Daring Miss Danvers

by Vivienne Lorret

  “Such formalities when we are all friends.” She tutted.

  Delaney scoffed and stepped forward, as if acting as a buffer. “Your news, cousin?”

  “I heard it directly from Lady Amherst, who stopped her carriage in order to tell me.” She preened, pressing her splayed fingers to her chest. “I just knew I had to tell you, Lady Rathburn, for I’m sure it must be of the utmost importance to you.”

  Don’t dare ask, a voice whispered in her mind. Unfortunately, the dread in the pit of her stomach demanded an answer. “Why me, in particular?”

  “Oh . . . because it involves a certain actress and a newly married gentleman, whom it is said used to keep her.” Her eyes brightened in wicked delight. “I believe you might recognize her by name, a Miss Lovetree?”

  Merribeth and Penelope moved beside Emma, slipping their arms through hers, as if they’d sensed the amount of strength it required of Emma to continue standing here—all the while pretending she was unaffected.

  Delaney set her hands on her hips. “Bad form, cousin. Besides that’s old news.”

  “Part, perhaps. However, the fact that she ran away with her gentleman shortly after dawn this morning, is quite new, I assure you.”

  This morning?

  “From what I hear, he’d just come into a large sum of money.”

  His inheritance. Emma couldn’t breathe. Had Oliver left her? After everything, was this how it was to end between them?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  * * *

  Archie sank down into the overstuffed wing-backed chair in the small parlor at the back of his shop. “If the good doctor’s goal is to exhaust me with exercise and cold water baths, I’d say he’s doing a fair job of it.”

  “I met a few of his patients when I visited Austria, and the water therapy was showing signs of success,” Rathburn said, concealing his amusement when his friend raised a speculative brow. “Although, I’m sure it takes some getting used to. The hospital should be finished by the end of summer, at which point he’ll have the rest of the treatments in place.”

  “The torture devices, you mean.” Archie scrubbed a scarred hand over the top of the other. “What was that paste he put on me made of, anyway? Crushed brimstone from Satan’s hearth? Burned like the devil . . .” he muttered and then lifted his arm to get a better look. “But it seems to be doing something. Not sure what just yet.”

  In the same moment, Penny walked into the back room and set down a tray of fragrant brown bread, sliced ham, a hunk of cheese, and two pints of ale onto a side table. “You need to give the good doctor your trust, that’s what, Archie Smith,” she scolded, but then ruined her set-down by gently brushing back a lock of hair from her husband’s forehead.

  Archie grabbed his wife’s gloved hand and kissed it, gazing up at her adoringly. “I’ll do that, pet, but only if you’re brave enough to come with me next time. Maybe you won’t need these forever,” he said, tugging at the finger of her gloves. Just then, Rathburn noticed something familiar in the embroidery—an ivy-trimmed border in a russet brown.

  She let out a flustered sound, as if they’d had this conversation before, and pulled her hand from his grasp. “These are my favorite pair, as you well know. A gift from Miss Danvers—but, no, she’s Lady Rathburn now.”

  He’d known for years that Emma came here. While both of them knew of the other’s involvement with the Smiths, they never spoke of it until recently. Yet still, he hadn’t told her how he’d always looked out for her, even before Rafe Danvers had asked him to act as her chaperone in his stead. He didn’t like her coming so close to the rookeries with only an elderly maid as her chaperone. So, he’d arranged for one of his footmen to watch over her. He’d even taken to scheduling his own surreptitious jaunts down the street on the days she’d come here. And not once in all that time, had he ever taken account of his strange, proprietary behavior.

  However, now it all made perfect sense.

  “And what of her ladyship? How is she faring with her new circumstances?” Penny asked with a smile as she handed him a mug of ale. “I know last Season she’d lamented on ever finding a husband, but I could always tell she held a soft place for you in her heart.”

  Stunned, Rathburn stared at her. “You could?”

  “Aye. Though she’s reserved in her way, it was always been clear to Archie and me.”

