“My goodness,” Lady Crosby muttered in Emma’s ear. “He is a bit cross, isn’t he?”
Samuel was staring at her, his gray eyes as cold as ice. “Why are you in my home? I thought I made myself clear regarding my wishes on that point, Lady Emma.”
“Samuel!” Lady Lymington exclaimed, shocked. “That is quite enough.”
Samuel didn’t spare his mother a glance, but took another step into the room, his gaze fixed on Emma. “I beg your pardon, Mother. I didn’t anticipate the pleasure of Lady Emma’s company at Lymington House.”
Emma said nothing, because she couldn’t speak. She could only stare at Samuel’s face in misery. She’d imagined he’d be angry, but this…this was worse than angry.
He was hurt. She could see the pain in every line of his face even as he struggled to maintain a neutral expression.
“Now, Lymington,” Lord Lovell warned. “There’s no need to make a scene.”
Emma almost laughed. It was far too late for that. The scene had begun, and it looked as if it were going to unfold in all its awful glory in front of Lord Lymington’s dinner guests.
She half-rose from her chair, intending to leave the table, if not the house, but before she could take a step Lady Lymington spoke up, her voice firm. “It’s all right, Lady Emma. Do take your seat. I invited Lady Crosby and Lady Emma to Lymington House, Samuel. They are my guests, and you will treat them with the same respect you would any guest in this house.”
Lady Lymington didn’t often assert herself so forcefully, and her words seemed to recall Samuel to his senses. After a long, tense pause, he inclined his head. “Very well, my lady.”
“Thank you. Now, go and sit down.” Lady Lymington urged him toward the head of the table. To Emma’s immense relief he obeyed, but she could tell by his black scowl her reprieve wouldn’t extend beyond the last course.
Whatever appetite Emma had fled for its life in the wake of that scowl. Her stomach tied itself in knots, and the few bites she did manage to choke down tasted like sawdust.
It wasn’t a comfortable meal for anyone. Lord Lovell and Lady Lymington did their best to smooth over the unpleasantness and act as if nothing untoward had happened, but no one ate much, and Lady Lymington called the ladies from the table as soon as decency allowed.
Lady Flora rushed to Emma’s side once they reached the drawing room, a scandalized expression on her pretty face. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I never would have believed Lord Lymington could behave so dreadfully! He’s always been gruff, of course, but…well, perhaps the less said about that scene at supper, the better.”
“Yes, I think that’s best, Flora.” Emma was grateful for her friend’s kind words, but her heart was lodged in her throat, and there would be no coaxing it back into her chest until she spoke with Samuel.
“I, for one, am delighted to see you, Emma,” Lady Flora ad
ded loyally, linking their arms together.
“Thank you, Flora.” Emma managed a weak smile, but regret was heavy in her chest. Flora didn’t know the truth about her yet, but once she did, their fledging friendship would come to a swift end.
To Flora’s credit, she didn’t release her hold on Emma when Lord Lovell and Samuel entered the drawing room, not even when Samuel shot a look in their direction so dark Emma was amazed it didn’t leave scorch marks in the carpet.
He didn’t waste any time, but stalked across the room toward Emma, pausing to address himself to Lady Crosby. “I’d like to have a word with Lady Emma, alone. With your permission, my lady.”
Lady Crosby looked him up and down, her lips tight. “I’m not certain I can permit that after your shocking behavior in the dining room, Lord Lymington.”
“Bad form, Lymington,” Lord Lovell muttered, shaking his head.
Lady Silvester cast a sympathetic look at Samuel. “I daresay we can trust Lord Lymington to speak with Lady Emma on the far side of the drawing room.”
Hardly. If there was ever an altercation that would swell to the size of an entire room, this was it. A hysterical laugh threatened, but Emma bit it back, and with a hasty gulp, rose to her feet. “I’m willing to speak to Lord Lymington in private.”
Samuel said nothing, only nodded and gestured her toward the door.
Emma was shaking as he followed her down the hallway, but she kept her head high.
She’d prepared for this moment, and knew just what she had to do.
Tell him the truth. Wasn’t it supposed to be easy, to tell the truth? Perhaps it would have been, if she’d been someone else, but Emma felt how a criminal might, when he was destined to swing and caught his first sight of the gibbet.
She couldn’t prevent a tremor when Samuel led her to a dimly lit library and closed the door behind them. Oh, why did it have to be a library? She didn’t have much luck with libraries.
Samuel strode to a sideboard, fetched two crystal glasses, and poured a measure of some dark red liquid into each. Emma stood in the middle of the room, unsure what to do until he gestured her to a chair by the fire, then took the seat across from her, and handed her a tumbler.