Anne Stuart (31 page)

“
It’s a waste of time to insult my parenthood,” Killoran said in a voice like ice. “But I wouldn’t push it if I were you. I would regret having to kill you.”

“
You think I’m afraid to meet you?”

“
I think you’re young enough and idealistic enough to think that a just cause will carry you through. You haven’t lived long enough to know that only the good die young. You wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”

“
Stop this!” Emma stepped into the room, her voice strong and angry. “You’re acting like a couple of children. What makes you think you have any need to defend my honor, Nathaniel?”

“
Lord, she’s still innocent,” Barbara said in disgust, throwing herself down in one of the rickety chairs. “In soul if not in body. Trust me, Emma, dear. One look at your face and we know just how you spent the previous night. Not to mention that bite mark on the side of your neck. Vampire tendencies, Killoran?”

In another lifetime Emma’s flush of color would have amused Barbara. In another lifetime she would have watched this little melodrama with cool interest, waiting to see who would battle whom for the honor of the fair damsel. But Nathaniel’s righteous indignation, and his very real danger from an experienced duelist like Killoran, made the situation deadly serious.

She was jealous, Barbara realized with sudden shock. And not of the bite mark on the side of Emma’s neck, nor of the dazed look of awakened passion in her eyes. Even if Killoran was the first and only man who’d ever resisted Barbara’s overtures, it wasn’t Killoran she cared about.

It was Nathaniel’s blind nobility that made her heart twist and ache. No one had defended her, ever, when she’d needed defending so very badly.

“
Lud,” she said aloud. “Aren’t you making a fuss over nothing? Emma certainly doesn’t look as if she’s been forced to do anything she didn’t want to. I think, dear Nathaniel, we should take our leave. We’re not wanted here, and—”

Something stopped her. Something in Killoran’s face. No one else in the room would recognize it, but Barbara knew it. Knew the desperation and emptiness that were always hidden by the brittle smile, the cool distance, the urgent sophistication.

“
Indeed,” Killoran drawled. “If you’re so concerned about Emma, Nathaniel, you may feel free to rescue her from my clutches. Take her back to London with you, posthaste. Take her anywhere.” He leaned back, one slim, elegant hand toying with a half-drunk glass of wine. “You may leave Barbara with me.”

Even a practiced manipulator like Killoran had managed to stun them into silence. All three stared at him in varying degrees of shock.

It was Emma who spoke first. Vulnerable, foolish Emma, who was clearly in love with him. Most women fell in love with the first man to bed them, Barbara thought cynically. And Killoran was very adept.

“
You’re sending me away?” she asked.

Killoran glanced at her lazily. “The novelty has worn off, my pet. An occasional infatuated virgin is refreshing every now and then, but in general, I prefer experience. I was thinking I might take Babs to Paris. If I put my mind to it, I think I could manage to incite even her frozen appetites.”

“
You keep away from her!” Nathaniel said between gritted teeth.

“
Are you going to defend every female of my acquaintance against my rapacious appetites, dear boy? You’ll grow very weary. If you don’t force me to kill you first. Ask Babs. She’s been throwing her lovely self at me these past few months. I thought it was time to take pity on her. If you like, you can take over Emma’s sexual education. She’s an enthusiastic student, and a fast learner. I’ll wager in a few months she’ll be far more adept than a dedicated whore like Barbara could ever be.”

Nathaniel dove at him, his face dark with murderous fury. Barbara shrieked, leaping out of the way, certain they were going to kill each other. The two men went down with a crash, and what Nathaniel possessed in youth and fury, Killoran bettered with experience and cold-blooded intellect. Within moments Nathaniel lay, dazed and motionless, on the hardwood floor.

“
You’ve killed him!” Barbara screamed, rushing to his side.

“
Not likely.” Killoran rose and took a few uncertain steps back. “I never kill by accident.” He glanced around him in mild surprise. “Where did Emma go?”

Nathaniel was still breathing, and Barbara recognized with relief that he was merely dazed. She glanced up at Killoran. “Do you care? You sent her away.”

“
So I did,” he said absently. “It seemed more than time.”

