No, it would be another who would have Emma in his bed. Inexplicable rage and jealousy rose in his heart. And would this man, whoever he was, value her? Would he understand what she had endured, being cast aside so publicly by the Earl of Marnmouth?
He could not understand why, but he believed, deep in his heart, that there was only one person who could appreciate Miss Emma Tilbury as she deserved.
Him. It was madness, it was selfish…but he knew it to be true.
“…after all, continuing on the line is no small business!”
Braedon finally spoke. “I am not interested in continuing the line.”
Chester snorted with laughter before his smile faded away. “You––you mean it?”
Braedon nodded. It was not a conversation he had expected to have.
“I have to admit I am surprised,” said his friend slowly. “I…well, I thought that was kind of built into us all. We all want to see the name continue, don’t we?”
Braedon hesitated. There was nothing wrong with the name. He was hardly ashamed of it, but if it ended with him, no sadness stirred in his soul.
“Everyone says that, and yet I do not feel it,” he confessed. “It is as though that lever is not switched on within me. The line will end, the line won’t end. ’Tis just a name.”
“Just…just a name?”
Braedon regretted his moment of honesty immediately. It was not the typical behavior of a gentleman with a title, and he knew that. But why should he pretend?
“You know, in a way, you sound like my brother-in-law, Mercia.”
Chester had spoken slowly, as though feeling his way through the conversation. “Yes, he was never that interested in titles. It was through his mother, her brother, that he inherited from. Poor man had no idea he was a duke until the old man died, and the news came while he was a soldier!”
Braedon’s eyebrows raised. That was unusual indeed, but it did explain why the Duke of Mercia had suddenly popped up in society a few years ago with little fanfare and little explanation.
There had been talks of duels and drama, but all that talk had died down when he had married the sister of the Duke of Axwick. Richard St. Maur would never have permitted his sister to marry a brigand, after all.
“A strange inheritance indeed,” he said slowly. “And now?”
“Now? Now he has two children, and if I know that old dog, another on the way,” said Chester cheerfully. “That is what I mean. People want to continue on the title, if they have one, eventually. Something kicks in, I think. I would not worry if it hasn’t for you yet.”
Braedon tried to smile without grimacing.
Instead of attempting to argue the man down, he simply shrugged. “Titles, no titles––I may have one, but all I can say is that if I died without children, I would not be concerned.”
Chester stared as though he had discovered a strange animal. “Bless my soul. Well, I would never have guessed, that’s all. Now we should probably think about returning––the park is getting busy, and I want my breakfast.”
The park was certainly starting to fill up, making it more difficult for their horses to find a path. Perhaps Emma was here. Maybe if he stayed a little longer, he would see her. They could go on a ride together if Chester wanted to leave, and they could talk of…
“Braedon?”
“Yes,” he said hastily. “Yes, I quite agree. Thank you for the pleasant ride, Chester.”
They inclined their heads and parted, Chester returning to his wife and child, and Braedon returning to his foolish thoughts of Miss Emma Tilbury.
For they were foolish, he knew. She would never consider him, and he needed to put her far from his mind once and for all.
Chapter Three
Emma swallowed, her hand raised to knock. Hesitation was not a quality Emma typically exhibited, and the sensation was strange. She was usually so decisive, so sure of herself. She had never second-guessed herself in her life. The way forward had always been clear.
Not today. Today, there were a thousand and one reasons why she should not be here, standing before this door, about to knock and change their path.
Curious eyes stared as people passed, some stepping off the pavement to do so. Emma held her head high. She may be wanton, a known mistress of an earl of the realm, but that did not mean she was ashamed.
No, it was for Philip––the Earl of Marnmouth, she corrected hastily, to feel ashamed for abandoning her. She was only doing what a woman had to do to survive.
Resolve found, she knocked on the door and pulled at the impressive cast iron bell. Was this the right approach? Was there, perhaps, a less blatant, a less shameless way?
But as she stood listening to the echoing of the bell, Emma knew there was no other way. Not given the time she had––or more importantly, given the number of shillings and pence in her purse. Only enough to keep her warm and fed for a fortnight––maybe a month, at a push.
A woman a month away from poverty could not wait around for a gentleman to make the first move. No, it was down to her, and that was precisely what she was doing.
Besides, she had never been one to hide or pretend who she was. Being Miss Emma Tilbury made one rather conspicuous in life, and she was running out of options. Either she needed to find someone to support and protect her, or…
Emma shivered. She did not want to think about the alternative.
There were new young ladies coming out into society every year, and they would naturally receive all the attention at Almack’s, at the best card parties, at the finest dinners. A woman nearing thirty who was hardly innocent would easily be overlooked.
The door opened, and a rather serious-looking butler appeared. His forehead furrowed as he beheld her, gaze moving up and down.
Emma smiled. “Hallo there, I am here to see Braedon––do not concern yourself, I can see myself in.”
She stepped forward with purpose as though to stride inside, but the butler did not move.
Emma hesitated. Her surest way of getting into any home was to act as though she was expected and simply barge past any servant who attempted to stand in her way.