  One look at his friend’s easy grin confirmed it.

  Huh. Rathburn lifted the mug to his lips and took a hearty swallow. Perhaps he’d been unfair, leaving the way he had this morning. He hated to admit that a degree of selfishness had driven him to this point. It had taken every ounce of control he had, not to cross the room and pull her into his arms. He knew he’d hurt Emma, and felt terrible because of it. However, at the same time, she infuriated him.

  All those unspoken words! She hadn’t even demanded to know where he was going. Furthermore, she never once brought up their future. She hadn’t mentioned children since that first day. Yet, she was more than willing to share her body with him, surpassing even the fantasy he’d had of her. In her eyes, he could see the love she felt for him . . . and yet she still held back from telling him.

  “All she needed was to have you draw her out, and now look at you.” Penny lit up the small parlor with her smile.

  Yes, look at him and Emma. While he had a wife who selflessly gave everything she could, she had a husband who still wanted more. Damn, but he’d been right prig this morning.

  Perhaps Penny was right. All he needed was to draw her out.

  She’d told him once that she’d be a fool to lose her head over him. But that was exactly what he wanted. Her head. Her heart. He wanted everything Emma kept locked inside. And he was determined to get it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  * * *

  Emma stared out the carriage window the entire way to Hawthorne Manor, willing the horses to gallop faster. The instant the regal façade came into view, her heart ran at breakneck speed. The moment of truth was upon her.

  However, the driver slowed his pace too early for her liking. So before he’d come to a complete stop before the stairs, she opened the door and leapt out. Propriety be damned.

  Leaving every parcel behind, she rushed up to the door and flung it open—only to see Oliver standing in the foyer. Her half boots skidded to a stop on the marble tiles. She was out of breath.

  “You’re here.” It was then she noticed the hat in his hand and was unsure if he was just arriving or just going out. She didn’t see a satchel waiting. Yet, it could already be packed and inside his carriage. Perhaps Miss Lovetree was waiting as well . . . “Were you going out again?”

  For a long moment, he simply stared at her, his expression changing like the sky in inclement weather—darkening, shifting, churning. “Not any longer,” he said at last and then laid his hat atop the table. “I was on my way to Danbury Lane to ensure that you were—or rather that your group was”—he drew in a breath—“I’d no notion that needlework could occupy so much of your afternoon.”

  Was that concern in his gaze? She dared to hope. “We were a restless lot. I’m afraid we decided our time was better spent in the shops . . . And you? I hope you kept good company today.”

  An eternity passed before he answered.

  “I did. A mutual acquaintance, in fact. Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

  “Oh,” she said. A bud of hope had an inkling to blossom. “The whole day?”

  “Yes.”

  A startled sob bubbled up from her throat. It wasn’t him! He wasn’t the one who ran away with Lily Lovetree this morning. Though she tried to smother the sound with her hand, she was too late. Tears pricked her eyes and flooded her lower rims. Her vision of him rapidly turned liquid, giving her the sense that she was drowning.

  For the past two weeks, it had taken every ounce of control not to reveal the depth of her feelings. Her only outlet had been while making love. Time and again, he’d whispered his desires for her to let go. And she did. W
hile in his arms, it was safe to give him everything. But afterward, while he held her so tenderly, she still had this terrible restlessness inside her. It made her want to leap out of bed, fling open the doors of their balcony and shout her love for him for all the world to hear. She wanted to make love to him with the rain pouring over their skin. She wanted to sip chocolate from his lips. She wanted to crawl inside of his skin so she would never be apart from him.

  The depth of her feelings terrified her.

  Oliver took a step toward her. “Emma, darling, what is it?”

  Emma’s cool head had helped her get through many moments when the world around her turned to complete and utter chaos. Only now, the chaos was inside her, threatening to expose her. “I’m afraid . . .” The words were there, waiting to spill out. And yet, they shied away at the last moment. “That I won’t be ready in time for our guests, if I don’t hurry.”

