Anne Stuart (20 page)

“
Obviously.”

“
I believe we have interests in common.”

“
My dear woman, I find that impossible to comprehend.”

The drab creature smiled. It was not a pretty sight. “I have my sources, sir. I’m interested in finding my young cousin.”

“
I didn’t lay a hand on her,” he said instantly. “I’ve been sick.”

“
You know my cousin?”

“
I doubt it. I don’t make it a habit to socialize with the bourgeoisie,” he said. “You told my servant you had information concerning the Earl of Killoran’s sister. What makes you think I’d be interested?”

“
Because that was when you agreed to see me, sir,” she said. “And she’s not Killoran’s sister. She’s my cousin, Emma Langolet, and she’s a whore and a murderer.” There was a note of malicious triumph in her voice. “I intend to see her and her paramour in hell. With your assistance.”

Her pale eyes were glowing with hatred and intensity. Darnley looked at her for a moment. And then he smiled.

“
Have a seat, dear lady,” he murmured. “Let me ring for tea.”

Chapter 11

Killoran hadn’t planned on taking her out again so soon. He’d given society enough to gossip about the night before, and Darnley’s response had been gratifyingly immediate. It had seemed the wisest course to absent himself from his usual haunts for the next few days and let the malicious gossip build to a crescendo.

But he couldn’t do that. As much as he wanted the world to think he was immured in his own den of iniquity, debauching his half sister, he simply couldn’t sit back and wait. He told himself he was too restless, too easily bored, yet he knew the truth. James Michael Patrick, fourth Earl of Killoran, rake and dissolute gamester, care-for-nothing scoundrel with nerves of steel and a heart of ice, wasn’t sure he could keep his hands off his unwilling pawn.

She said nothing when she arrived downstairs, suitably dressed. He looked at her critically, observing the bruising around her pale neck. “They’ll think I tried to strangle you,” he observed pleasantly.

“
Given your reputation, that should come as no surprise,” Emma replied. “It’s only unlikely that you didn’t succeed.”

“
Oh, I’m not noted for cold-blooded murder,” he said. “Dissolution, debauchery, and torture, perhaps. But the wholesale slaughter of virtuous young ladies has yet to be laid to my door.”

“
Am I considered a virtuous young lady?”

He surveyed her thoughtfully. The stark black of her dress molded to her lush form, and the neckline, though demure by Lady Barbara’s standards, was scandalously low for a proper young lady. Her gorgeous hair hung down her back, and her mouth was soft, damp, abominably kissable.

There were also her eyes. Honey-brown, staring up at him with an unassailable innocence that only a complete fool would miss.

But then, how many people would waste their time looking in her eyes when there were so many other delectable attributes to gaze upon? “Not likely,” he said. “Anyone who spends time in my presence is tainted.” He advanced on her slowly, giving her time to run.

She didn’t, but she wanted to. He could see the faint startled reflex in her eyes, the momentary flash of panic. But she held firm, tilting her chin up with just a trace of defiance. Poor child. Little did she know that her defiance enchanted him as much as her panic.

He fastened the pearls around her neck, their rich luster luminous against her skin. He resisted the temptation to stroke her bruised flesh, the need to touch his mouth to that abrasion. He resisted the impulse to turn away from her, lock himself in his study, and immerse himself in brandy.

He stepped back, a deceptive half smile on his face. “Lovely,” he said. “We’re going to a small dinner party and musical soiree tonight. Only a hundred or so of the most select people in London.”

“
Really?” she said coolly, her courage clearly mounting in proportion to his distance from her.

“
Are you wondering, then, why I am invited?”

“
No.” She looked genuinely perplexed.

“
I’m a peer, my pet. An Irish one, to be sure, but a peer nonetheless. Besides, our hostess, Lady Seldane, has a weakness for me, and she has the fortune and the lineage to get away with anything she pleases. Hence my invitation to the sort of affair where I’m usually not welcome. And, of course, my dear sister is invited as well.”

He waited for her to deny the relationship. He was almost disappointed when she said nothing, merely accepted her black velvet cloak with deceptive grace.