It worked like a charm. Most of the time.
“And who should I say is calling, when I inquire if the master is at home?” said the butler sternly.
Emma stepped back and swallowed. She needed to think. She had to get this right.
Inquire if the master is at home––Emma almost snorted with laughter. The upper classes had some very clever ways of making one feel inferior. It was a phrase only butlers used. Only those who could afford butlers had the presumption to inform the world they were officially ‘not at home’––even if that message had come from them, in the home.
It was ridiculous. And it was irritating, too, because she knew full well that Viscount Braedon was in there. After all, she had waited all day for him to return.
She was not proud of it. It was not exactly the habit of a well-bred lady, but then she wasn’t one. Besides, she needed him to be home for this to work.
If it was going to work.
Fixing a smile on her face––warm, inviting, but not too sensual, to prevent any concern from the butler, Emma tilted her head slightly.
“You know, you are a very loyal servant.”
The man nodded, evidently wary.
“It would be a shame if I was not able to see Braedon––I do apologize, his lordship—after he has requested my…company.” Emma allowed the very last word to seep with just a hint of suggestion and tilted her head in the opposite direction.
The butler coughed uncomfortably. “The master has…has requested you?”
Emma did not approve of lying. It was one of the traits which had marked her out as different back at Madam’s. If she was not enjoying a gentleman’s company, she said so.
It earned her a few beatings, but that was better than being a liar, wasn’t it?
And this was not really a lie. Emma knew, had known it from the moment she had gently t
ouched his arm a few days ago at that foolish Mrs. Marnion’s card party, that Braedon would quite like a visit.
Emma’s smile broadened. “Requested me? Did I say that? Dear me, I must be letting my tongue run away with itself. I would not like you to have to find out. The less you know, the better.”
A gentle shift of her feet and her hips swayed just enough to make the poor man swallow.
It was clear what the butler was thinking. Braedon had contracted the services of a…well, he probably wouldn’t know what to call her in polite company.
And naturally, he would not wish her to spend too much time standing on the doorstep. Like the good servant he was, he would not wish for his master’s…tastes to be too obvious to all who passed.
“I understand,” said the man stiffly, stepping aside. “Please come inside, Miss…?”
“Thank you, very kind, I am sure,” Emma said in a bracing voice as she stepped in, utterly ignoring the question. “And his lordship is?”
The butler closed the door behind her and looked wretched.
Interesting, thought Emma. He has not performed this duty before––that means our dear Lord Braedon has not treated himself to the delicacies of women. At least, not that his servant knows.
Very interesting.
“Th-The drawing room,” said the butler pointing unnecessarily to the door leading off the short hallway. “Should I announce––”
“No, that will not be necessary,” said Emma with a smile, sweeping past him.
Entering the drawing room, she saw a beautifully appointed room in the classical style. Braedon was seated in an armchair, and a book open in his hands, his mind obviously elsewhere.
“Emma,” he said with a lazy smile, and then with a look of horror, “Emma?”
She grinned. He had been thinking about her, perhaps?
“Good afternoon, my lord,” she said, falling into a deep curtsey carefully calculated to reveal as much of her as possible. “And how are you this fine day?”
“I-I am…well, you are here, and…Emma,” said Braedon as he rose hastily to his feet.
His astonishment and barely concealed joy that she had appeared in his drawing room was music to Emma’s ears. This was perfect. It was all going according to plan.
“I can see that you are as bored as I was in my rooms, and so I thought I would come and rescue you,” she said with a smile.
Braedon blushed. This was going to be too easy.
“My lord, we must discuss the appointment of a new cook with the utmost urgency. Would you like me to––” The butler had stepped in.
Emma could not allow this. She needed Braedon on his own. “That will be all, thank you. I am sure I am everything his lordship needs.”
She turned to look at the master of the house, carefully ensuring her face was a mixture of adoration and hope of having him alone.
It was impossible to describe, but it worked every time.
“Thank you, Fisher,” said Braedon. “We have everything we…yes, goodbye.”
He stepped across the room to close the door behind his butler, which Emma had not expected but considered an absolute triumph. She was in, she was here, and she had him alone.
So far, so good.
“I was not expecting you,” said Braedon in a voice that declared to Emma quite clearly that he was delighted with her sudden appearance.
Right, she told herself, trying to keep her breathing calm. This was just the first step, but if she overstepped, she would lose all hope. She needed to ensure her behavior was considered delightful and charming and not overbearing.
She cast a quick look at Braedon and smiled. Here was a man she could read like a book.
“Yes,” Emma said, seating herself without waiting to be asked. “But you were hoping for it, weren’t you?”
There it was, that blush she knew she could spark by her mere smile. Yes, if Viscount Braedon did not have another lady waiting in the wings, Emma was almost certain she would secure him.
The poor man could not hide his emotions at all. The way his eyes kept moving toward her breasts, the curve of her hips. The way he folded himself into that chair, no longer in control of his limbs.