  Like the coward she was, she rushed past him and up the stairs.

  Emma’s sudden tears had robbed Rathburn of speech. He’d hurt her, obviously. More than ever, he wanted to comfort her and apologize for being such a cold-hearted ass this morning. Unfortunately, the moment she’d disappeared up the stairs, the carriages arrived, bringing their guests of honor.

  Now, inside the drawing room with his grandmother, mother, Cuthbert and Celestine Danvers, and Emma, he felt as if he were about to burst out of his skin. Each time he checked the mantle clock, it was as if the hand never moved. He wanted dinner over with as soon as possible, and yet the opposite seemed to be happening. They were still chatting while sipping aperitifs in the drawing room, and the meal was not scheduled for another quarter hour.

  “. . . take Harrison for instance,” his father-in-law continued. Although, whatever he’d said before was a mystery. “His jowls are positively inspiring.”

  Rathburn shook himself out of his distraction. Once he saw Emma rise and walk toward the sideboard to refill his grandmother’s sherry, he started to think of a dozen ways to get her alone. “Quite right,” he said absently. “Can I offer you another splash of whisky?”

  It was only when he started to walk away without Danvers’s glass in hand that he turned back. His father-in-law chuckled. Biting down on the tip of his pipe, he offered a nod. “A prize above all others, son.”

  Rathburn smiled at this exchange, and turned to join his bride at the sideboard.

  “Faring well?” he whispered, leaning in to catch the scent from one of the jasmine flowers tucked in her hair.

  She angled her head toward him and kept her voice low. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me after how I’d behaved earlier.”

  “No, darling. I was the cad. I never should have—”

  “I’ve changed my mind, dear,” his grandmother interrupted. “I don’t think I will have another. Too much sherry can cause a headache, and after the news I learned earlier, I shouldn’t take the risk.”

  “Mother, surely now is not the time to mention such things,” his mother said with very uncharacteristic reproof. It was enough to draw his curiosity, as well as, it seemed, Emma’s.

  They both turned.

  “I believe the news left our dear Emma shaken as well. After all, she didn’t even notice our carriage pass her in the street this very afternoon.”

  Emma drew in an audible breath. “I didn’t realize. Forgive me. I was unsettled by an encounter with an old friend.” Before he could ask whom and threaten to run them through for causing her any moment of distress, she glanced up at him. “Miss Mallory.”

  “Ah.” He thought he was beginning to understand. However, when his grandmother continued, he realized it was much worse than he imagined.

  “No doubt the news of Captain Burns—our neighbor and the recently deceased Lord Sturgis’s nephew—running away with that actress was enough to unsettle anyone with high morals. Though at this moment, her name slips my mind . . .”

  “Miss Lovetree,” Emma supplied.

  “Thank you, dear,” his grandmother said with a nod that seemed more of admiration at his bride’s character than appreciation at having a name supplied. In fact, he believed his grandmother wanted to make certain he knew exactly of whom they were speaking.

  Recalling the way Emma had rushed into the foyer a short while ago, the way that she was surprised to see him, how she asked him if he was planning to go out again, and if he’d been with the Smiths the whole day, it all started to make sense.

  “You thought that I—”

  “Of course not.” Facing him, she shook her head. Then, she lifted her gaze and the truth was there as she worried the corner of her mouth. “Not for longer than the briefest of moments.”

  He blew out a breath that ended in a chuckle. Lifting a hand to his brow, he pressed the pad of his thumb and forefinger to his temples. “And I’d worried that you might have met with the vicar to seek an annulment.”

  “Annulment?” His grandmother scoffed. “I’ll not hear of it. The truth of your bride’s altered state is far too obvious in the glow of her cheeks and brightness of her eyes. As are yours, for that matter. Therefore, she cannot give you back.”

  He expected Emma to gasp at his grandmother’s frank speaking. After all, he’d had years to grow used to her ways when she hadn’t.