“
Did you have to be so cruel?”

“
I doubt she would have left otherwise. Emma is a very stalwart creature, and it takes a great deal to discourage her.” He moved across the room to the table. The wine had spilled, but there still remained a bit in the bottle, and he lifted it to his mouth and poured it down. “Don’t you think it’s about time to give Nathaniel his conge?”

“
I beg your pardon?” She sat back on her heels, staring up at him.

“
Take a lesson from me, my dear. Goodness and purity are not for the likes of us. You’ll only break the poor boy’s heart. And whatever is left of yours as well.” He set the empty bottle down with a crash. “Come to Paris with me, Babs, and we’ll see if I can’t manage to give you a finer appreciation of sex.”

“
Why? You don’t care about me, nor I about you,” she said in a low, quiet voice. She realized she still clung to Nathaniel’s hand, quite tightly.

Killoran’s smile was bleak. “Precisely.”

Emma climbed out the window. It wasn’t that she thought Killoran or any of the others might stop her. Killoran had sent her away, in the cruelest possible terms, and Lady Barbara could only be rejoicing. If Nathaniel was tempted to help her, it would doubtless make matters worse. She already had too much blood on her hands. She couldn’t risk Nathaniel’s as well.

No, she climbed out the window simply because she didn’t know if she could bear to look at Killoran’s cool, distant, wickedly handsome face again. She didn’t know whether she would try to kill him. Or burst into tears. Either reaction would get her precisely nowhere, and since her dignity seemed to have vanished with her virginity, her only recourse was to run.

Her first thought was to steal one of the carriage horses. She had no idea whether she’d still be able to ride, or exactly where she would go; she only knew a horse would take her there faster. Of course, there was always the possibility that she could take Killoran’s huge black gelding, but if he didn’t throw her and kill her, Killoran probably would.

In the end, she didn’t have to make a choice. Willie was waiting for her. “There you are, miss,” he said, moving to the carriage door and holding it open for her.

She went, for lack of anything better to do. “Where are you taking me?”

“
His lordship said that was up to you. You can go back to Curzon Street if you’ve a mind to, or anywhere else. He’s given me instructions to see you safe to whatever destination you like.”

“
I’d rather be roasted in hell before I go back to Curzon Street,” she said in a deceptively calm voice. “Though London sounds acceptable.”

“
Yes, miss. London it is.”

She climbed up into the coach with more speed than grace. Her body ached, and the knowledge of just what activity had caused her discomfort was like a knife to her heart. She sat back against the tufted squabs, and moments later the carriage moved forward. She didn’t look out the window at the small hunting lodge. She knew that no one would be watching her leave.

She closed her eyes, letting out a shaky, shuddery breath. She could still feel his mouth against her, still feel the changes he’d wrought in her. The novelty had worn off, he’d said, and she’d had no choice but to believe him.

Why had she kept hoping that beneath his brittle, dark exterior lurked a wounded raven? Why had she thought him capable of love, or caring? He’d looked at her last night in longing, in desperation, and tried to send her away then. But she’d succumbed, like the fool she was, drawn by his wounded charm and his beauty. Foolish enough to think she could heal him.

And in the end, it was she who was shattered.

She’d recover. Of course she would. She was made of strong stock—her father had been of yeoman blood, decent, hardworking, the backbone of England. Her mother had been gentle and loving, faithful and true. Lecherous Uncle Horace had been no blood kin to her, and Cousin Miriam took after her father, not Emma’s aunt.

She could weather this. It seemed unlikely that a despoiled virgin could marry decently, but that was the least of her worries. At the moment, she neither wanted to marry nor had any need to. What she did need was her money.

Not all of it. Her father’s armament factories had brought in vast amounts of income—there was always a ready market for the tools of war, and Emma’s inheritance was more than she could ever use in a lifetime. Cousin Miriam could keep the bulk of it. All that Emma wanted was enough to buy herself a small cottage in the countryside and keep herself safe. From the Killorans and the Darnleys of this world. From her own vulnerable heart.