She wasn’t quite so ready to accept his arm. She didn’t like to touch him. He found that fascinating, and very hopeful indeed.

Emma was not enjoying herself. Once again she was the object of everyone’s interest, both covertly and openly. Few people spoke to her, and Killoran kept his hand on her arm, a possession that was both nerve-racking and oddly stimulating. She was too nervous even to taste the food placed before her, and her dinner partners addressed only the bare minimum of polite conversation in her direction, consisting mainly of comments on the weather.

After dinner, things grew worse. The musical soiree was ghastly, with an off-key tenor, a gasping soprano, and a young lady playing harpsichord with all the delicacy of a brawler. Emma sat in her gilt-backed chair, Killoran beside her, all the rest of the seats within her radius vacant, and suffered. It would do her little good to beg him to take her home. Killoran had doubtless come for a reason. At least tonight there was no sign of Lord Darnley, a fact for which Emma could only be profoundly grateful. The veiled animosity and open curiosity of the well-bred ton was hard enough to bear without the added onus of Darnley’s covetous gaze.

Emma winced at a particularly crashing discord. The sound from Killoran might have been a laugh, except he didn’t laugh. “Young Miss Seldane doesn’t play nearly so well as you do, my dear,” he murmured, his mouth dangerously close to her ear. “Shall I offer your musical services? You would put them all to shame.”

“
Don’t you dare,” she whispered furiously.

“
It would be a waste of time. For one thing, your talents would be vastly unappreciated. For another, unless Lady Seldane happens to be nearby, the guests would most likely decline the honor of hearing you.” He moved his mouth closer, so that it glanced along her chin. Somewhere in the distance she heard a shocked gasp.

He was doing it for show, for the perverse pleasure he received in horrifying people. He reached out his hand and moved her heavy mane of hair away from her neck, stroking her, and he shifted his chair closer, so that his leg pressed against hers through the heavy layers of black silk. His fingers slid lower, brushing against the neckline of her dress, drifting against the swell of breasts.

“
Stop it,” she hissed, trying to keep all expression from her face. “What will people think?”

“
Exactly what I want them to think, my pet” he said.

She tried to scoot her chair away from him, but beneath the flow of her skirts, he’d managed to hook one foot around her chair leg, effectively trapping her against him. In the distance the soprano screeched, the accompanist pounded, and Emma felt uncharacteristically close to tears.

“
You said you were doing it for Darnley,” she shot back. “He isn’t even here.”

“
But he’ll be well informed.” He slid his hand up her neck and caught her chin. The strength in those long, pale fingers was palpable, but he wasn’t hurting her. Shaming her, arousing her, tormenting her. But there was no brute force in his touch.

In a way, that almost made it worse, Emma thought. Cruelty, brutality, pain could be dealt with, shut out, endured. They were straightforward, something you could fight. But the velvet caress, the banked glance, the knowledge that it was all an elaborate game and she was nothing more than a convenient pawn, a toy to be moved back and forth on the chessboard, made the situation unbearable.

She couldn’t help it. A stifled murmur of misery escaped her before she could stop it, and Killoran suddenly stilled. His fingers still cupped her chin, but they were no longer stroking her. He simply stared at her, and for once there was no mockery, no wickedness, in his dark green eyes. He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time, and if she didn’t know better, she would have thought it was his conscience making a belated appearance.

And then the moment passed, so swiftly it might never have existed. He leaned forward and put his mouth against the swell of her breast. His hand caught hers, holding her there, and her eyes fluttered closed as she felt the shocking caress. He used his tongue.

“
Killoran, you devil!” The old woman’s voice broke through Emma’s mortification, and she opened her eyes, to stare at an immensely huge, immensely decorated woman of advanced age. “Leave go of the girl at once.”

Killoran drew back, and the malice returned to his gaze, the humor to his thin mouth. “And why should I?” he murmured, glancing up at the old lady.

“
Because I’m the only one you ever listen to,” the woman said sternly. “Introduce me to the gel, Killoran, and then absent yourself. Methinks you’re a bit overwhelming for the child.”