  Yet, Emma didn’t gasp. She laughed instead, though her cheeks were suffused with bright color. “I would not wish to,” she said quietly, still holding his gaze. “He is very dear to me.”

  Rathburn was the one left struggling for breath. There was no steadying the sudden leap of his pulse.

  “I’m sure I do not need to tell you what a remarkable man he is.”

  “Nothing escapes my notice,” his grandmother declared arrogantly. “After all, I’ve known about his plan to build that hospital since the inception, or thereabouts.”

  Stunned, Rathburn blinked. The hospital. “You knew?”

  His attention focused on his grandmother—the same woman who’d withheld his inheritance for years. The same woman who’d practically beaten him over the head with the notion of marrying Emma when he was too blind to see how much he loved her. And now, she was the same woman who’d known his secret all along.

  She huffed as if disappointed that he hadn’t figured it out. “There is no secret you can keep from me. Besides, didn’t it occur to you that Collingsford would come to me for payment when he knew I held the funds? He even tried to plead your case.”

  His gaze veered to his mother and he noted that she, too, was unsurprised, albeit tearfully happy. However, the Danverses were sufficiently shocked. In that he felt moderately mollified.

  “A hospital. What a wonderful way to honor your father,” Celestine Danvers said, tears brimming in her eyes. “Why ever would you keep it a secret?”

  Emma slipped her hand in his. “Because he is too modest for his own good. If I hadn’t found out by accident—”

  “You mean you didn’t tell her?” his grandmother asked. “When you schemed with her in order to gain your inheritance, you should have told her everything.”

  His mouth fell open. She’d known about that as well?

  Grandmamma heaved a great sigh of exasperation and turned her focus to Emma. “Forgive my grandson, dear. He can be rather thickheaded at times. He was so focused on repairing the manor, building the hospital, and keeping it a secret that he never saw what was right in front of him. Therefore, I felt compelled to give him a reason to open his eyes, first by nudging him in the direction of your false courtship. Then, by releasing his inheritance without condition, he was free to decide what his heart truly wanted.”

  Emma went still. “Released . . . his . . . . inheritance?”

  “Over a month ago,” she said offhandedly. “Plenty of time for the two of you to call off the ruse. I even gave you the perfect opportunity to break your betrothal, if you’ll recall.”

  She turned and searched his gaze. He hoped she saw what his heart truly wanted reflected in his eyes. “Oliver is a very honorable
man. I’m sure he was only worried about my reputation if we would have broken our engagement.”

  “You’re rather thickheaded too.” The dowager issued an uncharacteristic chuckle as if this were the most entertainment she’d had in years. “Heaven help my great-grandchildren.”

  Emma blinked out of her momentary haze as all the news slowly spread through her. “Released your inheritance . . . a month ago?”

  When her hands went slack, Oliver took them in his. “I told you at the church. Don’t you remember how I said that the original reason we were there was no longer a factor, that it was real for me?”

  Incredulous, she simply stared at his confused expression. “That was your way of telling me you’d received your inheritance?”

  “Well”—he shrugged—“yes.”

  Was it possible that he’d loved her all this time? “You never intended to get an annulment.”

  He grinned at her and shook his head. “Never. Did you?”

  She held his gaze, a pleasant warmth filling her. If she had a modicum of doubt any longer, she wouldn’t be able to speak at all. “I had no foundation for an annulment.”

  He radiated a palpable energy while remaining perfectly still. His eyes glittered with those gold flecks as he drew in a breath. “And your vows?”

  “Were spoken with sincerity and a full understanding of their significance.” She had not ventured into this marriage lightly.

  He huffed in frustration and looked up to the ceiling as if seeking council. “You are determined to make me question my sanity. You know very well what I’m asking of you.”

  Emma didn’t know why the sight of him so flustered amused her, but it made her feel giddy. She replayed all those years of his teasing her, his quips of how buttoned-up she was, his own flirtations that had left her flustered time and again.

  “You and I have gotten too used to keeping secrets,” he said with an edge to his sincerity.