Somehow she couldn’t imagine walking back into that mausoleum of a house in Crouch End and simply demanding money. The very notion made her palms sweat. But she had no choice. There was no one to turn to, no one to help her. No one except someone like Jasper Darnley, who would make his own, far more dangerous claims.

She curled up in one corner of the coach, wrapping her arms around herself. The fur throw had been left behind, and for a moment Emma remembered lying naked on it, with Killoran stretched above her, staring down into her eyes as if he cared about her. His hands had brushed her body, and in memory her stomach cramped in helpless pain and longing. God, she hated him! And God, she wanted his hands on her once more.

She slept, fitfully, off and on. When she awoke for the last time, it was pitch dark in the carriage. She was cold, and her face was wet and salty. She backhanded her cheeks and glanced out the window.

She knew they were in the city—the change of the roadway beneath them had echoed in her ears. She couldn’t recognize the area of town they were traveling through, though of one thing she was certain. It wasn’t Curzon Street, and it wasn’t Crouch End.

She banged on the roof of the carriage, but Willie ignored her. She considered opening the door and leaping out onto the cobbled roadway, but something kept her still. There were doubtless worse places to end up than Cousin Miriam’s house, but right then she couldn’t think of them. She’d been reprieved, like it or not.

The carriage came to a stop. She waited, hands clasped tightly in her lap, listening to the murmur of voices, seeing the glare of an approaching torch. By the time the door was pulled open, it was too bright for her to see, and she warded off the glare with a protesting hand, scowling at Willie’s trouble face.

“
Where are we?” she demanded. “This isn’t Crouch End.”

“
His lordship told me I wasn’t to take you back there. Nor to Lord Darnley’s, if you was to ask.”

“
I thought he told you to take me where I wanted. Why should he care?” she said bitterly.

“
He said if you didn’t come up with a good idea, I was to bring you here.”

She had no choice but to climb out of the carriage. Indeed, if it were up to her, she wouldn’t get back in one for the rest of her life. She looked up at the brightly lit house, the silhouetted figure in the open doorway. “What is it?” she asked, starting slowly up the broad front steps. A liveried servant tried to take her arm, but she slapped it away. “A bawdy house?”

“
Bring the gel in,” a familiar voice trumpeted loudly. Emma was too nearsighted to make out details, but the immensity of the woman’s shape couldn’t be mistaken. She stumbled, suddenly eager.

“
Lady Seldane,” she said in a broken voice.

“
Bring her in,” her ladyship ordered again. “Can’t you see the poor gel’s half dead with exhaustion and hunger? Damn that Killoran, why does he have to make a botch of everything? Come here, child.”

Emma tripped on the last few steps, her strength failing her. In a moment she felt herself enfolded against a massive, scented bosom, and the bellowing murmur in her ear was oddly soothing. “There, there, child. It will be all right. We’ll sort things out, I promise you.”

She was crying. It was absurd, Emma thought. She never cried. Particularly not in the arms of an intimidating tartar such as Lady Seldane. But weep she did, and all her ladyship did was hold her like the mother she’d never known.

Eventually the storm of tears came to a halt. Eventually she was able to disentangle herself from Lady Seldane’s hearty embrace, to manage a watery smile.

“
Much better, child,” her ladyship said approvingly. “Everyone needs to give in to strong hysterics now and then, but afterward you must pick yourself up and get on with life. I’ve ordered you a bath, a light collation, and your rooms are all ready for you. For the next twenty-four hours I want you to rest. I want you pampered and cosseted and looked after.”

“
But what am I going to do... ?”

“
Don’t worry about that now. We’ll come up with something sooner or later. I have a few ideas of my own. Trust me, child. We’ll make things right.”

“
I shouldn’t be here,” Emma protested faintly. “You don’t realize what I’ve done.”

“
What have you done?”

“
I... that is... Killoran…”

“
He took you to his bed, didn’t he? Lucky gel. If I were twenty years younger and about two stone lighter, there’d be no way he’d escape me. I gather you aren’t quite so sanguine about it. No wonder. He made a botch of it, which is a good sign. A very good sign indeed.”