But most importantly, a known mistress had marched into his home, ordered his butler away, and helped herself to a seat.
And Abraham Fitzclarence, Viscount Braedon, looked delighted.
Emma’s expression softened. She would seduce him and establish herself as his mistress.
It had been a long time since she had been so sure of herself, and it was a heady feeling, the thought that she was only a few weeks ago from security, from a steady income.
“I-I am always hoping to see you, Miss Tilbury,” Braedon was spluttering, his grin boyish, though no less charming. “Any room with you in it is fortunate indeed.”
“I have to say, your company at Mrs. Marnion’s card party rescued a rather dull evening into something far more enjoyable.”
Braedon nodded. “I felt the same way, Miss Tilbury, and I had hoped…at least, I thought I might call on you in the coming week. And here you are, calling on me!”
“I know, and very scandalous it is, too, doing so before a proper invitation,” Emma said with a languid smile. She slowly uncrossed and then recrossed her legs and saw with satisfaction that Braedon’s gaze was utterly unable to concentrate as she did so. “But then I was passing by and thought you could do with a little company. And I was right.”
Braedon was staring without saying something for just a little too long, and Emma smiled. It was all going to plan. He would be hers within the month.
“Y-Yes,” said Braedon, finally noticing the silence. “Yes.”
Emma allowed the silence to creep out again but kept her gaze fixed on him. Really, it was going to be too easy. He was fortunate that she had been the one to mark him out as a protector. Someone else may have drained him for all he was worth––and as far as she could ascertain since their conversation at Mrs. Marnion’s card party, he was worth quite a pretty penny.
No, she would only need a small allowance to live in comfort, and she would ensure she comforted him. Both of them would be happy.
But first, she needed to close the gap between them, ensure she touched him as much as possible. There was no possibility of doing it with any sort of decorum here.
“What a lovely afternoon it is turning out to be,” she said, tilting her head. “Why don’t we go for a walk?”
“Yes,” said Braedon, accepting a little more quickly than even Emma had expected. Rising to his feet, he said, “I would be delighted to accompany you, Miss Tilbury.”
Emma rose slowly, allowing him a view of a perfectly graceful woman. “Then I heartily accept, your lordship––that is, if you don’t have an important engagement with any other young ladies?”
There was another Braedon blush, but this time, Emma spoke not purely to massage his ego. It was critical she knew whether he was emotionally unattached. It would be so much more difficult––though not impossible––if he was seriously considering matrimony.
“No, no, I am not courting any other young ladies,” said Braedon eagerly, and then his gaze dropped to his hands. “I mean…that is not to say that we are––that we would be…”
There was something so pure, so innocent about Viscount Braedon that Emma finally took pity on him. Not every gentleman would be like Philip, after all. Not every man had the strength of character to enforce his will on the world or move through it convinced of one’s superiority.
There were other gentlemen, like Braedon, who did not expect the world to be handed to them on a platter. Quite the contrary, they appeared pleased with whatever they were given.
Emma had never considered it an attractive trait until now, but there was a certain elegance about it. Superiority was only alluring for so long.
“I quite understand you, my lord,” she said. “Do not concern yourself.”
Within a minute, they were standing outside his
townhouse, a brisk breeze rushing past them.
“Now,” said Emma, tucking her arm into his without asking permission. “Where would you like to go?”
She could feel the excitement radiating off him. When was the last time he had walked like this with a lady? Had he ever?
There was something about him, this Braedon. It was very easy to be with him.
“’Tis strange, we never seem to spend that much time together, though we move in the same circles,” said Emma gently.
Braedon nodded eagerly as they continued down the road. “Yes, it is strange how that can occur when one is in town. And yet, I always hope you are in attendance whenever I go anywhere.”
It sounded so much like the patter of cheap flattery that Emma laughed. “Yes, I suppose you do––wondering whether I will pop out of the wings, ready to…”
As they turned a corner, Emma looked to see if a carriage was coming and saw to her dismay that there was a look of genuine pain on Braedon’s face. Her voice trailed away.
He was in earnest. He was serious! He really did hope that she was in attendance wherever he went!
“I do not think it is so ridiculous.” Braedon’s tone was defensive, turning cold.
Emma swallowed. She needed to salvage this, and quickly. If she was going to secure him, she should at least attempt to keep some element of decorum between them––then insulting him for his interest in her was hardly going to help!
She squeezed his arm. “You flatter me, truly, my lord. I am honored that my company is so desired by you.”
Her warm tones, carefully modulated to cajole, seemed to have the perfect effect. Braedon glanced at her, and then his smile returned.
“Yes, you are very witty, Miss Tilbury. I find I always enjoy an outing or an evening far better if you have made up the party.”
Well, well. Emma could hardly believe it. By sheer coincidence, it seemed, she had managed to find one of the few gentlemen in society who had a crush on her!
It would certainly make the next few weeks much easier. Persuading a man that he was in love was not impossible, at least not for a woman like herself. But with Braedon––she had a head start.
Always the Mistress (Never the Bride Book 11) Page 3