“
Lady Seldane, may I have the honor to present to you my... ah... relative. Miss Emma Brown?” he said smoothly, rising and pulling Emma up with him. She almost tripped over their entwined chairs. “Emma, this is our hostess, Lady Seldane.”

“
She knows that. The gel’s not a fool,” Lady Seldane said. “Why have you dressed her in black? Granted, it suits her. You make a striking pair, the two of you. But isn’t it a bit theatrical?”

“
I’m very fond of theatrics,” Killoran said gently. “It’s in my tainted blood. And my… dear Emma has suffered a recent loss.”

Lady Seldane looked unimpressed. “Who died?”

“
Her beloved uncle,” he said, smooth as ever. “Murdered in a posting house just a few short weeks ago. It’s been very difficult for the poor child.”

Emma wanted to kill him. His words were mocking and deliberate, a warning. He’d saved her once, no, more than once. But he could remove his protection anytime he chose.

“
Very sad, I’m sure,” Lady Seldane said with a sniff. “Though I hardly think a mere uncle is cause for casting off one’s colors. Nevertheless, I’m certain it suits your plans very well, Killoran.” She waved her delicately painted fan. “You come with me, child, and tell me about yourself. This monstrous creature will find us some champagne and leave us to talk about him.”

“
The thought unmans me,” Killoran said faintly.

Lady Seldane slapped him with her fan, hard. “Nothing could unman you, Killoran. That’s what I like about you.” She gazed at Emma. She had small, dark eyes sunk into a broad white pudding of a face. Her towering wig was bedecked with birds’ nests and bits of lace, and her red silk gown would have been better suited to someone a quarter of her advanced age and half her weight. When she moved, she creaked. “Come along, child. We’ll find us a place to be private.”

Emma had no choice but to follow her. Lady Seldane was almost a foot shorter than she was, and much, much broader, and her exaggerated skirts only made the comparison more extreme. But Emma’s alternatives were untenable. To stay with Killoran, to allow him to touch her again, was more than she could bear. And the salacious, horrified curiosity of the other guests was almost as unsettling. Lady Seldane provided escape, even if it was only temporary. Even if it came with a price.

She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until they reached the unexpected quiet of a small withdrawing room. The walls were pale rose, the furniture cozy and surprisingly shabby. Lady Seldane shut the door behind them and waddled over to the unfashionably comfortable-looking sofa.

“
This room surprises you, doesn’t it?” she said shrewdly, sinking down with a great amount of creaking. “I don’t wonder. Not at all in the style of the rest of the house, is it? I married well. Twice. But I grew up in a vicarage, shabby and poor and well loved, and I brought this furniture with me. When I need to feel truly myself, I come to this room and close the door. I never invite guests in here.”

Emma looked at her, startled. “Then why did you invite me?”

“
Because you interest me, child. And because I have a great fondness for Killoran, difficult as he makes that. I want to know where he found you. Don’t look at me like that. I know perfectly well you’re no sister of his. It’s all part of his games. I want to know what he intends to do with you. I don’t want him hurting an innocent child.”

“
Why?”

“
For God’s sake, sit,” the old woman said, exasperated. “You’re too bloody tall as it is, and I’m likely to get a crick in my neck from staring up at you. Never liked being such a tiny dab of a thing. Not that you could call me such nowadays,” she added, wheezing once more.

Emma sat, gingerly at first, but the chairs were just as shabby and just as sturdy as they appeared. She settled back with a grateful sigh. “Why should you care what happens to me?” she persisted.

“
You’re a wise child. There’s no reason why I should. Despite the fact that you seem a good sort, not like the hoity-toity ladies who sail through my salon nowadays, it’s Killoran I care about. If he hurts an innocent, it would go hard on him.”

“
Who would punish him? Killoran seems quite invulnerable to me.”

“
La, child, I may have to revise my opinion of your intelligence. Killoran would punish himself, of course. Don’t tell me you’re fool enough to believe that prince-of-darkness mask he shows society? He’s done his best to wipe out any trace of humanity or decency he has left, but it crops up at the most inconvenient times. I’m fond of the lad. I don’t want to see him hurt.”